A Spot of Bother - Mark Haddon [141]
Dad touched her arm. “How’s tricks?”
“Tricks is good,” said Katie. “Tricks is very good.”
The tiramisu arrived and it was a bit of an anticlimax, frankly. But the chocolates that were served with the coffee were fantastic. And when Jacob came to snuggle in her lap he was more than a little disappointed to find that she’d already eaten hers (Barbara valiantly surrendered her own to keep the peace).
Then there was a loud rap on the table, the chatter subsided and Ed got to his feet. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is traditional at weddings for the best man to stand up and tell crude stories and offensive jokes and make everyone feel really uncomfortable.”
“Quite right,” shouted Uncle Douglas.
Nervous laughter ran round the marquee.
“But this is a modern wedding,” said Ed. “So I’m going to say some nice things about Katie and some nice things about Ray. I’m going to read a few telegrams and say a few thank-yous. Then Sarah, Katie’s best woman, is going to stand up and tell crude stories and offensive jokes and make everyone feel really uncomfortable.”
More nervous laughter ran round the marquee.
Jacob sucked his thumb and fiddled with her wedding ring, and Ray put his arm round her and said, quietly, “I love you, wife.”
135
George sipped at his dessert wine.
“Anyway, she dropped the earlobe,” said Sarah. “So this policeman has to poke around in the footwell. And I don’t know how many of you ever sat in that Fiat Panda, but you could lose, like, a whole dog on the floor of that car. Apple cores. Cigarette packets. Biscuit crumbs.”
Judy was holding a napkin over her mouth. George was unsure whether she was trying to suppress laughter or preparing to vomit.
Katie’s friend was surprisingly good at public speaking. Though George found it hard to believe the Paul Harding story. Was it really possible that a young man could climb out of Katie’s bedroom window, fall from the kitchen roof and break his ankle without George knowing? Perhaps it was. So many things seemed to have been kept from him or simply escaped his notice.
He took another sip of the dessert wine.
Jamie and Tony were still holding hands. He had absolutely no idea how he was meant to react to this. Only a few months ago he would have stopped it happening to prevent other people being offended. But he was less sure of his opinions now, and less sure of his ability to stop anything happening.
His grip on the world was loosening. It belonged to the young people now. Katie, Ray, Jamie, Tony, Sarah, Ed. As it should do.
He did not mind growing old. It was foolish to mind growing old. It happened to everyone. But that did not make it painless.
He wished only that he commanded a little more respect. Perhaps it was his own fault. He recalled spending some time that morning lying in a ditch. It did not seem like a terribly dignified activity. And if one did not act with dignity, how could one command respect?
He leant over and took hold of Jacob’s hand and squeezed it gently, thinking how alike they were, both of them circling in some outer orbit, thousands of miles away from the bright center where the decisions were made and the future was shaped. Though they were moving in opposite directions, of course, Jacob toward the light and himself away from it.
Jacob’s hand did not respond. It remained limp and lifeless. George realized that his grandson was asleep.
He let go of Jacob’s hand and emptied his wineglass.
The blunt truth was that he had failed. At pretty much everything. Marriage. Parenthood. Work.
He never did start painting again.
Then Sarah said, “…a few words from the father of the bride,” which took him completely by surprise.
Luckily there was some introductory applause, during which he was able to gather his thoughts. As he did so he recalled the conversation he had had with Jamie before lunch.
He got to his feet and looked around at the guests. He felt