Magpies

One For Sorrow.

He reminded her of a magpie, dressed in hard lines of black and white, looking prim and starched but acting skittish and distracted, hopping anxiously from one leg to the other.

'Where is he,' he said, 'where is he, where is he, where is he.'

It was a obvious he did not expect an answer. He walked over to the window and then back to the table. 'You should have been my best man,' he said.

She half smiled and looked at him, waiting for him to catch her eye and still before she spoke. 'I fail on one important criteria,' she said.

He started moving again, marching back across the room. 'Piffle,' he said, 'equal rights and all that. Best person.'

'Even the most hardened feminist,' she said, 'would decline.'

'Well at least you are here.'

She leaned back in her chair, resting her feet on the table. 'I'm here because I've got nowhere else to be, if I was your best man I'd be off doing whatever Martin's doing now.'

'But what is he doing?'

'Who knows.'

'Maybe I should ring him.'

'Nope.'

'Do you think I should ring him?'

'Nope, sit down you're creasing up your shirt walking about like that.'

She stood up, lifting her legs off the table and allowing the chair to tip forwards and spring her to her feet, and smoothed down his shirt with her hands. She straightened his bow tie and held him at arms length and admired him. 'There,' she said.

'Thanks Sam.'

She had a faint urge to kiss him on the cheek, a sort of maternal kiss, a sort of goodbye kiss. She would have if Martin had not opened the door.

'Right,' said Martin, 'cars are on their way, bride is apparently running on time, no major disasters as yet and everyone downstairs is more or less good to go, even Jonah and Pike.' He stopped, looking at Sam holding Richard. She cocked her head to one side, challenging him to say something if he had something to say.

He said, 'how are you two doing?'

'Fine,' said Sam, 'what's that about Jonah and Pike?'

'A little hung over is all.'

She smiled and sat down, all three of them sat down. Martin very quickly gave Richard a reassuring shove on the shoulder. Richard looked over and smiled, he looked tired and worried, he looked pale.

'When shall we three meet again eh,' said Martin.

'When indeed,' she said. She reached into her bag and retrieved a small silver hip-flask and passed it around. 'When indeed.'

Two For Joy.

Her leg had gone to sleep and she shifted uncomfortably on the pew. The vicar had said his bit, some cousin had sung a song accompanying himself on guitar and obviously loving it, somebody's daughter had done a reading, stuttering at the lectern and obviously hating it. Finally the couple exchanged vows. She crossed her fingers when Richard spoke, willing him to get it right, and again when Martin had to hand over the ring. She was surprised not to be asked if she had any just cause or impediment, perhaps that bit was unfashionable these days.

The aunt sitting beside her offered her a tissue and without thinking she made a show of dabbing at her dry eyes, it just seemed the polite thing to do. The two of them shared a smile as they stood up to sing the hymn. She sang, it reminded her of school assemblies.

Martin caught her eye and she winked. He exhaled, relieved that, as he said later, 'nothing had fucked up.'

Outside she talked to the aunt, wanting to go congratulate Martin and Richard, but also wanting to keep clear of the family crowd and photographs. Jonah and Pike found her, like magpies in black and white caw-cawing across the churchyard.

'I nearly passed out from boredom,' said one.

'You nearly passed out from being hungover,' she said.

'We're not hungover,' said the other, 'you only get hungover when you stop drinking.' He produced a hip flask from his jacket pocket. She laughed but declined a swig.

Richard's father spotted them and called them over. Lets have a photo of you lot he said. One of the five of them, Richard, Martin and Sam, Jonah and Pike, like old times, and another again with the bride, the photographer messing them about, trying to find some symmetry between four boys and two girls. He doesn't understand, she thought, Jonah and Pike were two, Richard, Martin and herself were three, there was nowhere the bride would fit. She pushed the thought out of her mind, it was uncharitable and it was wrong, everything fits eventually.

'How's it going,' she asked Martin once the photographer was done.

'The sooner I'm drunk the better,' he said.

'Is that pre or post speech?'

'Please don't mention that.'

Three for girl.

She swapped seats with Pike and sat next to the daughter who had done the reading, letting her sip from her wine glass. The daughter talked enthusiastically, about school, about her friends, about the endless machinations of the bride's family. Sam enjoyed listening, enjoyed it because the girl was charming and because it did not require her full concentration. She watched Martin on the other table trapped between parents and nervously thumbing his speech, she watched Richard lost forever to the bride, she watched Jonah and Pike quaff wine at a ferocious rate and make surprising headway with two bridesmaids. She fixed the daughter's hair and they went to the bathroom together before the speeches.

Magpies everywhere flapped and bustled and drank, ties were loosened and jackets discarded as the birds turned back into men, skin and hair beneath the black and white. One of the last stood up and rattled a clear chime against a wine glass for attention. Her knuckles whitened when it was Martin's turn and she confided her concerns to the daughter who understood and watched seriously.

He stuttered, stumbling over words and had to reach for his glass which rattled in his hands. Sam held her breath and willed him to look at her, knew that she could be the friendly face he needed, but then he said something off the cuff, just something about Dutch courage and somebody at the back laughed and it was alright, he was off, he read the speech she had helped him write and in moments it was over and he was applauded. She nearly drained her champagne glass on the first toast.

'He did well,' said the daughter, nodding sagely.

Four for boy.

A magpie flapped overhead. There were none left now, the women were still peacocks, parrots, and birds of paradise, but the men were all men again, drunk and laughing, sober and serious and set for the drive home. They had got rid of the happy couple, and she had successfully dodged the bouquet. She lounged in a chair with her feet up and her shoes off. She had spent thirty minutes talking to the brides father and could not remember a word of it, she had kissed the daughter goodbye and exchanged e-mail addresses, she had even danced a couple of times. Across the garden she saw Martin come out of the house and she waved. He walked over with his jacked slung over his shoulder and slumped down beside her.

'How you doing?' she said.

'We're good,' he said, 'Richard and blushing bride got off on time, everything here is in hand.'

She reached across and poured him a glass of wine without sitting up. 'That's not what I asked,' she said.

He smiled at her and took the glass, 'I'm fine thanks Sam, I enjoyed myself.'

'Good,' she said, 'so did I.'

He put his feet up on the same chair hers rested on and she lifted her legs and laid them on top of his. 'First to go,' he said.

'Who's next?'

'Jonah seems to have gotten lucky.'

'Not Pike?'

'Wine went to his head a bit, is now curled up round a toilet bowl.'

'Aww,' she said, 'that's sweet.'

They sat and watched the slow summer evening, the band packing up their kit, and a couple not realising the music had ended still dancing. By the house people said goodbye, and off in their own corner the caterers smoked and talked. 'Coming back to mine?' he asked.

'Catching the train,' she said.

'You'll fall asleep,' he said, 'wake up somewhere else.'

'That is a distinct possibility,' she said.

'I've got a very nice sofa,' he said, 'and an even better bottle of brandy.'

'You've twisted my arm,' she said.