Marry Me (5 page)

My fiancée had never been even slightly religious, but all the talk of God during our marriage ceremony got her thinking, and she started to believe. As a result, our wedding night wasn't quite what I had hoped it would be. ‘There's no way I'm taking all my clothes off with
Him
watching,' she said.

My wife gave me a big hug, and told me I was going to have to be very brave. ‘I'm really sorry,' she said, ‘but I just don't think I can carry on being married to you.'

I couldn't understand why she would walk out on everything we had. ‘Is there somebody else?' I asked.

‘No,' she said, ‘there isn't. But I would really,
really
like there to be.'

My bride had invited a number of her exes to our wedding, and as she walked down the aisle I could see she was flashing them coquettish smiles, waving to them, and winking. I started to feel a little concerned that she wasn't ready to move on to a new level of commitment, but I needn't have worried. When she reached the altar she asked the vicar to wait for a moment while she delivered a short speech. ‘There are several men in here with whom I have had sexual encounters,' she said, ‘but I want you all to know that I'm going to be taking my marriage very seriously. Though there may be some residual attraction between us, it's very important for you to understand that I will never act on it.'

It was so sweet of her to give me this reassurance, but as I looked out at the faces of the men she had known I had a feeling that not all of them were as convinced as I was by her declaration.

Midnight told me she was calling off our engagement, and I did what I could to talk her out of it. ‘But we have so much in common,' I spluttered. ‘We both like spring meadows and autumn leaves; we read the same poets and admire the same artists and musicians. And what about Spaniels?' I cried in desperation. ‘We both love Spaniels, don't we?'

‘That's the trouble,' she said. ‘I think they're O.K., but I'm not crazy about them. It's the same with the other stuff—there's nothing wrong with any of it, but it's all more your thing than mine.'

I opened my front door to find my girlfriend standing there. I was delighted to see her, and invited her in for a coffee. As the kettle boiled, she came straight out with the reason for her visit: she had come to tell me she was pregnant. I was stunned, but overjoyed.

‘Don't you worry,' I said, throwing my arms around her and holding her tight. ‘I'll be here for you and the baby. In fact, why don't we get married?' I'd been thinking about asking her for ages, but the right moment had never arisen. Now the time couldn't have seemed more perfect. ‘We'll be a family.'

She started laughing. ‘That's so funny,' she said. ‘You're the fourth one to use those exact words, and I've still got . . .' she pulled a list from her pocket, and counted, ‘. . . eight to go.' She pinched my cheeks. ‘You're all so sweet,' she said, then she stopped laughing, and lowered her eyes. ‘I'll say to you what I said to the others—just take the test, and if it's yours I'll think about it.'

When I told my fiancée I was cancelling the wedding, I was quick to alert her to the upside of the situation. ‘Just think of all the money you'll save by not being with me,' I said. ‘With all those nights in alone in front of the television, you'll be able to build up quite the nest egg. All you'll be wearing is pyjamas, and as long as you stick to supermarket brand ice cream, rather than the fancy stuff, you'll have a decent lump sum in no time at all.'

My wife told me that she and her friends had voted me the worst at sex out of all their husbands. ‘But how could they know?' I asked.

‘I told them about that thing you do with your fingers,' she said. ‘That thing you think I really like. They couldn't stop laughing; they thought it was hilarious.'

The time came for me to tell my fiancée I had found somebody new, and that I was breaking things off with her. ‘I can't be engaged to you and going out with her at the same time,' I explained. ‘It doesn't feel right.'

Frantic, she started to list her own qualities in the hope that I would realise what I was throwing away and come to my senses. It didn't work, though. I was adamant that I liked the other girl more, and I wouldn't back down. At last, she accepted that it was over. ‘I suppose she's really beautiful, and I just can't compete,' she sobbed.

‘Well, that's the funny thing,' I replied. ‘Technically, you're a lot better-looking than she is, but I still like her more. It's a
je ne sais quoi
thing, I suppose.'

She insisted I take her to have a look at the new girl. We hid in some bushes near her house, and watched her through binoculars. ‘Wow,' said my ex-fiancée. ‘Are you serious? You're leaving
me
for
her
?'

‘I know,' I said. ‘It's weird.'

On our first anniversary I held Maranatha's hand, looked into her eyes and told her that even though I wouldn't have thought it possible I loved her even more deeply than I had on our wedding day.

‘It's funny,' she said. ‘I've gone
completely
the other way. Come to think of it, I'm amazed I've stayed as long as I have. There's
no way
I'm going to be here next year.'

Every girl I had ever cared about had gone away, and I knew Alanta would, too. From the moment we met I braced myself for her departure, but as I waited for the axe to fall, my love for her grew deeper and deeper. It got to the point where I couldn't imagine life without her. Gathering all my courage, but expecting the worst, I asked her to marry me.

I couldn't believe it when she said yes.

As we stood before the altar, she looked at me with eyes that seemed to be overflowing with happiness, but deep down I knew she would make a run for it at the last minute. The time came for the vows, and she said them all the way through. She let me put the ring on her finger, and when she kissed me a tear came to her eye. As our lips parted, she softly whispered,
I love you
. It was strange. It was almost as if she really meant it.

My fiancée had always been keen on science fiction, and when she suggested we dress as androids on our wedding day I knew how happy it would make her, so I was glad to go along with it. I found myself waiting nervously at the altar in my Cyberman costume, and when I saw her coming down the aisle in her custom-made C3P0 outfit, my heart melted. Because of her helmet, I was unable to see the anger on her face. She stood beside me, and hissed, ‘A Cyberman? Cybermen aren't androids, they're cyborgs. Jesus.' Her fury turned to dismay, and she began to sob. ‘I can't believe you would do this to me on my wedding day.' Then there was a flash and a bang and the smell of electrical burning.

When they cut her lifeless body from her casing, the doctors said that her tears must have dripped into the circuit board and triggered a massive power surge. At the inquest they concluded that even an elephant wouldn't have survived such a shock. The coroner, also a fan of the genre, expressed disbelief that I could have made such an error, and told me that I must blame myself.

As our wedding day approached, my fiancée gently suggested that I get some counselling for my body image issues. ‘But, darling,' I chuckled, ‘I don't have any body image issues.'

‘That's the problem,' she said. ‘Just look at yourself. You'd better get some—and fast.'

I was delighted to find a foreign girlfriend, and even more delighted when she agreed to marry me. ‘It'll be such a happy day,' I said.

‘Happy?' she said, looking aghast. ‘I don't think you understand.' In her endearing accent, she explained that in her culture, weddings were not times of celebration; they were desolate affairs that marked the end of youth and freedom. She was determined to adhere to her country's traditions, so a few months later I found myself helplessly looking on as she wept real tears for the girl she had once been, while trampling a bunch of flowers underfoot, symbolising the exit of even the slightest possibility of romance from her life. Her relatives, unable by custom to console her, glared at me and shook their heads, as if wondering how I could have done this to such a sweet girl.

My fiancée gazed into my eyes. ‘I never thought I would get to marry someone as hand­some as you,' she said.

This got me thinking. ‘I am a bit out of your league, aren't I?'

She began to look afraid. ‘But you will still marry me?'

‘Leave it with me,' I said. ‘I'll get back to you in a day or two.'

After a lot of soul searching, I reached the conclusion that I was no longer in love with my fiancée, and the only fair thing for both of us would be for me to call off the wedding. Moments later, news came through that she had lost her hands in an industrial accident. I rushed to the hospital, and as she lay weeping at the sight of her bandaged stumps it didn't seem like the right time to tell her how I felt. I chose not to raise the subject, and instead found myself whispering empty words of love and reassuring her that we would get through this difficulty together.

She was determined to stick to our planned wedding date; she told me it would be a part of her recovery process. The closer it got, the harder it became for me to find the right moment to initiate the Big Conversation. Finally, the day arrived, and as I stood at the altar and saw her father proudly leading her down the aisle, I realised I couldn't leave it any longer.

She looked up at me, her eyes ablaze with joy, as the vicar asked me if I was ready to take her as my wife. I surprised myself by telling him I was, and I even found myself saying my vows with real feeling. Somewhere along the line, without realising it, I had fallen back in love with her. It ended up being just like any normal wedding—apart from her ring, which was more like a bangle.