Jennifer Joyce - The Wedding Date

I look at the time. There are almost two hours until the band are due to start their set. It’s going to be a long night.

The pub has started to fill up a little more by the time we escape the suffocating storeroom. I can’t tell you how glad I am to be out of there. I thought the smell of the sofa was bad, but then Doodle and Munch tried to outdo each other with farts and I would have quite happily shoved my face into the sofa cushions and inhaled deeply to mask their stench. At one point Munch had grabbed the seat of his jeans and waddled out of the room, declaring that he may well have shat himself. He couldn’t be sure and we haven’t seen him since.

‘I’m sorry about them,’ Dan says as we shuffle out of the storeroom. We’re carrying bits of drum kit, so it’s a slow walk to the corner of the pub where the band will play shortly. ‘They’re ok once you get to know them.’

‘It’s ok.’ I have to remind myself that I’m on a date with Dan and not his mates, otherwise I’ll drop the drum I’m lugging across the room and leg it. ‘They’re not that bad, really.’

‘They’re a laugh, aren’t they?’

Is Dan being serious? ‘Mmm.’ I’m not committing either way. It’s far too soon to pick faults with his mates.

‘I’m sorry about Donna too.’ Dan and I dump the kit in the corner before returning to the dreaded storeroom to pick up more. It still stinks. ‘I didn’t think she’d be working tonight. She doesn’t usually do Fridays.’

‘It’s fine.’ It’s none of my business, really.

‘It only happened once and I was completely off my face. I couldn’t even remember it but Munch filmed it on his phone.’

‘He filmed it?’ We pick up more bits of drum and shuffle out of the cupboard. ‘How did you not notice him in your room?’ I have visions of Munch crouching in Dan’s wardrobe, his phone poking out of a crack in the door. The weird little degenerate.

‘We weren’t in my room. We were out there.’ Dan nods towards the back of the pub. ‘Out in the alley. It was so dark you can’t really tell it’s me but I recognised my trainers.’ He sticks out his foot, displaying a pair of trainers that must be three-hundred years old. ‘And you can’t miss Donna and her big gob.’

Dan starts to tinker with the drum kit and I excuse myself to pop to the loo. This date is not going at all as I expected. I thought it’d be fun to hang out with Dan outside of The Farthing. We’ve always got on so well and he seemed fun and charming, but I’m seeing very little of that now. I don’t like this Dan and I really don’t like his friends.

‘Looking forward to the show?’

I jump at the sound of the voice as I leave the stall. I hadn’t heard anyone else come in but Leona is standing at the grimy mirror, the contents of her makeup bag tipped into the sink. She’s busily applying eyeliner, thick and neat with an elaborate flick at the corners.

‘Yes.’ At least I was, until I met the band. ‘How long have you been together?’

Leona screws the lid on the eyeliner, swapping it for mascara, which she applies liberally. ‘Since school, so about five years.’

‘Five years?’ My stomach does a funny jumpy thing. ‘How old are you guys?’

‘Me and Gary are twenty-one, the others are twenty.’ Leona applies a final coat of mascara before topping up her blusher.

Twenty? Dan is twenty? I thought he was older – my age at least – but he’s practically a boy. It explains the childishness, at least.

‘He likes you, you know.’ Leona gathers up her makeup, shoving it into her cosmetics bag. ‘I can tell. He’s sort of lit up since you’ve been around. Do you like him?’ Leona zips up her bag and turns to face me. She purses her lips and I feel myself wilt under her scrutiny.

‘Yes,’ I croak. ‘He’s a great guy.’

‘Dan’s the best.’ Leona checks her reflection one last time. ‘Not my type though. I prefer tits.’ Turning from the mirror, Leona marches out of the loo, but not before she’s given my boob a squeeze as she passes. I gape at her, not sure whether it actually happened or I imagined it. Did she seriously just fondle my boob?

‘Nice, by the way.’ Leona winks at me before the door swings shut behind her.

It’s official. This is the worst date ever.

Chapter 7

Mum, Dad & Pretend Gym Sessions

Text Message:

Mum:Hello? Delilah? Are you there, love?

Delilah:Mum, this is a text message. You don’t have to check if I’m here. Just say what you want to say.

Mum:Right you are. I’m at the shops. Does Lauren want to come for her tea tonight? And does she like Crispy Pancakes?

Mum and Dad – Raymond and Nancy James – have been married for over forty years. Mum was eighteen when she married Dad but they didn’t have their first child until she was thirty-two as they were having so much fun together. They travelled the world and even spent a year in a tiny camper van as they drove across Europe. They had no ties or responsibilities so they could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. They’d party until dawn, have a quick kip and party some more. I can’t quite believe this when I look at my parents but they have photo evidence.

My sister Clara was a surprise (but a good surprise, they insist. I often wonder whether that’s true myself) and while they enjoyed the challenge of being parents and saw it as a new and enriching experience in their lives, it was another five years until I came along. I’m twenty-four now but Mum still sees me as a four-year-old in white frilly ankle socks and carrying a Danger Mouse lunchbox to school. It’s only in the last three months that I’ve convinced her to stop making me a packed lunch to take to work (thankfully not in a Danger Mouse lunchbox) and she still thinks fish fingers are my favourite food. Now, I’m not dissing fish fingers. They’re a fine food and nothing cures a hangover quite like a fish finger sandwich, but my tastes have broadened since I gave up the white frilly ankle socks. Ben used to take me to a seafood restaurant in town while we were together and there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for a lobster roll.

‘How was work, love?’ Mum asks as I flop down at the kitchen table. I haven’t even bothered to take my jacket off and my handbag is still slung across my chest.

Rubbish. Work was absolutely ball-achingly rubbish and I’ve felt the urge to stab Katey-Louise in the eye with a sharpened pencil on several occasions. I refrained, obviously, but only just.

‘Like that, is it?’ Mum asks when I simply lift my eyes to meet hers and let out a puff of air. ‘Well, that’s Mondays for you. But it’s over now – the boring bit, at least. Are you off out with your gentleman friend again tonight?’

I’d stupidly told Mum about my date with Dan, though I hadn’t revealed any of the gory details.

‘No, not tonight.’ Not ever.

‘Never mind. You’re getting back out there again and that’s the main thing.’ Mum flicks on the kettle and starts to arrange cups on the counter, dropping in teabags and spooning coffee and sugar accordingly. ‘It’ll do you good to date new people. It’s been a while since you and Ben broke up.’

Before he dumped me, she means. “Broke up” sounds mutual, which it definitely was not.

‘It hasn’t been that long.’

‘It’s been nine months, love. That’s an awfully long time to be on your own.’

‘I’m not on my own.’ I stick my chin out. ‘I have my friends and I have you and Dad.’

Mum smiles, her lips giving a half-sympathetic, half-amused twitch. ‘You know me and your dad love spending time with our little Delly.’ I groan. Nobody but Mum and Dad call me Delly, but that’s still two people too many. ‘But we’re getting on a bit now. We’re old farts. You should be out there, enjoying yourself. Getting blind drunk and flashing your lady area when you fall down in the gutter. I know people think it’s a travesty with the nation’s youth binge-drinking, but it never did me and your dad any harm.’ Mum’s face lights up with a beaming, I’m-reliving-my-past smile. ‘We had such fun, you know. Your dad was such a fabulous dancer. So sexy! All the girls were jealous that he married me, you know.’ Mum’s smile falters as she catches my eye and she’s brought back down to Earth, back to our kitchen and my failed love life. ‘That’s what I want for you, Delilah. I want you to be happy. That’s all I want for my children.’