The One That Got Away

During their three-year engagement, Gillian lost count of how many times Archie Abelard had kept her waiting. He’d caused them to miss endless restaurant bookings, the start of every film and party they’d ever attended, plus two holiday flights. By the end of their relationship, Gillian tired of Archie’s lousy excuses despite humouring his hilarious attempts to rescue their social life from certain calamity. 

#

   On Gillian’s wedding day, it was the roadworks on Camden Road that contributed to Archie’s late arrival. The joyful cadence of ancient bells chimed overhead as his taxi pulled up outside the Church of St. John the Evangelist. 

   “That’ll be twenty-two quid, pal,” said the driver, extending his chubby fingers.

   “I need you to wait,“ Archie said, brandishing a fifty-pound note.

   “I’ll keep the meter running,“ he replied, pocketing the note.

   “Just hang on, I won’t be long.”

   “Don’t worry, I’ll be here.”

   “Much appreciated.”

   “Good luck.”

The church organ’s swirling arpeggios greeted Archie as he skulked past the oak-panelled door. A pimply young usher in an ill-fitting suit proffered an order of service and whispered, “Are you with the family or …?” 

   “I’m know the bride.” 

   “Family seating to the right and---”

   “Thank you.” 

Archie smiled and headed left, selecting a rear pew behind two women wearing exotic fascinators, resembling graceful waterfowl. Despite their wafting plumage, he had a clear view of the altar and a handy position for a strategic withdrawal. Archie hadn’t come to make a fuss, but once he’d made his presence known, he intended leaving.

#

Gillian made a point of being punctual and was never late for appointments. She found Archie’s rotten timekeeping infuriating and despised his apparent lack of concern. However, today of all days, she was stuck on Camden Road; there were roadworks in progress and a burst water-main to contend with. Her father grimaced beside her as their taxi driver hammered on the horn and cursed under his breath. 

   “I don’t want to say I told you so, Gillian.”

   “How could I know there’d be a hold-up?”

   “I blame it all on your previous suiter.”

   “What’s Archie got to do with it, Dad?’

   “He was a bad influence, that’s what.”

Gillian took a deep breath and, closing her eyes, counted to ten and exhaled through her nose. Archie had been late all the time and got away with it. Why shouldn’t she? It was acceptable to be late on her big day.

#

Archie didn’t know why Gillian had decamped and left her engagement ring. He'd returned two days later than expected from a lads’ weekend away to find it on their kitchen table, along with her door key and a “Dear John” letter. She wrote that she’d had enough. It was all over. Gillian didn’t elaborate or explain and hoped they’d remain friends.

   Now Gillian was getting married to some guy she’d only known for three months. Archie couldn’t believe she’d get married so soon after their break up. He’d always treated her with respect. Gillian had no reason to leave him. Archie admitted he wasn’t punctual, but he was reliable in many other ways. Archie just needed time to prove himself.

#

   “Here we go, sir,” said the taxi-driver, pulling up outside the church.

   “About time too, young man,” said Gillian’s father.

   “Better late than never.”

   “After you, my dear.”

   “Good luck, miss.”

Gillian and her father alighted the taxi, and he offered her a sturdy arm as they approached the front door. Mister Winward was glad that she’d dumped that ne’er-do-well boyfriend and relieved she’d calmed down after a frantic year of speed dating and agonising heartache. He’d expected his daughter to be settled by her late twenties and furious she’d wasted three precious years with that ‘Archie-bloody-Abelard.’

#

Hidden from view in the church’s upper gallery, a lively organist treated the patient congregation to his extensive repertoire of rousing tunes. The happy couple’s various relatives had arrived in formal anttire and occupied the first six pews on the right side of the nave. Archie searched the congregation for acquaintances from his previous life and detected occasional squawks of delight from Gillian’s two closest friends on the front row. The groom was chatting with his best man to their right. He didn’t look like Gillian’s sort. Her new man was thick set with slicked-back hair and a slight paunch; maybe a rugby player? Archie had assumed he’d been her type, now he wasn’t sure.

   The couple in front of Archie hissed in clandestine tones, causing their hat feathers to bow and curtsy like two enamoured swans performing a courtship ritual. 

   “Her new man’s a proper hunk.”

   “Check the tight buns on him.”

   “He’s minted too, lucky cow.”

Surely, she couldn’t be serious about this new guy? Wasn’t he just a flash city boy? 

He’d be off like a shot when he got bored. Then she’d be sorry.

#

Archie hadn’t enquired about Gillian’s new squeeze, but there must have been a reason for Gillian to say, ‘Yes’. Maybe he was useful around the house or patient with her father? Archie never got Mister Winward’s approval, and they’d clashed over politics. 

#

The church’s south door swung open, framing the bride and her father in the entrance. A sudden hush descended upon the gathering as they stepped forward. Gillian had wrapped her lithe silhouette in elegant white silk and cantilevered her auburn tresses high above her domed forehead. Mister Winward thrust his top hat at the hapless usher and adjusted his cufflinks before offering his arm once again. On cue, the strains of the Bridal Chorus issued forth and Mister Winward guided Gillian into the nave, like an intrepid tugboat manoeuvring a luxury yacht into a congested wharf. 

   At the junction with the central aisle, Mister Winward clocked Archie and glared, bearing his jagged incisors. It wasn’t a lingering threat, more like a fleeting amalgam of triumph and revenge. His gait didn’t falter, and when he squeezed his daughter’s arm to indicate Archie’s presence, she failed to interpret the prompt. Gillian was far too busy basking in the adoring gaze of her well-wishers to worry about a has-been. She shimmered like an apparition as she tottered towards her future husband, who turned to face her, grinning from ear to ear like a witless buffoon. 

What was she doing with him?

#

If only Archie had listened to Gillian, this could have been his day. They were perfect for each other. Even after three years of cohabiting, they used to finish each other’s sentences. They were a team, and she’d said as much. Decorating their flat was an exercise in effortless clairvoyance because they possessed similar sensibilities. Whenever Archie selected a paint colour, Gillian would complement his choice with sympathetic soft furnishings and vice versa. 

   Both Archie and Gillian enjoyed entertaining and invited healthy competition into the kitchen as they prepared food for both themselves and their friends. They liked nothing more than wandering down Queen’s Crescent market on a Saturday morning and foraging for spices and herbs, and selecting fresh vegetables and fish from their favourite stall-holders. Archie recalled a happy day when they bought all the ingredients required to conjure up a homemade curry from scratch; grinding coriander seeds with turmeric and cumin, and milling black pepper corns and cardamom pods. It took all day to concoct and cook, and their guests consumed the lot in ten minutes flat. They laughed and lived enough for a lifetime in those three years together. They were lovers and best friends.

#

As time went by and the carefree weekends disappeared. Gillian spent more time with her girlfriends and drank in ever-increasing amounts. They spent fewer work nights together, making less time for each other. On their third New Year’s Eve as a couple, Archie had intended to propose as the midnight bells chimed. He thought it would be a grand gesture and a moment to remember forever. However, it didn’t work out as he’d planned. If Archie was poor at timekeeping, his timing was far worse. 

   Gillian was late for once and in a foul mood by the time they arrived at the venue. She’d had a couple of drinks beforehand and Archie had agreed to drive. By that stage of their relationship, he was the driver by default, and she’d become the designated drunkard. A couple of hours later, as Archie was fumbling for the ring, the midnight fireworks exploded and Gillian lurched towards him and launched the contents of her stomach at his jacket. Archie never told her about the ring and later returned it to the jewellery store.

   During the last six months of their relationship, Archie returned home later and later. Their conversations became sporadic and angry. He was never there, and she was never sober. Isolation and withdrawal are reluctant bedfellows who are mutually exclusive and seldom in accord. Archie’s didn’t return late on purpose from his lads’ weekend away, however he didn’t think Gillian would notice, let alone care. He didn’t consider that she might hurting, too.

   Gillian maintained Archie wasn’t committed and stated that she wanted more than he could give her. Everyone else in their circle of friends had got married and they told Gillian she’d be next. It was expected. What was wrong with Archie? Why hadn’t he done the decent thing? Gillian’s friends said he must be seeing another woman. Archie denied the accusation. Besides, she’d never believe him if he told her the truth about the ring and his disastrous New Year’s Eve surprise. It was too late to explain everything to her. Or was it? Maybe he had one chance. 

#

As the opening hymn drew to a close and its final reverberations ricocheted around the granite walls, the priest offered quiet words of encouragement to the bride and groom. He raised his Book of Common Prayer and the congregation fell silent.

   “The purpose of marriage is that you always love, care for, and support each other through both the joys and sorrows of life.”

Archie considered all the reasons their relationship ended. 

   “Today you will exchange vows of marriage which will unite you as husband and wife.”

It wasn’t a lack of commitment on his part as much as procrastination.

   “Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Archie’s father told him that silence helped self-awareness and relieved stress. 

He’d said it stimulated the brain and helped process information. 

Silence is powerful. 

Archie raised a trembling hand as if he were back at primary school and confessing to a historical misdemeanour; releasing those pet mice in class or maybe hoofing that ball through the headmaster’s office window.

   “I object,” said a voice as an arm extended upwards amongst the throng.

The congregation gasped in unison like an orchestra of decrepit accordions, inhaling their last breaths. 

   “No,” said another voice, “I object!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Archie saw another hand aloft and yet another arm waving two rows beyond, and three more rigid limbs closer to the pulpit. 

There’ll never be another Gillian.

Maybe it’s just as well.

#

Archie’s day ended as it started. He slumped back into the taxi’s rear seat.

   “Where to now, pal?”

   “Home’s just fine.”

   “Right you are.”

   “Indeed I am.”                                   

The End