“And Ruthie and Paul’s,” I remind her.
“You weren’t a bridesmaid at that,” says Mum at once. “You were a . . . flower girl. So it’s twice, including today. Yes, twice.”
“Did you get that, Luke?” says Dad with a grin. “Twice.”
Honestly, what are my parents like?
“Well, anyway!” I say, trying quickly to think of another subject. “So . . . er . . .”
“Of course, Becky has a good ten years before she needs to worry about anything like that . . .” says Luke conversationally.
“What?” Mum stiffens, and her eyes dart from Luke to me and back again. “What did you say?”
“Becky wants to wait at least ten years before she gets married,” says Luke. “Isn’t that right, Becky?”
There’s a stunned silence. I can feel my face growing hot.
“Um . . .” I clear my throat and try to give a nonchalant smile. “That’s . . . that’s right.”
“Really?” says Suze, staring at me, wide-eyed. “I never knew that! Why?”
“So I can . . . um . . . explore my full potential,” I mumble, not daring to look at Mum. “And . . . get to know the real me.”
“Get to know the real you?” Mum’s voice is slightly shrill. “Why do you need ten years to do that? I could show it to you in ten minutes!”
“But Bex, how old will you be in ten years’ time?” says Suze, wrinkling her brow.
“I won’t necessarily need ten whole years exactly,” I say, feeling a little rattled. “You know, maybe . . . eight will be long enough.”
“Eight?” Mum looks as though she wants to burst into tears.
“Luke,” says Suze, looking perturbed. “Did you know about this?”
“We discussed it the other day,” says Luke with an easy smile.
“But I don’t understand,” she persists. “What about the—”
“The time?” Luke cuts her off neatly. “You’re right. I think we should all get going. You know, it’s five to two.”
“Five minutes?” Suze suddenly looks petrified. “Really? But I’m not ready! Bex, where are your flowers?”
“Er . . . in your room, I think. I put them down somewhere . . .”
“Well, get them! And where’s Daddy got to? Oh shit, I want a cigarette—”
“Suze, you can’t smoke!” I say in horror. “It’s bad for the—” I stop myself just in time.
“For the dress?” suggests Luke helpfully.
“Yes. She might . . . drop ash on it.”
By the time I’ve found my flowers in Suze’s bathroom, redone my lipstick, and come downstairs again, only Luke is left in the hall.
“Your parents have gone over,” he says. “Suze says we should go over too, and she’ll come with her father in the carriage. And I’ve found a coat for you,” he adds, proffering a sheepskin jacket. “Your mother’s right, you can’t walk over like that.”
“OK,” I agree reluctantly. “But I’m taking it off in the church.”
“Did you know your dress is unraveling at the back, by the way?” he says as he puts it on.
“Really?” I look at him in dismay. “Does it look awful?”
“It looks very nice.” His mouth twitches into a smile. “But you might want to find a safety pin after the service.”
“Bloody Danny!” I shake my head. “I knew I should have gone for Donna Karan.”
As Luke and I make our way over the gravel to the tented walkway, the air is still and silent and a watery sun is coming out. The pealing bells have diminished to a single chiming, and there’s no one about except a sole scurrying waiter. Everyone else must already be inside.
“Sorry if I brought up a sensitive subject just then,” says Luke as we begin to walk toward the church.
“Sensitive?” I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, what, that. That’s not a sensitive subject at all!”
“Your mother seemed a bit upset . . .”
“Mum? Honestly, she’s not bothered either way. In fact . . . she was joking!”
“Joking?”
“Yes!” I say, a little defiantly. “Joking.”
“I see.” Luke takes my arm as I stumble slightly on the matting. “So you’re still determined to wait eight years before you get married.”
“Absolutely.” I nod. “At least eight years.”
In the distance I can hear hooves on gravel, which must be Suze’s carriage setting off.
“Or you know, maybe six,” I add casually. “Or . . . five, possibly. It all depends.”
There’s a long silence, broken only by the soft, rhythmic sound of our footsteps on the walkway. The atmosphere is growing very strange between us, and I don’t quite dare look at Luke. I clear my throat and rub my nose, and try to think of a comment about the weather.
We reach the church gate, and Luke turns to look at me—and suddenly his face is stripped of its usual quizzical expression.
“Seriously, Becky,” he says. “Do you really want to wait five years?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” I say, confused. “Do you?”
There’s a moment of stillness between us, and my heart starts to thump.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Maybe he’s going to . . . Maybe he’s about to—
“Ah! The bridesmaid!” The vicar bustles out of the porch and Luke and I both jump. “All set to walk up the aisle?”
“I, er . . . think so,” I say, aware of Luke’s gaze. “Yes.”
“Good! You’d better get inside!” adds the vicar to Luke. “You don’t want to miss the moment!”
“No,” he says, after a pause. “No, I don’t.”
He drops a kiss on my shoulder and walks inside without saying anything else, and I stare after him, still completely confused.
Did we just talk about . . . Was Luke really saying . . .
Then there’s the sound of hooves, and I’m jolted out of my reverie. I turn to see Suze’s carriage coming down the road like something out of a fairy tale. Her veil is blowing in the wind and she’s smiling radiantly at some people who have stopped to watch, and I’ve never seen her look more beautiful.
I honestly wasn’t planning to cry. In fact, I’d already planned a way to stop myself doing so, which is to recite the alphabet backward in a French accent. But even as I’m helping Suze straighten her train I’m feeling damp around the eyes. And as the organ music swells and we start to process slowly forward into the packed church, I’m having to sniff hard every two beats, along with the organ. Suze is holding tightly to her father’s arm and her train is gliding along the old stone floor. I’m walking behind, trying not to tap my heels on the floor, and hoping no one will notice my dress unraveling.
We reach the front—and there’s Tarquin waiting, with his best man. He’s as tall and bony as ever, and his face still reminds me of a stoat, but I have to admit he’s looking pretty striking in his sporran and kilt. He’s gazing at Suze with such transparent love and admiration that I can feel my nose starting to prickle again. He turns briefly, meets my eye, and grins nervously—and I give an embarrassed little smile back. To be honest, I’ll never be able to look at him again without thinking about what Caroline said.
The vicar begins his “Dearly beloved” speech, and I feel myself relax with pleasure. I’m going to relish every single, familiar word. This is like watching the start of a favorite movie, with my two best friends playing the main parts.
“Susan, wilt thou take this man to be thy wedded husband?” The vicar’s got huge bushy eyebrows, which he raises at every question, as though he’s afraid the answer might be no. “Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
There’s a pause—then Suze says, “I will,” in a voice as clear as a bell.
I wish bridesmaids got to say something. It wouldn’t have to be anything very much, just a quick “Yes” or “I do.”
When we come to the b
it where Suze and Tarquin have to hold hands, Suze gives me her bouquet, and I take the opportunity to turn round and have a quick peek at the congregation. The place is crammed to the gills, in fact there isn’t even room for everyone to sit down. There are lots of strapping men in kilts and women in velvet suits, and there’s Fenny and a whole crowd of her London friends, all wearing Philip Treacy hats, it looks like. And there’s Mum, squashed right up against Dad, with a tissue pressed to her eyes. She looks up and sees me and I give a little smile—but all she does is sob again.
I turn back and Suze and Tarquin are kneeling down, and the vicar is intoning severely, “Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.”
I look at Suze as she beams radiantly at Tarquin. She’s completely lost in him. She belongs to him now. And to my surprise, I suddenly feel slightly hollow inside. Suze is married. It’s all changed.
It’s a year since I went off to live in New York, and I’ve loved every minute of it. Of course I have. But subconsciously, I realize, I’ve always had it in the back of my mind that if everything went wrong, I could come back to Fulham and have my old life with Suze.
Suze doesn’t need me anymore. She’s got someone else, who will always come first in her life. I watch as the vicar places his hands on Suze’s and Tarquin’s heads to bless them—and my throat feels a little tight as I remember all the times we’ve had together. The time I cooked a horrible curry to save money and she kept saying how delicious it was even while her mouth was burning. The time she tried to seduce my bank manager so he would extend my overdraft. Every time I’ve got myself into trouble, she’s been there for me.
And now it’s all over.
Suddenly I feel in need of a little reassurance. I turn round and quickly scan the rows of guests, looking for Luke’s face. For a few moments I can’t spot him, and although I keep wearing my confident smile, I feel a ridiculous panic rising inside me, like a child realizing she’s been left behind at school; that everyone else has been collected but her.
Until suddenly I see him. Standing behind a pillar toward the back, tall and dark and solid, his eyes fixed on mine. Looking at me and no one else. And as I gaze back at him, I feel restored. I’ve been collected too; it’s OK.
We emerge into the churchyard, the sound of bells behind us, and a crowd of people who have gathered outside on the road start to cheer.
“Congratulations!” I cry, giving Suze a huge hug. “And to you, Tarquin!”
I’ve always been a teeny bit awkward around Tarquin. But now I see him with Suze—married to Suze—the awkwardness seems to melt away.
“I know you’ll be really happy,” I say warmly, and give him a kiss on the cheek, and we both laugh as someone throws confetti at us. Guests are already piling out of the church like sweets out of a jar, talking and laughing and calling to each other in loud confident voices. They swarm around Suze and Tarquin, kissing and hugging and shaking hands, and I move away a little, wondering where Luke is.
The whole churchyard is filling up with people, and I can’t help staring at some of Suze’s relations. Her granny is coming out of the church very slowly and regally, holding a stick, and is being followed by a dutiful-looking young man in morning dress. A thin, pale girl with huge eyes is wearing an enormous black hat, holding a pug and chain-smoking. There’s a whole army of almost identical brothers in kilts standing by the church gate, and I remember Suze telling me about her aunt who had six boys before finally getting twin girls.
“Here. Put this on.” Luke’s voice is suddenly in my ear, and I turn round, to see him holding out the sheepskin jacket. “You must be freezing.”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine!”
“Becky, there’s snow on the ground,” says Luke firmly, and drapes the coat round my shoulders. “Very good wedding,” he adds.
“Yes.” I look up at him carefully, wondering if by any chance we can work the conversation back to what we were talking about before the service. But now Luke’s looking at Suze and Tarquin, who are being photographed under the oak tree. Suze looks absolutely radiant, but Tarquin looks as though he’s facing gunfire.
“He’s a very nice chap,” he says, nodding toward Tarquin. “Bit odd, but nice.”
“Yes. He is. Luke—”
“Would you like a glass of hot whiskey?” interrupts a waiter, coming up with a tray. “Or champagne?”
“Hot whiskey,” I say gratefully. “Thanks.” I take a few sips and close my eyes as the warmth spreads through my body. If only it could get down to my feet, which, to be honest, are completely freezing.
“Bridesmaid!” cries Suze suddenly. “Where’s Bex? We need you for a photograph!”
My eyes open.
“Here,” I shout, slipping the sheepskin coat off my shoulders. “Luke, hold my drink—”
I hurry through the melee and join Suze and Tarquin. And it’s funny, but now that all these people are looking at me, I don’t feel cold anymore. I smile my most radiant smile, and hold my flowers nicely, and link arms with Suze when the photographer tells me to, and, in between shots, wave at Mum and Dad, who have pushed their way to the front of the crowd.
“We’ll head back to the house soon,” says Mrs. Gearing, coming up to kiss Suze. “People are getting chilly. You can finish the pictures there.”
“OK,” says Suze. “But let’s just take some of me and Bex together.”
“Good idea!” says Tarquin at once, and heads off in obvious relief to talk to his father, who looks exactly like Tarquin but forty years older. The photographer takes a few shots of me and Suze beaming at each other, then pauses to reload his camera. Suze accepts a glass of whiskey from a waiter and I reach surreptitiously behind me to see how much of my dress has unraveled.
“Bex, listen,” comes a voice in my ear. I look round, and Suze is gazing at me earnestly. She’s so close I can see each individual speck of glitter in her eyeshadow. “I need to ask you something. You don’t really want to wait ten years before you get married, do you?”
“Well . . . no,” I admit. “Not really.”
“And you do think Luke’s the one? Just . . . honestly. Between ourselves.”
There’s a long pause. Behind me I can hear someone saying, “Of course, our house is fairly modern. I think it was built in 1853—”
“Yes,” I say eventually, feeling a deep pink rising through my cheeks. “Yes. I think he is.”
Suze looks at me searchingly for a few moments longer—then abruptly seems to come to a decision. “Right!” she says, putting down her whiskey. “I’m going to throw my bouquet.”
“What?” I stare at her in bewilderment. “Suze, don’t be stupid. You can’t throw your bouquet yet!”
“Yes I can! I can throw it when I like.”
“You ought to throw it when you leave for your honeymoon!”
“I don’t care,” says Suze obstinately. “I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to throw it now.”
“But you’re supposed to do it at the end!”
“Who’s the bride? You or me? If I wait till the end it won’t be any fun! Now, stand over there.” She points with an imperious hand to a small mound of snowy grass. “And put your flowers down. You’ll never catch it if you’re holding things! Tarkie?” She raises her voice. “I’m going to throw my bouquet now, OK?”
“OK!” Tarquin calls back cheerfully. “Good idea.”
“Go on, Bex!”
“Honestly! I don’t even want to catch it!” I say, slightly grumpily.
But I suppose I am the only bridesmaid—so I put my flowers down on the grass, and go and stand on the mound as instructed.
“I want a picture of this,” Suze is saying to the photographer. “And where’s Luke?”
The slightly weird thing is, no one else is coming with me. Everyone else has melted away. Suddenly I notice that Tarquin and his best man are going around murmuring in people’s ears, and gradually all the guests are turning to me with bright, expectant faces.
“Ready, Bex?” calls Suze.
“Wait!” I cry. “You haven’t got enough people! There should be lots of us, all standing together . . .”
I feel so stupid, up here on my own. Honestly, Suze is doing this all wrong. Hasn’t she been to any weddings?
“Wait, Suze!” I cry again, but it’s too late.
“Catch, Bex!” she yells. “Caaatch!”
The bouquet comes looping high through the air, and I have to jump slightly to catch it. It’s bigger and heavier than I expected, and for a moment I just stare dazedly at it, half secretly delighted and half completely furious with Suze.
And then my eyes focus. And I see the little envelope. To Becky.
An envelope addressed to me in Suze’s bouquet?
I look up bewilderedly at Suze, and with a shining face she nods toward the envelope.
With trembling fingers, I open the card. There’s something lumpy inside. It’s . . .
It’s a ring, all wrapped up in cotton wool. I take it out, feeling dizzy. There’s a message in the card, written in Luke’s handwriting. And it says . . .
It says Will You . . .
I stare at it in disbelief, trying to keep control of myself, but the world is shimmering, and blood is pounding through my head.
I look up dazedly, and there’s Luke, coming forward through the people, his face serious but his eyes warm.
“Becky—” he begins, and there’s a tiny intake of breath around the churchyard. “Will you—”
“Yes! Yeee-esssss!” I hear the joyful sound ripping through the churchyard before I even realize I’ve opened my mouth. I’m so charged up with emotion, my voice doesn’t even sound like mine. In fact, it sounds more like . . .
Mum.
I don’t believe it.
As I whip round, she claps a hand over her mouth in horror. “Sorry!” she whispers, and a ripple of laughter runs round the crowd.
“Mrs. Bloomwood, I’d be honored,” says Luke, his eyes crinkling into a smile. “But I believe you’re already taken.”
Then he looks at me again.
“Becky, if I had to wait five years, then I would. Or eight—or even ten.” He pauses, and there’s complete silence except for a tiny gust of wind, blowing confetti about the churchyard. “But I hope that one day—preferably rather sooner than that—you’ll do me the honor of marrying me?”