Page 69 of Five Gold Rings
‘Where is he now? What about the bitch he was with? You want us to track her down on social media? We can go for her,’ one of the other bridesmaids tells me, her hand forming a full claw. I don’t doubt her.
‘Or we can hook you up!’ one of them says, pointing to me. ‘We can find someone to replace this dick. Someone better. We can show him that you’ve moved on quick and with someone who’s much better than this… what’s his name?’
‘Chris.’
‘HATE HIM!’ one girl shrieks, pretending to spit on the floor. Everyone cheers and I can’t help but laugh. I think what a situation it would have been had this spirited entourage of girl energy been at my flat that morning when I found out. But hearing them talk about replacing Chris and moving on makes me think I’ve found that replacement. He’s been beside me the whole time.
‘One of the ushers today is single. His name is Donnie.’
‘He played on the same football team as my brother.’
‘And he’s my second cousin through marriage.’
‘And basically, the boy ishung. He’s got to gaffer it to his thigh it’s so big.’
The crowd of girls are keeled over in laughter, one of them hyperventilating. I can’t help but be pulled in by the joke.
‘What are you girls talking about?’ Joy suddenly asks, appearing to calm down the furore and ensure these girls continue to get ready for this wedding.
‘Giblets, Aunty J,’ someone pipes up and we all descend into giggles again.
‘So then, who’s the man you came with?’ one bridesmaid asks, and I see a group of them looking over at Joe, still chatting to his fake wife. They all tilt their heads as he bends down to do up her shoelace.
‘Oh no, that’s Joe, Joseph.’
‘Obviously. Boy’s got assets.’
Joy nearby hears this and sucks her teeth. ‘Wash your mouth out, girl. That there is Jesus’ father. Have some respect.’
The ladies all cackle in reply.
‘But he’s not really though, is he, Aunty J? Unless he’s a priest? Is he some hot priest?’ the girl asks, giggling. ‘I’ve got some things I’d like to confess to him.’
Joy throws a hairbrush in her direction. They all keep staring when all of a sudden, someone gives Joe a baby. A real baby that I assume is playing Jesus himself. The baby whimpers a little at being handed over but Joe sways on the spot and he quickly settles. The group of girls looking over stop in their tracks.
‘I think I just came,’ one of them mumbles. Aunty Joy may indeed have an aneurysm. He notices all of us looking and stops to wave, finding me at the back of that crowd and lifting the baby to show me, pulling a face to show me he’s not really sure what’s happening. I beam to see it. I don’t really know either but amidst everything that’s happened, despite everything I know, he might be the reason I’m still here, still standing.
Joe
Is it terrible that all my time through school, given I even shared a name with the man, I was never chosen to be Joseph in the school nativities? I was an awkwardly tall child so I was always given minor roles where they could hide me near a wall – innkeeper or townsperson – so to be told by Emmanuel’s mother that I can finally fulfil a lifelong ambition to be Joseph in a church hall nativity makes me strangely excited, even if I am in this very cold church wearing a brown smock and sandals when it’s easily three degrees outside.
‘Joseph, be a good hubs, look after your woman.’
I look over at the very pregnant lady before me and realise that’s me. I am the hubs. I’ve done roleplay before. Not like that, like a buff butler in fancy dress, so maybe that was all preparation. I am an attentive nativity husband so do as I’m told as Faith locks her arm into Eve’s and leads her away, towards the bride’s corner to hear her relationship gossip. My Mary keeps looking me up and down, wondering if I’m up to the job. That sheep runs past us again. I have a feeling this sheep is not feeling these nativity vibes.
‘So, I know we’ve just met and this is a terrible question, but are you really pregnant?’ I ask Mary, just to be sure. The sure way would be to prod her stomach but naturally, I don’t do that.
‘Probably not the first time Mary heard that but yes. Eight months. I’m all about the method acting,’ she jokes.
‘Come, walk with me for a bit,’ she commands.
‘To practise our scene?’ I ask.
‘You’re funny. It’s not Shakespeare, mate. Our script is literally ten minutes long. I need to walk to move the baby or I’ll piss myself.’
I don’t want that happening. ‘Then we will walk. So, tell me about this baby. Your first?’
‘My third. My actual husband is outside looking after the other two. Don’t tell God I had other babies before Jesus, please.’