Page 6 of The Layover
I buckle my seatbelt, rest my palms on my thighs – one leg is still damp and gross from the coffee spillage earlier – and take several long, deep breaths to ground myself.
I’m not even the superstitious sort. It’s all bloody ridiculous, if you ask me. But Kay’s been harping on about something blue this and something old that, all these wedding traditions that are meant to be good or bad luck, so I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s rubbing off on me.
I feel eyes on me, but determinedly don’t look over at the girl in the aisle seat; I can’t afford any distractions. This flight to Barcelona is my last-chance saloon: I need to write my speech, suffocate my own doubts, and get on with my sister’s wedding.
It comes to something when you have to ‘get on with’ a wedding.
We’re all to blame, I know. Me and the rest of the family. None of us really took to Marcus when Kayleigh first introduced him to the family – but bloody hell, she brought him home atChristmas, what were we meant to do? Of course we welcomed him in and made him feel right at home. ’Tis the season, and all that crap. We all kept our mouths shut about how rushed itseemed, that they were already talking about moving in together when they’d just met two months ago.
And when they showed up to Mum’s sixtieth with that sparkling new engagement ring on Kay’s finger – what was anybody meant to say, except ‘congratulations’?
Mum got swept up in all the wedding planning, but Iknowshe has doubts. She’ll tut sometimes and say things like, ‘Well, at least she’s happy,’ or, ‘I’m sure there’s a side of him we’re not seeing. Maybe he’s just a bit nervous around us all.’
She’ll deny it profusely if Dad tries to bring it up, of course, and claim the pair of them are in love and that Marcus is family now, but we all know.
We all know that we don’t like Marcus and don’t think he’s right for Kay, and maybe we could get past that if he hadn’t turned her into someone we hardly recognise anymore, butnone of us have told her, and now … Now she’s marrying him, and it’s too late.
We should’ve stepped in earlier. Should’ve justsaidsomething – taken her aside in the kitchen that Christmas and said, ‘God, he’s a bit up himself, isn’t he? Not sure I’m keen on him, did you notice him interrupting all the time, like he’s got something more important to say?’ We should’ve had a quiet word with her on the phone after the engagement, said, ‘Are you sure about this, Kay? He’s so arrogant and standoffish, is this really what you want? You’re not just falling for all the nice gifts and expensive dates, are you?’
Mum will keep her mouth shut. She’ll pretend to buy into the fairy-tale romance of it all, and not want to upset the balance for the sake of Dad’s health, wanting to spare him stress that might trigger his MS. Dad will keep his mouth shut, because Mum is. And God knows my youngest sister Myleene won’t say anything: she’s just a kid, she’s too excited to see the romance unfold to stop and think too hard about it.
Nana would’ve said something.
Shedid, actually. Plenty, and loudly, until Kayleigh told her, ‘But Nana, I really think he’s the one!’ and she decided it wasn’t worth wasting her breath. Not that it mattered anyway, because Kay didn’t exactly bother to visit in Nana’s last few months.
The whole thing is a shitshow.
And I wish I knew what to do about it.
I half listen to the safety announcements as we taxi down the runway, and wait until my ears pop after take-off before I reach into my rucksack for the little notebook that’s supposed to contain my speech.
Dadhatespublic speaking. He’s dreaded this day, I know, when he’ll have to give a father-of-the-bride speech. He’s a man of few words at the best of times, but pandering to a crowd is his idea of hell. Kay took pity on him and suggested I do it instead. A brother-of-the-bride speech.
Which should be easy enough. Talk about her childhood, how she always wanted to play dress-up and made me play Barbies with her where they were doing impressive, girl-bossy jobs like she has now, and what a romantic at heart Kay’s always been, how she told us she knew with Marcus from the very start …
I can write something formulaic, bland and nice and just sentimental enough. Hell, I can ask ChatGPT to churn out something for me, and then tweak a couple of bits and call it a day. This doesn’t need to be Shakespeare.
I open the notebook, smooth the blank pages flat.
We’ve got drinks and dinner tonight, and then tomorrow … Tomorrow, I’m supposed to stand up and give this speech. I have to writesomething. Anything.
The first time we met Marcus, I write,we hoped that’d be the last time we ever saw that pretentious, preening arsehole.
Which is exactly the thing youdon’tput in a speech for your sister’s wedding, but is exactly what I wish one of us had said to her, and it’s all it takes for it to all come pouring out.
I’ll rip the pages out later and write the proper speech, but right now …
It’s cathartic, so I let it happen.
Putting it all on paper, shaping these feelings with words – it makes a thought snake out from the back of my mind, one that says,But what if you told her all this? What if you took her aside before the wedding, and laid it all out for her to see?
We all feel like we lost Kayleigh to her new relationship. Nana was the only one who might’ve had the spirit to say it to her face this late in the game, but she’s gone now, and …
I remember what she said to me, when Dad first got sick. I remember what she said to me, a couple of days before she passed.
And I know what I have to do.
So, I keep writing.
