‘Are you ready?’
‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’ Freya said to Roxanne as they shivered in the vestry of Bannerdale church.
Roxanne shimmered like an ice princess in her white sequinned dress and fur-trimmed cloak. They’d been left alone briefly while Roxanne’s dad had nipped to the loo for a ‘last-minute pee’ and the vicar was touching up her lipstick in the cloakroom mirror.
Freya resisted the urge to rub at her lower arms to get the blood flowing again. It was a perfect day for a winter wedding, with snow still lying in the churchyard and frost sparkling like a million diamonds. However, the elbow-length sleeves of a faux-fur bolero over a satin slip dress weren’t up to the chill of a Lakeland day when frost still lay on the grass in the afternoon.
‘You must be freezing,’ Roxanne said. ‘I knew I should have brought hot toddies.’
‘Later!’ Freya said, disguising the chattering of her teeth with laughter. ‘Or we might not make it into the church.’
Roxanne didn’t laugh. ‘I can see the goosebumps. I knew I should have chosen long sleeves but the short ones look so much better and I promise you’ll be warm at the reception. That blush pink really suits you. I’m so envious of you with that willowy figure.’
Freya felt embarrassed. ‘Thanks, but you’re the bride and you look completely amazing.’
‘Thank you … but …’ Roxanne touched Freya’s bare wrist. ‘Are you ready?’ Roxanne asked. ‘I’m so grateful you agreed to be bridesmaid. I know it was a big ask … It’s bound to stir up old feelings.’ She didn’t say Jos’s name out loud but Freya knew who her friend was alluding to.
If Roxanne was jittery, she didn’t show it, unlike Freya who was a glutinous mass of nerves. How pathetic was that? The bridesmaid was supposed to be the cool, calm and collected one.
‘Of course. I’m fine.’
Roxanne gave her the gentlest of hugs.
‘It is an honour and a privilege to be your bridesmaid and this is your day. Yours and Ravi’s. Let’s do this.’
Roxanne’s dad emerged from the loo. ‘Eee. That’s better!’
‘Glad to hear it, Dad, but you might like to do up your fly before we walk down the aisle.’
Freya suppressed a giggle as he glanced down in horror at his trousers.
‘Always a good idea,’ said the vicar with a smile. ‘Now, shall we do this?’
Roxanne’s father took his daughter’s arm. ‘You look beautiful, love.’
The tender endearment cut through Freya like a knife. They could almost have been echoes of the words her mum might have used on her wedding day that never was. The one that was meant to be perfect and she’d bailed out of, almost at the last minute. No wonder Jos was hurt. He wasn’t a bad man, just not the man she could have made a lifetime commitment to.
The organ volume rose with the triumphant notes of the ‘Wedding March’ and they were off, Freya a few feet behind the bride, gliding up the aisle of Bannerdale church.
Her smile fixed in place, she focused on Roxanne: it was her day, her moment. Freya was solemn yet joyful, telling herself she was invisible compared to her friend – a dull pinprick of light in the glare of the sun.
She knew a few of the people in the church; the odd one or two or might have been potential guests at her own big day. She was rather relieved that her mother was probably lying on a steamer chair on the deck of a cruise ship, as she’d be unable to resist making some pointed comment about Jos.
Ravi gazed at Roxanne with total devotion and her friend was equally smitten, neither of them apparently with a moment’s doubt about committing to each other for the rest of their lives – in theory, at least. How wonderful to have that certainty, thought Freya, taking the bouquet for safekeeping. How terrifying …
‘Dearly beloved …’
They were off: ten minutes away – maybe less – from a lifetime’s commitment. So simple and yet so impossible to comprehend.
It was over. On Nico’s arm, Freya followed the bride and groom out into the churchyard, the guests spilling out behind them. They huddled together in groups for warmth, like the penguins in one of Travis’s photos.
‘Woah!’
Nico steadied Freya as her heel slipped on the icy flagstones outside the church. ‘OK?’ he asked.
‘Yes, just about. Thanks.’
‘Mind out, Julie, you don’t want to go arse over tit,’ Roxanne’s dad muttered behind them.
‘Paul, please don’t use language like that in church!’
‘We’re not in church now, my dearest, and it’s bloody lethal out here. Why haven’t they put some salt down. Why did we have to have a wedding when it’s minus five? We can’t keep people out here for long. Your mother will have hypothermia!’
‘Shh.’
Freya had to laugh, it was either that or succumb to the sub-zero conditions along with Roxanne’s granny. She tried not to shiver, as the photographer arranged her and the best man with the bride and groom for the first group shot.
He had to shout to be heard over a group of kids having a snowball fight with some lingering overnight snow they’d scraped off the tombstones.
‘Ouch!’ Freya cried as a bullet-hard ball of ice hit her on the side of the arm.
‘Will you please stop that, Damien!’ his mother cried as the culprit danced in front of the bridal party, pulling faces at the camera.
‘Just the main bridal party in this shot,’ the photographer cried in despair.
Damien’s mum yanked his arm. ‘Behave or you’ll go home this minute!’ she ordered.
‘Good! I’m bored! And my tie is hurting my neck.’
‘Sorry,’ she mouthed, dragging the boy away.
‘Can we please start now?’ the photographer wailed. ‘I’m on a very tight schedule and as you’ve noticed, it’s a bit chilly.’
Freya stood next Nico, willing the whole thing to be over as quickly as possible and hoping her teeth didn’t chatter too loudly.
The photographer raised the camera, shouted ‘Big smiles!’ took a step back and vanished.