Mr. Commitment (19 page)

Everyone clapped when Meena and Paul were pronounced husband and wife. I didn’t at first, as a show of support for Dan, but then Dan started clapping and I felt a bit stupid being the odd one out.

Orange Lady looked at Dan sadly while the happy couple signed the register. “It was quite emotional, wasn’t it?” she said, handing him a tissue from her handbag. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but it’s very rare that men cry at weddings. You must have been very close to her.”

“Yes,” he said. “I was.”

Like that bloke in
Groundhog Day

D
an and I were offered a lift to the reception by two of Meena’s old college friends, Jenny and Lisa. In the car they asked me how we knew her and I lied and told them we used to live in the flat above Meena when she lived in Muswell Hill. Dan wasn’t really saying much about anything, and although I tried to make up for his reticence by talking all kinds of complete and utter rubbish, it quickly became obvious to them that he was acting a bit strange.

Eventually Lisa got annoyed enough to make a comment when an innocent question to Dan about what he did for a living was met with complete silence. “I don’t know what your problem is,” she said to Dan as the car pulled up at a set of traffic lights, “but there’s no need to be so obnoxious. Last time I looked, manners didn’t cost anything.”

Without pausing for thought Dan opened the car door and got out, slamming it behind him.

“Er, d’you want me to pull over?” said Jenny, addressing me agitatedly, about to indicate. There was now a long queue of traffic either side of us.

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” added Lisa apologetically. “He was just being so strange. Don’t you think you should go after him?”

“No,” I said quietly as I watched Dan dodging through the lines of cars to the other side of the road. “No, I don’t think I should go after him, and no, I don’t think you should pull over.”

They both looked at me as if they were witnessing the worst betrayal of friendship ever committed. Right now, however, Dan didn’t need my opinion, sympathy or comfort, which is what these two strangers wanted me to offer him. What he needed was to be alone.

“He’ll be all right,” I explained. “He’s just had a bit of a weird day, that’s all.”

The white Rolls-Royce that had taken the bride and groom from the registry office to the reception at the Piermont Hotel was surrounded by a gang of children. They were pointing and yelling, “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang!” in unison at the car’s chauffeur. They’d been at it for some five minutes now and I could tell from the look on the driver’s face that he’d got to the stage where he was weighing up whether it was worth losing his job to enjoy the simple satisfaction of telling the lot of them to bugger off. The rest of the wedding guests milled around aimlessly on the hotel’s front lawn sipping glasses of bucks fizz, chatting with friends and relatives they hadn’t seen in years and generally wondering what would happen next. Meanwhile, Meena and Paul and their immediate families were being herded around the hotel grounds by a team of wedding photographers keen to give the couple’s day of happiness a varied selection of softly focused backdrops.

Jenny and Lisa had abandoned me in order to “mingle” almost the very second we’d arrived, leaving me to loiter alone at the front of the hotel lobby examining the ornamental ivy growing up the window frames like a dedicated amateur botanist. Quite obviously appearing bored out of my mind, I was approached by a number of people who all endeavored to draw me into conversation. I chatted to Mrs. Kapur (Meena’s great auntie) about the latest trends in men’s ties, Samantha (the groom’s second cousin’s ex-girlfriend) about how much she hated the groom’s second cousin, and Lucy (a six-year-old who hadn’t the faintest clue what her connection to the bride and groom was) about what she was getting for her birthday in two weeks’ time. Thankfully after half an hour of this an announcement was made for the guests to take their seats at the banqueting hall. There was no way I was going to sit down at a table of strangers, eating melon and swapping wedding anecdotes, and I had made my mind up to call a taxi and get the train back to London when I spotted Dan walking up the hotel drive, looking pensive.

“All right, mate?” I said as he reached me.

He nodded, hands dejectedly lodged in his trouser pockets. “Yeah. I’m all right.”

“Let’s sit down for a second.” I gestured to a wooden bench overlooking a large pond. “These shoes are killing me.” Dan nodded and together we walked across the lawn, crunching sun-dried duck poo underfoot.

“Did you walk here?” I asked as we sat down.

“Got a taxi,” said Dan. He scratched the back of his neck animatedly. “Sorry about . . . you know.”

“No, problem,” I replied, and there we sat, not moving or talking, just sharing a silence—a big, fat empty pause filled with nothingness. I’d forgotten how much of a strain it was constantly to have to translate the world and how I saw it into words for the benefit of those who didn’t understand. It was nice to enjoy a moment when I could just sit back, relax and think about nothing.

“Duff?” said Dan, after having shared over half an hour’s worth of noncommunication.

“Yeah?”

“Do you love Mel?”

I paused and lit a cigarette before answering. It was a big question to begin with, but the fact that it was Dan who had asked it, only seemed to make it even bigger. “That’s a bit deep, isn’t it?” I stalled. “Where did that come from?”

He shrugged indifferently, acknowledging both my attempt to sidestep the question and my right to do so. “I was just wondering whether if I had the power to time-travel, I’d have done things differently . . .” His attention was distracted by the roar of an RAF jet passing overhead. He stopped and stared up at the sky momentarily. “Do you know, I’m not sure I would. That’s the thing about hindsight: over time you gradually forget how stupid you’ve acted in the past. Time and time again I’ve made the same mistakes. Like that bloke in
Groundhog Day.
Only I never learn. Knowing you’ve got to do the right thing doesn’t amount to much if you never actually do it. I mean—”

“I thought I’d find you both out here,” interrupted a female voice from behind us. It seemed like everyone was coming up behind us these days.

Dan and I turned round simultaneously to see which new member of Meena’s family and friends had come over to warn us off spoiling the wedding. My money had been on Meena’s chief bridesmaid, because I’d noted somewhat warily that she was built like a professional arm wrestler, but it was the bride herself. She was standing there quite innocently, her wedding dress appearing much whiter than it had before. Every now and again a shallow gust of wind caught the loose fabric of the skirt, giving it an almost liquid appearance.

“Hello, Dan, hello, Duffy. How are you both?”

“All right, Meena?” I said nervously. I stood up, preparing for evasive action. This was bound to turn into a Situation, and I really didn’t want to be here when it did. “I think I ought to leave you two alone. You’ve probably got stuff you want to talk about and you don’t really need me hanging about, do you?”

“No,” said Dan firmly. “I think you ought to stay, Duff. You need to hear this more than anyone else.” He stepped over to Meena and kissed her lightly. “Congratulations,” he said warmly. “It was a good wedding as weddings go.”

“Thanks,” said Meena. “I’m . . . glad you could come.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

“You two weren’t at the lunch, were you?”

“No,” said Dan apologetically. “It was all my fault. I had a bit of a wander around Nottingham and lost track of time.”

“There’s more food if you want it,” she said, gesturing toward the hotel. “There’s loads of it knocking about. If you don’t fancy it now you can always wait until the evening reception.”

“Are you having a disco later?” asked Dan, grinning.

“No,” laughed Meena. “Paul’s parents paid for the hire of a band. They’re called the No Tops. They play all sorts, but they specialize in covers of cheesy sixties Motown hits.”

“No disco,” said Dan with a hint of gentle sarcasm in his voice. “No ‘Come on Eileen’? No ‘Three Times a Lady’? Not even a ‘Birdie Song’?”

Meena laughed and held his gaze a few seconds longer than necessary or indeed appropriate for a recently married woman.

“So what’s it like being married?” asked Dan. “Do you feel any different?”

“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “No, no different. At least not yet.”

“D’you remember that wedding we went to?” said Dan. “It was one of your mates from the first theater you worked at, what was her name . . . Lynne Hodges that was it . . . and there was that huge fight between the best man and her father-in-law.” He paused, slightly confused, as if he’d lost his train of thought. “Do you think our wedding would’ve been like this? I can’t help thinking it wouldn’t have been. I think at least it might have been a bit smaller. My family’s nowhere near as big as yours. My mum—”

“Don’t, Dan,” interrupted Meena. “Don’t make out like we’re old mates. Don’t pretend that you’re just another well-wisher. If there’s one thing you can do for me, please just be honest.”

“I’m sorry, you know,” said Dan quietly.

“What for?”

“For everything. I know I’ve done everything wrong. I can’t believe I let you go. I loved you when I lived with you, and I think I still love you now. I wish I’d had the guts to tell you all this yesterday. Or even this afternoon. When the registrar said, ‘Does anyone know why these two people shouldn’t be married?’ I wanted to say what I felt.” Staring right into her eyes, he asked her a question that up until this point in my life I would never have imagined him saying. “If I had spoken up,” he said, “would you still have married him?”

She paused before answering. “We’ll never know, will we?” Then she looked away as tear after tear fell from her eyes and ran down her face. She wiped them away with her hand, smearing a dark line of mascara across the bridge of her nose in the process. “After today I never want to see you again, Dan.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why you invited me and that’s why I’m here: to say goodbye.”

Meena looked at me for the first time since her hello. I felt embarrassed to still be here; I felt embarrassed to have witnessed this most private of moments; I felt embarrassed for being me.

“Have you got a spare cigarette?” she asked. I handed her the lit one that was in my hand. She puffed on it frantically for a few seconds as if she were more in need of nicotine than oxygen, threw it on the floor and walked away without saying another word.

Dan didn’t move. He just stood and silently watched her walk off.

“C’mon, Dan, let’s just call a cab and go home, mate,” I said, checking my pockets for change for the phone. “You’ve done what you came here to do. I think it’s best that we just go. Even you must have had enough by now.”

“We can’t go yet,” said Dan, subdued.

“Why not?”

“Because Mel’s here.” He pointed across to the hotel entrance where Mel was indeed getting out of a taxi with Julie.

“I can’t believe this.” I sighed.

“What’s she doing here?” asked Dan.

“Meena invited Mel and me ages ago—just when we’d split up. I told Mel that I wasn’t going, so she obviously assumed that it was safe for her to come up here and wish Meena well.”

“Are you going to talk to her?”

That was a good question. After all that had happened today, I wasn’t in the right mood to make small talk. Julie’s presence was bound to wind me up, and the last thing on earth I needed was to start a row. Mel and I certainly needed to talk, but not here, not now, and certainly not in front of a million wedding guests.
No,
I decided,
this is going to be the one time that I actually choose the
LEAVE WELL ALONE
option.

“Let’s just go,” I said quickly, “before today gets any crappier. It will, you know, I can just feel it.”

“Earlier,” said Dan, staring at me with the same searching look that he’d given to Meena, “when I asked you if you still loved Mel, you didn’t answer me.”

“I know,” I admitted reluctantly. “What about it?”

“Well, do you?”

I nodded.

“So why don’t you do anything about it?”

“Look, Dan, just let it go!” I said, losing my temper with him in a way I never had before. “I’ve told you, Vernie and Charlie—all of you a million times—the reason why. Mel thinks I only want to be with her because she’s pregnant. She doesn’t want me.”

“Calm down!” said Dan. “I’m not attacking you, Duff.”

“Look, I’m sorry, mate,” I apologized. “I know you’re only trying to help me out, but this isn’t just about me anymore. I’ve got to think about Mel and the baby too. I’ve messed her around too much in the past. There’s no way I’m going to be able to convince her. It’s just my tough luck.”

“No,” said Dan firmly. “It isn’t . . . well, at least it doesn’t have to be. Look, you’ve seen what’s happened to me today. I can’t stand by and watch the same thing happen to you. She loves you, Duff. You know that as well as I do. You two, weird as it might seem, are made for each other. You’ve got to make her see that.”

“How? I’ve tried everything. I can’t get through to her.”

“Look,” said Dan, “there was no guarantee that if I’d spoken up in the church today that Meena would’ve changed her mind. In fact I’m pretty certain that she wouldn’t have. But at least I’d have known that I tried. That’s what really galls me, Duffy—that I didn’t
try.
It’s just like the day that she walked out. I knew I could’ve talked her round, I knew that I could have convinced her to stay, but it was easier to let it go. If you believe in something, Duff, you can’t let it go without a fight. You just can’t.”

T
he Piermont Hotel welcomes you to the Halcyon Suite, for the wedding reception of Paul and Meena Amos-Midford,” read the sign outside the main banqueting hall. I opened the doors and scanned the room for Mel, but I couldn’t see her anywhere at first. Eventually I spotted her sitting at a table in the far corner of the room. It was weird, but at that exact same moment she looked up, saw me and smiled.

I was halfway across the room, less than thirty feet away from her—less than thirty feet from asking her to marry me—when the best man began tapping his dessert spoon against a wineglass to get everyone’s attention and announced that it was time for the speeches. I didn’t want to stop, but I knew if I continued walking, the whole room would be watching me, so with my heart racing, barely able to concentrate at all, I sat down in an empty seat and waited.