Page 86 of The Notecard
‘You’ll know when it’s the right one, love.’
‘How do you know?’
He smiles.
‘You just know,’ says Stan. That old cliché. But he isn’t done. ‘Love is a lot like football. Some people try to overthink it. They go on about formations and tactics, but at the end of the day, when all is said and done, all that really matters is sticking the ball in the back of the net.’
He seems pleased with his football/love analogy. He pats me on the shoulder then walks back inside the marquee. You just know. But what if you’re too afraid to even contemplate a relationship because you’re still so traumatised from your last one? What if it is the right person, but the timing is all wrong? And what about all the people who get divorced? At some point they must have thought they were marrying The One. What if someone comes to a wedding and does an impromptu speech in front of everyone, and it’s amazing and incredible, and you secretly wanted to kiss them, but you were too afraid of what it might all mean, and so you shut it down because it was easier. What if that’s the truth? You just know. I’ve almost finished my cigarette, and I’m about to head back to my room, when Laura walks out. She has changed from her wedding dress into her evening frock. She looks beautiful.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ says Laura. ‘The whole wedding is ruined.’
‘Why, what’s happened? It looks like it’s all going really well to me.’
‘Well, it would to you, wouldn’t it?’ says Laura. ‘Do you have one of those?’
She’s looking at my cigarette.
‘You don’t smoke.’
‘I do today.’
I give her a cigarette. She lights it up, takes a drag and then coughs violently.
‘You alright?’
‘I’m fine.’
She’s not fine.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Simon’s drunk. He promised me he wouldn’t get drunk. He’s not going to be able to perform his wedding night duties now.’
Wedding night duties. Perform. Poor Simon.
‘I became a virgin again for nothing. Mum and Dad are pissing me off with all of their born again loved up shit.’ She takes another angry puff on her cigarette. ‘The meal was awful. We had so many complaints about things being cold. I’ll have to spend all of tomorrow on the phone with the caterers making complaints and trying to get some money back.’
‘I thought the food was excellent.’
‘Of course you did.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Because it’s you, Meg. I spent six months planning the perfect wedding, and it’s not the wedding I had in my head. It’s not perfect. You’re happy with fine, Meg. You’ve always been the same. Just good enough is good enough for you.’
‘But today is your wedding day. You want to look back and say it was the best day of your life, not be consumed by the fact it wasn’t exactly like the vision in your head.’
‘There’s a man pissing against the marquee.’
‘What? When?’
‘Right now, there’s a man literally pissing against the marquee. I think it’s Simon’s uncle Ray. Fucking hell. The Portaloos are right there.’
We look across and there is indeed a man, fifty-something, pissing against the marquee.
‘Let it go, Laura. Nothing is ever perfect. Things are what they are. Make the best of it. Enjoy the moment, and stop stressing the small stuff,’ I say, and Laura looks at me with a look of complete contempt, then takes another drag of her cigarette.
‘What happened with you and the man who crashed my wedding?’
