This piece of flash fiction was inspired by a wedding reception I went to in the City of London. It was a very 'fish out of water' situation, I am a far cry from the city types I was mingling with. I was only on the very edge of that world and now that situation feels a very long way away from me. I'm glad I have this small piece of writing to remind me of that 'unreal' time in my life. I still find myself wondering about those people and the kind of life they lead. I couldn't keep up that level of pretence and 'I just had to let it go,' as John Lennon once sang; 'Watching the Wheels' indeed.
Debut by LJ Finnigan
'The wedding
party arrived by double decker bus. Christine was one of the last to step
outside into the late afternoon sun, onto the hard grey city of London
pavement, before stepping foot into the Merchant Taylors grand hall.
Inside the hall
was cool and dim, Christine’s black heeled shoes clattered on the hard stone
floor and she found herself fascinated by the echo that was produced. It was
then that she became acutely aware of her difference.
Despite her
expensive haircut and her elegant clothes, she didn’t quite gel with her
surroundings. The others seemed to carry on as they normally did, they were at
home. But to Christine, this was odd.
‘Max,’
Christine called to her date, her boyfriend of two years.
A little ahead
of her a shaggy haired, rugby-playing, ex-public school type lowered his
eyebrows at her and gave her a crooked sort of smile. He was standing amidst a
group of Greek Goddesses and their mother, apparently. Christine felt her face
heat up and knew that she must be going red.
‘I’m an
embarrassment,’ she thought.
It was then
that she became aware that her time in this world and with this man would be
short lived. He was already tiring of her. Soon she would be banished; back to
her shabby house on the edge of the council estate where she had lived all her
life, back to buses, lonely nights in front of the TV, her mediocre family, her
‘just getting by’ existence. Back to the land of the EWOCs, the vanishing
English Working Class tribe that she belonged to.
‘OK Christine,
I’m just catching up with some old friends from university. Help yourself.
There’s plenty to eat and drink,’ said Steven, obviously itching to get away.
‘I’m fine,
don’t worry about me,’ said Christine, humbly.
The couple were
edging away from each other even now; Steven towards a new group of
ex-University students and Christine towards the long white table-clothed table
full of Champagne and canapés.
Christine stood
alone sipping her glass of champagne and studying the assortment of wedding
party guests until her gaze settled on a particularly pleasing specimen of city
boyhood; tall, blond, athletic. His handsome face returned her lustful look
with a particularly manly one of his own. Christine felt the exquisite
sensation that she would be the instrument of her own destruction.'
