“I want to know what love is . . .”
“I’m telling you, weddings are just one big swiz. You’d have
to wonder why anyone would be foolish enough to go
through with one, you really would.”
It’s Sunday night and I’ve just picked up my friend and
flatmate Caroline at the airport after her flight home from
the wedding of one of her colleagues in London, and we’re
driving back into the city in her car which she let me
borrow for the weekend. Or rather, we’re stuck in a line of
stationary cars pointed in that direction. We haven’t moved
in over fifteen minutes and all the time I have Caroline yapyap-
yapping into my ear. She hasn’t paused for breath since
she hopped into the passenger seat and there’s no sign of it
happening anytime soon. She’s in one of her famous rants.
“Till death do us part!” She’s practically spitting with
indignation. “You mean until the next bit of skirt do us part
– bridesmaid skirt in this instance!”
I glance across at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you ever listen, Rosie? I’m talking about the groom
and bridesmaid – obviously.”
“And what? Are you trying to tell me the groom went off
with the bridesmaid?”
“Yep.” She nods emphatically. “I sure am.”
“On his wedding day?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Oh, come on! That sort of thing only happens in movies.”
“Hah! That shows how little you know. In actual fact, it
happens all the time.”
“And you know this. How?”
“I just do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
This could go on all night but, not wanting to feel like a
character in a pantomime, I drop the matter and revert to
our original topic. “So go on, tell me, what did happen
between the groom and the bridesmaid?”
“Like I said, they went off together.”
“I still don’t believe you!”
“I’m not lying! I saw them!”
“You saw them – what?”
“You know . . .” She raises her eyebrows suggestively.
“No, I don’t know! Like, what are you saying? That you
saw them having sex together, is that it?”
“Yeah –”
“No!”
“– or as good as.”
“Caroline! You either did or you didn’t. Which was it?”
“I saw them going up the stairs in the direction of the
honeymoon suite. Together.”
I wait to hear more but, when there’s nothing else
forthcoming, I glance over at her again. She’s sitting there, a
smug Hercules Poirot look on her face, like she’s just
delivered the most conclusive proof imaginable.
“That’s it?” I demand. “That’s the sum total of your
evidence?”
“Well, yes.”
“Oh, for crying out loud! There could be dozens of
explanations.”
She throws me a dismissive look. “Sure!” She brushes away
a non-existent speck of dust from her immaculate cream
trousers. Who else but Caroline would choose to wear a cream
suit when flying? And how can it be still so spotless, and
totally creaseless?
“They could have been putting presents away for safekeeping,”
I go on. “Or freshening up. Or fetching something.
Who knows?”
“God! Rosie! You are so naïve! If there’s one thing I
know, it’s human nature and –”
“And I don’t?”
“Well, come on, you’re not the most perceptive. No,
those two were definitely up to something, believe me.”
I let the dig pass. That’s just Caroline. She speaks without
thinking but I know her well enough not to take too much
offence and, anyway, she has a point. I may not be the
world’s most perceptive but, then, she won’t be lining up
anytime soon to collect her award for sensitivity. In fact, she’s
just the kind who would go up to a bride on her wedding
day and –
“Oh God! Please don’t tell me you said anything to the
bride.”
“What do you take me for? Of course I didn’t.”
“Good.”
“Well, not exactly.”
My heart sinks. “Well, what exactly did you say?”
“I don’t really remember. Come on, Rosie, can’t you
start passing some of these cars out?”
I don’t know what she’s seeing out through her side of
the windscreen but all I’m seeing is two lanes of bumper-tobumper
traffic – nothing is moving. “We’re never going to
get home at this rate,” she grumbles.
She’s avoiding the subject, of course, and if she’s embarrassed
enough to do that then I fear the worst. This must be bad.
“What did you say to her?”
“Nothing – nothing much.”
“Nothing much?”
“I just warned her to look out, that things aren’t always
as they seem.”
“Caroline! You sound like you were threatening her!”
“Funny you should say that; she said exactly the same
thing.”
“That’s all a bride needs on her wedding day – unhinged
guests going around making threats.” I love Caroline, I really do,
she’s one of my best friends, but sometimes I have to wonder
about her. “Remind me not to invite you to my wedding.”
“Your wedding!” She laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
“Rosie, you can’t keep a boyfriend for any length of time
so don’t you think talking about your wedding is just a little
premature?”
“That’s not fair!”
“But it’s true!”
“No, it’s not!” I protest though, of course, she’s right. It
is true. I’ve never gone out with anyone for more than a few
months. What am I saying? Not even that long – my dismal
average is about a month.
“What was it Shane said about you the other night,
before I went to London?”
“Shane? Shane?” I explode. “Like what does he know?”
Then I mumble, “Anyway I don’t remember.” But again, I
lie. Of course, I remember. How could I not?
“You must remember,” Caroline insists. “You went storming
off in a huff!”
I stormed off, yes, but not in a huff. I stormed off
because I was afraid of what I might say if I stayed. Like,
what the hell gives Shane the right to say things like that?
What makes him so sure that when everyone else has settled
down, I’ll still be lurching from one disastrous relationship
to another? And does he really think it’s by choice? Does he
really think I like starting off each new relationship full of
hope, full of that excited feeling that – maybe – this could
be the one – and then to see it all fall apart – just like all the
others before it?
“Rosie, what’s the matter?”
I shrug. “Nothing,” I snap.
The thing is, all I really want in life is to fall in love, live
in a wonderful house, work in a fulfilling career, have two
perfect children, and to live happily-ever-after. Is that too
much to ask for? Okay, maybe it is quite a lot but I don’t
believe it’s that much different from what most people want.
But to live happily-ever-after with my perfect man in our
perfect life, I first have to meet him. It’s fine for Shane. He
may have struck lucky by finding the love of his life but not
all of us have been so fortunate and we end up – or at least
I have – kissing an awful lot of frogs in the process.
“Come on,” coaxes Caroline, “don’t get into a puss on
me.”
“I’m not in a puss!”
“Good.
I try explaining: “Shane’s wrong, you know.”
“About what?”
I shrug, then I look over. The thing about Caroline is that
she has the attention span of a goldfish and I see I’ve lost her.
She’s moved on. She has her phone out and she’s checking her
texts.
I sigh. “It just seems – well – you know – you have to kiss
a lot of frogs to find out that they are just that – frogs.”
She laughs. “Haven’t you learnt by now that all men are
frogs?”
Now she’s just being stupid. I look over at her again. Her
eyes are glued to the little screen and her fingers are going
like the clappers. I sit silently and stare out at the depressing
sight of the tail-lights of the car in front of me. It begins to
drizzle. I flick on the wipers. And then I begin to think of
Killian and I smile to myself. Now here’s a man who I’ve
good reason to suspect may not turn out to be a frog. Part of
me wants to tell Caroline all about him, but another part of
me is reluctant to; I should just keep the thought of him to
myself for a while, dwell on it, enjoy it, savour it.
“Actually,” I blurt out, like there was ever a chance I
wasn’t going to, “I met someone nice at that party Shane and
I went to last night.”
“I don’t believe you!” she cries.
“What?” I glance over at her. Swish, swish, swish goes
her blonde, shoulder-length hair as she shakes her head in
disbelief. It looks so sleek, so glossy that it could be the
hairdresser’s I collected her from, not the airport. But then,
that’s Caroline. She likes to be in control of her appearance,
of work, of every aspect of her life. I guess that’s what makes
her so successful. “Rosie,” she goes on now, “the reason you
were going to that party was to catch up with Shane. Your
plan was to spend some quality time with him, remember?”
That’s true and I am embarrassed by the way things
worked out but I didn’t know that, as soon we arrived in the
door, I’d literally bump into someone like Killian.
“Yes, well, plans are made to be broken.”
“I think that’s promises, actually. Anyway, go on, tell me
about him.”
At first I’m reluctant to but then I start thinking about
him and that gets me talking.
“Okay, he’s tall, good-looking –”
“So far so exactly the same. Rosie, you don’t go for any
other kind!”
I ignore her. “– and smart and creative. He works as an
architect. He has a cat and – ”
“But you hate cats.”
“I don’t hate them – I just find them a bit spooky. You
know, the way they stare at you, like they can see into your
very soul. But at least it shows Killian has a caring side. Plus
he’s musical. He plays the trumpet.”
Caroline laughs.
“What?” I demand.
“You really think you could stick someone who plays the
trumpet? When Dana started on the violin you never gave
over moaning about the racket.”
“A trumpet is different. It’s not whiney and screechy.”
“Okay, but you still haven’t told me what makes him so
special.”
I think. “Well, he has this great smile and these eyes,
these gorgeous, really gorgeous big bright blue eyes.”
“So what are you saying? That if his eyes were a fraction
less blue or a fraction smaller then you wouldn’t fancy him,
that he wouldn’t be special?”
“No, I’m not saying that. I just – just – just, oh forget it.”
All the things I said about Killian are true but what I
really liked about him was the fact that he was so easy to talk
to. From the moment we met we never stopped – it was like
we’d known each other for years. There was none of the
usual awkwardness; we were tripping over one another with
all we had to say. I kind of felt this guy got me, really got me.
He even laughed at my poor attempts at humour. But I
know if I try to explain all this to Caroline it will come out
all wrong.
I shake my head. “I just like him, all right?” I leave it at
that and change the subject. “Anyway, apart from your belief
that the groom ran off with the bridesmaid, did you enjoy
the wedding?”
“What was there to enjoy?” she grumpily snaps.
“It was a wedding!” I snap right back.
“Exactly. Cringe-making from start to finish. Everyone
doing ‘a little bit of this and a little bit of that and shaking
their ass, da, da, da da’! All the single lay-deez scrumming
like rugby players for the bouquet. Crabby old relatives
moaning at the end of the night how the music’s too loud,
the cuppa tea’s too cold, and how there’s nothing but cheese
sandwiches left to eat. Enjoy it? I don’t think so. Especially
when the whole thing is a farce anyway, a big sham, a big
celebration of love when everyone knows there’s no such
thing!”
“No, they don’t!”
“Well, they should! They should know that love’s just a
delusion to keep us all procreating in order to ensure the
survival of the human species.”
“Rubbish! Just because you’ve never been in love doesn’t
mean there’s no such thing. Of course, there is.”
“All right then, give me an example of two people you
know who you really and truly believe are in love with one
another.”
“That’s easy,” I say as the traffic finally begins to move.
“Go on so.”
I think for a while. I must know dozens. Mentally I go
through all the people I know but find that surprisingly few
are in serious relationships. When I think of those closest to
me, the situation is even worse. I’ve known Dana and Caroline
since our first year in college and their love lives could best
be described as non-love lives. As for our other good friend
Mick, as an actor an on-stage kiss is the nearest he’s got to
romance in the time we’ve known him. That leaves Shane.
Shane and Loretta.
“So?”
“I’m thinking.”
“See, I told you!”
“Okay then, Shane and Loretta.”
She laughs. “They’re the best you can come up with! Oh
please! You don’t think they’re in the least suited!”
“I never said that.”
“No, but you’ve made it pretty obvious.”
“If I do think it, it doesn’t make it true. They’ve been
going out together for a while now. They seem to get
along.”
“Is it because you don’t like Loretta? Is that why you
think they’re unsuited?”
“I said I thought they were suited. Aren’t you even
listening? God! You can be annoying! Now, can we just drop
this whole stupid conversation?”
“Fine by me.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Her phone beeps and after reading the incoming
message, she begins texting a reply. The traffic is moving
nicely now and, finally, some fifteen minutes later, I pull into
the drive of the 1960’s semi-d Caroline and I share with
Shane and Dana.
“One couple, that’s all,” she repeats as we get out of the
car.
“Just give it a rest,” I answer crossly.
