Tony Parsons
Man And Wife
The second book in the Harry Silver series, 2002
For my father
part one: the man of her dreams
The Most Beautiful Girl in the World
My son comes to my wedding.
He’s my best man. That’s what I tell him. ’You’re my best man, Pat. He looks pleased. He has never been a best man before. Not that he makes a smirking speech about what I got up to with sheep during my wild youth, or tries to get off with the bridesmaid, or even gets to look after the rings. He’s only six years old.
So Pat’s best man duties are largely ceremonial. But I mean it when I tell him that he is my best man.
He’s the best of me, my son, and this special day would feel hollow if he wasn’t here.
In a few days’ time, when the wedding cake has gone and the new married life has begun, and the world starts getting back to normal, some teacher will ask Pat what he did at the weekend.
I went to my dad’s wedding,’ he will say.
And although he doesn’t tell me any more than that, I can guess at the knowing laughter that unguarded, innocent remark, endlessly replayed, will cause in the staff room. How they will chuckle. How they will sigh. A sign of the times, my son’s teachers will think. Children spending the weekend watching one of their parents get spliced. What a world, eh?
I know that my father would have felt the same way, although the old man wouldn’t have found it remotely funny.
Even in his last years, when he was finally becoming resigned to what modern men and women do to their lives, and to the lives of their children, I know that my dad really wouldn’t have wanted his grandson to spend his Saturday afternoon watching me get married.
A nice kickabout in the park would have been all the excitement he needed.
But I think they are all wrong – my son’s teachers, my father, anyone who thinks that the first time should be considered more special than the last time.
Placing no other above thee…
What can be bad about placing no other above thee? How can another try at getting it right ever be wrong? Unless you’re Elizabeth Taylor.
As the years pass, and I start to see more of my father staring at me from the mirror, I find myself more often than not in agreement with his views on the lousy modern world.
But you were wrong about this one, Dad.
We all deserve a second chance to find the love we crave, we all warrant another go at our happy ending, one final attempt to turn our life into something from one of those songs you loved so much.
You know.
One of the old songs.
It’s a small wedding. Tiny, even. Just a few close friends, what’s left of our families – our mothers, our children, her sisters, my dad’s brothers, my mum’s brothers – and the two of us.
Me, and the most beautiful girl in the world.
And I can’t stop looking at her.
Can’t take my eyes off that fabulous face.
Can’t get over how wonderful she looks today, smiling in the back of our black cab, making our way to that little room on Rosebery Avenue where we are to be married.
