Page 3 of Wish You Were Here
Sydney, Australia
Saskia
‘Just don’t have sex with the best man,’ says Jess.
‘Why not? He’s hot!’ I reply.
‘He is, but he’s also a complete bastard.’
‘The devil!’ chips in Caroline from the other side of Jess.
‘That hasn’t stopped me before,’ I say.
‘Okay, fine, he cheated on Caroline with a stripper,’ says Jess.
‘Really?’ I ask disbelievingly. ‘Because that sounds like the sort of story you’d make up just to stop me from sleeping with him.’
‘Okay, fine, she wasn’t a stripper, but she was obviously a whore.’
‘Defo a whore,’ says Caroline, fiddling with Jess’s hair. ‘And she wasn’t the only one.’
‘Weren’t you and Brad only together for like a month?’ I ask.
‘That isn’t the point!’ says a suddenly weepy Caroline.
‘Look, Sas, it’s my wedding day,’ says Jess. ‘I know what you’re like, and I’m asking you not to fuck the best man, okay?’
‘What do you mean? I know what you’re—’
‘We’d really appreciate it,’ says Caroline.
‘Fine,’ I say, looking across at Jess in her wedding dress, and she does look incredible.
Jess has always been tall, and now with heels, she is well over six feet.
It’s hard not to feel like one of the seven dwarfs standing next to her when I am quite short at five-foot-two.
This has been the story of our relationship since primary school.
There was Jess, who was athletic, popular and intelligent, and then there was me, who was short, creative and clearly in Jess’s shadow – literally and metaphorically.
I was with Jess the day she picked out the dress at the wedding shop in the CBD, and for everyday after when she needed something because I am her maid of honour and it is my job to make sure she has the best wedding day ever.
Now this also includes me not sleeping with the best man, but if this is what Jess wants, then this is what she will get.
Nothing is as important as making her wedding a day to remember – and not because I was caught rooting the best man against her explicit wishes.
‘Who isn’t having sex with whom?’ says Jess’s dad Graham, walking up to his daughter’s side. Graham is early-fifties, divorced from Jess’s mum and re-married to a woman named Tess, which is obviously a bit of a head-fuck for Jess.
‘No-one is allowed to have sex with the best man,’ says Jess.
‘He broke my heart,’ says Caroline disconsolately, dramatically putting a hand on her heart.
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ says Graham. ‘Right, are we ready?’
We all look towards Jess, who nods her head, and it is time to walk down the aisle.
I can see tears beginning to form in Jess’s eyes, and it is hard not to start crying myself, but I have to keep it together.
I have a speech to deliver, a song to sing, and the last thing I can do is start crying, smudging my makeup like a high-schooler who was dumped by her boyfriend just before prom.
To be fair, singing a song at their wedding was my idea.
When Jess and Aaron announced they were getting married, the first thing I said, after congratulating them, was, ‘Why don’t I sing a song at the wedding?
’ They were giddy with love and excitement and agreed, and nothing was said about it until about a month ago when Jess asked me how it was going.
I have spent the last month desperately writing a wedding song, and I am nervous about it.
I have sung in venues all across Sydney, and even at a festival in Byron Bay, but none of those gigs felt as important as Jess’s wedding.
I can’t fuck this up because while people will most likely remember Jess's stunning dress or the breathtaking venue, what they'll probably talk about the next day is the train wreck of a wedding singer if it’s a disaster.
The wedding is at a spectacular location up on a headland in Manly, and you can see all the way across to the Sydney skyline in the distance.
It’s about as perfect a location for a wedding as I can imagine.
As we walk towards Aaron, I see the gorgeous azure ocean behind him, and a vast cloudless sky that stretches off overhead.
Jess wanted the Crowded House song, ‘Fall at your Feet’, so all I can hear is that and Jess doing her best not to fall apart ahead of me, arm in arm with Graham, which makes me think about my own dad, but I can’t go down that rabbit-hole because I will definitely start sobbing.
Emotions are high enough without adding Dad to the mix.
Eventually, we reach the front where Aaron is standing with his groomsmen, and under a wooden arch, adorned with a wonderful array of pretty flowers, is Aaron’s brother, Gary, who is going to be the celebrant.
Gary is a radio DJ in Melbourne and so the perfect choice.
He has a brilliant radio voice, although I am slightly concerned he might treat the wedding ceremony like his morning show, and we’ll have to take breaks for weather and traffic updates.
Jess reaches the front where she is passed from her father to Aaron, and everyone takes their places.
I walk across and stand next to Jess and the rest of the wedding party.
I glance across at the best man, Brad, and as I do, he looks at me, smiles, winks and it is clear what his plans are for the night ahead.
I don’t respond and instead turn away and look out into the crowd where I spot Mum and her boyfriend, Brian.
Today, for some reason, Brian is wearing a kilt, and I know for a fact he’s not Scottish.
He also has long hair, which, for a man approaching his sixties, is just not on, but he’s Mum’s boyfriend and I do my best to get along with him.
The wedding is beautiful, goes off without a hitch, and Gary does a brilliant job and stays on script, but it’s hard not to watch it and reflect upon my life choices. In fact, watching my best friend get married, it’s like a mirror to my own failures.
I am three months away from turning thirty, and I am no closer to achieving any of my life goals than I was at twenty.
It’s hard not to feel like it’s been ten years wasted when most of my friends have all gone on to bigger and better things.
When I was twenty and confidently told everyone I was going to be a singer, they probably said something like, ‘How exciting, best wishes for the future. I hope you make it!’ But at thirty, when you have been trying to make it for ten years and still live at home with your mum, people tend to be more like, ‘Okay, well, it’s been ten years, Saskia, probably best give it up now, and get a proper job, eh.
’ And it’s fair enough, but the problem is, I don’t feel ready to give up completely.
Then there’s my love life, which is best described as shit boyfriend after shit boyfriend, and shallow, pointless one-night-stand after shallow, pointless one-night-stand.
I am no nearer to love than I was ten years ago, and perhaps further away because all the decent men are spoken for.
I am getting to the point when it’s probably worth waiting for the good men who got married at twenty-five to get divorced, and I can get them on the second time around.
Once the ceremony is over, we are whisked away for photos while everyone else enjoys canapes and cocktails. Jess and Aaron are off taking family photos, and I’m waiting, increasingly nervous about my song, when best man Brad walks over.
‘It’s Saskia, right?’ he says.
‘That’s right, and you’re Brad, the bastard?’
‘I think you mean Brad, the best man,’ he says like he’s just been given a lifetime achievement award.
I’m trying not to catch his eye because he has stunning eyes.
In fact, everything about Brad is stunning.
He’s one of those men who could easily have been a fashion model if he had chosen that career path.
He’s tall with dark hair, dark eyes and you know that underneath that suit is an incredible body.
He’s also a chiropractor, so earns good money in a proper career, and can treat a bad back – sexy and practical!
Despite Brad being Aaron’s best mate, somehow our paths have never crossed until now.
Brad spent time on the Gold Coast, and when he got back to Sydney, we somehow just never met.
Fortunately, before I am forced to have an entire conversation with Brad, the photographer’s assistant – a small, I assume gay man, with quite a flamboyant moustache – calls across.
‘MOH and BM. Quick, quick!’ he says, clapping his hands together, and I am saved – for the time being at least.
The reception venue is decorated with lights, flowers and the tables are all set up for the meal.
Jess, Aaron and the rest of the wedding party are at the head table while I am sitting to the side of them, about to perform my song.
It’s suddenly so much hotter than it was, and about fifty mobile phones are pointed directly at me.
Such has been my complete lack of success, this is one of the largest audiences I have ever played to, and because of the occasion, perhaps the only one where everyone is actually listening to me.
‘So,’ Gary says into a microphone. ‘Without further ado, I give you the maid of honour, Saskia, and her song, oh fuck, what was it called again?’ Gary reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a slip of paper, while nearby parents cover their children’s ears.
Gary has clearly had a few drinks since the wedding ceremony.
‘Oh yeah, ‘The Wedding Day Love Song’. Original, I guess. Yeah, so anyways, Saskia!’