I've Got Your Number
Page 51
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THINGS TO DO BEFORE WEDDING
1. Become expert on Greek philosophy.
2. Memorize Robert Burns poems.
3. Learn long Scrabble words.
4. Remember: am HYPOCHONDRIAC.
5. Beef stroganoff. Get to like. (Hypnosis?)64
I look at the list for a few moments. It’s fine. I can be that person. It’s not that different from me.
“Well, of course, you know my views on art in churches.” Antony’s voice is ringing out. “Absolutely scandalous … ”
I shrink down out of view, before anyone can drag me into the conversation. Everyone knows Antony’s views on art in churches, mostly because he’s the founder of a national campaign to turn churches into art galleries and get rid of all the vicars. A few years ago he was on TV and said, “Treasures such as these should not be left in the hands of Philistines.” It got repeated everywhere, and there was a big fuss and headlines like PROFESSOR DUBS CLERICS PHILISTINES65 and PROF DISSES REVS (that one was in The Sun ).
I wish he’d keep his voice down. What if the vicar hears him? It’s not exactly tactful.
Now I can hear him laying into the order of service.
“ Dearly beloved. ” He gives that sarcastic little laugh. “Beloved by whom? Beloved by the stars and the cosmos? Does anyone expect us to believe that some beneficent being is up there, loving us? In the sight of God. I ask you, Wanda! Absolute weak-minded nonsense.”
I suddenly see the vicar of the church walking up the aisle toward us. He’s obviously heard Antony, from his glowering expression. Yikes.
“Good evening, Poppy.”
I hastily leap up from my pew. “Good evening, Reverend Fox! How are you? We were just saying … how lovely the church looks.” I smile lamely.
“Indeed,” he says frostily.
“Have you … ” I swallow. “Have you met my future father-in-law? Professor Antony Tavish.”
Thankfully, Antony shakes hands quite pleasantly with Reverend Fox, but there’s still a prickly atmosphere.
“So, you’re doing a reading, Professor Tavish,” says Reverend Fox after he’s checked a few other details. “From the Bible?”
“Hardly.” Antony’s eyes glitter at the vicar.
“I thought not.” The Reverend Fox smiles back aggressively. “Not really your ‘bag,’ shall we say.”
Oh God. You can feel the animosity crackling through the air between them. Should I make a joke, lighten the atmosphere?
Maybe not.
Reverend Fox checks his notes. “And, Poppy, you’ll be given away by your brothers?”
“That’s right.” I nod. “Toby and Tom. They’re going to lead me down the aisle, either side.”
“Your brothers!” chimes in Paul with interest. “That’s a nice idea. But why not your father?”
“Because my father is … ” I hesitate. “Well, actually, both my parents are dead.”
And, like night follows day, here it is. The awkward pause. I stare at the stone floor, counting down the seconds, waiting patiently for it to pass.
How many awkward pauses have I caused in the last ten years? It’s always the same. No one knows where to look. No one knows what to say. At least this time no one’s trying to give me a hug.
“My dear girl,” says Paul, in consternation. “I’m so sorry—”
“It’s fine!” I cut him off brightly. “Really. It was an accident. Ten years ago. I don’t talk about it. I don’t think about it. Not anymore.”
I smile at him as off-puttingly as I can. I’m not getting into this. I never do get into it. It’s all folded up in my mind. Packaged away.
No one wants to hear stories about bad things. That’s the truth. I remember that my tutor at college once asked me if I was all right and if I wanted to talk. The moment I started, he said, “You mustn’t lose your confidence, Poppy!” in this brisk way that meant “Actually I don’t want to hear about this, please stop now.”
There was a counseling group. But I didn’t go. It clashed with hockey practice. Anyway, what’s there to talk about? My parents died. My aunt and uncle took us in. My cousins had left home anyway, so they had the bedrooms and everything.
It happened. There’s nothing else to say.
“ Beautiful engagement ring, Poppy,” says Reverend Fox at last, and everyone seizes on the distraction.
“Isn’t it lovely? It’s an antique.”
“It’s a family piece,” puts in Wanda.
“Very special.” Paul pats my hand kindly. “An absolute one-off.”
1. Become expert on Greek philosophy.
2. Memorize Robert Burns poems.
3. Learn long Scrabble words.
4. Remember: am HYPOCHONDRIAC.
5. Beef stroganoff. Get to like. (Hypnosis?)64
I look at the list for a few moments. It’s fine. I can be that person. It’s not that different from me.
“Well, of course, you know my views on art in churches.” Antony’s voice is ringing out. “Absolutely scandalous … ”
I shrink down out of view, before anyone can drag me into the conversation. Everyone knows Antony’s views on art in churches, mostly because he’s the founder of a national campaign to turn churches into art galleries and get rid of all the vicars. A few years ago he was on TV and said, “Treasures such as these should not be left in the hands of Philistines.” It got repeated everywhere, and there was a big fuss and headlines like PROFESSOR DUBS CLERICS PHILISTINES65 and PROF DISSES REVS (that one was in The Sun ).
I wish he’d keep his voice down. What if the vicar hears him? It’s not exactly tactful.
Now I can hear him laying into the order of service.
“ Dearly beloved. ” He gives that sarcastic little laugh. “Beloved by whom? Beloved by the stars and the cosmos? Does anyone expect us to believe that some beneficent being is up there, loving us? In the sight of God. I ask you, Wanda! Absolute weak-minded nonsense.”
I suddenly see the vicar of the church walking up the aisle toward us. He’s obviously heard Antony, from his glowering expression. Yikes.
“Good evening, Poppy.”
I hastily leap up from my pew. “Good evening, Reverend Fox! How are you? We were just saying … how lovely the church looks.” I smile lamely.
“Indeed,” he says frostily.
“Have you … ” I swallow. “Have you met my future father-in-law? Professor Antony Tavish.”
Thankfully, Antony shakes hands quite pleasantly with Reverend Fox, but there’s still a prickly atmosphere.
“So, you’re doing a reading, Professor Tavish,” says Reverend Fox after he’s checked a few other details. “From the Bible?”
“Hardly.” Antony’s eyes glitter at the vicar.
“I thought not.” The Reverend Fox smiles back aggressively. “Not really your ‘bag,’ shall we say.”
Oh God. You can feel the animosity crackling through the air between them. Should I make a joke, lighten the atmosphere?
Maybe not.
Reverend Fox checks his notes. “And, Poppy, you’ll be given away by your brothers?”
“That’s right.” I nod. “Toby and Tom. They’re going to lead me down the aisle, either side.”
“Your brothers!” chimes in Paul with interest. “That’s a nice idea. But why not your father?”
“Because my father is … ” I hesitate. “Well, actually, both my parents are dead.”
And, like night follows day, here it is. The awkward pause. I stare at the stone floor, counting down the seconds, waiting patiently for it to pass.
How many awkward pauses have I caused in the last ten years? It’s always the same. No one knows where to look. No one knows what to say. At least this time no one’s trying to give me a hug.
“My dear girl,” says Paul, in consternation. “I’m so sorry—”
“It’s fine!” I cut him off brightly. “Really. It was an accident. Ten years ago. I don’t talk about it. I don’t think about it. Not anymore.”
I smile at him as off-puttingly as I can. I’m not getting into this. I never do get into it. It’s all folded up in my mind. Packaged away.
No one wants to hear stories about bad things. That’s the truth. I remember that my tutor at college once asked me if I was all right and if I wanted to talk. The moment I started, he said, “You mustn’t lose your confidence, Poppy!” in this brisk way that meant “Actually I don’t want to hear about this, please stop now.”
There was a counseling group. But I didn’t go. It clashed with hockey practice. Anyway, what’s there to talk about? My parents died. My aunt and uncle took us in. My cousins had left home anyway, so they had the bedrooms and everything.
It happened. There’s nothing else to say.
“ Beautiful engagement ring, Poppy,” says Reverend Fox at last, and everyone seizes on the distraction.
“Isn’t it lovely? It’s an antique.”
“It’s a family piece,” puts in Wanda.
“Very special.” Paul pats my hand kindly. “An absolute one-off.”
