Don't Tell the Groom (22 page)

‘I don't know.'

‘Well, that doesn't mean to say that there's something wrong with her. Maybe she's a bit lonely. Perhaps we should just go and see her more.'

Says me who has avoided her, or any mention of her, for the past week. I had no idea this was bothering Mark so much.

‘Yeah, I guess. I know she's old, and I know that she won't be around forever. It's just that I wanted her to see our children and for them to know her.'

‘And they still can.'

As long as we get a move on to stage six pretty sharpish,
then that could still happen. I can almost imagine the maternity leave now and the amazing elasticated jeans I've had my eye on in Mothercare for years. I expect they'll revolutionise my Christmas dinner eating experience.

‘Now, as you're talking, think about how nice it is opening up to each other and listening to each other. Think about how you can incorporate this into your daily routine,' says Reverend Phillips.

I can just imagine.
Hey, honey, I'm a little worried today as you're going suit shopping and I've only given you fifty pounds as I've gambled the rest of the money away
. I'm sure that would go down really, really well.

Reverend Phillips is looking at me oddly and I'm suddenly wondering if he is psychic, or whether he's been told from up high what I'm thinking. I turn and look at Mark and do my sympathetic head-bob to try to encourage him to talk about his nan more.

‘Your turn,' he says.

‘What, really? Don't you want to talk about your nan some more? Haven't we just scratched the surface?'

I was sort of hoping we could focus solely on Mark's problems and then we'd run out of time for mine.

‘No, I think you were right. I should spend more time with her.'

‘Great.'

See, I'm an excellent problem solver for everyone but myself, it seems.

‘My worry is …' I'm stalling I have a million worries and none of them I can tell him. ‘I worry that we'll end up like Jane and Phil – you know, at each other's throats when we're married.'

It is true; I do worry about that. I worry that things will change and they won't be how they are now.

‘Really? Jane and Phil, they're different. And I don't think they're that unhappy. I think that perhaps Jane put too much emphasis on the wedding. I don't think she had any hobbies or anything. Not like you. You're always at the gym and stuff. It's not like you're obsessed with our wedding or anything.'

‘No, of course not.'

Oh dear. I have a whole internet history and dozens and dozens of posts on Hitched and Confetti, even from before we were engaged, that say otherwise. That makes me worse than Jane, as I was doing the wedding planning before we even got to stage four. I should have just been enjoying stage three. Stage three, the limbo stage where I started gambling while Mark studied for his accountancy exams. I never thought I'd miss it, but I am actually pining for it. Well, not all of it. Not the bingo. I just wished that I hadn't been in such a hurry to get away from it.

‘Don't worry, Pen. If you look like you're turning into
Bridezilla or you start talking to me the way Jane talks to Phil, I'll tell you.'

‘Thanks, honey.'

‘Right. We're now going to look at how we talk to each other and what we don't say,' says Reverend Phillips.

Great. This sounds like it is going to be right up my street. Not.

By the time we make it through to the end of the day, I've learnt an awful lot about Mark and me as a couple. On the whole it looks like we're pretty compatible. Which is good, seeing as we're getting married and everything. The only thing that lets us down is me and my secrets.

I don't think Mark and I have ever opened up to each other in this way before or been so honest about what our worst faults are and what we think our future is going to be like. And it hurts me that I'm not being as honest with Mark as I should be. I'm so tempted to take him home and explain everything, but I just feel like I'm so close to making a success of everything that I can't risk losing him forever.

We say our goodbyes to the vicar and his wife, and the other couples. Not that we spoke to the other couples, but I do feel like I got to know the couple sitting next to us a bit better as I may have done a little bit of earwigging when Mark went to the toilet. I might just happen to know that
the woman of the couple seems to think that the man has arguments with her just so they'll fight and have to have make-up sex. I was trying to make Mark drink lots of tea so that he nipped to the toilet during the bedroom section as I wanted to earwig the ways that the other couple kept their romance alive. But Mark and his camel bladder weren't going anywhere. Who knows what tips I could have got?

The keeping the romance alive was the most embarrassing section. There is something wrong about discussing sex in front of a vicar in his late fifties. I caught him raising suggestive eyebrows at his wife, who was sitting in the corner, when he talked about it. She spent the rest of the afternoon blushing furiously. That was one mental picture that I didn't need to imagine.

‘Well, that was an eye-opener,' says Mark. ‘I don't think I'm going to be able to look Reverend Phillips in the eye when we get married, now I know how he keeps his romance alive. Did you see the suggestive eyebrows?'

‘I did.'

I link arms with Mark as we walk back to the car.

‘I really enjoyed today, though. I thought it was really good,' I say.

‘Yeah, it was. Most of it made sense too. I think we should do this more often.'

‘What, sit in a room of strangers and talk about our communication styles?'

‘No, do things just the two of us. Like quality time.'

‘Like a date?' I say.

‘Yes, we should have date nights.'

A date night? I used to think that we didn't need an actual date night as we would have one every night. But Mark's right. Maybe we do need to set aside some
us
time.

‘OK then, why don't we have date night every Thursday?' I say.

‘Don't you have body blitz or pump or whatever it is you have at the gym?'

Flower arranging, I add in my head.

‘I do, but I think I should cut down on the gym. Spending time with you would be much nicer.'

‘That sounds great. Although you're not allowed to turn into a heifer. I don't want a fat wife.'

‘Hey, you can't say that!' I poke him hard in the ribs.

Mark presses the button to unlock his car and we both climb in.

‘I'm just kidding. You know I'd love you any which way, don't you?'

I nod. I do know that. I think Mark needs to wear his glasses more than he lets on, as he doesn't appear to care how bad I look. Even when I'm wearing no make-up he still thinks
I'm beautiful. I reckon I could be the size of a house and he wouldn't notice or care.

Mark is beginning to make me nervous as he hasn't started the car and he is just tilting his head to the side in that pose where he looks puzzled.

‘Pen, you would tell me if there was something else I needed to know, wouldn't you?'

My throat starts to close up and I feel like I'm going to choke from the lack of air. My heart is beginning to throb so loudly that I am sure Mark is going to notice. He's staring me straight in the eye.

If ever there was a perfect lead-in to tell him what's going on, this is it. I open my mouth but before I can utter a word there's a knock on the window. Mark and I jump round to see Nanny Violet standing outside the car. Mark switches on the engine and the electric window slides down.

‘Hi, Nan,' he says.

‘Hello, love, I thought it was your car. Hello, Penelope.'

Penelope? I thought we moved past that years ago.

I say hello and I smile, but it really is through gritted teeth as I'm mad about what she said to Mark last week. But then I remember how worried Mark has been about her and I try to force a smile on to my face.

‘We've just been to our marriage class,' says Mark.

‘Oh, I'd forgotten about that. I bet Reverend and Mrs Phillips
are great at that. It really separates those that want to get married from those that don't. I've heard of several engagements that have been broken off thanks to that class.'

Is it my imagination or was she looking straight at me when she said that?

‘Well, we found it very helpful and it just reminded me how compatible we are,' I say.

Mark shoots me a look and I shrug my shoulders. Well, if she is going to play the game, so am I.

‘What are you up to, Nan?' asks Mark, not very subtly changing the topic.

‘I'm just dropping off some shortbread for a funeral on Monday. I can't make it as I've got the doctor's.'

‘The doctors? Is everything all right?' asks Mark.

‘Oh yes, love. It's fine. Just routine. We have a lot of that at my age, dear.'

‘Do you want us to wait for you and give you a lift home?'

‘Oh no, that's all right. I've got to speak to the vicar about something and then the walk will do me the power of good.'

Mark looks like he is torn, as if he is wondering whether he should argue and wait for her, or whether we should go.

‘I'll see you tomorrow, when you come to tea,' says Violet.

‘Great,' I say. ‘See you then.'

‘OK, Nan. See you tomorrow,' says Mark.

We both watch her as she makes her way across the car park. She seems to be walking just fine.

‘What do you think she's talking to the vicar about?' asks Mark.

‘I haven't a clue. Doesn't she sit on different church committees? It's probably just church business.'

Mark doesn't look convinced. Neither am I. I can't help thinking that she knew we'd be here for marriage class and she is going to pump Reverend Phillips for the details. But that is me being just a little narcissistic.

‘Mark, I'm sure she's fine and if she wasn't she'd tell you.'

‘I know. I should get us home and then you can cook me tea. Like you're supposed to as my wife.'

I roll my eyes at him, seeing as I can't poke him in the ribs while he's reversing. Just because we worked out in the marriage class that we should balance our chores more evenly and that I should help out more with the cooking, does not mean to say that we need to start right away.

Perhaps I should go early to Nanny Violet's tomorrow to have a little chat and actually find out what's going on. Maybe I'm not being narcissistic after all; maybe Mark is wrong, she isn't ill and she just hates me. And I really need to find out why.

I know I said that I was going to find out what was wrong with Nanny Violet but I've bottled it well and truly. And even though Mark had told her we were going round for Sunday afternoon tea I couldn't face it. His brother Howard and his family are going over later and I feel too awkward to be a part of it. I do need to speak to her on her own, but I'll pluck up the courage eventually. Honestly I will.

I've lied and told Mark that he should go and spend some quality time with Violet by himself and that I need to go and sort things out with Lou. Which is not a lie. I have barely spoken to her since she came round for the wine-tasting evening two weeks ago. I sort of thought I'd give her some space for a week, and let her come to tell me she is up the duff. But she hasn't.

With less than a month to go I need to start getting the wedding back on track, and at the moment the bridal party is in disarray and my maid of honour is MIA.

Mark was happy I was going to see Lou as he had told me off for not having gone to see her before now. He's reminded me that she's pregnant, she hasn't got a contagious disease, and that she could probably be a bridesmaid while pregnant. Although he did admit that he didn't know that for a fact as he wasn't an expert on pregnancy.

I could have perhaps called Lou to let her know I was on my way over but I haven't. I guess part of me still thinks that she might have secret friends and this way I'm going to catch her in the act.

Only one way to find out. I press the doorbell and my stomach starts to get butterflies. I don't know why I'm so nervous all of a sudden. I've stood on this very doorstep hundreds, if not thousands, of times before.

‘Penny!' says Lou, as she opens the door. ‘What are you doing here? Did we have plans? Did I forget?'

‘No, no. I was just passing and thought I'd pop in. Unless now isn't convenient?'

I peer down the hallway, straining my ears in case I can hear the chatter of her exciting new friends, but alas it is all quiet on the western front.

‘Um, I guess now is fine. Russell's gone food shopping.'

And yet I'm still standing on the doorstop. I can't just barge past her so I smile and raise my eyebrows.

‘Sorry, come on in. Did you want a cup of tea?' she asks.