A Spot Of Bother

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.