Page 64 of The Wedding Game

It’s been six months since the wedding that upended my world. And now that it’s the depths of winter, Scarlet and I find ourselves at yet another wedding – our first of this year. Here we go again.

‘It isonedegree,’ Scarlet exclaims, as we enter the Scots baronial country-house wedding venue. ‘Who chooses to get married in Scotland inFebruary?’

‘The bride’s Scottish and it’s Valentine’s Day,’ I tell her. ‘It’s romantic.’

‘It’s fucking freezing is what it is.’

‘They’reyourfriends,’ I point out. ‘I’m your humble plus-one. You didn’t have to say yes.’

‘We’ve had your fair share of friends’ weddings too,’ Scarlet says, trying her best to muster some enthusiasm. ‘And it’s always fun in the end, isn’t it?’

‘Until it isn’t,’ I reply unenthusiastically, and then I remember how I met Josh and I perk up a bit.

As if reading my mind, Scarlet asks, ‘How’s Posh Josh?’

‘He’s fine,’ I say. I’ve given up asking her to stop calling him that.

‘He doesn’t mind that you’re here with me on the most romantic day of the year?’

‘No, he’s pretty chill, so he doesn’t mind.’

‘Ugh, you’re so loved up. It’s depressing.’

‘Why is it depressing?’ I ask with a shocked laugh. ‘I thought you’d be pleased for me.’

‘I am. Iam. Sorry. I’ve just really had enough of being alone.’

‘It’s not being alone. It’s being single. There’s a difference.’

‘Yes, there is a difference,’ Scarlet says. ‘I am both singleandalone.’

‘OK, well,’ I reply, trying to be helpful, ‘let’s work on that. Where’s your bingo grid?’

‘You’ve already set my one “out there” challenge,’ she says.

‘I’m changing it.’

‘No-o-o – pretending to be famous and asking not to be photographed all day, whenever the photographer came near me, was going to be fun!’

I take her sheet from her and cross out the square. I draw a new one, write something in it and hand it back.

She reads it and says in a flat voice, ‘I’m not doing that.’

‘Yes, you are. It worked out well for me. This –thisis how we get you a man.’

‘It’s seedy.’

‘Hey! Snogging someone at a wedding wasyoursuggestion, as I recall. I’m only turning it back on you.’

‘Fine,’ Scarlet says reluctantly, folding the paper up andputting it in her coat pocket, which she refuses to take off, due to the temperature. ‘I’m going to needa lotof drinks.’

Hours later I’ve lost Scarlet completely. This keeps happening to us at weddings. She takes her bingo grid seriously, and I have no idea how near completing it she is. I’m quite far off completing mine. In a moment of madness, while we were rushing to get ready in our hotel room this morning, I’ve given myself some squares that I don’t think I can tick off. If I cross any of them through and write something else, Scarlet will notice, and I’ll lose by default for cheating. Am I about to lose? We don’t have any financial comeuppance this time, which wouldn’t really matter now (within reason), as I am earning a fairly decent salary and am slowly catching up with my credit-card debt.

Even so, I wish I hadn’t written in a square ‘fight breaks out’. I’m never going to win, with that as a bingo option. I’ve literally never been to a wedding where a fight has broken out. ‘Bloody Chris,’ I mutter to myself as I remember his phraseAll good weddings end in a fight. It had sounded so convincing at the time.

I haven’t spoken to Chris since New York. We haven’t messaged. But when a group email goes round the company and I watch the replies pile in, I read every word he writes, no matter how brief.

I turn my attention to the dance floor as guests start dancing a ceilidh. I have no idea how to do this and I haven’t had enough drinks to try. I decide I’m going to slink off and attempt to complete a square or two.

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