Page 56 of Seven Rules for a Perfect Marriage

Anyway, all of that adds up to Jack and I being two weeks pre-wedding, and our parents still not having met. Everyone said that we had to introduce them before the day itself, so his parents have taken a pre-booked off-peak train from Cambridge. They’re both tall, bony and wearing raincoats despite the fact that it’s not raining. I’ve met them lots of times before, obviously. I’ve stayed at their house, with its high ceilings and antique books, piles of papers everywhere and Radio 4 on in every room. I went to their other sons’ solemn Oxford University chapel weddings (the only woman there in a push-up bra). They’ve known me since I was about twenty-one, and I assume at some point they gave Jack the thumbs up because my engagement ring is a beautiful sparkly Victorian one from his mum’s family. But despite having spent a decent amount of time with them, we’ve never progressed past small talk. They’ve tried occasionally, offering gambits about books they’ve enjoyed or plays they’ve seen, but it’s always been very clear very quickly that they think I’m an intellectual lightweight.

I find them standing in the middle of the pub with an absent-minded air. ‘What can I get you to drink?’ I ask his mum. ‘Champagne, seeing as we’re celebrating?’

‘I’ll be fine with tap water, thank you. Gerald?’

Jack’s father nods that he’ll have the same and I go to the bar feeling scolded. I get two bottles of Hildon for them in anact of extravagant defiance, and order myself a very large glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

Jack escorts my family in from the car park, where I assume they’ll have parked the huge gas-guzzling SUV they drive. I realise, to my horror, that it’s not just Dad and Karen. I go to hug my father.

‘I didn’t realise you were all coming?’ I say, totting up how much more this thing is going to cost us with two additional people, neither of whom look like they want to be here.

‘Hello, babes,’ Karen says, kissing me. ‘This place is a bit dark, isn’t it?’

‘I didn’t realise you guys were coming,’ I say to Leila, who is messaging someone on her phone.

‘Mum made us,’ Sammi says, looking up from her own phone.

Obviously there is no reason why two eighteen-year-olds would want to come to a lunch full of people they don’t know. They sit down at the shared table, where there now aren’t enough chairs. Jack and I drag another two-person table and put it on the end, which means that Sammi and Leila are bisecting the table. Jack and I exchange glances and decide that all we can do is split the difference. He sits at the far end, and motions to Karen and my dad to join him. I swallow and then sit across from his mother and father. This is going worse than I had anticipated, and I’ve been dreading it more than I’d dread a sort of smear-test, bikini-wax, bra-fitting trifecta.

‘How was the journey?’ I ask Jack’s parents brightly. I never thought I’d long to sit between my dad and Karen.

‘Oh fine,’ Gerald replies. ‘Jane got a very good deal on the tickets.’

‘That’s good,’ I say. ‘I can’t believe how expensive tickets are getting now. I was reading the other day that apparently they’regoing to go up again next year as well, and then they’ll just be even worse, and it’s not like you’re getting anything different, are you? It’s the same train, and it’s probably going to be late!’

They both look at me like I’m a burbling idiot. There’s a very long silence which neither of them seem worried about filling. I look at Jane’s hands, big and red. The gold ring on her wedding finger is the only jewellery I’ve ever seen her wear. No one says anything.

Silence is burning my skin. Jack says that his parents would go a couple of hours just moving around the house, cooking, sorting things out, without speaking to each other. This makes Karen’s constant opinions about people on benefits, with a backdrop ofNow That’s What I Call the 80s, seem appealing.

‘Have either of you read anything good recently?’ I try, when the silence gets too much. Across the Berlin Wall that is the Twins, I can see Karen explaining to Jack why we need to stop all immigration and my father is looking at his watch.

‘I enjoyed the latest Richard Flanagan,’ Jane replies eventually.

‘So did I!’ I say with delight. Why have I done that? I don’t know who Richard Flanagan is. I don’t know what his book is about, or what it’s called – with a gun to my head, I still couldn’t tell you anything about it.

‘Did you?’ Gerald says, sounding pleased. ‘I always forget that you’re a reader.’ Yes, Gerald, I want to say. I did the same degree as your son. At the same university. I actually got a 68.9 and he got a 67, so technically I’m more of a reader than your progeny.

They talk about the book for a while and I’m delighted for the distraction. The waiter comes and asks what we want.

Leila, not invited to go first, starts. ‘For starters, can I get the chicken satay skewers but like without any of the satay sauce on it?’

‘So just ... plain chicken?’ the waiter asks.

‘Yeah.’

He makes a note. Fucking great, now we’re having starters, which absolutely no one wants. It’s going to drag the meal out by another half an hour, maybe an hour, it’s going to cost another hundred pounds, and they weren’t even supposed to be here. I order the pâté and the burger because I’m starving and I don’t care about being thin for the wedding anymore.

‘No starter for me,’ Jane says, ‘I can’t ever manage that much food. I’m not sure how you do it, Jessica. The plaice, please. Could you do a salad instead of the potatoes?’

This is not a slight. She is not talking about my body. She is not commenting on what I ordered. She does not have the girls’ school complexity to say anything that passive-aggressive. She’s a sensible, down-to-earth woman who likes plain food. She sees food as fuel, not as a way to punish or reward her body; she would be horrified to think that I’m upset by what she said. I know all of this. But none of it matters. And worst of all, like a monstrous stab in my stomach, I want my mum. I want someone sitting across from me chiding me gently for not eating enough, telling me that I need a nice lunch. I want someone to gently run their hand across my cheek and tell me that I’m going to be a beautiful bride. I’ve got two women who are both perfectly qualified to act like a mum to me, and it’s not going to happen. Karen will tell me that she’s not sure the dress was the place to save money and Jane will give me a curt nod and no one is going to tell me that they love me and they’ve been excited for this day since I was born.

I flame bright red, and obviously because I’ve got red hair, when I blush it’s super obvious. Across the table, Jack catches my eye.

‘What’s wrong?’ he says, as we pretend to order more drinks at the bar.

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Just. You know. I miss my mum,’ I say, trying to keep myself together. There’s a break in my voice.

He wraps his body around mine and squeezes so hard that the ache in my chest temporarily subsides. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I know.’

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