A couple of weeks ago Paul, a work acquaintance of Miss D and I, got married.  While they married in a small ceremony in Spain, they had a reception back here for around 200 people at a posh hotel.  I was invited, as was Mr P, Miss D and Mr T.

We were told about it quite a long time ago, and Miss D had spoken to Mr T about him going.  He’d not been very keen on the idea and had initially tried to convince Miss D that she shouldn’t go, simply because he didn’t want to.  Thankfully she stood her ground and said she was going, and that it was up to him if he wanted to.  He agreed to come along after he’d finished work and made his way back from Birmingham.  She offered for him to give both me and Mr P a lift back after the reception.

The evening came around and we went to the reception.  I wasn’t much looking forward to it and had managed to get myself into a bit of a bad mood before the evening got started.  Miss D and I hung around together not doing much until Mr P arrived.  Once he was there things picked up a bit, we sat around and talked as a group.  Miss D and I were getting on very well, at one stage she even leaned on my knee while talking to Mr P (this is unusual — she’s normally very physically disconnected, the few times I’ve tried making friendly contact with her, the way I happily do with my other girly friends, she’s moved away).  About 9.45 Mr T rang Miss D saying he was on his way, he just needed to get changed and set off from his parent’s house about 10 minutes drive away.  An hour later he rang again asking where the hotel was.  There was some confusion while Miss D tried to explain to him how to find the place, but in the end he turned up.  This was about 11.

Mr T got himself a drink, Miss D attached herself to him, and he and Mr P started chatting, and I felt left out.  So I went to talk to other people.  The talking to other people went on a while, but I was starting to get restless.  I’d been working all day and was tired and getting grumpier.  I just wanted to go home.  After a few attempts at trying to speed up the leaving process I stomped off into the garden and sat in the dark on some steps somewhere for a few minutes.  Once I’d wallowed in my own misery for long enough I turned around and headed back.  On the way back in I bumped into Miss D, Mr P and Mr T heading out looking for me.  They’d finished, presumably noticed I was missing, and come to look for me.

So we all crammed into Mr T’s little car and headed off back to the flat.  It was too late for Mr P to get the train back home so he stayed on our floor.  On the way back the conversation turned to politics.  Mr T has some very right wing and often poorly informed views which can at time really get on my nerves.  I decided that, because I wasn’t in the best mood, I’d keep quiet, so I sat in the back of the car biting my lip.  Throughout the journey I was aware that Mr T was occasionally looking at me in the rear-view mirror.  I wasn’t sure if he was trying to get a response out of me with what he was saying, or if he just expected me to say something, but I wasn’t the only one to notice his looks — when I spoke to Mr P about it a little later he said he’d noticed too.

Once we got back to the flat Miss D started fussing about, offering Mr P toast and various other things.  I tried my best to politely get rid of both her and Mr T: “It’s ok, I’m sure we can use the toaster”, “we’re both grown ups, I think we’ll be ok”; but it didn’t work.  They stood there and Mr T started talking again.  He talked for about another half hour while I stood there keeping quiet.  After a while Miss D started saying things like “I think we should leave before Carreg falls asleep”, and everything looked reasonably promising.  Just as they were about to go someone said something unwise about the Ireland and the Euro.  Mr T turned back and started talking again.

I’d had enough.  “Can we talk about this some other time, there’s another 2 hours work of conversation here.”  I can’t remember who said what next, but it was my response that was the problem. “Are you going to stay all night?” “I can if I want.” “Yes, but are you?” Miss D didn’t like that much.  I’m not sure too much thought went into it prior to saying it, but I think perhaps the next move was going to be something like “if you are then I’ll give up pretending to be polite and go to bed”.  They left pretty quickly. It just reached a point I couldn’t hold it in any more.  Mr T annoys me anyway, and the whole evening put together was just too much.  I would have been fine, with a little bitching at Mr P later on, had they gone then, but I just reached the point it was too much.

I know I shouldn’t have done it. I felt bad as soon as they’d gone and I sent Miss D a text saying sorry. I bought her flowers to try to make up for it; we’d been talking earlier in the week and she’d said it would be nice to have flowers around the house more often.  I made sure I wasn’t in when she got back on Sunday, I thought it would be best to leave a little note with the flowers and get back after she did, I thought it would be easiest.  Sunday night was still a bit quiet and awkward.  The same of Monday night.  I tried to talk about just other things, but it didn’t seem to work very well. On Tuesday we talked to each other on Windows Live Messenger and we cleared the air a little (we weren’t in the same room at the time whilst talking on MSN, I’d like to point out!).

One thing which was good to clear up was for me to know that she knows I don’t much like Mr T.  Before that I’d never really been sure if she really knew what I thought.  While she might not really appreciate exactly what I think (although I think she probably does subconsciously, just doesn’t want to really admit it — I’m still holding on to the thought that once her and Mr T are no longer an item she’ll come back and say I was right all along…), it’s kind of good to know she sees the friction between the two of us but can cope with that. As I’ve said before, I’d never win if it came to a choice between me and him.  Rightly or wrongly, that’s just the way it goes.