Page 27 of The Wedding Cake
“I’m so relieved Blake won’t be here to see us getmeow-rried,” River had quipped, which was almost enough to give Alice second thoughts about getting hitched at all.
On the subject of felines, Alice couldn’t deny she was having kittens about Georgina putting in an appearance. She had tried to create a rift between River and Alice, prior to moving to Spain. But she was supposedly on the way to being happily married herself, now. Alice was also fretting about her parents finding out she and River had ‘eloped’, via the extended family grapevine. But ultimately it was hard to get too stressed in such a relaxing place.
Although the guest list was small, owing to a distinct lack of family on either side, it was full of friends and love. Even Alice and River’s former Avalonia bandmates, Alex and Bear, were putting in an appearance – although thankfully the band’s former manager, Lennie (who had also, to cut averylong story short, turned out to be River’s father), didn’t dare show his face.
Now it was time to savour every moment with all these wonderful, quirky people who had flown for hours – or endured Hayley’s cheesy CD collection and non-stop karaoke for several days on the motorways of Europe. Alice intended to give them a wedding to remember!
TIM
Tim waited until the next day, and then he woke like a man possessed (in a good way). First off, he sent an apologetic text message to Freya, instructing her to do what she thought was best with the cake. It was greeted with no reply, just as he expected. But hopefully it would take the pressure off. He was the groom, after all, and he should have a say in something regarding his own wedding.
And then he did something he hadn’t done for a very long time: he took himself to Manchester Central Library. It wasn’t the most obvious choice of venue for someone who was about to get married, but most men in Tim’s position didn’t have a Ferris wheel of questions rotating through their heads. The counselling hadn’t worked, and after the get-together with his friends, the last thing Tim wanted or needed, in the days running up to his departure to Spain, was to be accosted with yet more do-gooder opinions. He needed to work things out for himself using his own guidance system… and the wisdom of a good old book – or a dozen.
He’d always taken his time to grasp new concepts and ideas when he was at uni, hence the Dim Tim moniker. The library had been his refuge then, away from the chatter of the smart arses who could magic up their essays two hours before deadline on their bed, coffee on tap, music blasting, and still end up with a 2:1 or higher. Once Tim had discovered the haven of the library, he could see clearly and make headway with his own assignments. It had been a game-changer. Now he took a seat at the large table nearest the psychology section, drew a timeline of his life on a piece of paper, and headed off to the rows of books, letting his inner compass do the navigation. Today he would work the answers out for himself, learn who he was, and how he had become that person.
The more Tim read – well, to be precise, the more he dipped in and out of books, letting his intuition open a hardback at a random page, flicking through a paperback and innately sensing when to stop and soak up the ink on its paper – the more a solid and cyclical pattern began to emerge.
Conflict (and compromise). The turning of his mind mirrored the many diagrams in the books he pored over, which brought him back to the seesaw analogy again. Wasn’t this the constant illustration to Tim’s life? The image in his head since forever. He could have worked this out for himself a long time ago, if he’d only listened to his inner monologue! Which wasn’t to discount or discredit the brilliant work of counsellors (other than Jacqui) and the words of good friends. Both had their place. But everyone’s style of learning is different. The student was ready now and the teacher (or tomes) had appeared. In the end, a few days of reading was all it took, as Tim reflected on his timeline. At long last he could see everything plainly for himself:
The nursery incident.This had long been Tim’s first vivid memory. Now he started to sense its relevance, and the message it had probably always been trying to impart. Three boys at his nursery had simultaneously scrabbled to get onto the bright orange rocking horse. The one with the swishy woollen tail. Tim had panicked when little hands had started to push and shove so much that one of the kids toppled off, snotty tears falling down his little face. Tim had pulled him into a hug to help calm him down, scouring the room for a nursery assistant to sort the other boys out. But nobody was available, so Tim had returned to the rocking horse with the traumatised kid, gently taken hold of each of the four-year-old lads and lined them up, explaining that they couldallhave rides on the horse, one after the other. He decided it was best to forgo his own fun since that would only make the queue longer for all concerned and possibly reignite the friction.
The school incident.No, not the one his friends had mentioned in the pub. This memory came to him in flashes. Jigsaw puzzle pieces which he could now put into a whole. Winter in the school playground. A snowball fight. Bullies pushing a girl into the muddy slush and soaking her coat. Tim, unable to ignore her plight and, yet again, unable to find a teacher, whose job it surely was to mediate and discipline. Tim helping the girl out of her coat and giving her his own to wear. Tim walking home after school as fast as he could in his thin grey Asda school jumper and cardboard-collar shirt. His teeth still chattering after his mam had fixed him a hot chocolate – and given him a clip around the ear for being so careless and ‘losing’ his black Adidas puffer jacket that had cost a small fortune.
The blackmail incident.“If you don’t take the blame for the Easter eggs going missing, we’re going to tell Mam it was you who stole them”. Andy had discovered the Easter eggs hidden under their parents’ double bed, so naturally, he and Brittany had worked their way through them until they were sick. They blamed him anyway, the rotters. Before Tim could even pluck up the courage to lie to cover their fat arses.
The spying incident.Brian needed to know that Cathy wasn’t having crafty cigarettes on the back porch while he was grafting at the factory. They couldn’t afford the dirty habit now her assistant role in the shoe shop had been reduced to part-time hours, and her blood pressure had been through the roof at her last GP check up. Tim had felt uneasy about this request, especially as he knew the answer already. Yes, Cathy was puffing away several times a day out back, in between washing and cooking and cleaning (pre-accident days). She always scrubbed her hands with soap and scoffed mint humbugs to ward off the eau de nicotine. Tim had felt like such a snitch, but he couldn’t let his dad down since he’d been entrusted with this mission. It felt like he’d let his mam down, though. She was an adult and deserved to be treated as such. Smoking was bad, but she needed a release and that choice was hers to make. Tim wasn’t her parent.
The favouritism incidents.Tim’s grandparents never had much money and on the rare occasions the siblings went to them for tea, Brittany and Andy would get all the best biscuits in the Family Circle tin (when Grandad wasn’t looking); Brittany because she was a girl and deserved the ‘pretty red Jammy Dodgers’, Andy because he was the youngest and ‘hadn’t had as many chocolate digestives as Tim over the years’. Tim was left to hoover up the perennially unpopular shortcakes – and usually declined.
And these examples were just the tip of the iceberg. Once Tim got thinking, he couldn’t stop listing similar scenarios. He’d never been a martyr, though, huffing and puffing over his saintliness. It was just easier to let everyone else have their way and stop the drama in its tracks. Still, all these key interactions with family, friends, and peers screamed two words:overlyandcompromising.Tim constantly gave in. Big time and without a fight. He’d lost not only his sense of self but his sense of justice.
Maybe Jacqui had been right about the middle child syndrome theory? Maybe that had reinforced Tim’s need to keep the peace. But his younger brother hadn’t come along until Tim was eight years old. Maybe Tim had always known Andy would arrive on the scene, then? Maybe he’d resigned himself to diplomatic duties early. Whatever. The fact was, now Tim had made the links for himself and studied his own concrete examples, the penny had finally dropped and there was no going back. This was no way to live. All he’d done was to create himself a shitshow of inauthenticity.
On the other hand, Tim learned there were merits to being the middle child: savviness, empathy and openness. He needed to start channelling these qualities like his life depended on it. Because it did.
Tim had no choice but to face his fears, dig deep and do what needed to be done. So the moment he and Piper reached the villa in Marbella (and he’d managed to spend most of the flight ignoring Nath’s pained expressions across the aisle), Tim cancelled out on his friends and the stag do the next day. He sent them a text to say he’d eaten something dodgy and needed to ensure he was in fine fettle for the sixth of August. He couldn’t risk them swaying his decision at this critical point in time.
“If I could afford two return taxi journeys from Torre to Marbs in a matter of days, I’d be round at that swanky villa of yours now, Squirrel, knocking at the door like Fred fucking Flintstone to drag you out!!! But fine, have it your way. We’ll see you Saturday. And don’t worry: we won’t do anything daft and interrupt when the registrar asks if anyone knows of any lawful impediment as to why you shouldn’t be wed. Final reminder: there is still time to change your mind…”
Shit.Tim hadn’t been worried about interruptions at all… until Nath had mentioned this. Surely his friends wouldn’t dare pull such a stunt?
He chose to spend the night before the wedding alone in the sprawling villa. Piper’s newest VIP influencer friends, who had taken priority as far as the spare bedrooms were concerned, had headed into Marbella for dinner. Meanwhile, Piper had gone to Puerto Banus to meet up with the legendary Sophia and Talia. In other words, she was squeezing in ‘one last night’ with Noah. The villa’s chef didn’t know what to make of Tim, having clearly waited on grooms who tended to be surrounded by family and friends in the run up to their wedding day. Especially when he asked if they could knock him up a plate of egg and chips. Tim had long ago decided it would be his last meal if the BBC announced the world was ending tomorrow. Which was somewhat symbolic. The chef rose to the occasion, and Tim let the no-fuss nourishment fortify his soul.
He could have invited his parents to a slap-up meal tonight, but they’d know something was up. In any case, the all-inclusive accommodation they were currently enjoying further along the coast looked amazing, and they deserved an evening of pure pampering and zero worries the night before their middle child tied the knot.
Tim slept surprisingly well until four am, when he was woken by the flurry of partygoers heading back to their various rooms; more than a couple of male voices now thrown in the mix. He hoped he’d be spared any orchestral manoeuvres in the dark. Piper’s room was next to his. She was determined to play things traditionally, and Tim was under strict instruction not to go in her room before the ceremony, lest he catch a glimpse of her dress.
But rules were there to be broken. Especially when you strongly suspected your betrothed had brought the guy she was sleeping with back to your wedding villa, on the very eve of your special day, intending to let him conveniently merge into the crowd the next morning, along with the rest of the star guests who Tim mainly didn’t know. But Tim hadn’t needed to break and enter Piper’s room for a look. That old chestnut, the glass pressed against the wall, had done the trick, and the guttural noises would haunt him forever. Besides which, Tim had indulged in a little detective work after taking receipt of those dodgy photos. Every ‘influencer trip’ Piper had made since they'd gotten back from the wedding supplier’s visit had coincided with Noah Barrington's movements – from London nightclub foam parties to a networking event in Reykjavik, and a digital marketing conference in Amsterdam. These little excursions always seemed to tally with a grand new hotel opening in the same city. Influencer hotels in the ever-expanding Barrington portfolio. Whatever the deal was with Piper and Noah, Tim wasn't as dim as his contemporaries from the past had dubbed him. Noah, on the other hand, was a braggart and a fool. He couldn't resist any opportunity to grace the pages of local and regional newspapers, society chat magazines, and the end of a Getty photographer’s lens. Piper trailed along behind him like a lovesick puppy. It was insane, the way that Tim and Piper had traded places. He shuddered in the realisation that this was exactly how he used to be with his girlfriend in the early days. Up until the two Fs: February and Freya.
Tim knew Freya would stay true to her word, organising for another member of her team to drop the cake off tomorrow so they could avoid one another. He wanted Freya to stick to her promise – and he also didn’t want her to. The need to see her again was indescribable.
Before common sense could get a look in, Tim found himself in Piper’s unlocked quarters next door. Nobody was in the main room or on the lavish balcony, but he could hear the shower running in the bathroom. Now Tim could take in every scrap of evidence of Piper’s blatant betrayal with his own two eyes: there was stooping low and there was scraping the bottom of the barrel. Sex toys and flimsy feather, silk, and lace costumes lay strewn across the massive bed; the reek of aftershave was intoxicating. How could she do this to him so openly? Had she no shame? He was a laughing stock to everybody in this villa!
All right, it was bad luck for the bride to see the groom on the morning of their wedding day – but now Tim knew this was just a convenient excuse for Piper to hide behind and take diabolical liberties.
Tim pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. After his message to his friend, pleading with him not to cock up the ceremony, Tim needed to be certain that Nath, Josh and Kyle knew the drill. The last thing he wanted was any unexpected surprises. So he banged out a quick text reminding the boys to respect his wishes.
The door swung open then, snapping Tim from his worries. A naked Piper paraded into the room, steam trailing behind her like a ghostly wedding veil. Tim wondered if Noah would appear as well, a bit like those cabaret stage acts from the eighties that were all smoke and drama as you waited for the artist to reveal themselves. Mercifully, she was alone. She gasped when she saw her groom, and grabbed the nearest towel on the bed to preserve her modesty. Tim had never felt more like howling with laughter at the ironic ways of his exhibitionist bride, but he needed to keep it together. This wedding simply had to go ahead. There were far too many people depending on it, depending on Tim. And Piper herself was top of that list.
