I watched her from the gloom of the marquee as she approached, the weak winter sun becoming summer through her orange dress. She was one of those hazy relatives only seen at special occasions and all the other wedding guests ignored her.
The murmur in the marquee swelled as she entered, something that stiffened her neck immediately. 'Excuse me,' she said, pushing past to one of the candles at the back of the buffet table. I was simply an obstruction. I was used to that. Like all females, she had never shown me the slightest bit of interest and I wasn't expecting that to change, not even now with her shiny new pariah status
As she leant across and pulled the candle to her, dragging the flame deep into the tobacco and closing her eyes as she did so. The front of her dress gaped open and I was transfixed.
'What are you staring at?' Her head cocked towards me, cigarette smoke trailing up through her hair.
I blushed. She knew exactly what I was looking at and so did everyone else there. I tried to find words that would save me from pissing off another beautiful woman, but all I could come up with was to point to where her cleavage dived beneath the questionable protection of the orange gauze. 'You've spilt cherry pie on your dress.'
She left before I could embarrass myself further. I leant back, trying to feign nonchalance and burnt my wrist on the candle.
As she left, she was intercepted by, of all people, my mother. Embarrassing enough, but worse, in a short exchange of heated whispers they both glanced back at me. Then she was gone and my mother was telling me to stay away from her. Normally I would have left it at that, but the shame of having my mother intervene, at my age, made me go find her. I grabbed a wet cloth from a waiter as I left.
She was propped against a wall behind the mansion that dominated this park, dragging hard on her cigarette. Her tear-smudged eyeshadow looked like black addition signs stamped into her eyes. As I approached, she retrieved a lipstick from her bag and applied it with a shaking hand. The lipstick was blue, like the centre of a Bunsen flame.
I handed her the cloth, telling her it was for the stain on her dress. Not the stuff of Casanova, but for me it was high romance and she didn't tell me to fuck off. Instead she returned my smile and that was the first time that any woman, other than my mother, smiled with me. I didn't need a thankyou.
She accepted the damp item and our hands touched as she took it. She didn't flinch away from that touch and I tried to not gaze down her dress as she dabbed it.
'It's a shame that you didn't wear red.' I said, shifting my trousers so that she wouldn't see the effect her touch was having on me.
'I suppose you'd prefer me wearing some thick tweed number like you.'
'It hides the stains.'
'Men's suits need to.'
'I don't think that the cloth is working.' I said
She studied the patch, which was now bigger, and agreed with me.
'You look cold.' I said. She had goose bumps.
'I didn't think to bring a coat. I thought that the reception would be inside. Who the hell has a marquee in winter anyway?'
'I think that the bride's father runs a scout group or something.' I gave her my jacket and this time her hand clasped over mine and squeezed. 'Thankyou.' She said and I tried not to shiver in the cold.
'Hold me?' She whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek. 'I just need to feel someone close to me.'
'Me?' No woman had asked me to hold her before. I didn't know whether she was just teasing me or not.
'Why not? Looks aren't just superficial you know. Men can be attractive in other ways.'