ON THE EVE OF the wedding I stayed at Coworth Park Hotel. A private cottage. Several mates sat with me and had drinks. One commented that I
seemed a bit distracted.
Yes, well. There’s been a lot going on.
I didn’t want to say too much. The business with Meg’s father, Kate and the dress, the constant worry about someone in the crowd doing something crazy— better not to talk about it.
Someone asked about my brother. Where’s Willy? I gave another non-answer. Another sore subject.
He’d been scheduled to join us for the evening. But, like Meg’s father, he’d canceled last minute.
He’d told me, just before he attended tea with Granny: Can’t do it, Harold.
Kate and the kids.
I’d reminded him that this was our tradition, that we’d had dinner before his wedding, that we’d gone together and visited the crowds.
He held fast. Can’t do it.
I pushed. Why you being like this, Willy? I was with you the whole night before you married Kate. Why you doing this?
I asked myself what was really going on. Was he feeling bad about not being my best man? Was he upset that I’d asked my old mate Charlie? (The Palace put out the story that Willy was the best man, as they’d done with me when he and Kate married.) Could that be part of it?
Or was it a hangover from Beardgate?
Or was he feeling guilty about the business between Kate and Meg?
He wasn’t giving any indication. He just kept saying no. While asking me why it even mattered so much.
Why are you even saying hello to the crowds, Harold?
Because the press office told me to. As we did at your wedding. You don’t need to listen to them.
Since bloody when?
I felt sick about it. I’d always believed, despite our problems, that our underlying bond was strong. I’d thought brotherhood would always trump a bridesmaid’s dress or a beard. Suppose not.
Then, just after leaving Granny, around six P.M., Willy texted. He’d changed his mind. He’d come.
Maybe Granny intervened?
Whatever. I thanked him happily, heartily.
Moments later, we met outside and got into a car, which drove us down to King Edward Gate. We hopped out, walked up and down the crowd, thanking people for coming.
People wished us well, blew us kisses.
We waved goodbye, got back into the car.
As we drove off, I asked him to come have dinner with me. I mentioned maybe staying the night, as I’d done before his wedding.
He’d come for dinner, he said, but wouldn’t be able to stay.
Come on, please, Willy. Sorry, Harold. Can’t. Kids.
