The Wedding Diaries. Sam Binnie

       August 15th

      Here’s who knows about weddings: Abba. The Dixie Cups. Alfred Doolittle. All masters on the theme of matrimony, whether it’s the oaths (I do), the venue (Chapel of Love) and the punctuality (on time). But can they tell me: what happens when you ruin the proposal?

      It was the final night of our long weekend in Bath, an early birthday gift from me to Thom, and I was getting suspicious. Thom had been strange with me for the previous week – silent, jumpy, and staring at me when he thought I wasn’t looking – and had been in an odd mood for most of the weekend. He seemed twitchy and insistent on going out for dinner when all I wanted was to sink into our hotel bed with room service and some TV, so I put two and two together and decided that five = looking for somewhere public to break up with me. I’d had passing concerns every now and again since February, when I’d ruined a Valentine’s meal at a tapas bar by rifling through each dish looking for a ring that wasn’t there. In the taxi to the restaurant my nerves were noticeable.

      Me: Are you sure this is the restaurant you want to go to?

      Thom: [silence]

      Me: Oh Jesus. Please can we just go home?

      Thom: [silence]

      Me: Look! There’s a homeless man. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take him?

      Thom: [silence]

      Me: Brilliant. This is just how I hoped my holiday would end.

      I’d whipped myself up into a frenzy by this point, dizzily chattering away as we were shown to our table. All I could see was that we were tucked into a corner, out of earshot but still in eyeshot should a court case demand it. As we settled into our chairs I realised that, having been eyeballing me for the last week, Thom now wouldn’t even look at me, and I began to panic. I started reading out the menu, describing each item in my cheeriest voice and making comments on the dishes with a joyful tone that kept sticking in my throat. Hurray! I was becoming my mother. When I summoned the courage to look at Thom again he was staring at me, apparently about to speak. At that moment someone started tapping a knife against a wine glass, and the restaurant went silent. A handsome, happy man rose to his feet.

      Handsome Man: Sorry everyone, sorry. I’ll let you go back to your delicious meals in one moment. I just need your attention for a minute. This beautiful woman here [gestures to woman apparently trying to eye-laser an escape route through their table] has made me so happy over the last two years. In front of all of you here tonight, I would like to ask her: Jen, will you do me the great honour of becoming my one and only wife?

      Jen: [blanching] Oh, Steve …

      HM: Come on, stand up, darling! Will you join with me in holy matrimony, and finally make an honest man out of me?

      Jen: I’m sorry, Steve. [picks up handbag] This isn’t going to work. [walks out]

      HM: [after a long silence] Sorry everyone. Sorry. Please … [sitting down] carry on.

      I turned to Thom and he was paler than poor Steve. He actually looked as if he was going to be sick. At that moment the waiter arrived to take our order, attempting to plaster over the dreadful event the entire restaurant had just witnessed. Thom blindly ordered for both of us, which was unusual but fine by me as my stomach seemed to be about to crawl out of my throat. He couldn’t break up with me now, could he?