The wedding morning was warm, cloudy and moderately chaotic. Even Rob was affected by the general panic, and rang at quarter to seven sounding most uncharacteristically flustered, wanting a pair of black dress socks.
‘I’ll ask if Dad or Mike has a pair,’ I said, noticing for the first time a long red scratch along my left arm that was unlikely to please the bride. ‘And if they don’t, you could wear navy ones or something, couldn’t you? Nobody’ll see your socks.’
‘I haven’t got navy ones,’ Rob snapped.
‘I’ll find out and ring you back,’ I said soothingly. ‘And I’m sure the Four Square will have some if –’ At that point I realised I was talking to the dial tone, sighed and put the phone down.
After breakfast I transported the cake down to Mum’s, a nerve-racking manoeuvre during which I smudged a ribbon with chocolate ganache.
‘It won’t matter,’ Mum said, examining the damage. ‘We’ll just put a rose over it.’
‘But it’s on the wrong side! The roses are only supposed to hide the joins in the ribbons!’
‘It will look charmingly informal.’
‘It’ll look like someone’s emptied a bucket of flowers randomly over the cake.’
Mum looked at me over the tops of her glasses, which had slipped to the very tip of her nose. ‘Lia, there are over six million homeless people in Syria. That is a disaster. This is not.’
I smiled at her sheepishly, but said, ‘It was a disaster yesterday when Rob stood on your apple-blossom penstemon.’
‘That,’ said Mum, pushing her glasses back up, ‘was completely different.’
I went from her house to the Four Square, which was a sockless wasteland. Rob was in my bedroom when I got home, rummaging through my underwear drawer and swearing under his breath. He pulled out a pair of purple Merino bed socks, looked at them for a moment and then threw them at the wall.
Managing – just – not to laugh, I tossed him a packet of black opaque knee-high woman’s stockings. ‘Here.’
‘Fuck off,’ he said.
‘Just try them. It was all they had at the Four Square.’
Rob sighed, sat down on the edge of my bed and ripped the cellophane off the packet.
The stockings looked distinctly odd with rugby shorts, but they covered his ankles perfectly well. ‘Near enough?’ he asked, holding up one foot.
‘Gorgeous,’ I said. ‘I never realised you had such shapely calves.’
‘Lia, where’s your iron?’ Dad called, coming down the hall and putting his head around my bedroom door. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Robin, you can’t wear those.’
‘Why not?’ said Rob, peeling off the stockings and stuffing them in his shorts pocket. ‘Right, let’s go. You can iron your shirt at our place. Mike!’ He stood up and smiled at me. ‘Thanks.’
I hugged him swiftly. ‘You’re welcome. See you in a few hours.’
* * *
It was ten minutes to ten when Gabriella and her mother arrived, despite all assurances that midday would be plenty early enough. Gabriella was no bother – she retreated to a corner and whipped out her cell phone – but her mother, Jan, was one of those disconcerting people who tell you, in graphic and unnecessary detail and after about seven minutes’ acquaintance, all about their marital problems, urinary tract infections and ongoing battles with the wankers at Child, Youth and Family.
‘And then I told her that she could just take her parenting course and shove it up her bum,’ she said, embarking on her third Chelsea bun. ‘What’s the red stuff?’
‘Freeze-dried raspberry powder.’ I was dusting friands with it, using a little cardboard stencil in the shape of a daisy. ‘It looks quite cute, doesn’t it?’
‘Mm. And then she had the nerve to say I might learn something! Gabby, put that down and come here, please.’
Gabriella neither moved nor spoke.
‘Gabby!’
Nothing.
‘Gabriella Lawson, you listen to me when I speak to you! Oh, God, I don’t know why I bother.’
Neither did I. ‘Look, here are Anna and Deidre,’ I said brightly.
Anna looked much less tired than she had the day before. She ran up the kitchen steps, smiled at her unwanted flower girl and turned on the kettle. ‘Morning,’ she said.
‘Here comes the bride,’ said Jan fatuously.
‘You’re very early, Jan,’ said Deidre, coming in with a dress bag over her arm.
‘Well, we didn’t want to miss anything. Bun?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Deidre coldly.
Anna and I looked at each other and smiled.
‘What do you think?’ I said, and she came across the kitchen to inspect the friands.
‘Serves her right,’ she said under her breath. Then, ‘They look amazing.’
‘And that’s it. They’re my last job. Now we just have to get pretty. How was last night?’
‘Fine,’ said Anna, breathing out on a long sigh. ‘I can’t believe we’re almost there. Champagne?’
‘Why not?’ We both looked at Jan, considered the probable effect of a couple of glasses of champagne on someone who was already as silly as a chook, decided it would be poor but that Deidre could deal with it, and opened a bottle.
The morning sped past in a whirl of hair and makeup and clothes. Mum arrived just before twelve looking pale and tired, with her dress in a plastic supermarket bag and dirt under her fingernails. Deidre, already gowned in hot pink shot silk and with a hot pink fascinator stuck to the side of her head, looked at her with tolerant scorn.
My mother, however, is not just your average long-haired, ageing hippy. By twelve fifteen she was wearing a long, tight, sleeveless black dress with a Chinese collar and heavy gold embroidery, dainty gold sandals (fourteen dollars from St Vincent de Paul) and chandelier earrings. Her hair was swept up into a carelessly elegant knot and pinned with a pair of black lacquer chopsticks, her eyes were expertly tinted in shades of purple and grey and her nails were fire engine red. She looked stunning.
Trapped in my seat by the hairdresser, I met her eyes in the mirror and grinned. She winked at me and poured herself a glass of champagne.
‘You look like a movie star,’ said Jan in awe. ‘Doesn’t she, Deidre?’
‘Very nice,’ said Deidre in a small, flat voice. It was lovely.
If Mum looked like a movie star, Anna was a dream princess in her wedding dress. She was tall, slim and flawless, her dark hair pinned loosely at the nape of her neck and her cream silk skirts falling in soft, graceful folds to her feet.
Deidre fastened her last button and stepped back, and Anna turned to face us. Nobody said anything, but Deidre, Mum, the photographer and I all started to cry.
‘What?’ cried Anna. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘You’re so beautiful,’ said Gabriella wonderingly.
‘Shit,’ said Deidre through her tears. ‘My mascara . . .’
* * *
Anna’s father and Monty both arrived promptly at two thirty. While Deidre adjusted her husband’s hair, tie, cuffs and expression – ‘Smile, Ian! It’s a wedding, not a funeral!’ – I went out to talk to Monty, who was polishing the roof of his vintage Rolls with his handkerchief.
Looking up, he smiled and gave a long, low whistle.
‘Wait till you see Anna and Mum,’ I said, reaching up to kiss his cheek. ‘Nice suit.’
He tugged at his tie. ‘Damn thing. What time are you wanting to leave?’
‘Five to three.’ Which should, factoring in driving time and final dress adjustments, bring the bride’s arrival on the scene to ten past. Fashionably, but not annoyingly, late. ‘Come on in.’
‘No, no!’ he said. ‘I’d only get underfoot.’
‘Lia, you’re wanted for more photos!’ Mum called, appearing at the kitchen door. ‘Hi, Monty, come in and have a cold drink.’
There was a last-minute flurry of pictures before the photographer, taking Mum to direct him (and, bless him, Jan to get her out of the way) and warning us to give him a good head start, drove off down the hill into town. The rest of us tucked Anna into the back of the Rolls, flanked by her parents and with me and Gabriella in the front, and followed. Then we were hurrying across the lawn to regroup around the corner of Mum’s house, out of sight of the wedding guests. Deidre brushed frantically at Anna’s skirt – Mum rushed out of the kitchen with our bouquets – Gabriella announced that she was going to throw up – the processional music, selected by Rob and swathed until now in deepest secrecy, started, and Anna dissolved into laughter as she realised he’d chosen ‘I’m Gonna Be (500 miles)’ by The Proclaimers.
Then Gabriella was setting off at a canter, and I followed. There was a great multicoloured host of friends and relations standing on the lawn (I couldn’t see Jed, but was that Gina in the puce jumpsuit? Christ, it was horrible) and there were Mike and Rob, impeccably suited, waiting beside the celebrant in front of the perennial border . . .
A collective sigh rippled through the guests as Anna came around the side of the house, and I felt Rob’s exultation like an electric shock. Delight at his delight mingled with a bleak little pang of loss. Once upon a time I was the most important person in Rob’s life. Oh, get a grip, I told myself fiercely. Mike winked at me, and I smiled back at him.
* * *
It was a nice service, I believe, although I can’t remember a word of it. It was followed by a clamour of hugs and congratulations, then by champagne, and finally by far, far more photographs than can possibly have been necessary.
It was while being assembled for a Leslie family portrait that I came face to face with my sister, Gina. Tall and very thin, with wraparound sunglasses, she looked like a large, puce-coloured praying mantis.
‘Hello, Maggie,’ she said, nodding to Mum. ‘Hi, Lia, how are you?’
‘Great! Hi! How lovely to see you!’ I’m always far too enthusiastic with Gina – a reaction to being uncomfortably aware that I don’t like her much.
‘Okay, let’s have the bride and groom, with Dad on one side and Mum on the other,’ the photographer called.
‘It’s a beautiful spot Maggie’s got here,’ Gina said, as they took up their places against a backdrop of dahlias and native grasses. ‘It must be worth a bomb.’
‘Yes, it’s lovely, isn’t it? So, what have you been up to? How’s the family?’
‘Oh, we’re all fine. Kane’s in Year 14, now – he’s right into archery – and Melissa’s doing really well with her languages. Are you still running your café?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s going well.’
‘That’s good. Dad was saying you’ve had a boyfriend recently who hit you. I’m really sorry to hear that.’
‘Thanks. It wasn’t quite like that – he was an ex-boyfriend, and his mental health wasn’t great . . .’
‘Remember, it’s much better to be by yourself than with someone who doesn’t treat you right,’ said Gina kindly.
‘Yep,’ I said shortly, somewhat ruffled by this vision of myself as someone who’d rather have an abusive boyfriend than none at all.
‘Okay, let’s have siblings too, now!’ said the photographer. ‘Mike, you stand beside Maggie – a bit closer, she won’t bite you. Put your arm around her. That’s it . . . And you, ma’am – what’s your name? Gina? Stand by your dad, please . . . Sunglasses off . . . And little Lia in front where we can see her. That’s it. Lovely.’
* * *
An hour and a half later, with cheeks that ached from smiling, I paused on the edge of the top lawn and scanned the crowd for Jed. He was talking to Hugh not far away, but it took me a good ten minutes to get there.
‘Hi!’ I said, reaching his side with a feeling of mild triumph. ‘How are you guys?’
‘Oh, we’re great,’ said Hugh. ‘That’s a nice dress.’
‘Thank you. How were the parmesan wafers?’
‘Don’t know. Haven’t come across one yet.’
‘You haven’t tasted one, or you haven’t seen any?’
‘Haven’t seen any.’
‘That’s funny,’ I said, looking around.
‘Lia!’ Mum hissed, appearing at my elbow. ‘They’ve forgotten to put the hors d’oeuvres out!’
‘Shit,’ I said.
‘Come on.’ And taking my arm she smiled distractedly at the two men, turned and rushed me across the lawn towards the house.
* * *
I made several more attempts to talk to my boyfriend over the next few hours, all of them unsuccessful. After handing round the nibbles and lighting a couple of hundred tea lights in the marquee it was time for dinner (the responsibility of a catering firm from Dairy Flat, thank heaven). There was no formal seating plan, but the bridal party sat on a raised platform at one end of the marquee. Then came the speeches – Anna’s father spoke long and inaudibly, and Mike spoke briefly and well. Rob, normally unfazed by public speaking or anything else, stood up, gulped, said hoarsely, ‘Thanks so much for coming, everyone, it’s wonderful to have you all here,’ and sat back down. On being kicked in the shin by his brother he got up again, said that Anna was the best thing that had ever happened to him and he couldn’t believe his luck, pushed his chair back too far as he sat down and went heels over head off the edge of the platform. His fall was nicely broken by the marquee wall, and he received a standing ovation from two hundred wedding guests.
* * *
Just before ten, carrying an envelope with the vital information of who had given what wedding present written on the back, I headed out of the marquee towards the house.
‘Yo, sis!’ said Rob.
I stopped and looked around, frowning.
‘Over here. On your left. Your other left.’
I located him eventually, sitting on a chilly bin in the shadows to one side of the marquee doorway, behind the ribbon-enhanced maple. He’d taken off his waistcoat and tie, his legs were stretched out in front of him and he had a beer bottle in one hand. Beside him, on another chilly bin, was Jed.
‘Hello, chaps!’ I said, surprised and pleased to see them together.
‘Beer?’ Jed asked, offering his.
‘No thanks.’ I skirted the maple and ducked under a guy rope. ‘What are you doing lurking out here when you should be socialising?’
‘Just taking a breather,’ said Rob. ‘Sit down; you’re making the place look untidy.’
I sat – on Jed’s knee, since I’d barely touched him for days. He slid an arm around my waist and I leant back against his shoulder with a sigh.
‘That’s some serious hairspray,’ he said, dropping his chin onto my crunchy hair.
‘Isn’t it, just? It did occur to me that if I got too close to a tea light I’d probably go up like a torch.’ I stretched out a foot and nudged Rob’s. ‘Good wedding, bro.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, and we lapsed into a weary and contented silence, listening to Fleetwood Mac mingling pleasantly with the buzz of conversation on the other side of the marquee wall. I slipped my hand into Jed’s, and he stroked the inside of my wrist with a forefinger.
‘Hey, Rob?’ I said after a while.
‘Hmm?’
‘How would you feel about Mum and Mike getting together?’
‘What?’ he said blankly.
‘I think he’s been in love with her for about thirty years,’ I said. ‘Imagine how awful it must be, being in love with your father’s wife.’
‘You sound like an episode of Days of Our Lives,’ Rob remarked, and I felt Jed smile against my hair.
‘Oh, be quiet,’ I said. ‘The thing is, Mum’s in love with him too, but they’re both too scared to do anything about it. I thought maybe if we sat them down and – oh, I don’t know – gave them our blessing, or something . . .’
‘That’s disgusting,’ said Dad suddenly from the doorway of the marquee two metres away, and I froze in horror. ‘They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that kind of behaviour.’
‘Well, if that’s how they want to live their lives . . .’ Mum said vaguely. ‘It’s been a lovely day, hasn’t it?’
They hadn’t heard. They were talking about something else. I went limp with relief.
‘Yes, it’s gone off very well,’ Dad agreed, sounding, for once, quite pleasant.
Evidently encouraged by his tone, Mum said, ‘You know, Gray, we may have made our share of mistakes, but you can’t deny we have two great kids.’
‘They’re not too bad,’ said Dad, and Rob started in mock amazement. I grinned.
The grin vanished rapidly when Mum continued, ‘When I think of how easily we could have lost Lia last month . . . You do realise that Robin and Jed saved her life?’
‘Come on, now, Maggie,’ said Dad uncomfortably.
‘That madman had her on the ground with his hands around her throat. The bruising was horrendous.’
Jed’s arm tightened to the point of discomfort around my waist, and Rob shifted on his chilly bin.
‘Well, she’s fine now,’ Dad said. ‘Bright as a button.’
‘No, Gray, she pretends that she is. What she’s been through has really damaged her.’
What? I thought indignantly.
‘What d’you mean “damaged”?’ said Dad.
‘She’s – she’s lost her innocence. She doesn’t assume things are going to be alright any more.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought she had much innocence to lose, myself. The way she carries on with that boyfriend of hers.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Mum sharply.
But, thank goodness, just then someone behind her cried, ‘Maggie! What a gorgeous dress!’
‘What the hell?’ Jed said as their voices faded back into the general hubbub.
‘Damaged?’ I added.
‘You seem alright to me,’ said Rob, standing up. ‘No worse than usual, anyway. Well, so long, kids; I’m going to find my wife. No carrying on, alright?’ He ducked under the guy rope and went back into the marquee.
‘Your father’s a dickhead,’ said Jed.
‘Yep.’
‘Anyone would think he’d caught us having sex in a toilet.’
‘I suppose he did see you kissing me yesterday,’ I said. ‘And then he may or may not have found a vibrator in my handbag.’
‘Why is there a vibrator in your handbag?’ Jed asked.
‘I bought it by mistake, weeks ago. I thought it was a box of condoms.’
‘And why is this the first I’ve heard of it?’
‘I forgot about it. Anyway, I wouldn’t have wanted to imply I wasn’t happy with the status quo.’ I kissed him and stood up. ‘I’d better take this list up to the house before I lose it. Want to come?’
‘Can we have sex in a toilet while we’re there?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’
He sighed. ‘It was worth a shot.’
We meandered up the path to the house, where I stuck the gift list to the fridge door and Jed evicted little Gabriella’s brothers, who had been sampling Mum’s collection of ancient and uniformly nasty liqueurs in the living room.
‘Coming home with me tonight?’ he asked, watching them slope off into the night.
‘Yes. I think Dad can make his own breakfast tomorrow morning.’ I yawned and looked at the clock; it was twenty past ten. ‘I wish we could leave now.’
‘Can’t we?’
‘I think we’d better hang around a bit longer. It’s poor form for the bridesmaid to slope off halfway through the party.’
We wandered back outside across the lawn, hand in hand. ‘It looked like you were getting on well with Anna’s Auckland friends,’ I said. It had been a great relief to see him talking and laughing through dinner – it’s horrible to take someone to a party where they know hardly anyone and watch them sit, bored, in a corner.
‘Yeah. That guy Nathan’s a good sort. Drives a Kingswood ute.’
‘Is that cool?’ I asked.
‘Extremely cool.’
‘Although not as cool as a 1990 Toyota HiAce with tinted windows.’
‘Well, no,’ he said. ‘Obviously not that cool.’
‘Jed?’ I said abruptly. ‘Do you think I’m damaged?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’
‘Perhaps just a few minor scuff marks,’ he amended, slinging an arm around my shoulders.
I smiled. ‘Your first answer was better.’
‘Lia,’ he said, stopping suddenly and turning me around to face him. ‘I think you’re the most wonderful girl I’ve ever met. I hate that that arsehole hurt you, but it doesn’t make you any less wonderful. Okay?’
I threw my arms around his neck. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too. Let’s go home and have sex on the dining room table.’
I paused, torn between duty and inclination, at the head of the grass path that led to the marquee, and heard Mike’s voice somewhere below saying, ‘What was the name of that bloke who was looking for truck drivers to cart maize?’
‘Glen Jackson,’ said Mum. ‘His number’s in the book – I can look it up for you. But . . . but didn’t you have some tractor work lined up?’
‘Yes, if I want it.’
‘Not that it wouldn’t be lovely to have you up here,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Rob and Lia would be thrilled.’
‘Would you?’ Mike asked, his voice about two octaves lower than usual.
They’d be on us in seconds. Decisive action was clearly indicated. Grabbing Jed’s hand, I dragged him off the path into a patch of shadow behind a large rhododendron. It would have been a really good hiding place, I’m sure, had the ground just there not been thickly carpeted with dry, crackly leaves.
‘Who’s there?’ said Mum sharply, peering into the undergrowth. ‘Lia?’
‘Hi,’ I said in a small voice, emerging from behind the rhododendron.
‘What on earth are you doing?’
‘Um . . .’
Jed emerged behind me, thus providing a perfectly logical, although deeply humiliating, explanation.
There was a brief, toe-curling silence, and then Jed said, ‘Right. Well, goodnight, guys. Lovely wedding. Thank you so much for having me.’
Taking my hand, he pulled me out of the garden and across the lawn.
‘Oh, God,’ I wailed once we were out of earshot.
Jed laughed.
‘It’s not funny!’
‘Yeah, it is.’
‘Jed, we can’t just leave.’
‘Yes we can. We are.’
‘But . . .’
‘I want to go home,’ he said. ‘I’ve hardly seen you for days, I’ve spent an hour tonight listening to your father whingeing about the wool industry, I’ve been propositioned by a terrifying woman in a shiny yellow dress –’
‘Melody,’ I said. ‘Wow. That’s quite a compliment. She has very high standards.’
‘So have I. Don’t interrupt.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Where was I . . . And tomorrow morning I have to drive to Thames and listen to Tracey either scream at me, or cry, or both. Please can we go home?’
I reached up and kissed him. ‘Yes.’