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       Don’t Marry Barry

      Julia Williams

      ‘So, you’re going ahead with it then?’ Mel Andrews asked, as she watched Claire Corrigan flicking through bridal magazines.

      ‘Ahead with what?’ Claire looked up from the page she was perusing.

      ‘The wedding, you dope!’

      Claire looked at the exquisite diamond ring, now adorning her fourth finger, and then out at the splendid view of London, that Barry’s fantastically airy loft apartment provided.

      ‘Of course I am,’ she said. ‘Don’t you start.’

      ‘But you can’t marry Barry,’ said Mel. ‘As your best mate, I have to be sure that you’re doing the right thing.’

      Claire looped back her auburn curls over her shoulder.

      ‘Yes, Mel, I am. Barry and I love each other. What exactly is your problem with that?’

      ‘What about Steve?’

      Steve. Ah, the if-onlys that were contained in that name.

      ‘What about him?’ Claire shifted slightly uncomfortably in her seat.

      ‘I seem to recall a time when you used to say you couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.’

      ‘Yes, well, I was wrong, wasn’t I?’ Claire got up, and looked out of the window. The late summer sun was setting across the river, and in the distance its light reflected in the London Eye, performing its stately dance around the sights of London.

      She didn’t like thinking about Steve very much. Too dangerous. It was all too easy to conjure up a vision of him in his leathers, or riding his bike, oozing animal magnetism. There had been something earthy and primitive about Steve, and even now, after all this time, she went hot all over at the thought of him.

      ‘Steve couldn’t have given me all of this,’ she said waving her arms around at the luxurious apartment. ‘He hardly earned a bean.’

      ‘Money isn’t everything,’ said Mel.

      ‘You’re right,’ said Claire, ‘money isn’t everything. But that’s not why I’m marrying Barry. He’s prepared to commit to me, Steve never was. It’s that simple. I wanted the fairy tale wedding and happy ever after, and all Steve could promise me was this year, next year, sometime, never. It would never have worked.’

      ‘Whereas Barry …’ said Mel.

      ‘… Is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. He’s sexy, handsome, funny. And he’s solid and reliable. He can give me security and commitment. Two little words that Steve just can’t.’ And yet, said a treacherous little voice in her head, now you’ve got it, is it all it’s cracked up to be? She’d traded her leathers and DMs for Katharine Hamnett and Manolo Blahniks, but sometimes, she wistfully longed for the days when Steve would just pitch up out of the blue, and she’d hop on the back of his bike and they’d ride off, anywhere, just for the sheer joy of it. She had security now, for sure. But joy? Barry wasn’t good at joy.

      ‘Well if you’re sure …’ said Mel .

      ‘I’m sure,’ said Claire, as much to convince herself as Mel. ‘Barry’s good for me. We’re good together.’

      ‘So it’s not a rebound job then?’

      It was true that Barry had followed hot on the heels of Steve. In fact, when Claire gave it any thought – which she studiously avoided doing most of the time – they had got together indecently quickly after she had finished with Steve.

      But, she had been so furious with Steve by the end. He just hadn’t understood why she wanted to move to London and find a job in PR, when she could have stayed in Bolton watching him take a series of dead-end jobs.

      ‘It’s because I want to make something of my life,’ she had argued with him. ‘I don’t want to fester here forever.’

      ‘You mean you want to join the rat race,’ Steve had said. ‘At least if I don’t

      tie myself to a job, I can be free to take off whenever I want.’

      ‘And how long can you go on doing that?’ Claire had demanded. ‘One day, you’re going to have to grow up.’

      In the end, she had come to London anyway, and for a while they had limped along, with her

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