The husband seemed out of place with the festivities that surrounded him.

Outsice, an M6 awaited him. With someone inside, behind the wheel. Honking. Someone impatiently wanting to head home. Someone young, male, who wasn’t his spouse.
The honking pulled people’s attention from the party, from the house, and caused them to move outside, to the rather sprawling drive way.
Eventually the front yard filled with onlookers, wine glasses in hand, clutching linen napkins, gawking. What else might the man behind the wheel do? They wondered. Cry? Stop honking? Turn on the radio? Leaving without the husband who was still inside with the few remaining guests?
They were witnessing some sort of unfolding here. It was the young man in the car who unfolded, spilling out of the car in the process.
The honking had stopped. The husband never came out. Eventually the guests went back inside, most of them not bothering to look back, to see if the man picked himself from the gravel. Grovel? Gravel? It made not difference to them.