A Spot Of Bother

17

It blew up on Saturday morning.

Tony woke early and headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. When Jamie ambled down twenty minutes later Tony was sitting at the table emanating bad vibes.

Jamie had clearly done something wrong. “What’s up?”

Tony chewed his cheek and drummed the table with a teaspoon. “This wedding,” said Tony.

“Look,” said Jamie, “I don’t particularly want to go myself.” He glanced at the clock. Tony had to leave in twenty minutes. Jamie realized that he should have stayed in bed.

“But you’re going to go,” said Tony.

“I don’t really have much choice.”

“So, why don’t you want me to come with you?”

“Because you’ll have a shit time,” said Jamie, “and I’ll have a shit time. And it doesn’t matter that I’m having a shit time because they’re my family, for better or worse. So every now and then I have to grit my teeth and put up with having a shit time for the greater good. But I’d rather not be responsible for you having a shit time on top of everything else.”

“It’s only a fucking wedding,” said Tony. “It’s not transatlantic yachting. How shit can it be?”

“It’s not just a fucking wedding,” said Jamie. “It’s my sister marrying the wrong person. For the second time in her life. Except this time we know it in advance. It’s hardly a cause for celebration.”

“I don’t give a fuck who she’s marrying,” said Tony.

“Well, I do,” said Jamie.

“Who she’s marrying is not the point,” said Tony.

Jamie called Tony an unsympathetic shit. Tony called Jamie a self-centered cunt. Jamie refused to discuss the subject any further. Tony stormed out.

Jamie smoked three cigarettes and fried himself two slices of eggy bread and realized he wasn’t going to get anything constructive done so he might as well drive up to Peterborough and hear the wedding story firsthand from Mum and Dad.