Page 40 of Great Sexpectations
‘Maybe that Bruno Mars one?’ he suggests.
‘I really hope it’s “Uptown Funk”.’
He pushes me in jest. ‘No. But we were going to have Bruno as our first dance, Rubes has someone fromStrictlyteaching us a foxtrot.’
‘Dancing in public. You must be in love. Well, we can find you a poem from somewhere… I’ll send you some books. Go google songs with “love” in the title.’
‘“All You Need Is Love”.’
‘“Love Me Tender”.’
‘“Love on Top”.’
We both smirk at each other. This feels like a game we’d play on a long-haul car trip with our parents. It could go on for days.
‘Just find a song or a poem that makes you feel all these things you feel for her.’ I turn to him. ‘How did you know you loved Ruby?’ I ask him.
He takes a moment to think the question through. ‘It’s a silly thing really. We were just lying in bed on a Saturday night, all cosy and watching some Netflix crap and I realised I didn’t want to be anywhere else except there. It was everything, it was enough.’
It was enough. I pause for a moment. ‘Is that a line from a script?’ I ask, sarcastically.
‘Whatever, old maid.’
I stick my tongue out at him.
The conversation is suddenly interrupted by Mr Li walking in with a three-piece jacquard and velveteen tuxedo. I think those are feathers to the shoulders but also a breastplate to the front. I like how the theme of this wedding has suddenly moved to fancy gladiator crow.
‘Sonny, I opened the box from Valentino and I thought they’d sent me a dead bird,’ Mr Li says. ‘There is also a mask. Is this wedding themed? I am coming to this wedding. I don’t do feathers.’
‘There will be a masquerade element later. Like inRomeo and Juliet,’ Sonny explains.
‘Seriously?’ I say, keeling over laughing.
‘She must be one special girl, eh?’ Mr Li says, winking.
‘She is,’ Sonny replies, beaming. He stands up to go and try it on.
But suddenly a curtain swishes open and a voice, a camera charges through the changing room. ‘SONNY! COULD WE GET A PHOTO? IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE WEARING? WHO IS THAT?’
Sonny doesn’t flinch, but my body seems to be contorting into strange shapes as the flash of the camera glares on and off.
‘OI!’ Mr Li shouts. ‘Piss off out of here. Shoo.’ He has a large wooden ruler that he wields like a baseball bat. I cower behind the sofa.
‘Is that a skirt, Sonny? Is it true you’re getting married in Scotland? Are you Scottish?’
I am amazed at how calm Sonny is about everything. ‘No. Get out. This is a private shop, you know the rules, as well as this being a terrible invasion of privacy.’
‘Are you the wedding planner? Is it true Ruby is wearing Versace? Come on, mate. Give us some titbits. I’ve got a column to write.’
Staff from the front of Mr Li’s shop come rushing into the area, one of whom is Mr Li’s older son, Feng, who body-builds and looks like he eats his fair share of dim sum. I really wouldn’t mess.
‘This is a costume for a TV show I’ve been cast in,’ says Sonny. ‘I’m actually wearing bright dayglo yellow for the wedding and a fur muff made out of snow leopards.’
‘Really?’ the journalist replies, recording it all on his phone.
‘You really are an idiot, aren’t you?’
The reporter doesn’t take too well to that comment, and I see male testosterone start to mist the air. I’ve been around these types for long enough to know that they like to get a rise, to provoke so there’s a reaction worth writing about.
