Page 133 of (Not) The One
‘When mum was pregnant with the last of the brood, she didn’t have ankles so much as she had cankles. She even wore runners with Velcro.’ She shivers theatrically.
‘Remind me not to rely on you for pep talks. Anyway, was there something wrong?’ My checklist has been well and truly checked and I’m hoping I’m just about done.
‘No, but the ceremony’s going to start soon. I thought we could snag a couple of seats at the back. That way we’ll get first dibs on the reception champagne.’
‘Have you forgotten something?’ I ask, as she threads her arm through mine and we begin to make our way through the vast interior of the house.
‘Nope, that’s why I’m taking you. To swap my empty glass for your full.’
‘You look nice, by the way.’ Heather’s hair has been curled into soft waves and she’s wearing a pretty floral skater dress and her ballet flats.
‘I scrub up all right, don’t I. You look pretty gorg yourself, cous. Where Mr H?’
‘James, you mean?’ I can’t help the furtive look I slide over my shoulder. ‘We’re not together today. Haven’t you seen him?’
‘Nope. But then I haven’t seen the happy couple, either.’
‘They’re probably somewhere annoying each other so they can make up.’
‘Love is strange.’
I’m not touching that.
We reach the door that lead out to the expansive gardens filled with a riot of autumnal colours. Scarlet and crimson, purple and gold. It’s like Mother Nature chose the perfect day for our boss babe.
‘They scored with the weather,’ Heather says as we pick our way down to the babbling brook, no less, that looks like it was imported just for today. Subtly bronzed chairs festooned with ribbon make up the rows of pews, and an arbour covered in ivy and pale cabbage roses make up an altar.
‘Babe, you should do this stuff for a living.’
‘I’m quite good at it, I think. Does that sound big headed?’
‘Nope. It sounds like good advertising. Speaking of which.’ She tugs on the hem of my dress which has ridden up my thighs. ‘They do say it pays to advertise, but I think your Mr H is already sold.’
‘Stop it.’ No don’t. Really, go on.
The chairs start to fill up, people milking around, choosing sides and vying for the best spots as Heth and I take a seat at the back. The couple have chosen a nondenominational ceremony which is being conducted by a woman.
As a string quartet strikes up, I look down and realise I still have my runners on. And in another epic fail, I’ve left my phone plugged into a socket in the kitchen.I hope no one swipes it.
I turn to the aisle, looking at the people on the other side, but I can’t see James anywhere. He said he’d sit with Griff—Beckett had opted to forgo a large bridal party—which is probably just as well as James seems to be in a bit of a snit with him. Anyway, as I don’t know who Griff is, it hardly helps. I’m sure we’ll catch up after the ceremony. Maybe for a dance or a quick smooch among the trees.
I begin to wonder if I should be at the side making sure the congregants stand when it happens organically right before the bride arrives. She’s accompanied down the aisle by her grandmother, and they look so darling together as they exchange happy yet somehow conspiratorial looks. As they pass our row, I hear the old lady mutter to her granddaughter, ‘Oh, look at him, Libby. He looks like a proper Bobby Dazzler.’
And then we’re looking at the backs of their heads; one neat little pie hat in pink and one ivory cathedral length veil.
The symbolic offering of the bride’s hand follows before the celebrant begins to speak.
‘Please be seated. I’d like to begin by welcoming everyone and thanking each and every one of you for being here on this most joyful of days.’
I am pretty joyful right now.
The satisfaction of a job carried out to the best of your ability.
‘I can’t think of a better venue than Beckett and Olivia’s beautiful home for such an occasion, a home that is filled with love. And we are blessed to be here today to take part in this celebration of their love.’
A home that is filled with love.
They’re a strange couple, but the way she looks at him? It’s as though he hung the moon. Or something.
