Page 4 of Wish You Were Here
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ says Graham. ‘Right, are we ready?’
We all look towards Jess, who nods her head, and it is time to walk down the aisle. I can see tears beginning to form in Jess’s eyes, and it is hard not to start crying myself, but I have to keep it together. I have a speech to deliver, a song to sing, and the last thing I can do is start crying, smudging my makeup like a high-schooler who was dumped by her boyfriend just before prom.
To be fair, singing a song at their wedding was my idea. When Jess and Aaron announced they were getting married,the first thing I said, after congratulating them, was, ‘Why don’t I sing a song at the wedding?’ They were giddy with love and excitement and agreed, and nothing was said about it until about a month ago when Jess asked me how it was going. I have spent the last month desperately writing a wedding song, and I am nervous about it. I have sung in venues all across Sydney, and even at a festival in Byron Bay, but none of those gigs felt as important as Jess’s wedding. I can’t fuck this up because while people will most likely remember Jess's stunning dress or the breathtaking venue, what they'll probably talk about the next day is the train wreck of a wedding singer if it’s a disaster.
The wedding is at a spectacular location up on a headland in Manly, and you can see all the way across to the Sydney skyline in the distance. It’s about as perfect a location for a wedding as I can imagine. As we walk towards Aaron, I see the gorgeous azure ocean behind him, and a vast cloudless sky that stretches off overhead. Jess wanted the Crowded House song, ‘Fall at your Feet’, so all I can hear is that and Jess doing her best not to fall apart ahead of me, arm in arm with Graham, which makes me think about my own dad, but I can’t go down that rabbit-hole because I will definitely start sobbing. Emotions are high enough without adding Dad to the mix.
Eventually, we reach the front where Aaron is standing with his groomsmen, and under a wooden arch, adorned with a wonderful array of pretty flowers, is Aaron’s brother, Gary, who is going to be the celebrant. Gary is a radio DJ in Melbourne and so the perfect choice. He has a brilliant radio voice, although I am slightly concerned he might treat the wedding ceremony like his morning show, and we’ll have to take breaks for weather and traffic updates. Jess reaches the front where she is passed from her father to Aaron, and everyone takes their places.
I walk across and stand next to Jess and the rest of the wedding party. I glance across at the best man, Brad, and as I do,he looks at me, smiles, winks and it is clear what his plans are for the night ahead. I don’t respond and instead turn away and look out into the crowd where I spot Mum and her boyfriend, Brian. Today, for some reason, Brian is wearing a kilt, and I know for a fact he’s not Scottish. He also has long hair, which, for a man approaching his sixties, is just not on, but he’s Mum’s boyfriend and I do my best to get along with him.
The wedding is beautiful, goes off without a hitch, and Gary does a brilliant job and stays on script, but it’s hard not to watch it and reflect upon my life choices. In fact, watching my best friend get married, it’s like a mirror to my own failures.
I am three months away from turning thirty, and I am no closer to achieving any of my life goals than I was at twenty. It’s hard not to feel like it’s been ten years wasted when most of my friends have all gone on to bigger and better things. When I was twenty and confidently told everyone I was going to be a singer, they probably said something like, ‘How exciting, best wishes for the future. I hope you make it!’ But at thirty, when you have been trying to make it for ten years and still live at home with your mum, people tend to be more like, ‘Okay, well, it’s been ten years, Saskia, probably best give it up now, and get a proper job, eh.’ And it’s fair enough, but the problem is, I don’t feel ready to give up completely.
Then there’s my love life, which is best described as shit boyfriend after shit boyfriend, and shallow, pointless one-night-stand after shallow, pointless one-night-stand. I am no nearer to love than I was ten years ago, and perhaps further away because all the decent men are spoken for. I am getting to the point when it’s probably worth waiting for the good men who got married at twenty-five to get divorced, and I can get them on the second time around.
Once the ceremony is over, we are whisked away for photos while everyone else enjoys canapes and cocktails. Jess andAaron are off taking family photos, and I’m waiting, increasingly nervous about my song, when best man Brad walks over.
‘It’s Saskia, right?’ he says.
‘That’s right, and you’re Brad, the bastard?’
‘I think you mean Brad, the best man,’ he says like he’s just been given a lifetime achievement award.
I’m trying not to catch his eye because he has stunning eyes. In fact, everything about Brad is stunning. He’s one of those men who could easily have been a fashion model if he had chosen that career path. He’s tall with dark hair, dark eyes and you know that underneath that suit is an incredible body. He’s also a chiropractor, so earns good money in a proper career, and can treat a bad back – sexy and practical! Despite Brad being Aaron’s best mate, somehow our paths have never crossed until now. Brad spent time on the Gold Coast, and when he got back to Sydney, we somehow just never met. Fortunately, before I am forced to have an entire conversation with Brad, the photographer’s assistant – a small, I assume gay man, with quite a flamboyant moustache – calls across.
‘MOH and BM. Quick, quick!’ he says, clapping his hands together, and I am saved – for the time being at least.
The reception venue is decorated with lights, flowers and the tables are all set up for the meal. Jess, Aaron and the rest of the wedding party are at the head table while I am sitting to the side of them, about to perform my song. It’s suddenly so much hotter than it was, and about fifty mobile phones are pointed directly at me. Such has been my complete lack of success, this is one of the largest audiences I have ever played to, and because of the occasion, perhaps the only one where everyone is actually listening to me.
‘So,’ Gary says into a microphone. ‘Without further ado, I give you the maid of honour, Saskia, and her song, oh fuck, what was it called again?’ Gary reaches into his jacket pocket and pullsout a slip of paper, while nearby parents cover their children’s ears. Gary has clearly had a few drinks since the wedding ceremony. ‘Oh yeah, ‘The Wedding Day Love Song’. Original, I guess. Yeah, so anyways, Saskia!’
Everyone claps politely, and then it is silent. Everyone is staring at me. I have my guitar resting on my lap and I look up for a moment, my eyes momentarily drawn to the table in front of me where Mum is sitting next to Brian, and because Brian is wearing a kilt, and I’m exactly at eye level to where his kilt ends and his legs start, I can see directly up his kilt and he’s not wearing underwear! There used to be a fish and chip shop near our house in Glebe, it’s closed now, but I remember they had a jar of pickled eggs on the counter, and this image comes back to me when I see up Brian’s kilt. It’s jarring, and for a moment I am frozen in shock and disgust, until I look away, clear my throat and start strumming my guitar.
‘This is a love song, about a girl and a boy, about a bottle of soy and a car ride of joy. This is a love song about two people who watchedNeighbourstwenty feet away, not ever knowing it would lead to this day. This is a love song, a love song, about these two people up there, the guy with the tattoo and the girl with the blonde hair.’
The song goes better than I had imagined, and when I finish, there is a standing ovation, and when I look across at Jess, she has tears in her eyes. Then I see Brad, and he has the ‘I’m going to fuck you later’ eyes. It’s at this point, I realise I am in trouble.
‘The song was awesome!’ says Jess, an hour later, after dinner and speeches. The evening music has started, drinks are flowing, and it’s time for everyone to let their hair down.
‘Yeah, Sas,’ says Aaron. ‘It was unreal. Maybe it will go viral, and you’ll get that record deal you always dreamed of, eh.’
‘That would be the perfect wedding present,’ says Jess, as Mum and Brian wander across.
‘Saskia, that was lovely,’ says Mum.
‘Wasn’t it?’ replies Jess.
‘I was just saying, maybe it will go viral,’ says Aaron.
‘Let’s not get carried away,’ says Mum, ever the realist and the person most likely to drape a damp towel over my dreams. Mum has never really believed it would happen for me, has constantly badgered me to think about getting a ‘proper job’, and with the immovable barrier of my thirtieth birthday fast approaching, she is using it as a bargaining tool – ‘If you want to keep living at home rent free, Saskia, in your thirties, you need to get a proper job!’ Which is hard to argue with when you have been living at home rent free for the entirety of your twenties. We all stand around for a moment and then Brian says.
‘The kilt is causing quite a stir.’
‘You’re Scottish?’ asks Aaron.
‘No,’ replies Brian.
