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By Root 1401 0

a mystery. Peter was a friend of John’s from sixth form. He’d gone to university in America—his mum was from New York, apparently—and only just finished graduate school. They’d never met. Peter had barely seen John since A levels. The wedding was in Yorkshire—he was marrying some girl he’d known forever—at her parents’ house, but under his mother’s obvious influence, there were touches of Americana about the proceedings. They’d received a “save the date” card about six months earlier (she remembered wondering as she read it whether she would still be John’s plus one by then, and being surprised at wondering) and then an elaborate invitation to what appeared to be an entire weekend of nuptial celebrations, beginning on the Friday night with a “rehearsal dinner” and finishing on Sunday afternoon, with a “survivor’s brunch.” The wedding appeared almost an incidental part. John was to be one of five ushers (she felt disloyal wondering if the groom really knew what he was letting himself in for, choosing John; he was hardly the type to put one on the sleeper to Edinburgh, or shave off eyebrows—maybe he had been chosen for his sobriety…as it turned out, he’d been away working, and missed the stag weekend in Istanbul altogether), each to be accompanied down the aisle by a bridesmaid. John had been dispatched for his tuxedo fitting some months earlier and returned with a swatch of fabric from his waistcoat. This, presumably, so that his guest would do her best not to clash with the wedding colors and ruin the photographs. Jennifer felt a mischievous impulse to wear black—wasn’t she in mourning for the death of love?

This was clearly to be a circus, the likes of which the town of Ilkley had never seen. And she felt like one of the performers. She and John hadn’t had sex in about two months, and now, when one stayed over with the other, since they had never actually gotten a place together, they lay on opposite sides of the bed, sheets tucked primly under their arms, concentrating on their novels, and when the lights went out they fell asleep without touching at all, bar a dry, sad little kiss. It was like if either of them opened their mouth, all this stuff would come out. They talked about it—joked weakly about how tired they both were, idly wondered about a weekend away at some point in the future, but they were lying.

Jennifer had had an hour to kill earlier while John and the others took part in the “rehearsal.” They were staying in a nice, country hotel neither of them could really afford, but it had been the cheapest place on the list that came with the invitation. It was chintzy and frilly, and she swore the matronly woman who registered them at the desk sniffed when she saw that they weren’t married, but it had a beautiful view of open countryside.

She used the time to take a run. She’d started running a year or so earlier and discovered—much like bacon sandwiches, which she had taken to eating in secret at about the same time—that she loved it. It made her feel powerful and free. Head down, headphones on, she ran hard for half an hour trying not to think about John, and what the hell she was doing here, at this wedding of people she didn’t know and didn’t care about, with a man she was no longer in love with, losing herself in the song lyrics on her CD Walkman and the stunning scenery.

She met Stephen at the rehearsal dinner, to which she did wear black, having compromised and bought an entirely suitable coat dress and shift in an utterly appropriate soft green for the next day. He was an usher from the university years, evidently, although he was English—they’d met doing an internship at a bank in London three summers earlier. John was sat at the other end of the table, next to the blond bridesmaid he would accompany down the aisle the next day. He looked miserable. Which was actually, she realized, his normal face. Which was, actually, she then realized, why he was so…exhausting to live with.

THEY ALL STOOD OBEDIENTLY BEHIND THEIR MARKED PLACES, waiting for the main bridal party to take their seats.

“You look great