‘Just smile and nod, smile and nod,’ I said, the usual advice in these scenarios.
Dan sniffed the air as we got out of the car.
‘Is that a home-grown blend I scent?’
‘No, you knob, it’s sausages.’
They didn’t have much of a garden – just a tiny patch of walled-in gravel parallel to and behind the kitchen – but they had made the most of it, filling it with bunting and fairylights and all sorts while the barbecue smoked merrily in one corner. The kitchen and living room and hallway and stairs all heaved with bodies, so it was difficult at first to locate either Kez or Gin.
A few old faces, the names of which I’d mainly forgotten, appeared during the search. They greeted me effusively, then switched to guarded mode when they noticed Dan at my shoulder. Once we had passed, I kept feeling eyes boring into my back and hearing – though it was mostly my imagination – the words She’s the one that married the copper. That’s him!
Shifty looks and hands unconsciously patting pockets and purses were the order of the day. The heavy, distinctively sweet smoke of weed wafted on the outside air, and I heard someone hiss, ‘Put it out!’ then Kez loomed in front of me, in a batik turban and massive earrings, smiling all over her face.
‘Pip, wow, so good to see you again, how’ve you been?’
All my anxieties dissolved in her enthusiastic bear hug and I felt twenty-one again, ready for a night of red wine and flirting to heavy bass jams.
I stuck to the red wine, Dan not being a fan of flirtation with anyone but him. Ginnie, whose absence had been rather puzzling me, appeared at ten o’clock with a lank, limp-looking young man and an announcement, after which the reason for the party became clear.
She had gone and got herself engaged to the lank one – who described himself as an unemployed rock star but had an accent that suggested private schooling and a trust fund.
Champagne was drunk and dancing attempted, with much clashing of elbows, then most of the crowd melted away into clubland, leaving Kez, Ginnie, the unemployed rock star, Dan and me to hoover up what remained in the bottles.
‘You never mentioned you were thinking of marriage,’ I exclaimed, rounding on Ginnie with mock disapproval, though, after the amount I’d had, it might have sounded realler than I intended.
‘Ah, you know,’ she said with a fond smile at Rock Star (real name: Piers). ‘It wasn’t a plan. We were just messing around after a gig, had a few vodkas and, I dunno, Piers said wouldn’t it be hilarious to see everyone’s faces if we got married and … we decided to do it.’
I worked to keep the smile on my face, but I think she must have seen something in my eyes because Piers took over the explanation, in defensive mode.
‘Why, what better reasons are there? Why does anyone get married, anyway? It’s just a fucking legal thing, a convention. A piece of paper.’
Oddly enough, he echoed some of my teenage clients during a debate I’d recently chaired on the relevance of marriage in the twenty-first century. They’d barely scraped together enough education to read, though, so they could be forgiven the unoriginality of the sentiment. From him, though, it grated.
‘So that’s why you’re doing it?’ said Dan. ‘To see everyone’s faces? And what about after that? After you’ve seen them and laughed?’
‘I might have known you’d disapprove, PC Copper,’ said Ginnie icily. ‘Perhaps we don’t want to embarrass you by being all loved-up and full of the grand passion. Not everyone’s like that.’
She was having a dig at us. We had been pretty sickening in a Love’s Young Dream kind of way when we met. I didn’t see why I should feel ashamed about it though. At least our feelings for each other had been genuine and honest.
‘You’re in love though, right?’ I asked, confused by the latent hostility in the air.
‘Yeah, of course,’ mumbled Piers, while Ginnie huffed and poured herself another glass.
‘You know my feelings on the subject,’ said Kez, giving me a sympathetic smile.
‘Don’t start, Kez. Nobody’s forced me into this. Piers and I have an equal partnership. We going to make marriage mean whatever we want it to mean, so neither of us is perpetuating ancient oppressions.’
Both Kez and Ginnie gave Dan a daggers look, silently translated as unlike him.
‘Unlike me,’ said Dan, brightly but unhelpfully. ‘I can’t get enough oppressing, me. It’s what I live for. I wake up every morning looking forward to another solid day of oppression. It keeps me young.’
‘Dan.’ I nudged him too hard and he spilled red wine on the carpet.
‘Not everything’s about you, Dan,’ said Kez coldly. ‘This is Gin and Piers’ night. Don’t try and turn the focus to yourself. Typical of you.’ She spoke the last words in a mock undertone.
‘Why are you having a go at Dan?’ I wondered, only slightly drunkenly. ‘Dan is a brilliant husband and an amazing advert for marriage. I say go for it, Ginnie. Being married is fantastic. I’ve never regretted it and I bet I never will.’
Dan looked a little stunned, as if he thought I might have drunk far more than he’d realised.