Blackberries, Rum, Martini Rosso, Pineapple Juice, Crème de Mure, Bitters
The week before India’s wedding day I descended into a funny sort of mood. Obviously I was thrilled for my sister and loved seeing her so happy, but at the same time I felt quite numb inside. Just sad I suppose.
I’d spent quite a long time looking at that selfie of me with Gabriel, wondering what he had been thinking and why he had sought me out for those magical few days. But of course life had carried on. There was always work, there would always be irritating clients and unexpected successes, but for the first time in a long time I wasn’t fretting, nagging or overeating. Even with the wedding coming up, India was working harder and not making as many mistakes. Maybe we’d both needed a holiday to come back and feel fresh. It was almost fun working with her in the office now. Tim seemed happier too since India and I weren’t sniping at each other over doughnuts.
My parents came home from Australia with sunburnt arms and all sorts of tales. Mum seemed especially surprised to find no mess in the house and pretty much all of her food still exactly where she’d put it. India and Jerry bickered happily about his stag weekend in Wolverhampton (no, I’ve no idea why he went there either), there were last-minute hitches and choices to be made about the wedding. The traumatic decisions regarding hairstyles and shoes. None of it seemed to touch me deep inside. It was as though I was pining.
Yes, that was it – I was pining for Gabriel.
How ridiculous. I wasn’t thirteen and in the throes of my first crush; I was nearly thirty and behaving like a complete prat.
I owed it to India to buck up a bit and join in. I would not think about Gabriel Frost again. I would jam my memories of him into a metaphorical canvas bag and sling it somewhere deep and dark. To make up for my neglect I made her take a few extra days off work so she could get her head around things and really concentrate on the last-minute wedding details.
Charlie Smith-Rivers from the Exeter office oiled his way over the Wednesday before the wedding. He was due to take over from me for a couple of days anyway, and he never missed an opportunity to: 1) stress his importance in helping out the ‘girls’ and 2) stare at my chest.
‘So you’ll be next,’ Charlie said smoothly.
‘Next what?’ I asked distractedly as I searched for a brochure on my tidy but somehow still not perfectly ordered desk.
I’d been stressing about some floor plans all week. Never particularly accurate, it was a wonder the clients hadn’t dispensed with our services. I wasn’t in the mood for Charlie’s banter.
‘Next into the blessed institution.’
‘You’re going into a home?’ I said, being deliberately difficult.
‘No, the institution of marriage,’ he said patiently.
I waited, resigned, for the punchline, which wasn’t long in coming.
‘But who wants to live in an institution? Hahaha! Twenty-eight years I’ve been married to the little girlie. Or it might be twenty-nine. The Great Train Robbers got less.’
God, Charlie, don’t give up the day job.
‘I can’t understand why a lovely girl like you hasn’t been snapped up long ago,’ he continued, rubbing his hands together. ‘I can’t think what the matter is with young men today.’
‘Me neither, Charlie,’ I retorted.
‘So, not got any nice young chap to take to the wedding as your plus-one?’
Why were people so obsessed with this? Why did it matter if I went on my own?
‘No, I’m in charge of three flower girls,’ I said. ‘That’s far more fun than watching some random boyfriend get plastered, isn’t it?’
‘If you say so.’
Charlie went and looked out of the window at the traffic.
‘What happened to that chap you were shacked up with? Jack or Jim?’
‘Ryan,’ I said, bristling a little at the term shacked up, which we weren’t because I never moved in with him.
‘That’s the fellow.’
‘He wanted to marry me but I said no. So the next day he went and walked into the sea off Woolacombe.’
Charlie wheeled round. ‘Good God, really?’
‘Absolutely.’ I nodded, keeping my face as honest as possible.
‘What a dreadful tragedy!’
‘No, not really. He did have a wetsuit and surfboard at the time.’
‘Oh.’
Behind him Tim snorted his amusement and I carried on typing at high speed, hoping to put Charlie off. By the middle of the afternoon I’d had enough and was checking my watch every five minutes.
Even Charlie noticed.
‘Look, why don’t you hop off home? I’m sure there must be lots to do. I’ll hold the fort for the last hour or so.’
‘Would you?’ I felt a sudden burst of relief; perhaps I should try and be nicer to him. ‘Really?’
‘Sure, off you go. I mean I’m sure you have things to try on –’ he looked a bit misty-eyed for a moment ‘– stockings and the like.’
I collected my things together and put my coat on. Outside the afternoon was dark and miserable with rain pelting down the window. What had possessed India to have a wedding in December?
As I opened the door to leave, the phone on my desk rang and I hesitated.
Charlie waved me off. ‘I’ll get that, don’t give it a thought.’
He picked up my extension. ‘Fisher Estate Agents, Charles Smith-Rivers speaking, how can I help? Yes, that’s right. Yes, she does. Yes, indeed. No, can I help?’
I raised my eyebrows at him and he imperiously waved me away again with his spare hand, mouthing it’s okay. So I opened my umbrella and fled.
*
The weather on India’s wedding day was slightly better but we still woke to grey skies and blustery winds. Thank heavens India had been talked out of having a marquee on the lawn or we would have been chasing it down the valley as it ripped from its moorings. Anyway, The Manor House was all ready for us and the church was decorated with as many hothouse flowers as the florists could jam into it. All we had to do was get India to the church.
Luckily the ceremony wasn’t until two-thirty because, as I’ve said, India is not a morning person. We’d been up quite late too as she’d decided she wanted us to share a room on her last night of freedom. Her words not mine. You would have thought she was going to prison in the morning, not getting married.
After we had spent an hour trying to remember India’s past boyfriends in chronological order, she decided she needed some champagne ‘to help her sleep’ and crept downstairs to find some. She returned a few minutes later with two glasses and a bottle with a very important-looking orange label that I’m sure she shouldn’t have taken.
‘I think it’s about time you got married too,’ India said a few minutes later.
‘Okay, I’ll try harder,’ I said with a laugh.
India sipped her champagne and looked thoughtful.
‘I know I’ve been a cow to you sometimes. I don’t mean it, not really. You’ve been a great sister.’ She sniffled a bit at this as if she was getting emotional. Perhaps it was the champagne. ‘I mean I’ll never forget that fight you had with Lou Beddard, remember? When she chucked my packed lunch on to the gym roof.’
‘Lou Beddard?’
‘You must remember! I was in year eight. She’d been making my life a misery for ages until you sorted her out. My friends thought you were like a god.’
‘Lou Beddard?’
‘In my year, spotty, incredibly hairy legs and arms. When we went into summer uniform she looked like a werewolf in a frock. And I’m sorry about that time when I locked you in the cupboard under the stairs.’
‘That was about twenty years ago,’ I said. ‘I’d forgotten that.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry. And I did lose the bits out of your Polly Pocket.’
‘You swore you didn’t!’
‘Well, I did,’ India confessed.
I thought about it. ‘If we’re in the mood for confessions, remember your imitation pink pearl necklace?’
‘Yes, I never did find out what happened to it.’
‘The string broke and I hid the beads under the carpet in the spare room,’ I said.
‘You rat! You swore blind you didn’t take it! I thought so!’
We sat in silence for a few minutes and then India hopped out of bed and went to fetch something from the wardrobe. She handed me a carrier bag inside which was something wrapped in tissue paper.
‘What’s this?’
‘I thought you should wear this tomorrow. You’re supposed to give the bridesmaids something, aren’t you? I saw it in the shop where we bought your bridesmaid’s dress and I remembered what Ike said. Or was it Marion?’
I unwrapped the parcel. I gasped. It was a tiara. Quite small and pretty with a fair amount of twinkle involved and two tiny enamelled bluebirds in the middle.
‘Oh gosh, Indie, thank you!’ I put it on and went to admire it in the dressing table mirror.
‘It suits you.’ India giggled. ‘Especially with your Bagpuss pyjamas.’
‘Perhaps I should wear these tomorrow?’
‘Perhaps you should!’
‘Thank you!’ I was quite overwhelmed for a moment.
I went across to give India a hug, both of us rather stiff and a bit awkward. It felt nice, like it should feel when you hug your sister, and we both laughed.
‘S’okay,’ India said.
I got back into bed still wearing it.
‘So. Are you ever going to tell me what happened at Laura’s party, with Ryan?’
I don’t know what made me ask it, but somewhere deep inside I still needed to know. I’d been so mad at her after Ryan had said she’d made a pass at him, but now I could see how stupid that was. He was a lying, cheating bastard. Why should I ever have trusted him?
India paused, her mouth open.
‘He made a pass at me. He did a bit of back rubbing, you know? The way he did? And then stuck his tongue down my throat and his hand up my skirt. He really was a shit. What did you see in him?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘And what about Gabriel Frost?’ she asked, a cheeky grin in place.
I tried to sound vague. ‘What about him?’
‘He was nice. I don’t know what might have happened that day with Liam if he hadn’t been there. You liked him too, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ I said, topping up her glass and wondering how to change the subject.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Not your fault. What’s important is that you and Jerry are happy.’
‘Oh, we will be happy,’ India said confidently, draining her glass. ‘I’ve no doubt about that.’
We settled down to sleep soon after that. Just before I fell asleep India rustled about for a bit, and I could tell by her breathing she was still awake.
‘I do love you,’ she said, very quietly.
And I smiled. Yep, we were sisters and nothing was going to change that.
*
The following morning I dragged her out of bed at seven o’clock and she went to shower and pull her dressing gown on before the hairdresser arrived with enough boxes of brushes, rollers and hairpins to style the Miss World entrants.
‘I can’t think straight,’ India said. ‘I’m starving but I can’t eat anything. Do you think this is last-minute nerves?’
‘Yes, probably.’ I was trowelling on my make-up in an attempt to look less weary. ‘I pity your poor husband; you snore like a rhinoceros.’
‘Ha! You can talk,’ India said.
I thought about this as I layered on mascara. I stopped and looked rather sadly at my reflection. Maybe my lack of self-discipline and untidiness and general sloppiness regarding getting the ironing done was too much for any man to tolerate? Perhaps Marnie’s Spring-Cleaning business had something going for it. But on the other hand …
I took stock. I was okay – I think I was anyway. If I snored and couldn’t get to the bottom of the ironing basket, so what? If I didn’t always make my bed properly and was a teeny bit overweight then so be it. It meant there was more of me to love. I was me: unstructured, a bit crackers, prone to excessive chocolate consumption on occasion, and well known for crying at Christmas films.
This was going to be an exciting and happy day. Today was my sister’s wedding. I was going to be her bridesmaid and chief helper. For the first time in years we were getting along. I just needed to keep it all together. I had flower girls to marshal. I had a nice blue dress to wear that flattered my figure and hid the damage caused to it on the Reine de France. Lots of our friends and relations were going to be there. It was quite possible some of them wouldn’t ask why I wasn’t married yet. There was going to be cake. (Albeit slightly bashed about. We’d had to repair it when it fell over in the van on the way to The Manor House, crushing some of the sugar roses.) I did not need to obsessively google Marnie Miller any more to find out what she was doing (holidaying in Gstaad). I had absolutely no need to look at the picture of Gabriel Frost on my phone again.
Well, perhaps just once.
*
If I’d had to guess what sort of wedding dress India would choose it would have been something sleek and sort of cool. I never imagined she’d choose an off-the-shoulder, retro vintage one with a froth of underskirts, petticoats and a nipped-in waist that made her look rather like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. (The bit when she’s dressed as the princess, not the bit when she’s on the back of Gregory Peck’s scooter.) She looked fabulous and when I saw her coming downstairs with Dad I’ll admit I teared up a bit. And I’d been there when she chose it so it wasn’t as though I’d never seen it before.
She came and stood next to me and, without looking at me, grabbed my hand.
‘You should find someone nice now, Al,’ she said.
‘Oh well, never mind!’ I said, trying to sound confident and jolly. ‘You’re the clever, pretty, thin one.’
‘I do mind. I mind because you’re nicer than I am,’ India said. ‘You always have been.’
We looked at each other and I think we both would have burst into tears if the prospect of redoing our make-up hadn’t stopped us.
‘Oh, shut up,’ I said.
India grinned. ‘You shut up.’
‘Million times more than you ever say,’ I said.
‘Plus one.’
*
The church was only half a mile away from our house and on a good day I guess we could have walked it, but it was raining, the lanes were muddy and by the time we’d wedged India and her petticoats into the car she was almost mute with nerves.
This was not something that happened. I mean the being mute bit. India was always the loudest voice in the playground, the one with the annoying laugh at the cinema and the first one to start singing at a birthday party.
We got to the church to see some of Jerry’s barrister friends hanging around under the lychgate smoking, just like they did outside court. Honestly, they were supposed to be intelligent – they should have known better. When they saw us they stubbed out their fags in the fire bucket and scarpered inside pretty quickly to tell Jerry that his bride had arrived. Then there was just time for a few photographs, with Dad looking startled by the whole thing, before we went in. There we found our cousins Cathie and Leila trying to control their flower girl daughters. I straightened India’s skirts, adjusted her bouquet so the elderly aunts wouldn’t think she was pregnant and got the flower girls into a reasonably straight line behind her before we set off towards Jerry and her date with destiny.
The church was almost full. There was a wonderful scent of greenery and perfume and a terrific display of hats and fascinators just as India had wanted. At the front I could see the extravagant riot of lilac feathers that marked where Mum was sitting. I walked slowly forwards, trying gamely to hang on to my shoes, which were very slightly too large, keep the three flower girls together so they didn’t dash off when they saw their mothers scuttling down the side of the pews, and keep my own bouquet of white roses and blue hydrangeas the right way up.
We all took a collective deep breath and India looked round at me and winked.
‘Okay, kid?’ she said, and I almost wanted to cry. I was suddenly so happy for her.
At the front of the church I could see Jerry’s narrow head with his dark hair sleeked back and next to him his crazy best man, Mark. As the ‘Wedding March’ began, Dad and India started forwards and mercifully the three flower girls were sufficiently overawed to follow without making a fuss.
I looked around the congregation, recognising school friends, aged aunts, India’s university chums and some of our many cousins who were all bobbing about and turning to see her. Over by the font I could see Tim, and Charlie and his wife. At the end of one pew I recognised Mum’s sister, Fiona, under an alarming green feather fascinator, and just beyond them Dad’s brother, Paul, with one arm in a sling following a recent argument with a brick wall.
There was a large woman in pink I didn’t recognise, smiling and nodding at me, and next to her was Gabriel Frost.