wedding – Page 2 – three good words

It was raining again, which was good, he liked the rain crowd. They were quieter somehow, saner than what happened when the sun was out. Caden didn’t know what the sun did to people, if they heated up over the day more, so tempers just boiled over by the time they showed up. Summer fights were always much worse than when it rained or snowed. People had less on though, so maybe it was that. Cuts and punches went deeper, looked worse with nothing to soak up the blood. Whatever it was, Caden preferred the rain crowd, they tended to mind their own business more, drinking pints, ordering whatever Siobhan had on the menu, or standing at the boards and tables having a decent time.

It was a quiet day, so Caden checked the taps, the third one was giving some trouble lately. Turns out it wasn’t anything serious, the tubes just got twisted again, Christ he’d told Mike five times to watch out for that. Anyway, after that was fixed, he sorted out the last sign-up, they needed an extra set of speakers and were definitely having an entrance fee, they expected half their fanbase to show up. Caden did the math, and told Becca to get Sean on the tickets.

After that, Caden took three orders, two Guinness one lager for the three at the screen, Man U was playing, but they were Chelsea fans. The Merlot and the Chardonnay for the girls at the pool table, and two pints for the couple in the booth, arguing quietly. After that was done, he checked the menu Siobhan suggested for the next three days and changed the soup. It was bound to get warmer again next week, Steff kept on sending out updates about the weather. Once thought of, Caden couldn’t ignore it anymore. He needed a plus one. Steff had been very clear on having a full table. At the last dinner he couldn’t avoid, Richter basically begged him to come, he wouldn’t survive it otherwise, well, last time it was, ‘I swear to God Steve, if anyone of you fuck’s it up I will kill you. All of you. I mean it. It took me six months to set up everything, this is going to be perfect.’ So, if Caden wanted peace for the next five years, he needed a plus one.

Problem was, he didn’t have anyone to take with him. Sunny was coming anyway, but she wanted to stay free to ‘nab whatever fresh meat’s gonna be there’, which Caden didn’t comment on. So, a plus one. Only who? Sunny said he should ask Marla, but Caden didn’t want to ask Marla. Ever since Vicky got herself carted off to A&E, Marla looked at him like he was part of some Greek tragedy. He knew she was waiting for him to explain, but how start that? It was bad enough that she knew Vicky existed. People always got curious once he started, then they wanted to meet her and then the real mess began. Nah, better not. She still gave him those looks though. And frankly, it would be convenient to have her around. She’d be able to keep an eye on Sunny when he wasn’t looking.

It was after her girls came over again. It was like a ritual with them, once, maybe twice a month, Marla asked if she could have a bottle or two of his wines, always offering to pay, which was ridiculous. So he decanted one and left the other on the counter, half an hour later her girls piled into the house. They were the kind you’d expect on a hen night, loud, laughing, wolf-whistling down the street, especially that Theresa. She looked good, they all looked good actually, they kept themselves well, which was nice to see. He got to see some disturbing things these days. Half of them seemed to have forgotten their underwear. He couldn’t count the times he was faced with some girl, pissed through her brain, her tits spilling out onto the counter all naked. Or the other ones who started jumping around and he ended up hoping she at least had a thong on, some drunks were watching a bit too closely. He did keep a look out, but he couldn’t be everywhere all the time and anyway, it really wasn’t any of his business what they wore, as long as the Met didn’t turn up afterwards.

This time the crowd was quiet, there was no match on so it was just the usual Wednesday crowd, easy to deal with, regular, the kind Caden liked most. Coach Lewis dropped by for a couple pints and complained about Bayern Munich again, and Greggs couldn’t stop ranting about his wife, but it was all right, Caden didn’t mind. He just stood by, nodded when he had to, and wiped down the glasses in the back so he didn’t forget them again. It was an easy evening, and luckily, Marla’s girls were out by the time he closed up the place and went up. She was still in the kitchen though, the lights out, candles on the sideboard and the sill. She had a thing with candles. It was strange though, coming up and having her scrub pans in the sink. It felt like something out of a movie he’d probably seen somewhere. Anyway, he helped her with the last, she still had some wine left, so he poured out two glasses, they drank some and he finally asked if she was busy Saturday two weeks from now. She said, ‘Ah… no, I don’t think so, why?’ So he explained. Marla listened, nodding. He wrapped it up with,

‘You don’t have to but – it’s not too bad. It’s just a bit of a party really.’
‘Ok. Is it very – I don’t know – fancy?’

Caden smiled. Fancy didn’t even begin to describe.

‘Steff likes it… just think top hats and cut-aways.’
‘Oh. Ok. Wow. I’ll have to check what I’ve got –’
‘You’ll be fine –’
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she smiled suddenly. It always caught him off guard. She had an incredible smile. ‘I’ll get enough help, Theresa’ll make sure of that.’

He liked how easy it was, how he didn’t have to watch out with how he explained it. He needed a plus one to Steff’s second wedding, and thought she’d be good company. Sunny would be there anyway, so they could all show up. Naturally she asked questions, but he could explain most of it without going into too much detail by the time they were done with the wine. She did say,

‘So she’s not really your sister?’
‘We grew up together.’
‘But you’re not related.’
Caden drained his glass and said, ‘No. Definitely not.’

Marla wanted to say something, he knew it, but she stopped herself, finished her wine and said,

‘Ok. I think I should go up, it’s been a long day. Good night.’
‘Night.’

He liked that about her. She really did mind her own business. And she’d stayed much longer in the loft than he expected. Maybe she wasn’t like all the others on the hill, but you never knew really. It could be good for three years, and then suddenly it was all wrong for God knows what reason. He never understood what happened with Ella. From one day to the next, she just got – vicious. Vicky said it was all Steff, dripping poison into her ear ‘like in that play, what’s it called.’ ‘Hamlet.’ ‘Yes, that. Poisoned her brain, that one, you bet your fuckin’ arse on it.’ Caden didn’t know, and it didn’t matter anymore anyway. Ella was history and Steff was getting married, which was two problems solved without much effort.

Not PG rated.

He was the last of the line, and she had the money. That was it really. He was the last of an old line, and she, or rather her father, had the money. She would get the name, her children would be highborn. He would get the money. It was a fair deal as these deals went. Others read novels of dashing young gentlemen fighting rogues for love, but she boarded a train so that he got the money and her father’s grandchildren would be called Sir.

Georgie had little illusions about what was expected of her. There was the ceremony and the toast and the dance. Then they were to take the train to the coast and from there cross over. Her father had already booked and paid everything, they would be travelling for three months. She was told to write and enjoy herself, maybe even take pictures. Nothing would change, save the fact that she was married and respectable, and that half the Continent would fawn over her. After the three months they would return and then she could start cleaning up the manor, putting money into it, getting it back to its old glory. It was all part of the deal, and Georgie knew her part in it.

He didn’t approach her until they were on the boat. They hardly talked on the train, except when he asked her if she was comfortable. She felt, rather than knew, that he disliked this arrangement, that he too felt sold somehow. He was the last of his line, but unlike most of his kind he didn’t look like the runt of the litter. The family had taken care to keep fresh blood coming in, so he was in fact quite decent looking. He was tall, which was nice, she reached him to his chin. His shoulders were broad like a butcher, probably there was a butcher’s boy somewhere in his blood line, you never knew what these families did to make sure the line didn’t go stale. He had dark eyes, black almost, with dark brown hair. His nose was patrician, a clean line, slightly curved but not hooked. He had very nice lips, soft and clearly defined, as if someone had taken them from one of those statues. Otherwise she saw long legs, and a very good taste in suits. He was, for the lack of a better word, a good-looking man, not pretty but attractive. He didn’t look like someone who indulged in silliness, though she could see him dead drunk on scotch and wine. She would wait and see how his habits were once they were back, people were always a bit nicer in foreign countries. Maybe because you had to stick together otherwise you got lost.

He approached her on deck. She was smoking a cigarette, the sea was calm. He stopped next to her, lit his own and exhaled, sliding one hand into his pockets. Georgie waited, but he said nothing. They stayed like that until the bell rang for tea, and he motioned if they should go back in together. Georgie nodded, they went back in. Inside, they sat across each other and she saw him order coffee instead of tea, he wanted none of the cake or sandwiches. She had one sandwich and a cake, she had hardly eaten any luncheon. He started talking then, asking her what she had seen of the country. She answered and that was how they started talking. It was pleasant, every now and then he flashed a smile. He had a nice smile, a little unsettling maybe, Georgie couldn’t say why. They talked well, he lit her cigarette for her, and once they reached port he helped her into her coat and waited for her.

They took the train to the capital and checked in at the George V, taking the suite her father had reserved for them. They went out for dinner, he said he knew a place she might like. It was nice, very French, but the food was delicious and she enjoyed every bit of it. On their drive back however, she began getting fidgety, but did her best not to show it. They were married after all, this was part of the deal. She had to get pregnant at some point, the sooner the better. Her parents half expected her to be showing by the time she returned.

In the suite, Georgie took her time to change. In the bathroom she looked at her reflection, the chestnut hair, the wide, violet eyes. She wasn’t beautiful. She wished she was, but something was off with the symmetry. Her lips weren’t too thin, nor was her nose hooked, but she was plain. Her face was round rather than sleekly thin. She looked like a cherub rather than one of those cat-like creatures. If she had at least something dramatic, something that caught your eye, but all she had in that line were her eyes. They were very pretty. Oh, and her bust. She had large breasts for her frame, and child-bearing hips. She wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t beautiful. She had that pleasant look that most men liked since it wouldn’t get others interested. She’d heard that from someone once, a teacher in school. It had hurt then, but now Georgie didn’t fight it. She would never look like one of those beautiful creatures on the silver screen. But her face was pleasant, and she had very good teeth.

Finally, Georgie was in her nightgown and wrapper. She kept herself from smoking another cigarette, downed the glass of whisky she poured herself and went out. He was standing at the open window, holding a tumbler, watching something by the look of it. He turned when she closed the door. He closed the window, crushing the cigarette she hadn’t seen in an ashtray. He drank one last sip from his scotch and put that down as well. He was in pyjamas and a house gown. Georgie didn’t know what to do. She had been told, Annabelle had been very explicit, married as she was herself, and Katie had giggled all through it, Georgie staring at her sisters, mouth shut, eyes wide. Yet, it was going to be done. His family expected an heir as soon as possible, and there was only one way to get one.

They were on the bed, under the sheets. He had already removed his shirt, but he still had his trousers on. He had removed her nightdress. Georgie was completely naked, staring at the ceiling. He had kissed her, but Tommy Chingham had already kissed her behind the shed, so she knew how that was. He was better than Tommy Chingham, at least he didn’t fill her mouth with his tongue and kept his hands to himself. He really had nice lips. He kept on pressing them gently against her cheek and neck and the back of her ear. The second time he started talking, asking, ‘Have you done anything like this before?’ Mystified, Georgie asked, ‘Like what?’ ‘Have you ever been with a man before,’ he asked, and Georgie blushed.

Peter Saunders had touched her breasts and slipped his hand between her thighs, brushing her silkies. He’d gone a bit further at that party, pushing two in, kissing her and doing things that opened something inside her and made him remove his hand in horror. He thought those days had started and only after they were in the light did Georgie realize what poured out of her wasn’t blood, but something else. Somehow worse. Georgie had been so ashamed after that she couldn’t face him again and avoided all the places she could meet him. But that was as far as she knew, so she shook her head. He nodded then, saying ‘I’ll be careful.’ Georgie didn’t know what to make of that and so just waited.

He touched her everywhere. He was kissing her and touching her everywhere, her shoulders and arms, her breasts, both, her sides and middle, her thighs, inside and out, her knees and calves, even her feet. He touched her everywhere and Georgie lay as she was, clutching the sheets. At one point he took her arms and wrapped them around his neck, that was before he moved over her, spread her legs and moved over her, kissing her more. She could feel what was there, Katie said penis to it, but Annabelle, naughty girl, she said cock. It was there, hard and hot, pressed against her, ready to do it. He stopped kissing her and then said ‘Ready?’ and she nodded because it didn’t really matter whether now or later, it would hurt anyway. She felt it first, broader, thicker than anything she expected. She was sure it would never fit and grabbed his shoulders, unable to say it. He said ‘Hold on’ and suddenly he was in and Georgie screamed. She tried not to, but the tears came and she couldn’t stop them. She heard ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Don’t cry’ but she couldn’t stop it, it just hurt too much. ‘Should I stop?’ he asked and Georgie nodded because she couldn’t bear to feel that again. She couldn’t stop the cry when he removed it, but at least he was gone and Georgie turned away, curled up, so completely in pain there was nothing she could do to stop the tears from falling.

He tried twice more that night, but each time was as bad as the last until he understood that he could do nothing to make it better. Every time he entered her it hurt so much Georgie was in tears. He got up after the last time, got up and poured her a glass, at least she thought so, but he drank a large gulp first, before he filled it up more and brought it to her. She couldn’t sit, but she leaned on her arm and drank, feeling the scotch burn her throat and warm her stomach. She drained almost the whole glass after which the room quickly turned hazy. She didn’t remember much of what happened next, but it soon didn’t matter since she fell asleep anyway.

They were at the sea. The house was beautiful and the staff was taking very good care of them. They had separate bedrooms, which was nice, since that way there wouldn’t be that unspoken thing between them. They were very friendly towards each other during the day, doing their best to be as civil as possible. Anyone watching them, anyone hearing them, anyone seeing them even, would never have guessed what agonies Georgie endured every night for the first two weeks. He tried every other night, or if it was very bad, then he left her to herself for three days. But he always came back, and Georgie prayed that he would finally realize that it would not get better. She tried everything, whisky and a long bath, she even tried those meditations Katie had talked of that were supposed to help, apparently it was supposed to help relax her. She could not pray though, but she did try what she could to calm herself, to relax herself, to just do something so that it wouldn’t hurt so much again, but nothing worked. At night all there was, was pain, and Georgie could see that he was getting impatient. If this continued for three months their marriage would be unpleasant. He was still willing to believe that she could not change it. Georgie didn’t want to think of what would happen if he started believing otherwise.

They were at the sea, and it was beautiful. It was evening, and Georgie was walking down the beach, it wasn’t too dark yet. As always, two things occupied her mind. The day as it was, and the night as it was about to come. The days were always pleasant. Eduard, she had finally come to call him by his name, even in her head, Eduard was a gentleman. He took care of her. He could be a bit rough in the way he treated the staff, but never mean spirited. He just expected them to do their work well. He took her for drives and they visited so many of his friends that Georgie was starting to lose track. They went swimming and sightseeing, they drank coffee in beautiful cafés and ate in wonderful restaurants. The days, the days were wonderful, but the nights… Georgie stopped and looked to the water. How did other women do it? How did they endure it? How by all the heavens did brothels work? And yet there had been that time with Peter Saunders where he pushed his fingers in and they both thought she had her period. That had never happened again and Georgie was starting to wonder if that didn’t have something to do with what she had to endure every other night. She hadn’t allowed another to touch her ever since Peter, too mortified that would happen again. She had read so much in these past two, no three weeks, on her condition, sneaking pamphlets and books into her room and hiding them between her clothes so no one could see them. She read so much that she slowly felt like a psychologist herself. The doctor had said there was nothing physically wrong with her. She was young and healthy and ready to have children. He said it sometimes took time to relax, but it wasn’t as if she was anxious with Eduard. Not during the day at least. At night however… Georgie walked on. How on earth was she to change this? How was she to make it happen?