Page 55 of Always the Bridesmaid

He bounds onto the stage full of life and pizzazz – he must have been backstage after all. He has a pint of beer in his hand, which he swigs from as the crowd applauds, then he sets the drink down on the floor next to the centralized standing microphone.

He is wearing what I know to be a signature stage shirt – Hawaiian, shockingly bright and floral. In response to the applause, Charlie pulls open this shirt and holds out his arms as if they are wings, revealing not a Marvel T-shirt beneath, as I would have expected, but a Harry Potter one instead.

‘Did anybody else want to be a wizard when they were a kid?’ he asks the crowd. ‘Didn’t you wish you could wave a wand and transport yourself to a castle where your best friend was the most uncoordinated kid in school, who went around with a rat in place of a fancy owl and diverted negative attention away from you?’

There are nods and affirmations from the audience.

‘Ah man, to be a wizard, huh?’

Charlie is full of energy and spirit, and he is oozing confidence, almost cocksure. This isn’t the Charlie I have seen so much of over the last week; it is the Charlie who greeted me at the airport on day one. It is the Charlie who drove me back to the Surrey house after our night in London. It is Charlie the wedding MC.

It occurs to me now, clear as day: this is Charlie the performer.

How much of the last week was an act from him? Was the man I instantly disliked at the airport an act? Why? Why perform like an asshat when the real him can be warm and thoughtful, still funny, but naturally so?

I don’t have a chance to reach a conclusion because within minutes, tears of laughter are streaming down my face. Charlie may be the funniest man I have ever met.

Danny and I had laughed. We had known each other for a long time, knew each other inside and out, such that the slightest look, a certain breath, a tone of voice could have us both doubled over with laughter.

But Charlie makes me laugh generally. We don’t know each other all that well, not really, yet he can tie my insides in knots with hysterics.

He can also tie my insides with knots of guilt and unease.

But not for much longer.

There’s a moment in the show where I feel like Charlie looks right at me. He pauses. Then he continues to his next joke. I think about the bright lights shining on that stage. He most likely can’t see me. Probably doesn’t know I’m here.

He never misses a beat in his set. Every joke lands and when he curtsies like a woman before the King at the end, the audience is whooping and cheering.

After the show, I give him a short time to appear and when he doesn’t, I decide enough is enough. I have witnessed his powers of ignorance and I won’t leave this club before settling the ghost I have carried around since the wedding. It’s time for this little spook to go to bed.

I let myself backstage through a side door from the bar. The corridor smells musty. It’s lowly lit and cold. I have no idea where Charlie will be, so I move in the direction of the stage, following a black arrow on the wall.

‘It’s not an open mic night.’

Charlie’s voice comes from behind me. I swivel to see him standing near a door at the end of the corridor. The opposite end from the stage and me.

‘Well, that’s good,’ I tell him. ‘Because what I have to say isn’t a joke.’

His mouth twitches only slightly but I catch it.

‘Why are you here, Sarah?’

‘Because…’

‘Because?’

Think. Why didn’t I rehearse this?

‘Can we go somewhere to talk?’ I ask.

He pushes his hands into his jean pockets and shrugs, Harry Potter moving up and down with his shoulders.

‘I don’t think so,’ he says, gently, calmly, Dumbledore-esque.

I nod. ‘Fair enough.’ There’s too much space between us. The distance makes me feel exposed. But I need to say what I came to say and then I can get on with my life, without Charlie and without this heaviness I’ve been carrying around since last night.

‘My husband’s name is… was, Danny. He died in a motorbike accident eight years ago.’

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