William Walker’s First Year of Marriage: A Horror Story. Matt Rudd
That was the tickets.’
‘Stop frowning. You always frown.’
‘Hardly a surprise with you nagging all the time.’
‘You’ll get wrinkles if you scrunch your face like that. You were doing that right through the whole wedding.’
‘I was nervous.’
‘You looked like you were about to be tortured.’
‘You told me not to look at you affectionately because you’d start blubbing.’
‘Yes, but not for the whole day.’
‘Well, I was nervous. It’s much easier for a bride.’
‘What?’
‘It’s easier. All you have to do is smile, look nice and walk up and down an aisle. I have four tests. I have to do the vows, I have to do a speech, I have to lead a dance, I have to have sex.’
‘Have sex? That’s difficult, is it?’
‘It is when all your bridesmaids are placing bets on it.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘You don’t be stupid.’
‘You don’t be stupid.’
‘You don’t be stupid.’
‘You don’t be stupid.’
‘You don’t be stupid.’
‘Last call for flight BA One-seven-eight to Delhi.’
‘You don’t be stupid.’
Tuesday 3 May
The passport was on the mantelpiece.
Still, another night at home recovering from the wedding was a blessing in disguise. At least, that’s what I suggested to Isabel, who didn’t seem to see it that way. Will make it up to her in India …
‘Darling, I’m sorry. I am an idiot. I will make it up to you in India.’
‘It’s okay, darling, I love that you forget things.’
‘I love that you love that I forget things.’
Ahhhh.
Why I married Isabel
There was never really any question about it. Until Isabel, I had always assumed I would simply marry the girl I happened to be going out with when it was time to get married, i.e. thirty-two. That’s how it worked for Johnson and every other bloke I knew. You spend your twenties trying to extricate yourself from any relationship that looks like it’s getting too heavy (anything more than two years is dangerous), the first two years of your thirties bracing yourself, then the rest of your life as monogamous as possible.
Isabel changed that. I suddenly got it. Even though I was only twenty-nine, I knew immediately that she was someone I’d be glad to spend the rest of my life with. Mainly because she’s different from all my other girlfriends.
In that she’s beautiful rather than somewhere between pretty and elephantine. She has short dark hair with red bits in it. She is tall but not alarmingly so. She has freckles in the summer. She has a cute dimple where she used to have a nose ring. And she would have had a cute dimple where she used to have a nipple ring but she sobered up before it was her turn in the Mexican nipple-piercing shop.
[No, that’s too shallow. It’s not about looks.]
In that she’s funny.
[Still no. Sounds like something you’d write in a personal ad (Must have GSOH).]
In that she does things impetuously. She isn’t on the conveyor belt. She’s lived in Paris and Buenos Aires; she’s spent a year teaching in the Andes and three months as a beer wench in Munich; she quite fancies showing me her favourite bar in Quito one day; she wonders if the campervan we will one day drive to Bangkok should be a classic rust-bucket or one of the rather nifty new ones. Now, she works for a charity and she loves it. But next year she might decide to become a policewoman. Who knows? She’s spontaneous.
[Still no. And I hope she doesn’t become a policewoman.]
In that we were mates within five minutes of meeting, that it felt completely natural when we moved in together, that the thought of her and me getting hitched seemed like the most exciting idea in the world ever without any question, and that I can’t wait to get on with married life. Johnson is wrong about women and I didn’t completely understand that until I met Isabel.
Friday 20 May
Back from honeymoon, which I don’t want to talk about. Ever. Except to say India wasn’t my idea. Just so pleased to be home, even if home is a one-bedroom flat at the wrong end of the mean streets of Finsbury Park.
Marmite toast, tea, hot bath, bed, sleep, lovely sleep.
Wake to a message left on the answer machine from Alex. ‘Great you’re back, Izzy babes. Can’t wait to hear all about India, babes. Hope you loved it as much as I told you you would. Give us a call, babes. Bye babes.’ Accidentally deleted.
Saturday 21 May
Slept for a whole day in lovely bed with lovely wife who still loves me despite honeymoon, then got dragged to John Lewis to rearrange wedding list. It’s a shame they let you do this. Suspect Isabel knew all along. Lets me put lots of stuff on before the wedding, lets me get all excited when people buy them for us, then switches it all around as soon as I’ve signed the marriage certificate. Clever.
STUFF I WANTED AND DIDN’T GET
Gas barbecue: ‘We don’t have a garden.’ ‘We will one day.’ ‘We need something to eat off before then.’
Croquet set: same.
Black beanbag: ‘We’re not living in a bachelor pad any more.’
Rothko prints: same.
Chef ’s blowtorch: same. ‘But what about crème brûlée?’ ‘You’ll use it once and get bored.’
Juicer: ‘Boy’s toy. Pointless gadget. Kitchen clutter. No.’
Coffee machine: same.
STUFF SHE WANTED AND DID GET
Twelve dinner plates: I thought the seven we’d got would do.
Ditto side plates, bowls, spoons.
Towels: boring.
Toastie-maker: ‘Isn’t that a pointless gadget?’ ‘No, every kitchen needs one.’
Duvets: ‘But darling, we’ve got two already.’ ‘Does that include the one with the candle burn from when you were trying to impress Saskia in your horrible Acton bedsit? When you lit a hundred tea lights and she thought you were terribly sophisticated and it was all perfect until the bed caught fire? I can’t believe you told me that. I want that duvet thrown out. It’s horrid.’
Yoga mat, hairdryer, pair of Birkenstocks: ‘But darling, these aren’t even on the original list.’ ‘I don’t care, I’m still annoyed about the duvet.’ The shop assistant gives her a go-girl look and types B-I-R-K-E-N-S-T-O-C-K-S into her annoying wedding-list computer with a triumphant flourish.
Saskia. The one crazy fling of my life. The only example of me behaving like a total cad. Ever. Pretty much. I still feel bad about it but that was a long time ago. And it’s still coming back to haunt me, even now I’m married, even here at John Lewis, even though it had nothing to do with Isabel. Why did I ever tell Isabel about