Unwanted Guest

This is it.

I’m nervous, I’m excited, I’m terrified, I’m ecstatic… I’m standing at the alter on my wedding day.

Mike is smiling down at me (he’s six-foot-four, so he smiles down at everyone), and he looks handsomer than ever in his lush white tux. The vicar is saying something but I can’t hear a word; the blood is rushing through my head and my heart is barely staying inside my chest. If this isn’t over soon, there’ll be blood all over the walls. We paid so much for this place, too – a wedding at Chatsworth House! It would be a shame to let our deposit go to waste.

I tune back in:

“Eloise Mary Chambers, do you take…” He fades out: I’ve rehearsed the vows so many times in my head, I don’t think I’ll ever forget them. It’s almost boring hearing him repeat them. My eyes scan the guests, over a hundred of them – Mike insisted on inviting extended family – and, just as I inhale, ready to say the words that will seal my fate, I see her.

She’s wearing black, that’s the first red card. Who wears black to a wedding? It’s as if she’s already planning for my suspiciously early demise. Did she spike the drinks? No, of course not, she doesn’t have it in her, old hag.

The vicar coughs, and it’s like a slap back to reality.

“El, what’s wrong?” Whispers Mike. I nod my head to the back of the room; he turns, scans, sees, winces. Turns back to me, thinking about someone else’s blood on the walls.

“It’s fine,” he says, but his brow is knitted I can tell he doesn’t believe himself. “Breathe.”

And I try to, I swear I do, but my lungs have given up on me. Like she gave up on me.

I give the vicar my sweetest smile, and say, “One moment, please.” Stepping down from the little podium, I hitch up my skirts and stumble up the aisle, looking comically angry, until I reach the empty last row. Empty, except for my bloody mother.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I mumble. Everyone’s watching me. Mike looks terrified.

She stands up, but she’s only five feet, so I can still patronise her.

“Aren’t I allowed to come to my daughter’s wedding day, eh?” Her voice is smooth and sweet, like a strawberry Cornetto, like it’s normal for here to turn up when I need her most.

And yes, I do need her. But that doesn’t mean I want her here.

“I haven’t got time for this. Get out.”

She feigns shock, and I roll my eyes so catastrophically that I can’t be sure I haven’t just caused an earthquake in New Mexico.

“Darling, there’s no need for that now, is there! You should be grateful I even came.”

“Grateful?” I let out a single, harsh laugh, not bothering to conceal my anger. “Where were you for my 18^th birthday? For my 21^st? Where were you when I graduated, when I lost my baby girl? Where were you when Mike and I got engaged, when dad died? Where were you then, ‘eh’?”

I’m making her uncomfortable, I can tell, in front of all these people. She hates being embarrassed in public, it was always her biggest fear. Pathetic.

I watch her clench her jaw, release it, and bit her lower lip. It’s stained with red wine; I guess she never quit the drinking, then.

“Eloise…”

I hear footsteps behind me, and then Mike is there, his hand on the small of my back, backing me up. God, I could marry him.

“Greta.”

“You must be Michael. Lovely to meet you at last.”

“With all due respect, Mrs Chambers…” He looks at me, his eyes gentle and questioning, as if to ask, May I? I give him the slightest nod.

“Go to hell.”

She sucks in a breath, her mouth sour like she’s just bitten into a lemon. I’ll admit, it’s rather satisfying to watch.

There’s a general gasp, with the old ladies tutting and the old men sniggering. I ignore them, and keep my eyes on Mike.

With one swing, he hits her square in the jaw.

A collective gasp seizes the room, and all eyes turn to me – surely Eloise won’t tolerate this – punching a frail old woman? No, Eloise has standards!

But I almost collapse onto the floor, and start wheezing with laughter, clinging to Mike and looking like a seal having a seizure.

She’s fallen back into the chair, fresh blood matching the wine stains on her lips, and now she’s threatening him, swearing, rambling like a woman gone mad.

“How dare you, you bastard! And you – you ungrateful little bitch! You’re going to hell, the both of you, I’ll have you sued! It’s illegal to hurt an old lady – you’ll be done for attempted harm! Fucking vile!” I watch her, cursing away, and feel the anger melt away and seep into the carpet.

Without another word, still giggling like kids, Mike and I make our way back to the vicar, arm-in-arm. His mouth is wide open, confused, scared, and the guests’ attention is on her as they huddle round and give her tissues and help her sit down.

Ignoring the kerfuffle, Mike and I go back to where we were and hold hands.

“I do,” I say quickly. “Do you?”

“Oh, I definitely do.” Mike grins.

The vicar shrugs. “I suppose…” He tries to speak over the hubbub, but he’s too awkward.

“Man and wife?” Mike interjects.

“That’s it, yes.”

“Cool.” I pull Mike into a long, wet kiss, and he picks me up and carries me out of the church and to the car. As I take a quick look behind us, I see her shaking her fist at me, mumbling something or other, probably wishing the seven deadly sins on us.

Mike puts me down, and grabs two glasses of pink champagne from a table outside, handing me one.

“Cheers,” he says. “To family.”

“To you.”