“How much Valium?” asked Jamie.
“Eight, ten,” said his father. “Enough. Let’s put it like that.”
“Oh dear God,” said Jamie.
“I would very much like to meet your boyfriend,” said George. “How did that sound?”
“Are you planning to give a speech at the reception?”
“A speech?” said George.
“You’re bleeding,” said Jamie.
George held up his hand. There was blood dripping out of his sleeve. “Now that is odd.”
130
George sat on the toilet seat in the upstairs bathroom while Jamie put a new dressing on his wrist and helped him into a clean white shirt.
He remembered now. Jean had put the first dressing on earlier in the day. He had cut himself on a barbed- wire fence. Though precisely how he had come into contact with a barbed-wire fence was not clear.
“So, you haven’t written a speech,” said Jamie.
Of course. He remembered now. It was Katie’s wedding today.
“Dad?”
“What?”
“A speech,” asked Jamie. “Have you written a speech?”
“What for?”
Jamie rubbed his face. “OK. Look. Katie got married this morning…”
George raised his eyebrows. “I’m not a total dimwit.”
“They’re having the reception in the garden,” said Jamie. “After the meal the bride’s father usually gives a short speech.”
“She’s getting married to Ray, isn’t she,” said George.
“That’s right. So here’s what we’re going to do.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I’m going to talk to Ed,” said Jamie.
“Who’s Ed?” asked George. The name did not ring a bell.
“Dad,” said Jamie, “just listen, OK? Ed is the best man. After the meal he will announce that you’re going to speak. Then you stand up and propose a toast. Then you sit down.”
“OK,” said George, wondering why Jamie was making quite such a song and dance about this.
“Can you do a toast?”
“That depends on whom I am meant to be toasting,” said George, feeling rather smug that he had spotted the trick question.
Jamie blew out lots of air, as if he was about to lift a heavy weight. “You get up. You say, ‘I would like to propose a toast to Katie and Ray. I would like to welcome…’No. Too complicated.”
It struck George that Jamie was a little confused himself.
“You get up,” said Jamie. “You say, ‘To Katie and Ray.’ You sit down.”
“I don’t make a speech,” said George.
“No,” said Jamie. “Just a toast. ‘To Katie and Ray.’ Then you sit down again.”
“Why am I not making a speech?” asked George, who was beginning to wonder why he should be following instructions from a confused person.
Jamie rubbed his face again. “Katie and Ray want to keep it short and simple.”
George digested this. “All right.”
“You get up,” said Jamie. “You say-”
“To Katie and Ray,” said George.
“You sit down.”
“I sit down,” said George.
“Brilliant,” said Jamie.
George remained on the toilet for a few minutes after Jamie left. He felt slightly aggrieved that he was being denied the opportunity to talk at length. But when he tried to imagine what specific things he might say at length his thoughts became a little fuzzy. So perhaps it was best to follow the line of least resistance.
He got off the toilet, waited for his head to clear and made his way downstairs.
Someone handed him a glass of champagne.
Was it wise to drink champagne when he had already taken Valium? He had little experience of these things. Perhaps there was a doctor amongst the guests whom he could ask.
Gail materialized in front of him. “Brian was very sad not to have you down in Cornwall with him.”
It was hard not to look at her breasts.
“He was looking forward to a bit of Boy Scouting,” said Gail. “Bonfires. Sleeping bags.” She shivered. “I’m going down next month. When the power shower works and the carpets are fitted.”
What in the name of God was that man doing here?
On the far side of the room.
George wondered if he could be hallucinating.
“Are you all right, George?” asked Gail.
He was not hallucinating. It was definitely him. David Symmonds. The man he had seen having sexual intercourse with Jean in their bedroom. Now he was gate-crashing Katie’s wedding. Did the man possess no decency whatsoever?
The world was coming back into focus. It was like that night in Glasgow. Being too drunk to talk. Then seeing the flames in the corridor and being instantly sober.
“You seem a little distracted,” said Gail.
He was not going to stand for this. He moved Gail to one side and made his way through the crowd. He would tell Mr. Symmonds to leave.
Hopefully it would not be necessary to strike him.
131
Jamie tarted himself up and came downstairs, crossing his fingers and hoping that his father would remember his instructions.
He had to speak to Ed.
What should Ed say? That Katie’s father was feeling a little under the weather? Perhaps he needn’t say anything.
He made his way through the house looking for Ed, thinking how he really, really wanted Tony to be here so he could sound off without having to think about what he was saying or who he was saying it to. And the picture of Tony inside his head was so vivid that when he stepped outside and saw Tony coming through the gate on the far side of the lawn it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
He stopped in his tracks. Tony stopped in his tracks.
Tony was wearing his Levi’s and that really nice blue floral shirt and a suede jacket Jamie had never seen before. He was half a stone lighter and several shades browner. He looked absolutely fucking gorgeous.
And then it sank in. Tony was here. At the wedding. And the crowd seemed to part like the Red Sea and Jamie and Tony were looking at each other down a long corridor of guests. Or maybe it just felt that way.
Jamie wanted to run. But Tony was no longer his boyfriend. They hadn’t spoken since that horrible nighttime meeting on the steps of Tony’s flat.
