Joan cuts in. “Shut up about the food. This is Davey.”
Miranda half laughs, half looks awkward. She speaks in an embarrassed sing-song voice. “So you said.”
“Davey,” Joan says again, more forcefully now. “As inHannah’s Davey.”
Miranda looks from me to Joan and then back again. She tips her chin up. “What?” she asks slowly.
Joan nods. “Hannah’s Davey,” she repeats, and the three of us are standing in a strange triangle of total disbelief.
“Hannah’s Davey?” Miranda says slowly. “Hannah’s Davey. Is…here?”
I nod. There’s very little else for me to do. Or say. I don’t know what I can say that would sound even remotely normal.
“What are you doing here?” Miranda asks. Her voice is an octave higher than it was before. Incredulous.
“I work here. Or I did, for a while. I leave tomorrow.”
Miranda’s face goes slack and she blinks a few times. She looks like she wants to swear. “Fu-u-u-ck,” she says eventually as she stares at me. “My God, you are like your pictures, now that I look at you.”
She straightens, glances around. None of us speak until eventually the groom wanders over to us, looks at me.
“Hi,” I say, because no one else is speaking.
“Hello, mate,” he says a little tipsily. “I’ll confess I’ve had a few beers and I know that I must know you, because you’re at my wedding, but I’ll be honest and say I can’t remember where I know you from, or what the hell your name is.”
Miranda and Joan look lost. I know I do too, but I extend my hand out of habit and say, “I’m Davey.”
“Nice to meet you, Davey…” and he extends his hand, butstops halfway, steps closer, scrutinizes me. He looks at Miranda as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.
“Davey?” he questions. “Not…? Not…?” He casts a look at me. “Er…”
“Yes,” Joan chimes in. “He’sthatDavey.”
“What. The. Fuck?” Paul replies. “For real? Did Hannah invite you?”
“Ssh for a second—I need to think,” Miranda says. “Actually, where is Hannah? I don’t think we should spring you on her, but I can’t see her.”
At this I straighten. “Hannah’shere?”
Miranda nods.
OfcourseHannah would be here. This is Miranda. This is Hannah’s best friend. Of course she’d be at her best friend’s wedding. Oh my God, Hannah is here. I don’t know what to do. Other than that almost-time on the train, I’ve never met her in real life. I never got that chance. Fate or something resembling fate had other plans for me, made sure I never met her. And thenImade sure I never met her, never called her.
And now…she’s here. And I’m here. And I’m scared. What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if she hates me? This is Hannah…who I liked, who I was falling for, and with whom I ended things. I refused to speak to her. I never thanked her for encouraging me to go in for my last round of chemo. Between her and Grant, they saved my poor excuse for a life. I didn’t treat her the way I should have. I should leave this wedding now. I shouldn’t be upending things for Hannah again, especially as she’s with someone else now. I tell Joan I think this is going to do more harm than good.
“Don’t talk rot,” she commands. “They’re not together anymore. He wasn’t the one for her. That girl cared about you, worried about you, and I’m pretty bloody sure she loved you.”
“Oh Jesus!” I rub my hand across my face. What the hell do Isay to that? I can’t tell her I felt the same. I can’t tell Joan anything like this. But even if Hannah’s not with that guy anymore, can I do this—can I just walk into her life as if nothing’s happened?
Miranda chimes in, “If you think you’re walking away again now, then I’m going to make Paul…no, I’m going to make Joan hold you down, while I work out what on earth to do next.”
I look at Paul, who shrugs, sips his beer.
Miranda speaks. “Don’t you fucking dare leave,” she warns me. She’s rummaging in Paul’s trouser pocket for a mobile phone, taps urgently into it. Next to me, Joan’s handbag rings, and Joan is forced to explain what’s happened as Miranda hangs up after her fruitless dialing of Hannah’s phone.
I have to do something. This isn’t about them. This is about me. This is about Hannah. It’s finally my turn to take action. “I’m going to go and find her,” I say determinedly. And they all look at me as if they doubt my U-turn, as if they’re still expecting me to run.
I know this is what I need to do. Whatever happens: Hannah and I, wehaveto meet. I don’t know if we should be together. I don’t know if she even wants me after all this time. But I do know that I have to find out. I have to look her in the eye and I have to apologize. I have to see her, in real life. I have to do at least these few things before we go our separate ways.
