Better late than never, this one rumbles on but I struggled with this one, I didn't enjoy the actual episode for some reason but no idea why, it just wasn't for me but the whole gatecrashing the wedding took on a whole different feeling! It seemed to digress into a short chapter on language... I hope everyone is safe and well.
"Can we go now?" She asks, putting her empty glass of champagne on the table. Dempsey is handing his details to the photographer. She's feeling slightly woozy in the heated way that drinking champagne feels when imbued too fast, like it's fruit juice.
"Sure," He shrugs; they are intruders, but he's utterly oblivious, and she finds herself caring less too. She notices his glass is virtually untouched and his worried touch to her arm makes her want to hide in his jumper. She stops herself by reminding herself that he's not that sort of man, the one who sleeps with a lush.
"Best not." She says and puts down his offered glass, though she craves the fizz from the bubbles on her tongue.
"You wanna come home with me?" He asks, with a devilish smile that reminds her that he's a sexual man. He could be here today, but gone tomorrow and not someone she can share her feeling with, but she nods anyway.
"I wanted to get a photo of us, we never had one on the day." He explains without prompting. She regrets that too but she's glad he said it, it feels too sentimental in her head.
Dempsey's arm is around her waist like it belongs there as they walk like the couple through the obscene decorations, which gaudily taunt her. There's something about the entire day that's caught her off guard. Maybe it's that they are both equally judged today, a togetherness in crime. Usually, it's one of them getting into trouble but here is joint duplicity, and she enjoys it. She is unsure what to believe but thinks her heart might be the trouble.
"The bride looked nice." She says as he drives through London. She is struggling to wind her tongue over her sentence, which lies thick in her mouth; the precision of speech is lost. She's more Sharon than Harry. "Maybe I should've worn a dress like that."
"You won't hear me complaining about any of your clothes…"
"… we could have had a knees-up."
He pulls the car to a stop on the gravel and looks completely confused at her slang. "A knees-up?"
"Yes, dancing around a Joanna." She teases, fuelled from the champagne and the company of a good-looking man. "Piana. Piano. Knees-up means dancing, like an East End can-can."
He's still bemused, and, like offal, she tries to explain and agrees with him that the English language is 'crazy'. She laughs with him and finds herself doing that more often.
"It wasn't the wedding ceremony that mattered…." He tells her outside the door. "…it was the woman I married."
"You charmer." She deflects, feeling guilty at the look of hurt that flickers on his face. I love you for it sits there, right there, but she can't get the words out.
She still dreams of a party with her mother-in-law, his family, and Freddy looking delighted, and the slow dance with her new husband.