The double doors swing open, and I hear the rustle of four hundred people turning in their seats. The string orchestra starts to play the theme from Sleeping Beauty, and the bridesmaids begin to walk up the aisle.
And suddenly I’m walking forward. I’m walking into the enchanted forest, carried on the swell of the music. Little lights are twinkling overhead. Pine needles are giving off their scent under my feet. There’s the smell of fresh earth and the sound of birds chirruping, and the trickle of a tiny waterfall. Flowers are magically blooming as I take each step, and leaves are unfurling, and people are gasping as they look up. And there’s Luke up ahead, my handsome prince, waiting for me.
Finally, I start to relax. To savor it.
As I take each step, I feel as though I’m a prima ballerina doing the perfect arabesque at Covent Garden. Or a movie star arriving at the Oscars. Music playing, everyone looking at me, jewels in my hair and the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn. I know I will never experience anything like this again in my life. Never. As I reach the top of the aisle, I slow my pace right down, breathing in the atmosphere, taking in the trees and the flowers and the wonderful scent. Trying to impress every detail on my mind. Relishing every magical second.
I reach Luke’s side and hand my bouquet to Erin. I smile warmly at Gary, Luke’s new best man—then take Luke’s hand. He gives a little squeeze, and I squeeze it back.
And here’s Michael stepping forward, wearing a dark, vaguely clerical-looking suit.
He gives me a tiny, conspiratorial smile, then takes a deep breath and addresses the congregation.
“Dearly beloved. We are gathered here together to witness the love between two people. We are here to watch them pledging their love for each other. And to join with them in celebrating the joy of their sharing of that love. God blesses all who love, and God will certainly bless Luke and Becky today as they exchange their vows.”
He turns to me, and I can hear the rustling behind me as people try to get a good view.
“Do you, Rebecca, love Luke?” he says. “Do you pledge yourself to him for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health? Do you put your trust in him now and forever?”
“I do,” I say, unable to stop a tiny tremor in my voice.
“Do you, Luke, love Rebecca? Do you pledge yourself to her for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health? Do you put your trust in her now and forever?”
“Yes,” says Luke firmly. “I do.”
“May God bless Luke and Becky and may they have happiness always.” Michael pauses and looks around the room, as though daring anyone to argue with him, and my fingers tighten around Luke’s. “May they know the joy of a shared understanding, the delight of a growing love, and the warmth of an everlasting friendship. Now let us applaud the happy couple.” He smiles at Luke. “You may kiss the bride.”
As Luke bends to kiss me, Michael determinedly begins to clap. There’s a slightly uncertain pause . . . then a smattering of people join in, and soon the whole room is applauding.
Gary is murmuring something in Luke’s ear, and he turns to me, looking puzzled.
“What about the ring?”
“Don’t mention the ring,” I say through a fixed smile.
My heart is beating so hard, I can barely breathe. I keep waiting for someone to stand up. For someone to say, “Hang on a minute . . .”
But no one does. No one says anything.
It’s worked.
I meet Michael’s eye for an instant—then look away before anyone notices. I can’t relax yet. Not quite yet.
The photographer comes forward and I take Luke’s arm firmly in mine, and Erin gives me my bouquet, wiping away her tears as she does so.
“That was such a beautiful ceremony!” she says. “The bit about the warmth of an everlasting friendship really got to me. You know, because that’s all I want.” She clasps my bouquet to her chest. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Well, you know, I’m sure you’ll find it,” I say, and give her a hug. “I know you will.”
“Excuse me, miss?” says the photographer. “If I could just get the bride and groom . . .”
Erin gives me my flowers and ducks out of the way, and I adopt my most radiant, newlywed expression.
“But, Becky,” Luke says. “Gary says—”
“Take the ring from Gary,” I say without moving my head. “Say you’re really embarrassed that it got left out, and we’ll do it later.”
Some guests have come forward to take photographs, and I rest my head on Luke’s shoulder and smile happily at them.
“Something else is wrong,” Luke is saying. “Michael didn’t proclaim us husband and wife. And don’t we have to sign something?”
“Sssshh!” There’s a bright flash, and we both blink.
“Becky, what’s going on?” He pulls me round to face him. “Are we married?”
“That’s a good shot!” says the photographer. “Stay like that.”
“Are we married?” Luke’s eyes scan my face intently.
“Well . . . OK,” I say reluctantly. “As it happens, we’re not.”
There’s another blinding flash. When my eyes focus again, Luke’s gazing at me incredulously. “We’re not married?”
“Look, just trust me, OK?”
“Trust you?”
“Yes! Like you just promised to do five seconds ago! Remember?”
“I promised to do that when I thought we were getting married!”
Suddenly the string orchestra launches into the “Bridal March,” and a team of minders usher away the guests with their cameras.
“Go,” says a crackling, disembodied voice. “Start walking.”
Where on earth is it coming from? Are my flowers talking to me?
Suddenly my eyes zoom in on a tiny speaker, attached to a rose-bud. Robyn’s planted a speaker in my bouquet?
“Bride and groom! Walk!”
“OK!” I say to the flowers. “We’re going!”
I grab Luke’s arm tight and begin to walk down the aisle, back through the enchanted forest.
“We’re not married,” Luke is saying disbelievingly. “A whole bloody forest, four hundred people, a big white dress, and we’re not married.”
“Sssh!” I say crossly. “Don’t tell everybody! Look, you promised if things were a bit strange you’d go with it. Well, go with it!”
As we walk along arm in arm, rays of sunlight are piercing the branches of the forest, dappling the floor. Suddenly there’s a whirring noise, and to my astonishment the branches creakily begin to retreat, to reveal rainbows playing on the ceiling. A heavenly chorus breaks into song, and a fluffy cloud descends from the sky, on which a pair of fat pink doves are reposing.
Oh God. I’ve got the giggles. This is too much. Are these the tiny additional details Robyn was talking about?
I look up at Luke, and his mouth is twitching suspiciously too.
“What do you think of the forest?” I say brightly. “It’s cool, isn’t it? They flew the birch trees over from Switzerland especially.”
“Really?” says Luke. “Where did they fly the doves over from?” He peers up at them. “Those are too big to be doves. They must be turkeys.”
“They’re not turkeys!”
“Love turkeys.”
“Luke, shut up,” I mutter, trying desperately not to giggle. “They’re doves.”
We’re passing row after row of smartly dressed guests, all smiling warmly at us except the girls, who are giving me the Manhattan Onceover.
“Who the hell are all these people?” says Luke, surveying the rows of smiling strangers.
“I have no idea.” I shrug. “I thought you might know some of them.”
We reach the back of the room for a final session of photographs, and Luke looks at me quizzically. “Becky, my parents aren’t here. And neither are yours.”
“Er . . . no. They’re not.”
“No family. No ring. And we’r
e not married.” He pauses. “Call me crazy—but this isn’t quite how I expected our wedding to be.”
“This isn’t our wedding,” I say, and kiss him for the cameras.
I can’t quite believe we’re getting away with it. No one’s said anything. No one’s questioned a thing. A couple of people have asked to see the ring, and I’ve just flashed them the band of my engagement ring, turned round.
We’ve eaten sushi and caviar. We’ve had an amazing four-course dinner. We’ve drunk toasts. It’s all gone according to plan. We cut the cake with a huge silver sword and everybody cheered, and then the band started to play “The Way You Look Tonight” and Luke led me onto the dance floor and we started dancing. That was one of those moments I’ll keep in my scrapbook forever. A whirl of white and gold and glitter and music, and Luke’s arms around me, and my head giddy from champagne, and the knowledge that this was it, this was the high, and soon it would be over.
And now the party’s in full swing. The band’s playing a jazzy number I don’t recognize, and the dance floor’s full. Amid the throng of well-dressed strangers, I can pick out a few familiar faces. Christina’s dancing with her date, and Erin is chatting to one of the groomsmen. And there’s Laurel, dancing very energetically with . . . Michael!
Well now. That’s a thought.
“So. Guess how many people have asked for my card?” says a voice in my ear. I turn round, to see Danny looking triumphant, a glass of champagne in each hand and a cigarette in his mouth. “Twenty! At least! One wanted me to take her measurements, right then and there. They all think the dress is to die for. And when I told them I’d worked with John Galliano . . .”
“Danny, you’ve never worked with John Galliano!”
“I passed him a cup of coffee once,” he says defensively. “And he thanked me. That was, in its way, an artistic communication . . .”
“If you say so.” I grin at him happily. “I’m so pleased for you.”
“So are you enjoying yourself?”
“Of course!”
“Your mother-in-law is in her element.”
We both turn to survey Elinor, who is sitting at a nearby table, surrounded by smart ladies. There’s a slight glow to her cheek and she looks about as animated as I’ve ever seen her. She’s wearing a long sweeping pale green dress and huge quantities of diamonds, and looks like the belle of the ball. Which, in a way, she is. These are her friends. This is really her party, not Luke’s or mine. It’s a wonderful spectacle. It’s a wonderful occasion to be a guest at.
And that’s kind of what I feel I am.
A group of women go by, chattering loudly, and I hear snatches of conversation.
“Spectacular . . .”
“So imaginative . . .”
They smile at me and Danny, and I smile back. But my mouth is feeling a bit stiff. I’m tired of smiling at people I don’t know.
“It’s a great wedding,” says Danny, looking around the glittering room. “Really spectacular. Although it’s less you than I would have thought.”
“Really? What makes you say that?”
“I’m not saying it’s not fantastic. It’s very slick, very lavish. It’s just . . . not like I imagined you’d have your wedding. But I was wrong,” he adds hastily as he sees my expression. “Obviously.”
I look at his wiry, comical, unsuspecting face. Oh God. I have to tell him. I can’t not tell Danny.
“Danny, there’s something you should know,” I say in an undertone.
“What?”
“About this wedding—”
“Hi, kids!”
I break off guiltily and turn around—but it’s only Laurel, all flushed and happy from dancing.
“Great party, Becky,” she says. “Great band. Christ, I’d forgotten how much I love to dance.”
I survey her appearance in slight dismay.
“Laurel,” I say. “You don’t roll up the sleeves of a thousand-dollar Yves St. Laurent dress.”
“I was hot,” she says with a cheerful shrug. “Now, Becky, I hate to tell you.” She lowers her voice. “But you’re going to have to get going pretty soon.”
“Already?” I look instinctively at my wrist, but I’m not wearing a watch.
“The car’s waiting outside,” says Laurel. “The driver has all the details. He’ll take you to Teterboro Airport and show you where to go. It’s a different procedure for private planes, but it should be straightforward. Any problems, you call me.” She lowers her voice to a whisper, and I glance at Danny, who’s pretending not to be listening. “You should be in England in plenty of time. I really hope it all works out.”
I reach out and hug her tightly. “Laurel . . . you’re a star,” I mutter. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Becky, believe me. This is nothing. After what you did for me, you could have had ten planes.” She hugs me back, then looks at her watch. “You’d better find Luke. I’ll see you in a bit.”
After she’s gone there’s a short, interested silence.
“Becky, did I just catch the words private plane?” says Danny.
“Er . . . yes. Yes, you did.”
“You’re flying on a private plane?”
“Yes.” I try to sound nonchalant. “We are. It’s Laurel’s wedding present to us.”
“She snapped up the private jet?” Danny shakes his head. “Damn. You know, I was planning to get you that myself. It was between that and the eggbeater . . .”
“Idiot! She’s president of a plane company.”
“Jesus. A private plane. So . . . where are you heading? Or is it still a big secret?” I watch as he takes a drag from his cigarette, and feel a sudden huge wave of affection for him.
I don’t just want to tell Danny what’s going on.
I want him to be part of this.
“Danny,” I say. “How do you feel about going on a little trip?”
It takes me a while to find Luke. He’s been trapped in a corner by two corporate financiers, and leaps up gratefully as soon as I appear. We go around the huge crowded room, saying good-bye and thank you for coming to all the guests we know. To be honest, it doesn’t take that long.
Last of all, we approach the top table and interrupt Elinor as discreetly as we can.
“Mother, we’re going now,” says Luke.
“Now?” Elinor frowns. “It’s too early.”
“Well . . . we’re going.”
“Thank you for a wonderful wedding,” I say sincerely. “It was really amazing. Everyone’s been saying how wonderful it is.” I bend to kiss her. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Becky,” she says in that formal way of hers. “Good-bye, Luke.”
“Good-bye, Mother.”
They gaze at each other—and for a moment I think Elinor’s going to say something else. But instead she leans forward rather stiffly and kisses Luke on the cheek.
“Becky!” I feel someone poking me on the shoulder. “Becky, you’re not going yet!” I turn round to see Robyn looking perturbed.
“Er . . . yes. We’re off. Thank you so much for everything you’ve—”
“You can’t go yet!”
“No one’ll notice,” I say, glancing around the party.
“They have to notice! We have an exit planned, remember? The rose petals? The music?”
“Well . . . maybe we could forget the exit—”
“Forget the exit?” Robyn stares at me. “Are you joking? Orchestra!” she says urgently into her headpiece. “Segue to ‘Some Day.’ Do you copy? Segue to ‘Some Day.’ ” She lifts the walkie-talkie. “Lighting crew, stand by with rose petals.”
“Robyn,” I say helplessly. “Honestly, we just wanted to slip away quietly . . .”
“My brides do not slip away quietly! Cue fanfare,” she mutters into her headpiece. “Lighting crew, prepare exit spotlight.”
There’s a sudden loud fanfare of trumpets, and the guests on the dance floor all jump. The lighting changes from disco beat to a radiant pink glow
, and the band starts to play “Some Day My Prince Will Come.”
“Go, Beauty and Prince,” says Robyn, giving me a little shove. “Go! One two three, one two three . . .”
Exchanging looks, Luke and I make it onto the dance floor, where the guests part to let us through. The music is all around us, a spotlight is following our path, and all of a sudden, rose petals start falling gently from the ceiling.
This is rather lovely, actually. Everyone’s beaming benevolently, and I can hear some “Aahs” as we go by. The glow of pink light is like being inside a rainbow, and the rose petals smell wonderful as they land on our heads and arms and drift to the floor. Luke and I are smiling at each other, and there’s a petal in his hair—
“Stop!”
As I hear the voice, I feel a sudden chill, right to the marrow of my bones.
The double doors have opened, and there she is, standing in the doorway. Wearing a black suit and the highest, pointiest black boots I’ve ever seen.
Everyone turns to look, and the orchestra peters out uncertainly.
“Oh, look!” I hear someone saying in delight. “That’s so cute, they even thought of a witch!”
“Alicia?” says Luke in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”
“Having a good wedding, Luke?” she says sweetly, and takes a few steps into the room.
“Come in,” I say quickly. “Come on in and join the party. We would have invited you . . .”
“I know what you’re doing, Becky.”
“We’re getting married!” I say, trying to sound lighthearted. “No prizes for guessing that!”
“I know exactly what you’re doing.” She meets my eye. “I’ve got friends in Surrey, and they’ve been checking things out.”
No.
Please, no.
“I think you have a teeny little secret you’re not sharing with the rest of your guests.” Alicia pulls a mock-concerned face. “That’s not very polite, is it?”
I need my fairy godmothers, quick. I need someone to zap her with twinkle dust.
Laurel shoots me a horrified look.
Christina puts down her champagne glass.
“Code red, Code red,” I hear Robyn’s voice crackling from the bouquet. “Urgent. Code red.”
Now Alicia’s walking around the dance floor, taking her time, relishing the attention.