The first flakes of snow started to fall just as we pulled up outside the church. They swirled lazily down, settling on my hair and bare shoulders like confetti. I resisted a childish urge to stick out my tongue to taste the icy crystals, which would probably have earned me a disapproving look from my mother, who’d emerged from the limo right behind me. Or maybe not. She’d changed recently. We all had. I imagined there was very little I’d ever thank Darrell for, but the events of last summer had brought about a new closeness between Mum and me. She was softer now, less judgemental, except on those occasions when Darrell’s name was mentioned. Then she morphed into a Fury-like creature, with a murderous gleam in her eyes. ‘I could happily kill him,’ she’d said at least a hundred times, which was better than the ‘I told you so’s I’d been expecting. Strangely, she’d never said those words, not even once. ‘If you want to kill that little toerag, take a number and get in line,’ my dad had growled.
He’d hugged me fiercely at the airport before flying back to Spain one week later. It had felt odd having Mum beside me to wave him off. That definitely wouldn’t have happened before Darrell and the wedding-that-never-was.
‘I might actually miss your father a little, now that he’s gone,’ Mum had confessed, as we’d stood at the huge plate-glass windows watching his plane take to the sky.
Somehow I’d managed to hide my smile and I’d reached for her hand, surprised at how comforting it felt to have it wrapped around mine once more. ‘Spain’s not so very far away. Perhaps—’ She’d shot me down with a single look. Yes, she’d changed… but not quite that much.
And now my father was back again. To attend a wedding that everyone hoped would be a great deal more successful than the last one I’d planned. It was already off to a good start, I thought with a smile. At least this time the groom wasn’t already married.
The chiming of the church bells beckoned us towards the oak doors, which were flung open in welcome. Waiting inside the familiar parish church of my childhood were my family, friends and – of course – the man I loved. I wondered how many guests on the left-hand side of the church, the bride’s side, were thinking back to the much grander affair they’d attended last summer. At least those on the groom’s side didn’t have those memories to taint today.
The limo driver, who was holding an enormous golf umbrella above our heads, waited patiently as I picked up my bouquet of yellow gerberas. They were an unconventional choice for a wedding, but they were the first flowers Paul had ever given me and had become our ‘thing’. Roses, for obvious reasons, would always hold far less pleasant memories.
Paul had even produced a bunch of the cheery yellow blooms from the boot of his car when we’d gone away for a recent trip to the coast. It had been our first holiday together and the beachside property he’d found couldn’t have been more perfect. The quaint clapboard cottage was set almost directly on the sand at the end of a long, twisty lane and was an idyllic spot for a romantic getaway. And we clearly weren’t the only people to have thought so, for the guest book was filled with the names of couples who’d celebrated landmark moments in their relationship by staying there. Among the ‘Perfect spot for our anniversary’ and ‘We got engaged!!!’ comments were two particularly intriguing entries.
‘What do you think happened here?’ I asked, swivelling the guest book towards Paul and running my finger beneath the names of a Sophie and Ben, who in a previous February had written ‘So happy he brought me here’. Then, I flicked forward to six months later where I’d spotted the same distinctive penmanship beside another entry that read ‘We came back’, but oddly this time the only name beside it was Sophie’s.
Paul had smiled and gently lifted the book from my hands. ‘Who knows? Maybe they split up.’ I’d shaken my head, my interest still piqued, but then all thoughts of previous guests disappeared as Paul reached for my hands. ‘I’d like to see your name and mine together in that book for many years to come,’ he’d said, his voice suddenly husky. We were careful never to talk about the future, although increasingly it was becoming harder and harder for me to imagine one without him in it. ‘I know you want to take this thing slowly,’ he said, his green eyes holding mine captive, ‘and I understand why, I really do. But I want to make sure you know that I’m all in. I’m done. This is it for me.’
‘Me too,’ I whispered.
‘Good,’ he said, his breath mingling with mine in the gentlest of kisses. ‘The future will find a way of sorting itself out,’ he promised. ‘It always does.’
It was warm sitting beside the cottage’s inglenook fireplace, but it wasn’t flames that melted my heart, it was the look in his eyes. ‘I don’t care if some people say it’s too soon – I knew you were the one from that very first day, when you sat in my post room, trying so hard not to cry.’
‘Your post room?’ I asked, my voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. ‘And there I was thinking you were just the guy who delivered the post.’
He grinned. ‘Ah, didn’t I tell you? My father owns the company.’
I grinned right back at him. ‘My mother’s a famous novelist.’
‘You win,’ Paul said, bending down and kissing me in a way that made all further conversation redundant.
*
It wouldn’t have surprised me if some of the guests in the church today thought this wedding was a little hasty; rushed even. I’d heard it referred to as a whirlwind courtship by more than one person. And in a way they were right, because it had swept through our lives like a gust of exhilarating fresh air. The only thing that really mattered was that the people I loved, the people I truly cared about, all knew differently.
Today’s celebration would be nothing like the wedding Darrell and I had planned to have. And that was no happy accident; it was one hundred per cent deliberate. From the time of year – winter rather than summer – to the flowers, and the cake, everything was completely different. And that included the dress. This gown hadn’t come from Fleurs and was a world away from the dress I’d chosen from there. This one was a sophisticated slim sheath in champagne-coloured satin. It was a Grace Kelly meets Audrey Hepburn kind of gown, and when I saw the price tag I felt a wave of guilt that my mother had now bought two extremely expensive gowns in a little over six months.
She’d shrugged, this new laissez faire mother of mine. ‘It’s only money, Suzy. What’s the point of having it if you can’t enjoy it?’
*
I looked at her now as we drew to a halt at the entrance to the church. Karen was waiting just inside the doors, in case of any last-minute wardrobe malfunctions, but happily there were none that needed her attention.
The difference that made this wedding day even more special was that today my mother and I would walk side by side up the aisle to the altar. My father had happily agreed to this slightly unconventional arrangement, and I loved him for allowing Mum and I to have this last precious moment together.
‘Is everyone here?’ I whispered to Karen, as she brushed a few lingering snowflakes from my hair and shoulders.
‘If you mean Paul, then yes, of course he’s here,’ Karen replied, giving my hand a friendly squeeze. She smiled warmly, her gaze encompassing both my mother and me. ‘You both look absolutely lovely.’
‘So do you,’ my mother said, her eyes going down to the exceedingly large bump straining at the fabric of my best friend’s dress. ‘Blooming, in fact.’
‘Too blooming big to have squeezed into a bridesmaid’s dress,’ Karen quipped back, but there was a radiance on her face that was almost always present these days. ‘Well, if you’re both ready, I’ll nip back in and tell the organist he can do this thing, shall I?’
Before we walked in tandem into the candlelit church, I turned to my mother in the tiny vestibule, wanting to freeze this moment in my memory for all time.
‘I love you, Mum.’
‘I love you too, sweetheart.’ Her hand was still squeezing mine as the first notes from the organ swelled to fill the church. We turned as one and began to walk up the aisle.
*
My eyes went to him first, the way I suspected they always would. In his dark suit, Paul looked beyond handsome as he stood at the end of a pew watching our approach. The pride on his face was a snapshot I would cherish forever.
My father was wearing a remarkably similar expression, except – if I wasn’t mistaken – there were tears glinting brightly in his eyes as we covered the last few metres. It was the first time I’d ever seen him cry, and it was almost my undoing.
‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate a particularly joyous union,’ began the vicar, looking fondly at the people assembled before him. ‘Who giveth this woman to be married?’
My throat was clear, and my voice rang out loudly in the hushed silence of the church. ‘I do,’ I said, lifting my mother’s hand and placing it gently into my father’s waiting one. Smiling and crying at the same time, I took a small step backwards and slipped into my allocated seat in the front pew. Paul’s arm snaked around my waist and pulled me closer to his side, to the place I never wanted to leave.
*
Hours later, when she stood on the balcony of the house I’d grown up in, my mother turned her back on her assembled guests and with a joyful laugh threw her bouquet over her shoulder to the hallway far below. I caught it. Naturally.