As he heads to the bar Simon is trying to keep a low profile, his wife’s teasing has got him all worked up and he’s trying to hide it, trying not to think about what was conveyed just now out there, he orders a drink and settles in.
Meanwhile Tamara, chatting to her aunt, takes a glance towards the bar and finds her husband talking to some old friends of his. Then she looks across, over to the far end to where she saw the two men earlier but the space is empty, the bar vacated while the head barman come Matradie standing in a black shirt, holds up a glass to an overhead light while he polishes it with a cloth.
I wonder if he knew? She thinks to herself, conscious of the loaded sense of sexual promise long yearned for that is budding to fruition in this place, her hormones rushing through her as well as the alcohol. She fans her face momentarily with her free hand.
“Are you alright love?” She hears her aunties voice chip in and is suddenly aware that she’s been watching her from the sidelines.
“You were away wi’ the fairies then lass.”
“Yea I’m fine aunty Sheila.” Tamara throws back. “Jus’ feelin’ the heat is all but I’m alright.”
Aunty Sheila smiles back at her. “You go ‘ave some fun love!” “Enjoy it while you can, before y’know he’ll ‘ave y’ tied down ‘n upt’yer knees in knappies there ol’t same, men!”
“Yes aunty Sheila.” she replies. Breaking eye contact whilst trying to suppress a smirk.
“God!” She says quietly to herself. And then. “Talk about bloodi timin'” She says behind her clenched teeth and moves on, trying to share herself among the guests, and trying to be patient and keep steady, a sudden pang of nerves.
Simon looks around for his wife. Not able to spot her at first, it seemed as though she had vanished. He stood with a group of friends as they reminisced about old times. But his mind keeps wandering not back, but forward, forward to this evening. He searches again across the room then he picks her out near a far table by the entrance. He sups at his pint and watches her as she disentangles herself from family members and then with a curious, sort of nervy glance across the room, heads out alone through the glass double doors, in the manner of someone sneaking off to join something elsewhere. A small jingling bell, somewhere in the back of his mind starts to meld with a mild feeling of anxiety in his stomach. He takes another sup of his pint, then he re-hears her words in his mind. “I’m gonna be a slut for you tonight….!” He recalls the spark in her eyes and he finds himself linking up the gaps.
Surely not on their wedding night?!”
He feels like he has been melded to the spot and makes no attempt at going after her, his wife. A surge of blood rushes to his face, he feels his cock twitching, then raising his glass up as if to drink the rest of his pint but meeting only froth and the clear glass bottom, turns towards the bar.
“”What’ll you ‘ave Si’m?” “C’mon, what y’avin’?” Insists his slightly oiled cousin as he approaches the bar and an arm comes around his shoulder. “Can someone get this lucky chap a pint!” He tries to call out to the bar staff through the busy throng.
“What’s it…Theakstons your on?”
“Yea a pint o’ Theakstons please Carl.” He finishes with a smile.
“Can’t believe you’ marri’d!” He shakes his head, then suddenly looks up remembering. “Second time ’round!” He goes. “Well, better luck next time!” “Haha!” “Onli jokin’ cousin, onli’ jokin’. “Bloodi’ell y’ wouldn’t want my missus though!” He says shaking his head.
Simon is sort of enjoying the warmth and humour of his relatives and friends and for a short while it helps take his mind of Tamara, but it’s not long before the love anchors send their steely teeth burrowing down into the soft mud of his mind, he scans around but seeing no sign of her, or Amelia come to think of it he gets out his phone.
Two new messages, it reads. One is from his wife. He’s still trying to get used to calling her that. “Hiya babe, I’m busy being your slut bride, wink. Do NOT come up!! Love you husband XXX”
Another wave of excitement and arousal hits him and he tries to hide his telling face. The other message is from Amelia. Something is definitely afoot he thinks to himself as he scrambles to read the text.
“Hey Simon, just to let you know I’ve stolen your bride! Might be a while so stay downstairs! Hint!!”
His mind reels, but what can he do? He gets on with his pint, face buried in the glass, quaffing at the hoppy ale but even that act reminds him of his sexy wife, his face getting buried between her thighs..
Then another message from Amelia. Agitation rides through him.
“Don’t get too pissed!” And another. “On second thoughts don’t get pissed at all you’ll ruin your suprise!”
She must have told Tamara as well ’cause the next thing she’s texting.
“No more beer!” “How many have you had?”
Bloodi’ell! Simon feels a bit helpless now. Even here with his wife deliberately wearing the knickers she wore just a week ago to fuck another guy in, here on his wedding night, he fancied a pint, another pint, and then another pint. But he knew she was right, Simon was a light weight when it came to drinking, the enthusiasm for the taste never made up for the lack of innate talent. He had to keep a handle on himself. But what WAS she doing upstairs?
Perhaps she was changing…..no she already had the knickers on but….he re-read the message to himself. “….busy being your slut bride.” Mouthing the words to himself he then gulps down the last of his pint. He can’t quite bring himself to dare consider….Is she fucking someone!? He feels the torrid pain of jealousy leaking into his bloodstream, the disparity between the air of familial expectation around him as his eyes are taunted by the reality metered out by the glaring disco lights. They seemed to mirror the toxic, green envious state that threatens to overwhelm him.