Dead Simple

the sound of that?’
    ‘Yes, Dad—’
    Except it wasn’t his father any more he was talking to, but the vicar, Reverend Somping, a short, supercilious man in his late fifties, with greying wavy hair and a beard that only partially masked the ruddy complexion of his cheeks – ruddy not from a healthy outdoors lifestyle, but from broken veins from years of heavy boozing.
    ‘You’re going to be very late, Michael, if you don’t haul yourself out of there. You do realize that, if you don’t reach the church by sunset, I cannot marry you, by law?’
    ‘I didn’t, no – I—’
    He reached up to touch the vicar, to seize his hand, but he struck hard, impenetrable teak.
    Darkness.
    The slosh of water as he moved.
    Then he noticed something. Checking with his hands, the water was no longer up to his cheeks; it had subsided to the top of his neck. ‘I’m wearing it like a tie,’ he said. ‘Can you wear water like a tie?’
    Then the shivers gripped him, clenched his arms so that his elbows banged against his ribs, his feet knocked, his breathing got faster, faster until he was hyperventilating.
    I’m going to die, I’m going to die, here, alone, on my wedding day. They are coming for me, the spirits, they are coming down here into the box and—
    He put his jerking hands together over his face. He could not remember the last time he had prayed – it was sometime long before his dad had died. Tom Harrison’s death had been the final confirmation to him that there was no God. But now the words of the Lord’s Prayer poured into his head and he whispered them into his hands, as if not wanting to be overheard.
    A crackle of static broke his concentration. Then a burst of twangy country and western music. Followed by a voice. ‘Well, good morning, sports fans, this is WNEB Buffalo bringing you the latest in sports, news and weather on this rainy ole Saturday morning! Now last night in the playoffs…’
    Frantically, Michael fumbled for the walkie-talkie. He knocked it off his chest and into the water. ‘Oh shit, no, oh shit, shit shit!’
    He fished it out, shook it as best he could, found the talk button and pressed it. ‘Davey? Davey, is that you?’
    Another hiss and crackle. ‘Hey, dude! You the dude with the friends in the wreck on Tuesday, right?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Hey, good to talk to you again!’
    ‘Davey, I really need you to do something for me. Then you could make a big announcement on your radio station.’
    ‘Depends what other news there is on the day,’ Davey said, dismissively.
    ‘OK.’ Michael fought the urge to snap at him. ‘I need you either to get someone on the phone that I can speak with via your walkie-talkie, or for you and your dad to come and rescue me.’
    ‘I guess that would depend on whether y’all are in an area we cover, know what I’m saying?’
    ‘I do, Davey. I know exactly what you are saying.’

41
    Later, lying naked in bed with a dozen scented candles burning around them in the room, and Norah Jones singing on the stereo, Ashley lit a cigarette, then held it up to Mark’s lips. He took a deep drag.
    ‘Gill’s right,’ Mark said. ‘I don’t think you should go to the church, and you definitely should not go ahead with the reception.’
    Ashley shook her head vigorously. ‘We absolutely should. Don’t you see? I’ll turn up there at the church…’ She paused to take a drag, then blew the smoke out slowly, deliciously, towards the ceiling. ‘Everyone will see me, the poor abandoned bride, and they’ll all feel so sorry for me.’
    ‘I’m not sure I agree; it could backfire.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘Well – they might think you’re insensitive, insisting on going ahead – that you’re not respecting Pete, Luke, Josh and Robbo. We both need to be seen to be acting as if we care about them.’
    ‘You and I have been in touch with their families. We’ve both written them all letters, we’re doing all the right things there. But we’ve been discussing the wedding for the past three days. We are going ahead! We have to pay the bloody caterers whatever we do, so we might as well look after those people who make the effort to turn up. It probably won’t be many – but surely that’s the least we can do?’
    Mark took the cigarette from her and drew hard, inhaling the smoke deep into his lungs. ‘Ashley, people would understand. You’ve battered me with your logic for three days and you haven’t listened to me. I think this is a huge