Mr. Commitment (18 page)

The groom’s handsome too

I
woke up with a start and studied the alarm clock carefully. My stomach tightened and I put my hands behind my head and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. Today was the day. Today was D day for Dan. Before we had gone to bed (after falling asleep halfway through
The Italian Job
) he had told me that he’d definitely decided to go to the wedding. I knew there was no point in trying to talk him round, so I reminded him I was going with him no matter what, and went to bed hoping that the intervening hours would bring him to his senses.

Pulling on a T-shirt that had been lying on the floor, I got out of bed, knocked on his door, yelled, “Morning!” and walked in. Though the curtains were closed, chinks of light coming through the gap between them illuminated the room enough for me to make out the shape of Dan sitting up in bed. The sound of Marvin Gaye’s album
What’s Going On
was coming from his CD player. He turned on his bedside light.

“Morning,” I said again.

“Yeah,” he replied unenthusiastically. He looked at his watch but remained silent.

“I suggest that we stay in London, laugh at Greg on kids’ TV, meet up with Charlie for a drink and count our blessings—and if you’re really good we can go to that café on Archway Road that does those fried breakfasts. I’ll even pay.”

My transparent attempt to take Dan’s mind off things failed abysmally. “Not today,” he said, rubbing his eyes and stretching. “I’ve a wedding to go to.”

“So you’re still going?”

“What do you think?” he said.

I didn’t reply.

“I didn’t mean that sarcastically, Duff. I actually want to know what you think I should do. Do you reckon I should go to my ex-girlfriend’s wedding?”

Even though I already knew what my answer was, I weighed up the situation as truthfully as I could and I still thought it was a bad idea. “No,” I said finally. “It’s not going to do you any good whatsoever if you stay here and mope, and it’s certainly not going to do you any good if you go there and watch someone you still”—I searched around for the right terminology—“someone you still obviously have
strong feelings
for, marry someone else.”

“I knew you were going to say that, Duff,” said Dan, turning off Marvin Gaye. “I knew it because that’s exactly the kind of advice I’d give you. Thing is, we’re both so crap at giving and receiving advice that I wonder why we bother. The easy thing would be not to go, which is exactly why I have to go. Sometimes it’s not always about the easy life. I can see that now. All I’ve ever wanted was the easy life. Not too much stress, not too much boredom, a bit of a laugh here, some mucking about there. Nothing too strenuous. Now look where that’s got me. It’s got me losing Meena. It’s got me living here with you for the last eighteen months and maybe for ever. It’s got me living exactly the same life that I’ve always led. I’ve lost her, Duff. She’s going to marry someone else and there’s nothing I can do. So I’m going to act like I’m twenty-eight instead of eighteen. I’m going to go to the wedding and I’m going to wish her well, because it’s the only way I’ll ever learn.”

D
an put on a suit and tie, which made him look kind of odd. The last time I’d seen him in it was during a momentary lapse in his faith in comedy two years ago. He’d bought it from Burton’s for a job interview with an IT company. Twenty minutes after he got the letter telling him he had a second interview, the suit was back in the wardrobe and he was back in the world of laughs, late nights and hecklers.

We caught the train to Nottingham and were silent for most of the journey. Dan was obviously wrapped up in thoughts of Meena. Meanwhile, I was wondering how Mel was. I constantly worried about her and the baby, whether she was sleeping okay or how she was getting on at work. She was always on my mind, but it never felt like a burden.

At the station we caught a taxi to the registry office and twenty minutes later we were there. Large groups of people milled about with that wedding vibe about them: the smart clothes, the anxiety about what time it was, and the facial expressions that managed to combine “This is so exciting” with “These shoes are killing me.”

Dan and I sat on the wall of the registry office car park and loosened our ties. Although it was September and not exactly hot, I could feel the sweat running down my armpits, and I considered starting a discussion with Dan about the differences between antiperspirant and deodorant, but just at that moment Meena’s brother, Chris, tapped us both on the shoulder. It was a matter of public record that Chris had wanted to give Dan “the kicking of a lifetime” for the way Dan had treated Meena, and if there was anyone that you wouldn’t want to receive the kicking of a lifetime from, it was Chris. The only thing that had prevented him from killing Dan was Meena’s protests that Dan wasn’t worth it.

“Carter and Duffy,” he said flatly, making us sound like the veritable comedy double act we now were. “There’s a surprise.”

“All right?” said Dan. “How’s things?”

“I’m going to say this once and once only,” spat Chris. “This is my sister’s wedding day and you’re not going to spoil it. If you do anything at all to screw this up I will spoil you beyond all recognition.” He jabbed a muscular finger into Dan’s chest. “Do you understand?”

“I’m not here to spoil anything!” protested Dan, consciously avoiding looking Chris in the eye, as you would any wild animal that was looking for an excuse to tear you limb from limb. “I’m here to see a close friend get married. Okay?”

Chris glared at Dan and then glared at me and then combined his glares for the benefit of the both of us before walking off.

I turned to Dan, about to remark upon Chris’s ability to walk upright without the aid of his knuckles, when we were interrupted again. Standing next to us was a balding man in his late fifties, with a full beard, who was so large he reminded me of an off-duty version of the wrestlers that my mum loved watching on a Saturday afternoon when I was a kid. The austere-looking woman next to him, in a matching cream suit and hat, I assumed was his wife. They just had to be Meena’s parents.

“I would’ve thought you’d have had the decency not to turn up,” said Mr. Amos to Dan. He raised his eyebrows when he said the word “you” for emphasis.

“Your daughter invited me, Mr. Amos,” said Dan. “She’s a friend. It would’ve been wrong not to have come. The coward’s way out.”

“Well, you still shouldn’t have come,” muttered Mr. Amos, lost for words at his daughter’s stupidity.

“Why?” asked Dan.

A look of confusion spread across Mr. Amos’s features. His huge eyebrows suddenly met in the middle, the furrows in his forehead deepened and his lips tightened.

Mrs. Amos, obviously unfazed by the unexpected, stepped into the fray on behalf of her husband. “Because you don’t deserve to be here,” she said, and then added a loud, dismissive tut to back her husband’s disapproval.

“Don’t think you’re going to mess things up for our daughter,” Mr. Amos said threateningly. “I promise you this: you will not spoil this day.” He looked at Dan with such scorn that I thought he was going to throw a punch.

“Look,” I said, and stood up, pushing him back gently, “you’ve said what you wanted to say. Now leave it, eh?”

“You’d better take your hands off me, son, if you know what’s good for you.”

The last thing on earth I needed was to get into a fight with anyone. Least of all a man with a son as preposterously homicidal as Chris was. However, he was threatening my friend, so I stood my ground regardless, despite possessing all the pugilistic presence of an eight-year-old girl.

“Just leave him alone, okay?” I said, trying my best to sound hard.

Throwing a look of disgust in my direction, he and his wife turned and walked away, leaving me to bask in the glow of winning such a potentially lethal face-off. I sat back down on the wall, my legs were shaking slightly.

“Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing if he had hit me,” Dan said quietly.

“Nah,” I said. “He would’ve knocked his wig off in the process.”

“You reckon he was wearing a wig?” Dan looked over his shoulder at the departing Mr. Amos. “Who’d have thought it, eh? I always knew there was something about the old git that didn’t add up. Meena always told me he just didn’t like having his hair cut.”

For a moment he almost seemed like his old self, but within a few minutes he slipped back into his New Dan depression.

I was just wondering what to do to cheer him up when a voice from behind us said, “Feeling sorry for yourself?”

I looked round, semi-startled, at a tall dark-haired man whose distinctive attire singled him out as the groom. Next to him were two other men, who by their dress could only have been ushers. Without a doubt we were once again going to be threatened with violence. I handed Dan a cigarette, and took one out for myself.

“Don’t,” said Dan, taking control of the situation by refusing to turn around. “Just don’t. There’s no need to, Paul. You’ve won.” He inhaled deeply on his cigarette. “You’ve got Meena, and watching the odd episode of
Casualty
and
The Bill
I can see that your acting career has indeed gone from strength to strength since we left college. Meanwhile, I’ve got no Meena, and as for my career . . . well, let’s just say it’s nowhere near as illustrious as yours. So, please, there’s no need to prove your manliness with fisticuffs—I believe you. Let’s just leave it at that, eh?”

One of Paul’s ushers, eager to prove his solidarity with the groom, shoved Dan in the back, and would’ve followed it up with some other act of violence had I not stood up, dropped my cigarette and pushed him back forcefully. He lost his balance and fell into the other ushers. He was about to launch himself at me and tear me limb from limb when Paul held him back.

“Leave it, James,” he said. “If we start anything here Meena will go mad.”

James calmed down, but not before spitting in my direction. “You’re a dead man,” he said, pointing at me threateningly. I nodded, smiled and gave him a silent but effective internationally renowned gesture of disdain. Where all this bravado was coming from I had no idea, but I was going to enjoy it while I had it.

“I’ll leave you alone,” said Paul, while Dan observed him coolly. “I don’t know what Meena ever saw in you. I really don’t. You were a waster at college and you’re a waster now.” He paused. “It was Meena who invited you here and I’ve respected her wishes in having you here. But this I will say: do anything to spoil this day and you will regret it.”

“Why does everyone think I’ve come here to spoil Meena’s day?” said Dan to me rather than the assembled besuited apes behind him. “I loved Meena. Why would I want to spoil her day?”

“Paul, we’d better go, mate,” said the groom’s only pacifist usher. And with that they walked off without saying another word.

T
he registry office was set on the edge of a park five minutes away, so for the remaining twenty minutes we wandered about looking at flower beds, sitting on benches and smoking too many cigarettes. By the time we made our way back to the registry office a large group of people from the last wedding party had just exited and were milling around with the guests for Meena’s wedding. At five minutes past two everyone’s attention turned toward the driveway as a white Rolls-Royce carrying Meena and her maid of honor came to a halt. Watching her get out of the car was a totally surreal experience. I was no expert on wedding dresses, but even I could appreciate that she looked absolutely stunning. Meena’s father helped her out of the car and she held on to his arm proudly.

“I can’t believe it,” said Dan, his voice faltering slightly. “I’m jealous of Mr. Amos. Meena’s relying on his support to get through this. I want to be Mr. Amos. I want Meena to rely on me, even if she is marrying someone whose finest hour was as bank robber number two on
The Bill.
”

The interior of the registry office was decorated in a soulless cream that made the room feel cold and impersonal. Dan and I thought it best to take seats at the back, well away from the groom, ushers and Meena’s family. We sat down on cushioned plastic chairs that had seen better days, and smiled at an old lady dressed in orange taffeta who had moved along for us. The organist began playing Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March,” and everyone stood up.

“She looks wonderful,” said the old orange lady to Dan as Meena and her father made their way up the aisle. “The groom’s handsome too.”

Dan nodded.

“I’m so happy for her,” said the old orange lady. “Of course it nearly didn’t happen. Her mother was saying that she had cold feet this morning. Wasn’t going to go through with it.”

“Really?” said Dan. “Why was that?”

“I haven’t the faintest clue, but I’d love to know,” she said ominously. “Apparently she’s only been courting Paul for a year. Maybe that was the problem. Although, the way I hear it she’s not had a very good track record with men altogether. According to her mother, Meena’s previous young man was a bit of an undesirable.”

“I heard he was just a bit stupid,” said Dan. “Didn’t know a good thing when he had it.”

“He’s meant to be here somewhere,” said Orange Lady scanning the room, presumably in search of someone with hooves and a pointed tail. “Apparently he had an invitation! Can you imagine the audacity of such a man? Turning up to Meena’s wedding like this?”

Dan shook his head.

“Well, he doesn’t matter anymore,” said Orange Lady dismissively. “The important thing is that she’s here today. Whatever worries she had, she must have resolved them.”

I looked across at Dan, but his eyes were fixed to the front of the room.

Now, I’d seen
The Graduate
and countless Hollywood imitations. I knew that when the registrar got to the part where he says, “If there’s anybody here who knows of any reason why these two should not be married, let them speak now or forever hold their peace,” Dan was supposed to say something, anything that would mean that he wouldn’t lose Meena, but he didn’t. He just kept his mouth tightly closed and tried to hold back the tears.