A Bit of a Do

‘She hates me,’ said Rita.

Ted felt that the casual air with which he returned to the reception was totally unconvincing. Everybody must be able to see how furtive and nervous he felt.

Rita made a beeline for him.

‘You took your time,’ she said. It was a question in the form of a statement.

‘Sorry,’ he said. He lowered his voice to a near-whisper, and answered her statement. ‘I’ve been really badly. I think it must be the tuna fish vol-au-vents.’

‘They’re delicious, Ted. They’re different.’

‘They’re different all right. I happen to be allergic, that’s all. Remember Sorrento.’

‘Sorrento?’

‘I had tuna fish then.’

‘That was twenty-four years ago!’

‘What difference does that make? It’s lifelong, is an allergy.’

‘Why did you eat them if you’re allergic?’

‘I didn’t know I was allergic. I mean … love … I’ve only just discovered the common denominator.’ Rita made no reply. ‘Tuna fish.’ Still Rita said nothing, and Ted realized that she was close to tears. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Sorrento,’ she gasped.

‘What?’

‘We were happy then.’

‘Rita!’ He looked round desperately at the apparently happy and increasingly noisy throng. He had to stop her bursting into tears, here in the middle of the reception. He’d never live it down. ‘Rita! We’re happy now. I mean … we are. Aren’t we?’

‘I’m not. I’m absolutely miserable.’

But he knew then that she wouldn’t cry. She had herself under control. Good old Rita. Oh God! What had he done? Well, he knew what he’d done. What he meant was, why had he done it? Well, he knew why he’d done it too. Oh God!

‘Oh, Rita,’ he said. ‘Why? I’m happy. I am, love. I mean … reasonably. I mean … life’s no picnic, but … I’m not unhappy. So … I mean … why are you?’ He had managed to steer her over to the champagne table during these tortured exchanges. ‘Hello, Betty,’ he said. He took a glass of champagne. Rita took it away from him immediately.

‘You shouldn’t drink champagne if you’ve been badly,’ she said.

‘Oh. No. True. Right.’ Was she suspicious? Married twentyfour years, and he didn’t know. Oh God. Whether she. was suspicious or not, he vowed to give Liz up. He would give up sex entirely and stick to marriage and washing up and fishing. He felt briefly better after making this decision. Then he remembered Paul’s absence. He led Rita away from Betty Sillitoe and asked her if anybody had noticed that he was missing.

‘No.’

‘Oh good.’

‘Good? It’s a great tribute to our son’s personality, isn’t it? The first man in the history of the universe to go for a haircut in the middle of his wedding reception, and nobody even notices.’

‘Oh, Rita! I hope they don’t notice.’

‘Don’t you think they’ll be a bit surprised when he comes in with a short back and sides?’

Jenny approached them, still holding her train. Her arm ached. What a palaver. If only they’d done it in a registry office.

‘Have you seen Paul?’ she asked, as if she had read their thoughts. ‘Only I’ve just realized I haven’t seen him for quite a while.’

‘My word!’ said Rita. ‘Married for over an hour, and you’re still so devoted to him.’

Jenny stared at Rita, thunderstruck, dismayed.

‘Rita!’ said Ted.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Rita. ‘I’m on edge.’

Jenny touched Rita gently with her free arm. ‘I want us to be good friends,’ she said.

‘So do I, Jenny,’ said Rita. ‘So do I.’ She kissed her daughter-in-law on the cheek.

‘Well, where is he?’ said Jenny. ‘I’m worried.’

‘He’s gone for a haircut,’ said Ted.

‘A haircut?? During his wedding reception??’

‘It’s probably my fault,’ said Rita. ‘He’d promised to get one, and I ticked him off about it.’

‘Are you thinking of coming on the honeymoon?’ said Jenny.

‘What?’ It was Rita’s tum to look thunderstruck and dismayed.

‘If he goes for a haircut during his reception because you tell him to, he may need you on the honeymoon to tell him what to do.’

Jenny blundered off in tears towards the door, and at that moment Paul entered, rather sheepishly. He hadn’t had a haircut.

‘Hello!’ he said. ‘I went for a walk. I was nervous.’

‘That’s not much of a haircut,’ said Jenny. ‘Was it worth it, I ask myself.’ And she stormed out of the room.

‘Oh heck,’ said Paul.

Now it was a wonderful summer’s afternoon, cloudless, windless. The buzzing hour. Light aircraft. Distant mowers. Imminent wasps. Whatever could buzz, did buzz. How lucky they would have been with the weather, if such considerations had still been important.

The residents having tea on the glass-roofed terrace watched the frantic groom chase the tearful bride along the hotel drive. The families on the putting green flinched as Jenny let her superb train trail along the gravel.

‘Jenny! Come back!’ yelled Paul.

‘Why?’ shouted Jenny, still running at full pelt. She’d been quite an athlete at school. In fact she could have played hockey for the county, if she hadn’t found the atmosphere surrounding organized sport so reactionary.