Tony Parsons - Man And Wife

His mother.

I had never seen Peggy so excited.

She was in her bridesmaid’s outfit for hours before she was due to be picked up, posing and preening in front of every available reflecting surface in the house, then running to the window to check the street for her father.

Finally we heard the sound of a bike revving its engine in the street.

’He’s here!’ Peggy shouted, tearing herself away from the mirror in the hall.

’Don’t forget your crash helmet,’ her mother called from upstairs.

It was a themed wedding. The bride and groom were arriving at the registrar’s office on motorbikes. Even the priest who was giving their union a blessing at a nearby church was turning up on his Honda and conducting the service in his leathers. The reception was at the historic Ton Up Café on the Ml.

Peggy was at the door waving to Jim when Cyd came down the stairs.

And the sight of her stunned me.

She was wearing a dress I hadn’t seen for years. Her old green silk cheongsam. The dress she had been wearing the night I fell in love with her.

She saw me looking at her, but ignored me, as if it was perfectly natural to walk around in this special dress. She helped Peggy into her crash helmet. ’Hold Daddy tight, okay?’

Together we escorted Peggy to the kerb. There were two bikes, Jim on his Norton with Liberty, the happy bride, perched on the back in her wedding dress, and the best man on an ancient Triumph with a sidecar. Jim and his best man were both wearing leathers over their wedding tails. Liberty’s only concession to road safety was a snow-white helmet. I stiffly congratulated Jim. It was not an easy situation. His ex-wife’s estranged husband wishing her first husband well on his most recent wedding day. So we did what adults always do at a time like this – we concentrated on the child. Cyd fussed with Peggy’s frills as she placed her in the sidecar, and I made sure her crash helmet was secure.

Then they were gone, roaring off down the street, wedding tails and bride’s dress flying.

’You going out somewhere?’ I said.

Cyd replied without looking at me. ’Just doing some packing,’ she said. ’Deciding what I want to take and what I want to throw away.’

’And are you taking that dress with you?’

’No. I just wanted to see if it still fits.’ The bikes were gone now. She looked at me. ’Before I throw it away.’

She had worn that dress on what was probably the happiest night of my life. That happiness just came upon me, the way true happiness does, and it was caused by the joy of simply standing by her side. We were at an awards ceremony at one of the big hotels on Park Lane, the kind of long, drunken, back-slapping shindig that I usually despised.

But that night I was so glad to be alive as the soft blue light faded over Hyde Park, and I was so grateful to be with this incredible woman in her green silk dress that I honestly believed I would never be sad again.

’It still fits,’ I told her.

Cyd took herself upstairs to pack.

I went into the living room and sat next to my son on the carpet. The beautiful horses had gone and he was channel-surfing through the mind-numbing doldrums of mid-afternoon television. The snatched images flashed before his blue eyes. Dude, Where’s My Trousers?, snowboarding, Six Pissed Students in a Flat, old music videos, Wicked World, Russian fashion models, Art? My Arse!, the baking channel, Sorry, I’m a Complete Git. I gently took the remote from his hot little hand, and switched off the TV.

’Are you okay, Pat?’

He nodded, noncommittal.

’Didn’t Peggy look lovely in her bridesmaid’s dress?’

He thought about it. ’She looked like a lady.’

’Didn’t she?’ I put my arm around him. He snuggled close to me. ’And what about you? How are you feeling?’

’I’m a little bit worried.’

’What about, darling?’

’Bernie Cooper,’ he said. ’Bernie Cooper says that dogs need a passport.’

’Well, I guess that’s true. If a dog is going to be moved from one country to another, it needs some form of ID. Bernie’s right there.’

’Well, then, this is what I want to know – does Britney have a passport?’

’Britney?’

’My dog Britney. Because, if Britney doesn’t have a passport, then how is Richard going to get him into London, where we all live now?’

’I’m sure Richard can work that one out. And what about Richard? How do you feel about seeing him again?’

He shrugged. I believe he was genuinely more concerned about his dog than his stepfather. Britney meant infinitely more to Pat than Richard ever could. And of course a dog is for life, whereas a step-parent could be for any length of time.

’Mummy and Richard – they might live together again.’

My son nodded, biting his bottom lip thoughtfully as he eyed the remote control in my hand.

’Are you happy about that, darling? It doesn’t just affect Mummy and Richard. It affects you too. I want you to – I don’t know – tell me if anything worries you. That’s what I’m here for, okay? You can always talk to me. Did Mummy talk to you about any of this stuff? About what she’s planning to do with Richard?’

Another nod.

’They’re going to try to make it work, Daddy.’

They’re going to try to make it work.

When I was a kid, a seven-year-old talking about trying to make it work meant a wonky train set on your birthday or a new Scalextric on Christmas Day. We put the TV back on in silence.

Now when a kid talked about making it work, he meant a marriage.

There was a howl of motorbikes in the street.

Peggy was back from her wedding.

Cyd came downstairs, still in her green dress. I felt a surge of something that might have been hope, or maybe only nostalgia. But I was glad she hadn’t thrown the dress out yet.

We went out to the street where a. dozen bikes were idling. All these men in tails and women in party dresses, leathers and helmets on top of their wedding kit, sitting proudly astride their big BMWs and Nortons and HarJeys and Triumphs. The bride was riding pillion on Jim’s bike while Peggy was sitting primly in the only sidecar in the convoy. Her mother fished her out. ’Good wedding?’ Cyd said.

Peggy began to babble with excitement. ’I held the flowers and walked right behind Liberty as she walked up the aisle of the registration office.’

Jim laughed. ’That’s my girl. Come here, princess, give your daddy a big kiss.’

Cyd and I watched awkwardly while father and daughter embraced. Peggy’s part in the celebrations was over. She wasn’t joining the happy couple for their wedding reception at the Ton Up Café. Then they would be off to Manila for their honeymoon.

Jim placed his daughter on his lap, facing him, both of them wreathed in smiles.

Pat had joined us on the pavement. He covered his ears against the noise of the bikes.

’Well,’ Cyd said. ’Congratulations.’ ’Yes,’ I said. ’Congratulations.’

Jim just grinned and then they were gone. I couldn’t believe it. Jim’s bike roaring off down the street with his bride behind him and his daughter in front. You could hear the bride and the bridesmaid shrieking with delight. I thought it was a kidnapping. I thought he was stealing her.

’She should have her helmet,’ Cyd said. ’I know it’s just a bit of fun, but I don’t like this.’

Jim turned at the end of the street and headed back towards us, his daughter laughing in his arms, his bride’s wedding dress streaming behind them. The bike flared up on its back wheel, and all three of them cried out with that sound of appalled pleasure you hear on a roller-coaster ride. Jim’s bike squealed to a halt. The other wedding guests applauded and revved their engines.