Jayne sat at Sylvia’s kitchen table, idly tracing the leafy pattern on the tablecloth with the tip of her finger and wondered if it had really been a good idea to accept Sylvia’s invitation to come and stay at her flat in Bridgwater. She would have been on her own, at home in Bristol if she had not come so she had been looking forward to the prospect of having a ‘girl’s weekend’, when they could go out and party, get drunk and have some fun. However things were not looking too promising.

Sylvia was at the sink, washing the collection of coffee cups they had already accumulated during the course of the morning since Jayne’s arrival and recounting the story once again, of how her boyfriend, Paul, had left her, without so much as an explanation three weeks previously. Jayne had only been at Sylvia’s flat for a matter of three hours at the most and the story was already on its third re-run. This was really not what she come from Bristol to hear.

Sylvia and Jayne had been old school friends through primary school and then on through comprehensive, but they had lost touch when Jayne went off to Art College and Sylvia got a job as a typist for a firm of accountants. After finishing her course, Jayne had stayed in Bristol where she had studied, drifted from job to job, none of which had anything to do with Art and eventually met and married Darren Waygood. Darren had been made redundant by the Estate Agents firm at which he had worked and had taken a course in computer studies in the hope of finding another job.

They had met up again by chance; about eight months previously and the friendship had been renewed. However, a lot of water had clearly flowed under the bridge in the years that they had been apart. Jayne found Sylvia to be rather addle headed and irritating now. The things that used to make them both laugh now seemed childish and silly to Jayne but for Sylvia time had stood still and she was still the giggly, rather dumb blonde she had been at school. Only now she was not giggly, she was a snivelling, tearful wreck of her former self. Jayne sensed, partly by the point at which the story had now arrived and partly by Sylvia’s trembling that another wave of self pity was about to engulf her. She picked up the box of tissues on the table and took it over to Sylvia and dumped it on the draining board beside her. It was going to be a long weekend.

Jayne had agreed to come after a fit of annoyance with Darren who had suddenly announced that he had yet another business trip to make, this time to Peterborough. Jayne knew that when Darren landed the job of salesman for a firm that sold and installed software packages that he would have to go away quite a lot but she hadn’t realised to what extent. He always had at least one night a week away from home if not three or four and Jayne was beginning to get fed up with it. That was one of the reasons why she had been keen to renew her friendship with Sylvia and when Sylvia had rung and asked her to come and stay for three days she had jumped at the chance. Now she wasn’t so sure what she had let herself in for. Particularly as Sylvia had said to her, ‘Bring something smart to wear, a suit or a dress and jacket.’ Jayne was mystified but Sylvia would not let on what she had in mind.

Later that evening, after a satisfying meal of jacket potatoes and chilli con carne, Sylvia opened a bottle of wine and the two women settled in front of the log-effect electric fire in the tiny living room. Sylvia had regained her composure and appeared a lot more relaxed and Jayne too was feeling less anxious than she was earlier.

‘Come on then, Sylve,’ said Jayne. ‘Why the suit? I see you’ve got an outfit hanging on your wardrobe door, the pink, floaty thing. Don’t say we are going to a bloody wedding!’

‘That’s exactly where we are going,’ said Sylvia. ‘Do you remember Tracey Meadows from school? You know, the mousy looking one who always had bad acne and period pains every fortnight. Her mother had a reputation with the men and her bother got expelled for having it away with the music teacher behind the piano in the music room. The R.I. teacher actually came in and caught them at it! Can you imagine! Well she’s getting married. Paul and I were invited but as he is no longer around I thought you would like to come instead. You must remember her, she must be about the most insignificant person in living memory.’

‘Which is probably why I don’t remember her.’ Said Jayne, flatly. ‘Can’t put a face to her at all I’m afraid. Anyway, are you sure she won’t mind a complete stranger coming to her wedding? I don’t make a habit of carrying wedding presents around with me in case I suddenly have to go to a wedding and I haven’t got one with me now. What do you think she would like? An exfoliating pad for her acne or some paracetamol in case she gets the curse on her way to the church? A woman with her track record is bound to have the flag flying on her wedding night.’

‘It’s OK,’ Sylvia cut in, ‘I rang her yesterday and she said it was alright. You’re not a complete stranger anyway, she remembers you. She said all the catering has been taken care of so it doesn’t matter who turns up. She said she would glad to see you again. Come on, Jayne you must remember her. She slipped over on some dog’s mess once and knocked her front teeth out on the edge of the pavement.’

Poor girl, thought Jayne. Given her kind of luck surely she had enough problems to contend with without getting married on top of it all.

‘Well if it will stop you from getting all hysterical over that slimy toe-rag you are better off without then I will come. Actually we could have quite a laugh. Will there be any bubbly? It’s a long time since I got pissed at a wedding. It doesn’t matter if I don’t exactly know the bride and groom does it? Anyway, who is she marrying? Maybe I know him,’ said Jayne.

‘Some bloke from Preston. I’ve met him a couple of times and there is definitely something odd about him. I don’t know what it is, I can’t put my finger on it, but he seems rather shifty but what the heck. She’s marrying him, I’m not. I might not ever marry anyone. Pass over the bottle, Jayne, I need another glass.’ Sylvia was beginning to sniffle again. Once again Jayne wondered what the hell she had let herself in for so she poured herself another glass to help clarify the situation. She sat back in the armchair in which she was seated and drew her legs up under her. As she stared at the ceiling a thought occurred to her.

‘Sylve,’ she said, ‘wasn’t the music teacher a Mr Edwards?’

‘Yes,’ replied Sylvia, ‘Nice bloke. I quite fancied him myself at the time. Never realised he rode sidesaddle. But then I always go for the wrong sort, don’t I?’

‘Umm,’ said Jayne, ‘this weekend could prove to be quite interesting after all.’

***

It was past midnight when Jayne finally stumbled to her bed made up on the floor of Sylvia's living room. She had one of those foam foldout sofa beds, which was surprisingly comfortable though rather low to the floor. Her head was spinning a bit from the wine. They had opened another bottle and had succeeded in seeing off both of them. She lay in the semi-darkness and stared at the paper globe lampshade above her, which was softly illuminated by the street light outside. She wondered about Darren and where their relationship was going, apart from nowhere. It hadn’t exactly been a whirlwind romance any more than it had turned out to be a marriage made in Heaven. It was just dull, boring and mundane. In fact, Jayne thought, Darren was just dull, boring and mundane. She thought about the unfortunate Tracey Meadows and whether she was bubbling with excitement at the thought of being legally joined to the man she loved. She also wondered how, while living in Somerset she had come to meet a man from Preston. Then, people travel all over the place these days, she could have met just about anywhere.

The paper globe finally stopped whirling around above her head and Jayne fell into a fitful kind of sleep. When she woke the next morning she quite glad that the wedding was not until two o’clock in the afternoon. Her head felt like a bucket and she was quite shaky and queasy.

***

They had some fun getting dressed up for the wedding. It was quite like old times again. Several cups of strong black coffee had brought them to their senses and a shot of brandy had chased away the dog that bit them. Jayne thought Sylvia looked frightful in her pink outfit and shrieked with laughter at the sight of her and Sylvia thought Jayne looked far too prim in her smartly cut blue two piece.

‘I never thought you would have worn something like that. You used to be so way out I used to despair. Now look at you, you’ll age before your time wearing things like that!’ Sylvia was clearly not impressed with Jayne’s outfit anymore than Jayne was impressed with hers.

‘So what have you got in that big cupboard of yours? Anything black and Gothic?’ asked Jayne.

Sylvia opened her wardrobe and pulled out several black dresses and spread them out on her bed. An idea was beginning to form in their minds. Suddenly, despite Jayne’s earlier misgivings, they were once again the two school friends who grew up together. Here before them was an opportunity to put two fingers up to the world and have a giggle in the process. They excused themselves that anyone who unfortunate to break her teeth after slipping on doggie poo probably wouldn’t expect any different on her wedding day anyway.

They arrived at the church at a quarter to two and it was already filling steadily with guests, though there seemed to be considerably fewer on the groom’s side than on the bride’s. They found a pew about halfway down the nave and heard a slight murmur go through the already seated guests as they sat down. They did not dare look at each other as they knew they would both laugh. Jayne wore a long, black clingy dress that was split all the way up one side revealing a leg clad in purple fishnet tights. The back of her dress was open in a deep plunging V, which had a series of silver chains, strung across it. The front had lace insets that revealed her black bra underneath, and she had a heavy leather belt about her waist set with chunky metal studs. On her head she wore a black, wide brimmed hat, with a black lace veil draped over the front, partially concealing her outlandish make-up and dark glasses.

Sylvia was wearing a black, shiny PVC catsuit, which followed every contour of her slim body. It had a tight choker neckline with a keyhole opening, which showed off her cleavage. She too wore the same heavy make-up as Jayne, a lacy headscarf tied loosely around her head and dark glasses. The effect was as good as they had hoped for. They were causing a satisfying sensation among the rest of the congregation.

They surveyed the other guests. The first one they noticed was an attractive West Indian chap somewhere near the front. He was wearing an impeccably cut designer suit that looked as if it had been especially tailored for him. His shirt, tie and buttonhole were exactly matched and everything about him was immaculate.

‘ I wonder if it’s true what they say about black men,’ whispered Sylvia none too quietly. ‘Perhaps I could make that my project for the day.’

Jayne suppressed a giggle. ‘Look at that hat - the blue one with the transmitter on top. I bet she can Channel 5 with that.’

‘It completely blocks out the view of the groom,’ said Sylvia, ‘I can’t see what he looks like.’

‘Nor me,’ said Jayne.

It was now gone two o’clock and the organist who had been playing “Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring” ever since the guests arrived suddenly burst into the Wedding March. The congregation stood as Tracey Meadows entered the church, on the arm of a man about her own age. He was obviously not her father. Tracey had turned into a beauty. No longer acned and mousy, her shimmering blonde hair reached nearly to her waist and her skin was flawless and smooth. Her eyes appeared a stunning blue under her translucent veil and her simply cut, ivory satin dress showed her curvaceous figure to full advantage. Smiling serenely, she seemed to float down the aisle like some magical apparition.

‘Makes me want to throw up,’ hissed Sylvia.

‘Don’t be such a spiteful old cow,’ Jayne back to her.

The bridegroom turned to face his bride and Jayne caught a brief glimpse of him as he did so. A shock wave, like a thunderbolt went through her and she reached out to the back of the pew in front to steady herself. Sylvia did not notice that anything was amiss.

‘Dearly beloved,’ began the minister, ‘we are gathered here today to witness the marriage between Tracey and Darren…’ His words faded into a kind of a blur and Jayne felt herself beginning to tremble all over. Everything suddenly seemed so unreal. She watched motionlessly as the young man gave the bride away and then took his seat beside the handsome West Indian. They smiled fondly at each other. He was Tracey’s brother. The church seemed to whirl around her as she heard the minister say those almost immortal words, ‘if any of you know any cause or just impediment why these two persons separately should not be joined in Holy matrimony…’

In the silence that followed she struggled to catch her breath. She drew herself as erect as she could and gulped for air. Finally the words came and escaped her lips.

‘Yes! I know a just impediment. A very just impediment. Darren is my husband. He is already married to me!’ Jayne’s voice rang loudly and clearly around the church, resounding off the ancient walls like some sort of primeval cry in the wilderness of life.

‘Steady on, Jayne,’ said Sylvia, ‘aren’t you over doing it a bit?’

‘That’s Darren, you daft cow. My Darren. My husband is marrying Tracey Meadows. What the hell is he doing marrying Tracey Meadows? He’s married to me!’

By this time a ripple of conversation, exclamations of disbelief and general babble was audible in the church. The minister tried to restore order and insisting the ceremony be stopped imclearbluemediately tried to usher the bewildered bride and ashen faced groom to the vestry.

The noise level increased and Sylvia had to raise her voice a bit to make herself heard.

‘Darren? That’s your Darren? What a bastard. What does he think he is doing! I don’t believe it. Come on, let’s go.’ Sylvia caught hold of Jayne’s arm and attempted to lead her out of the church. As she turned she spotted two familiar faces at the back of the church. Now it was her turn to yell. ‘Paul! How could you! With Annie - my own sister! How could you leave me for her!’ She picked up the nearest object, which happened to be a hymnbook and hurled at the startled Paul at the back of the church. It missed its target and hit an elderly gentleman on the side of the head who was fiddling with his hearing aid.

‘What the Dickens was that?’ he asked his equally elderly wife beside him. ‘If you ask me this is the rowdiest bloody funeral I’ve been to for a long time. No respect, I tell you, no bloody respect,’ and he continued to fiddle with his hearing aid.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, please!’ shouted the minister over the din. ‘Could we please have some calm? Now will you all sit down and we’ll attempt to sort this whole sorry business out. Who is married to whom?'

‘I’m married to the bridegroom,’ stated Jayne.

‘And he’s been humping my sister,’ cut in Sylvia, pointing an accusing finger at Paul.

‘Who’s funeral is it anyway?’ came an elderly voice from the back.

‘Yours if you don’t shut up,’ came a hitherto unknown voice.

‘Darren,’ said the minister, ‘I would like you to tell the congregation whether or not you are married to this……Darren? Darren? Where’s the bridegroom? He was here a minute ago.’

‘He’s legged it,’ said the woman in the hat with the transmitter. ‘He went out the door. I watched him go. Fancy being married to a venomous she-devil like them two over there. Can’t say I blame him for wanting to marry someone else. Besides, divorces are so costly these days.’

‘OK,’ said Jayne. ‘Now I need to ask Tracey a question. Where’s the frigging reception? I think it’s time we all had a drink!’

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