I got married six months ago, and ever since then, theres been something niggling at the back of my mind that absolutely refuses to pack its bags and leave.
The wedding itself was in one of those picturesque English gardensa bit too many fairy lights for my taste, frankly, but everyone seemed thrilled. Music blaring, strobe lights, folks dancing with more enthusiasm than coordination. At one point, I popped outside for a breath of fresh air, before my ears packed in. Thats when I spotted my best mate, Tom, and my new wife, Emily, lurking near the loos. And no, they werent deep in polite conversation about canapés. They were having an argumentone of those silent, furious ones you can spot a mile off.
Emily was waving her arms about in a way that could only mean she was either passionately making a point or shooing off a particularly annoying wasp. Toms jaw looked like it was auditioning for granite. I couldnt quite hear what they were sayingthe DJ had decided Lionel Richie at full volume was just what the occasion neededbut the tension was undeniable.
I wandered closer, quietly, the way you do when you suspect youre about to overhear something you shouldnt. When I was near enough, I heard Tom hiss, in a tone you could cut cheese with: This isnt up for discussion anymore.
The pair of them turned round, as if Id just appeared by magic. I asked what was going on, what all this not-to-be-discussed talk was about.
Both froze for a heartbeat. Emily pounced first, insisting it was nothingjust a silly spat, Dont be daft. Tom jumped in, mumbling something about a disagreement over a game; apparently hed made a suggestion, she wasnt keen, end of story. The explanation came out in a tumble of words, suspiciously quick and missing most of the crucial details.
They changed the subject instantly and scurried back to the party, as if nothing odd had happened.
For the rest of the evening, I did my best to keep up the jolly newlywed acttwirling round the dance floor, making toasts, shaking hands. But every time I saw Tom and Emily in the same room, they barely exchanged words and seemed unable to look each other in the eye. Not a single conversation between them for the rest of the night.
I didnt say a word about it. Stiff upper lip and all that.
Life lumbered on, as it does after a wedding. Emily and I settled into married life; we kept up with Tom and his girlfriendpub quizzes, Sunday lunches, the usual birthday dos. No one ever referred back to that odd tiff by the toilets. No suspicious texts, no mysterious phone calls, nothing at all to clutch at besides that single peculiar memory.
Just that one moment.
But it stuck. The phrase itself. Toms harsh tone. The urgency with which they cut off the conversation. The way they both looked when they clocked I was there.
I dont have hard evidence. Not a single dodgy WhatsApp message, a stony confession, not even a spectacular row. Just that argument on the afternoon I got married, and the gut feeling that Id wandered into something I wasnt supposed to witness.
Six months on, and Im still turning it over in my head. I havent pointed any fingers.
And now I keep wondering:
What on earth are you supposed to do with this kind of suspicion, when you dont actually have any proofjust the nagging sense that something rather important happened on your wedding day and nobody wants to talk about it?
