Wedding Night

the word “custody,” my internal radar springs into action and I feel my heart automatically start to pound, ready for battle. My body is flooding with adrenaline. I’m fingering my memory stick nervously. I have speeches lined up in my head. Long, erudite, scathing speeches. Also: I want to punch someone.
    “Only, some of my friends have had fairly torrid times with custody battles,” Lorcan adds.
    “Right.” I’m trying to achieve composure. “Right. I bet.”
    Torrid?
I want to exclaim.
You want to hear about torrid?
    But at the same time Barnaby’s voice is ringing in my ears like the chime of a warning bell.
You said whatever you did, you wouldn’t end up bitter
.
    “But you haven’t suffered?” says Lorcan.
    “Not at all.” From nowhere, I’ve mustered the most relaxed, serene smile. “Actually, it’s all been very easy and straightforward. And quick,” I add for good measure. “Very quick.”
    “You’re lucky.”
    “Very lucky.” I nod. “So, so lucky!”
    “And you and your ex get on?”
    “We’re like this.” I cross my fingers.
    “You’re incredible!” says Lorcan in marveling tones. “Are you sure you want to be divorced from him?”
    “I’m just super-glad he’s found happiness with another woman.” I smile yet more sweetly. My ability to lie is unnerving even to myself. Essentially, I’m saying the diametric opposite of the truth. It’s almost a game.
    “And do you get on with his new partner?”
    “Love her!”
    “And does Noah?”
    “It’s like one big happy family!”
    “Would you like another drink?”
    “No, I’d hate one!” Abruptly I remember that Lorcan doesn’t know we’re playing the game. “I mean, love one,” I amend.
    As Lorcan summons a waiter, I eat a couple of nuts and try to come up with more divorce-related lies. But even as I’m composing them—
We all play table tennis together! Daniel’s naming his new baby after me!
—my head is buzzing. My fingers are fiddling at the memory stick with more and more agitation. I don’t like this game anymore. My inner good fairy is losing her glow. The bad fairy is barging in and wants to have a say.
    “So, your husband must be a great guy,” says Lorcan, after he’s given our order. “For you two to have such a special relationship.”
    “He’s a star!” I nod, my teeth gritted.
    “Must be.”
    “He’s just so thoughtful and kind!” I’m clenching my fists by my sides. “He’s such a charismatic, charming, unselfish, caring—” I break off. I’m panting. There are actual stars in front of my eyes. Complimenting Daniel is bad for my health; I can’t do it anymore. “He’s a … a … a …” It’s like a sneeze. It has to come out.
“Bastard.”
    There’s a slight pause. I can see some men at a nearby table looking over with interest.
    “A bastard in a good way?” hazards Lorcan. “Or … oh.” He sees my face.
    “I lied. Daniel is the biggest nightmare that any divorced wife has had to put up with, and I’m bitter, OK? I’m bitter!” Just saying it is a relief. “My bones are bitter, my heart’s bitter, my blood is bitter.…” Something occurs to me. “Wait. You’ve had sex with me. You know I’m bitter.”
    There’s no way he couldn’t have picked that up from our night together. I was fairly tense. I think I swore a lot.
    “I wondered.” Lorcan tilts his head affirmatively.
    “Was it when I shouted, ‘Screw you, Daniel!’ just as I came?” I can’t help cracking, then lift a hand. “Sorry. Bad-taste joke.”
    “No apology needed.” Lorcan doesn’t even blink. “The only way to survive a divorce is to tell bad-taste jokes. What do you do if you miss your ex-wife? Take better aim next time.”
    “Why is divorce so expensive?” I automatically counter. “Because it’s worth it.”
    “Why do divorced men get married again? Bad memory.”
    He waits for me to laugh, but I’m lost in thought. My adrenaline tidal wave has ebbed away, leaving behind the detritus of old familiar thoughts.
    “The thing is …” I rub my nose hard. “The thing is, I
haven’t
survived my divorce. Wouldn’t ‘survival’ imply I’m the same person I was before?”
    “So who are you now?” says Lorcan.
    “I don’t know,” I say after a long pause. “I feel scalded inside. Like, third-degree burns. But no one can see them.”
    Lorcan winces but doesn’t reply. He’s one of those rare people who can wait it out and listen.
    “I started to