By Fiona Sinclair
They couldn’t simply walk out of the wedding and drive home. Earlier, a vintage double decker bus had conveyed the guests to the chapel in the neighbouring town, leaving cars behind in the car park. He gripped her hand muttering ‘’We’ll have to take the bus back.’’
Once on the bus, he sat by the window his face turned away from her. She felt temporarily shut out as in silence he tried to grasp the betrayal. All she could do was continue to hold his hand. When he finally spoke, there was a rage she had not witnessed before. As if it was a secret weapon, he had kept hidden away from her.
His voice was granite. The few words were emphasised by a shake of the head. “I ‘d never have believed he’d do that to me.’’ Then the taboo four letter word was discharged like a bullet never before used against this favourite brother. Hearing it she took a sharp in breath.
Another silence as she saw him battle tears. His eyes filled, a few overflowing down his cheek to be hastily flicked away. She stroked his arm knowing that no words would palliate. It occurred to her that she was witnessing someone’s heart break. A cliché but this was not the romantic love the phrase was coined for but backstabbing by a sibling he adored. Suddenly an admission, “You warned me, but I wouldn’t listen.”
Sam and Maria loved an opportunity to wear fine clothes. In the current preference for casual dressing there were fewer occasions for them to peacock. So, this wedding gifted them a chance. Sam had treated himself to a new blue suit, ‘’ Don’t want to let Nick down,” he had declared. His black hair had been cut. Sam was fortunate that at 60 he still retained a full head, that gave him a youthful look. The style unintentionally echoed that of Rod Stewert and garnered
comments to that wherever he went. His red tie matched Maria’s red dress. Red was her colour and complimented her brunette hair worn long still even in her 50s. Applying her eye make-up contemplatively around her dark eyes, Maria considered how relieved she had been at the advent of Clair into Nick’s life. It had drawn his eyes away from her to this bubbly blonde girl whom Sam approved of largely because she made his brother happy again.
All eyes alighted on Sam and Maria as they entered the pub that would be the locus for the wedding festivities. They were eyed up and down simply because they were so well dressed. But Maria also picked up inquiring looks from a crowd who did not seem to know them. They were not hostile merely curious as to the couple’s identity. She assumed they must be friends of the bride and groom, strangers to Sam and Maria because they did not reside in the town that had a micro community of original families who stuck together in the face of an invasion of newcomers.
Nick stood with a pint of larger in his hand. A cue of guests greeted him, and he answered with his easy banter basking in the attention. Sam and Maria waited their turn like seeking an audience with a VIP. At length there was a pause. Sam, hand outstretched greeted him with their usual salutation, “Hello mate.” Maria kissed him and whispered, “You look great.” But, the brother’s bonhomie seemed to fade at the sight of them. There was none of the usual joshing that came so easily to them. Maria picked up a distance in his demeaner, as if he was mentally stepping away from them. His greeting was polite but not warm, treating them more like acquaintances rarely encountered. The brothers’ conversation was reduced to platitudes – “Nice day for it’’, “Looking forward to …’’ until a silence fell between them like a sword cutting off further dialogue.
“Well,’’ said Nick, “better greet the other guests.’’ and he was gone.
“Yes of course,” said Sam his words trailing after the brother. Maria saw once again the dynamics of the relationship. Her husband the elder, deferred to the younger, blind to the slight, making excuses. “He looks nervous.”
Sam and Maria were left drinks in hands feeling like extras lacking direction. The rest of the guests were clearly familiar with each other. In knots that precluded mingling, they exchanged hearty private jokes and shared anecdotes. To look less conspicuous, the couple examined the buffet, admired the blousy wedding cake. Eventually, they were forced to make small talk between themselves, until even that ran dry. Sam scanned the room and remarked, “Strange but I don’t know anyone here.”
An old lady presented herself in front of the couple and with all the forthrightness of the elderly asked, “Who are you?”
Sam with impeccable politeness responded, “I’m the older brother.’’
She looked surprised, “I never knew he had one.’’
Clearly, she was an elderly relative belonging to Clair. But Sam hissed to Maria, “Apparently, I don’t exist.’’ His tone was humorous but with a slight note of hurt. Nobody likes to have their existence challenged. At this point an uneasiness began to nudge Maria. A mixture of the brother’s off hand manner and her previous experience of being the butt of his ‘banter’ a word she came to associate with the smiling face of bullying.
She knew from the moment they heard of the engagement that Sam did not expect to be best man. There was a younger brother and although their relationship had been smashed years ago, Sam was fair-minded enough to accept that Nick would diplomatically not select either brother
for that honour. Indeed, Nick had been at pains to explain, “Don’t want to play favourites mate.” Consequently, Sam and Maria assumed the role would go to one of his friends.
Several characters from Sam’s time in the town began to drift in. They too skirted the clusters of guests who were strangers to them and gravitated towards Sam and immediately went down memory lane. This involved bemoaning the town’s infestation of newcomers that had driven up the price of housing.
Maria had never been part of these reminiscences since she was not deemed a local. Letting them meander through their shared past, she idly looked at the people in the bar now brimming with wedding guests in all manner of outfits. Consequently, she was first to see the entrance of Nick’s best friend and David, the younger brother, and observe as they gravitated towards the grinning groom. Standing together she saw instantly that the three men were dressed in the same wedding livery. Grey suits, lilac ties and buttonholes. It was a subtle and elegant look. She read the situation clearly. There was only one reason that David would be included in this ensemble. With her pulse racing as if she had been running, she knew that she must prepare her husband. Stepping close to him, despite the group still chewing on the past, she whispered directly into his ear “David is best man,” But Sam brushed away her words with “No Nick would never do that to me.” She felt sick at this blind faith.
In some ways the younger brother and Sam were alike. Both were bright and attended grammar school. Both excelled at sport. Both developed an unhealthy relationship with alcohol. But while Sam had taken full advantage of everything a grammar school education had to offer, David had squandered his schooling. Sam had recognised and seen off his alcohol dependence while David continued to embrace it. As such he took low grade jobs which he routinely lost when he stole from the till or the cellar to fund his drinking. The rest of the family were indulgent towards this dilettante lifestyle. His routine was beer for breakfast, followed by a lurch up the high street around 11 am to spend a couple of hours in the bookies, then home for an afternoon sleep before heading out in the evening to the pub. This waste of life infuriated Sam. He had patiently tried to help him quit the drink, but each time he failed. Largely because David was resentful of his older brother. He envied his career, his abundant travel and his strong will that enabled him to kick the drink. For Sam the death knell to their relationship came when David stole a substantial amount of money from their mother. While the rest of the family forgave him, Sam would not. The brothers had not spoken since.
When the local gossip was finally exhausted, Sam turned back to his wife. “What made you say that?’’ he frowned.
“See for yourself,” she gestured.
There was silence as he took in the group of men clearly at ease with each other, smiling over their pint glasses. She saw as he observed them a slight flicker of doubt in his grey eyes. That were usually so inscrutable. ‘’ I see David’s on his best behaviour.’’ He remarked dryly as he observed that his brother was clasping a pint of coke. Before Maria could prepare her husband still further, the moment was sabotaged by Aunty Francis, the much-loved sister of his late mother. With her typical acuity she had observed the sartorial anomaly and greeted Sam with a “Didn’t you get the dress code memo?’’
“Apparently not,” he replied. As the three of them chatted, Maria wondered what was going through her husband’s mind. He betrayed nothing but listened attentively as Aunty Francis gave a precis of events on her side of the family.
As they clambered onto the vintage bus that had been hired as a ‘fun’ means of transporting the guests to the wedding venue in the neighbouring city, it became evident to Maria that they were the only relatives from Nick’s side of the family on board. Puzzled she pondered how the others were getting to Canterbury. She decided not to highlight this observation to Sam but wondered if with his eye for detail, had he picked on this oddity himself?
The other passengers were quite literally in high spirits. Having imbibed liberally at the pub, they now passed around hip flasks. Alcohol had unleashed their playful side. Guffaws bounced around the vehicle as the old double decker navigated the narrow country lanes bashing overhead trees, jerking its passengers abruptly from side to side like a fairground ride. Maria forced a smile at the antics. She tried to share her husband’s faith in his brother, thrusting to the back of her mine the side of Nick she was more familiar with.
The bus arrived at the venue prematurely. It was a small Zoroastrian chapel built into the ancient city walls. It had been chosen for its quirkiness. Fellow passengers finding the doors firmly closed to them were content to mill about looking at watches still however in celebratory mood. Sam was not good at aimlessly wandering so suggested a coffee in a nearby café. Making their way through the Saturday morning shoppers their appearance was met with curious stares. An elderly quartet enjoying a late breakfast remarked, “You two look fabulous. Is it your wedding day?’’ Setting them right Sam hissed to his wife ‘’ We do scrub up well.’’
In their absence the venue doors had been opened. It was a small building more like a priest hole than a chapel. Its shape was dictated by being part of the fabric of the ancient wall. The ceilings were low and the walls made of the same flint as the wall itself. It accommodated about 40 seats. None of the plain pine chairs had been reserved apart from the front row nearest the altar. Of course, the maths did not stack up. There would necessarily be a remainder of guests without seating. Consequently, there had been a free for all when the doors were opened. Every chair was now occupied. The overspill would have to stand at the rear.
No provision had been made for Sam and Maria. Losing out in the seating lottery they were forced to stand at the back of the chapel joining a rag tag of the couple’s acquaintances, who knowing their place had not troubled with formal wedding attire. Trainers and track bottoms sufficed.
The front row was clearly reserved for close family members such as Aunty Nancy and her family. The two brothers sat side by side. Their positioning screaming to all that David was best man. This casting roles was now undeniable, even to Sam. He gripped Maria’s hand as he stared at the front row only able to articulate, “I don’t believe he’s done this to me.’’
“Betrayal,” Maria thought to herself takes many forms. It can be blatant. An affair. Theft from a trusted friend. But it could also be subtle, cunning even. This was the kind she was witnessing. It was designed as a personal slight, targeting Sam only, so not obvious to outsiders thereby avoiding censure. Any accusations of exclusion could be disingenuously argued away by ‘We just wanted everyone involved in the ceremony to be coordinated.” But it was the hurt caused by these actions, felt acutely by Sam and to a lesser extent by herself that was the reality. They were not particularly sensitive or mimsy but knew when they were being slighted. It was not an oversight either. The proof of intention lay in the withholding of information, that created this shock that felt like an assault. She knew that if Nick had simply revealed his plans to Sam, he would have understood and accepted as his brother’s right to have the wedding he desired.
Maria looked up at her husband. His face was white. His mouth set in a line. She had no time to sympathise as the wedding march suddenly issued from the sound system. The choreography of the proceeding’s events built upon this undertone of spite. The bride was a petite woman whose best attributes were her blonde bob and baby blue eyes that gave a false impression of innocence. At forty and married before, she had nevertheless opted to wear a white confection. But it was the presence of Ted, Sam’s stepfather, parading her up the aisle that slapped the couple in the face. Maria spontaneously articulating, “My God, Ted’s giving her away!”
This man was a controversial figure to her husband. He attributed his mother’s premature death to Ted’s negligence. A heavy drinker, he had insisted, despite a long flight from Florida that he and Joan have a night cap at their local. Clumsy with exhaustion she had misjudged the gap between the car and the curb and taken a bad fall from which she never recovered.
With no-one to rein in his drinking, Ted became a familiar in the pub at the end of his road. Drinking despite doctor’s warnings until he compromised the use of his legs. The last Sam and Maria had seen him was confined to an electric wheelchair.
Yet here he was Lazarous-like walking the bride down the aisle dressed in the wedding livery; his steps sure, thoroughly pleased with himself. The insults seemed to come like a flight of arrows.
Behind the bride was his middle-aged sister, resplendent in an overblown lilac dress that even a young girl would struggle to carry off.
“Ridiculous,” thought Maria repressing a giggle. “She looks like a giant blueberry.”
Sam had seen enough. “We’re leaving after the ceremony.”
Maria greeted the words with relief. They would not have to attend the lavish reception that might, as the evening wore on, prove incendiary. The idea of grinning through the speeches, pretending they were not hurt at the exclusion, made her inwardly groan. The couple had been subtly wrong-footed. If they made a scene in public, lost their composure, they would be accused of ruining the wedding.
So as the newly weds embraced and the congregation applauded, Sam and Maria, slipped unremarked out of the chapel doors. One advantage of being consigned to the back, Maria conceded was the proximity to the exit.
Waiting at the bus stop she allowed Sam to brood. Maria took stock of the family. All their relationships were messy. Sam and his sister Karen skilfully skirted each other at family events including their mother’s funeral. Bridges between these two could not be repaired. She had accused Sam of stealing from their mum. Her mother-in-law had set her straight, but no apologies were issued and Sam was not a forgiving man especially where his beloved mother has concerned. Maria although she loved her mother-in-law, as an outsider could see, she was often loath to call her family to order. Strange since as a retired lawyer she had a fiery reputation when practicing but this did not translate into the governance of her children. As a result, grievances stewed. Maria saw that now sister and sister in-law worked in cahoots. They wanted a happy Facebook family. Sam and Maria had no place in their plans. It was clear that the wedding livery, the synchronisation of the wedding party were messages to the elder brother. He was being evicted.
As the local bus slowly wound its way back to the town where their car was corralled, Sam began to open up more. “I’ve bailed him out so many times.’’
Maria was aware of the phone calls from Nick asking for a loan to cover a gambling debt or car repairs. Sam had given without hesitation, reporting to her with a grin, “Nick’s in a pickle again’’ — entirely accepting of his brother’s flaws. She was also aware that Sam had for years treated his brother to expensive outings to soccer matches and Formula 1 Races, happy to pay for days out with the favoured brother whose company he so appreciated.
Maria listened attentively, her eyes never leaving his face as the idea of the brother he thought he knew began to die in the face of so much reality. He recalled how as a youngster himself he had become in loco parentis to his siblings, while his mother worked long hours in London and dad managed a public house. With a five-year distance between himself and his brothers and sister, he had made their supper, prepared lunches, ensured their homework was competed and readied school uniforms for the following day.
Sam’s mind was clearly being torn apart. He still struggled to find excuses, trying to make sense of his brother’s betrayal. “Do you think it’s Clair’s doing?’’
She saw him clutching at straws, trying to shift the blame on the pretty blonde who had turned his head and responded with a noncommittal “maybe’.
Then his thoughts changed tack again, “Well I never knew he was so weak.’’
Quite suddenly, he issued what she knew to be a death sentence to the relationship, “I will never forgive for this, never speak to him again.’’ His wife knew that this was not just anger speaking. Sam had a propensity of cutting people who had crossed him out of his life. There would be no way back for the brother. The judgement would be final.
Turning towards her he then pronounced, “You are my family now.’’ Words she never thought she would hear him say, content that she would always share him with this brother. Long suspecting that if it came to a choice Nick would be chosen over her.
While many women would have rejoiced at these words, would feel relief at no longer being subjected to Nick’s hectoring, his public put downs, all behaviour unheard of amongst her own family and friends, the emotional responsibility felt like a great weight placed upon her.
“But will I be enough?” She responded anxiously.
He hugged her. “Of course.”
Maria wondered if this was the right time to reveal her own experiences of the brother, especially his spiteful behaviour which gone unchallenged through out his life, practiced upon her even in front of her own friends, evidenced by his remarks at her own wedding reception “Déjà vu here, I can’t remember what number marriage Sam’s on now.” The other guests were left open-mouthed.
But Maria knew the timing was not right. It would seem opportunistic as if she was airing her own grievances. Perhaps too it would be too much truth for her husband to manage for one day. It would be a conversation for another time.
Later that evening although they did not articulate it, watching TV they each listened for the phone. Expecting a call that would either challenge why they were missing from the reception or enquire if someone was sick – a normal reaction to their absence– one that would at least suggest the wedding had not been a deliberate snub. But the call never came. The family it seemed were satisfied that they had achieved their objective. Either that or during their revelry, they simply had not registered the couple’s non-attendance.
Fiona Sinclair is a retired English teacher. She lives in the UK in a rural village with a Yamaha motor bike, a feral garden and a husband. Fiona has been writing poetry for over 15 years. She has had several collections of poetry published by small presses in the UK. Over the last 3 years, Fiona has written short stories that have been published in good magazines in both the US and UK.
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