Page 4 of Going Overboard

‘A cruise to a wedding,’ she corrects him. ‘Because one member of the wedding party doesn’t like flying – just let me check my notes, see who that is, oh, yes – you.’

‘But you’re the one insisting we get married in Sicily, my darling,’ he replies.

Honestly, I could watch this all day.

Kelsey rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath about how she could insist they don’t get married at all.

I just laugh. This is peak them. Their banter, their easy rhythm – it’s why I always feel happy when I’m around them. Todd seems a bit distracted – he’s probably still seething over having to sing, because that makes his life a little too much like a musical.

Kelsey really has taken destination weddings to a whole new level.

She’s not just getting married abroad. No, no.

Too simple. She’s sailing into her wedding like the queen that she is, turning the journey into a sort of pre-party at sea for the important names on the guest list. A five-day cruise through the Med, docking in Sicily where the actual ceremony will take place. That’s a movie-worthy wedding, surely?

Am I mad that I need to take a week off work for it?

Absolutely not. Todd and I have been talking about needing a holiday for months, but we’re always too busy – one, the other or both of us.

This way, it’s all rolled into one – a holiday, a wedding, an escape from day-to-day life.

I’ve been trying to find a way for the two of us to spend more time together, so this is our chance.

And we get to watch our best friends tie the knot too, so even better.

Luckily the expense isn’t something mere mortals like us need to worry about, because Neil is from one of those old-money families, and his family in particular just loves keeping up with the Joneses.

Hilariously, their last name is Jones, which means they’re keeping up with themselves, and that seems accurate to me.

I haven’t spent much time around Neil’s family, or his friends outside our mutual group, so I’m hoping it isn’t going to be an overly stuffy thing full of rich people who eat crumpets and play polo.

Kelsey might not be old money, but she’s always dreamed of a big fancy wedding, and she deserves this. Cruising to her perfect wedding. Love that for her.

The food is unbelievably good – all three courses of it. We’ve just finished dessert which was a dark chocolate tart with something citrusy and suspiciously addictive. I ate mine and half of Todd’s. Well, he did leave it unattended, so I assume he wasn’t planning on finishing it.

It’s a good job I’ve had Kelsey to chat with all day because Todd can’t seem to sit still for more than five minutes.

He’s been up and down all through the meal – getting drinks, wandering outside, probably taking photos of the grounds or the old hall.

He does that sometimes when he’s overwhelmed, he retreats to nature and architecture, so I just leave him to it.

‘I’m just going to nip to the loo,’ I tell Kelsey, pushing back from the table.

‘Don’t get lost,’ she replies. ‘I hear it’s a trek.’

Okay, she’s not kidding, you do have to ‘travel’ to the loos, but they have a golf buggy if you want a lift. I think that’s Kelly’s mum, kind of drunk, hanging off the back of it, so I make the short journey on foot, admiring the lake as I walk alongside it.

I step into a cubicle, and that’s when I notice it – someone crying in the one next to me. Not just quiet crying either. Full-on sobbing, with this weird, wobbly pitch to it. It sounds like yodelling. Like someone’s messing with the volume dial on a sad song. I’ve never heard anything like it.

‘Are you okay in there?’ I ask, knocking gently on the wall between us .

‘I’m fine,’ the woman says quickly. A sniff, a pause – then she starts up again.

She doesn’t sound fine.

‘Are you sure?’ I call back, torn between giving her space and not wanting to leave her having a breakdown on her own. ‘I can get someone for you, if you want.’

‘No,’ she replies quickly. ‘I’m okay, it’s just… weddings. And my boyfriend. And… and I’m giving someone everything. Every part of me. My life, my future, my happiness – it’s all in his hands.’

I nod, even though she can’t see me.

‘That’s good, though,’ I say softly. ‘You have an open heart. That’s how love gets in.’

She gives this half-laugh, half-sob.

‘My boyfriend is never going to propose to me,’ she tells me. ‘He won’t commit. I don’t think he can. All he cares about is his job and having a good time and bloody sport – above everything. There’s someone better for me out there, someone who really cares about me – not about sport.’

‘Ugh, sport,’ I groan playfully. ‘My boyfriend looooves football.’

‘For mine, it’s cricket,’ she says, sniffling. ‘He loves it more than he loves me.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I reply – it can’t be, can it?

‘It is,’ she insists. ‘He’d marry cricket if he could. But he won’t marry me. And I guess I need to accept that. But breaking up… moving on… it’s so final. And I can see us having a great life together. Why can’t he?’

Her voice cracks again, and the yodelling sobs return, louder this time.

I feel awful for her. It must hurt, so much, to love someone who can’t see the future you’re trying to build with them.

And honestly? Cricket might be the most boring sport out there – I thought football was bad, but cricket?

Although, to be fair, I’ve never watched golf. It’s a close one to call.

I pause for a second, thinking about what to say, about how much to stick my beak in. This isn’t my problem, or my business, but the urge to help her is one I can’t ignore.

‘You have to be happy. That’s the thing,’ I tell her. ‘That’s all that matters. If he isn’t making you happy – and only you know whether that’s true or not – then do what you need to do. Dump him. Be with someone who makes you feel loved and chosen and not like you’re waiting to be picked.’

‘I feel bad dumping him,’ she says, softer and calmer now. ‘He obviously has issues. Commitment stuff…’

‘That’s on him,’ I reply without a moment of hesitation. ‘You’re his partner, not his therapist. Like my granny used to say: fuck around, find out.’

She laughs – really laughs this time. It bursts out of her.

Almost everyone knows that’s just a joke, that my granny didn’t really say that, but it always gets a laugh. It’s a good phrase to have in the tool belt, especially when you’re trying to cheer someone up.

‘Thanks,’ she says eventually, her voice much stronger now. ‘You’ve given me a lot to think about. You’re right. I should dump him. Go for what makes me happy.’

‘You deserve to be chosen,’ I remind her. ‘Take care of yourself, yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ she replies. ‘Thanks again. I’ll sort myself out and be right out.’

I step out of the cubicle, wash my hands, and leave her to it. My work here is done.

Back at the table, Todd is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Neil.

‘The boys have gone again then,’ I say, taking my seat again. ‘ I’m starting to wonder if there’s a football match on or something… Do you think they’re in the car watching it?’

Kelsey laughs. ‘They’re a funny double act, those two. Honestly, if Neil hadn’t picked one of his oldest mates to be his best man, I think he would’ve chosen Todd.’

‘Boys don’t sweat that stuff, do they?’ I say, scanning the crowd near the bar and the sweet cart. ‘They don’t overthink it.’

‘You looking for someone?’ Kelsey asks.

‘Yeah,’ I say, having no luck. ‘A girl I spoke to in the bathroom. She was crying. Like, really crying.’

‘What did she look like?’ Kelsey asks, leaning in a little. ‘I probably know her, I know almost everyone here.’

‘I didn’t see,’ I reply. ‘She was in a cubicle so I only heard her voice.’

Before Kelsey can respond, Neil strolls back to the table, looking far too pleased with himself.

‘Oh, here he is,’ Kelsey says with faux sweetness. ‘You look sheepish. Were you in the car, watching some silly sport?’

‘Guilty,’ Neil says, grinning. ‘But I have to. You’re marrying a rugged manly man, remember?’

You can tell he’s laying it on thick, joking around, trying to charm his way out of trouble. It’s definitely working. Kelsey rolls her eyes but smiles, clearly amused.

‘Is Todd still there?’ I ask.

Neil blinks.

‘Oh, erm… no, I was on my own.’

‘Oh,’ I say simply.

Kelsey’s already scanning the room, her eyes quick and sharp.

‘He’s over there,’ she tells me, nodding toward the far end of the barn.

I follow her gaze. Todd’s at the bar, talking to the barman, who’s gesturing with his hands like he’s giving directions. Probably to the toilets.

‘If he gets looking at the old house, he might not come back until it gets dark,’ I joke.

Eventually, the lights dim and the music starts to shift. The crowd parts slightly as the DJ introduces the first dance, and the bride and groom step out together, ready to tick off another wedding to-do.

Kelsey and I fall quiet, watching them sway together in the middle of the barn.

‘Unchained Melody’ by the Righteous Brothers – sort of what I expected for a classy affair like this. Something classic but crowd-pleasing.

When it’s time to join the happy couple, everyone starts reaching for their partners and takes to the floor.

I glance around, hoping Todd’s made it back in time. For a moment I can’t see him, and I’m just about to feel disappointed when I spot him in the doorway to the barn.

Just in time.

I hurry over to him, weaving through the tables, dodging chairs and flower arrangements, and take his hand without thinking. His palm’s warm but stiff, like it’s braced for something. I pull him toward the dance floor, smiling up at him.

I know he’s not a big fan of dancing, but he usually makes an exception for first dances at weddings.

‘I thought you’d abandoned me,’ I say with a soft laugh, trying to keep it light and not sound like I’m criticising him, but he does seem a little more awkward than usual today.

Todd doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even fake a smile.

‘It was just a joke,’ I say, a little quieter now. My stomach twists.

Still nothing .

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, keeping my voice low, aware of all the people around us swaying and smiling, lost in their own little bubbles. We’re just another couple dancing.

Todd opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His jaw clenches, like he’s having to wrestle with his words.

‘Todd?’ I press.

He’s scaring me now.

‘It’s not working,’ he says eventually, not even looking me in the eye.

‘What’s not working?’

‘Us. We’re not working,’ he replies.

Now he’s the one glancing around the room like he’s looking for someone, although I don’t think it’s a person he’s looking for, it’s an escape.

I just stare at him. I can’t have heard that right.

‘What do you mean “not working”? What are you trying to say?’

‘I’m trying to say,’ he starts slowly, like it’s something he’s building up to, ‘things haven’t felt right for a while. And being here, at this wedding, it’s just… reminded me that I can’t see a future where we do this. You and me. Getting married.’

My chest goes tight.

‘I don’t care if we get married,’ I say quickly, not doing the best job of hiding the panic in my voice. ‘That’s not the point. We’re happy. Or… I thought we were.’

He sighs, and it’s worse than if he’d shouted.

‘I don’t want to be harsh, Jessa. But I want to be honest,’ he says and I know I’m not going to like this. ‘I do want to get married. Just… not to you.’

There’s so much I want to say, and I have so many questions, but I can’t make my voice work. I’m not even sure if I’m breathing – still dancing though, of course .

‘I’ve been thinking about it for a while,’ he continues.

I laugh, but it’s not a real laugh, it’s a sarcastic laugh, the kind that helps my voice come back.

‘You’re breaking up with me? At a wedding?’ I check.

‘There’s no point pretending everything’s fine. That’s more dishonest,’ he says, and there’s something frustratingly calm about his voice. Measured. Like he’s rehearsed this. Perhaps he has been thinking about this for a while but, damn, it would have been nice to know.

‘You want to talk about dishonest?’ I say, still keeping control of my tone, given that we’re – y’know – at a wedding, on the dance floor. ‘Try pretending you’re happy for God knows how long. Sitting through a three-course meal and smiling at people like everything’s fine.’

Around us, everyone keeps dancing. No one notices us bickering. We’re literally dancing through a break-up, it’s absurd.

Is this karma? For telling that girl in the loos to dump her boyfriend? Then again, I’m not him. I’m not the one refusing to commit. I’m not the one choosing something else over someone who loves them. If anything, Todd is the one who should be getting dumped.

‘We should talk about this in the car,’ Todd says quietly.

‘It should’ve been a conversation for the car from the beginning,’ I practically hiss. ‘But it’s too late now. You’ve made yourself clear.’

‘Jessa, don’t be like that,’ he pleads – in fact, he sounds almost annoyed that I’m not taking this break-up as he had hoped, the idiot.

‘Like what?’ I snap. ‘Furious? Shocked? Embarrassed? You’re lucky we’re at a wedding, because if we weren’t, I’d be reacting very, very differently right now.’

And then the song ends. There’s nowhere to hide now .

The music fades and applause erupts around us, and I let go of him. Too quickly. I style it out by clapping for the happy couple, a smile firmly fixed to my face so that no one suspects anything is up.

Inside, though, I’m screaming.

I suppose with one beautiful beginning comes a savagely brutal end.

This is the last thing I expected to happen today. It’s going to take a lot more than a bit of airbrushing to forget this bad memory.