blue lace garter I had given her, insisting on wearing it underneath her dress. Now Pachelbel’s Canon in D was playing and I was walking down the aisle, staring straight ahead, leading the rabble of children like a well-dressed Pied Piper.
Will looked grey as he waited for his bride and I tried to give him a reassuring smile before slinking into the pew opposite him. He turned, caught sight of her and his face relaxed, colour flooding back into his cheeks.
Smoothly stepping forward to take the bouquet from Amy, the strong scent of roses and sweet peas wafting round me, I saw him. He was standing at the end of the third pew back looking straight at me, his navy blue eyes trained on me as I bit my lip and tried to drag my eyes away and focus on the Order of Service in my other hand. I could feel the beats of my heart hammering through my chest and hoped he liked the way my hair was done, the dress. For the rest of the service I was aware of him, tantalisingly close but so far away, trying to detect his voice among the hymns and promises, eyes swivelling to him in the silent moments. Always his eyes flicked over to me too and I found myself glowing inside, desperate to see him, to feel his arms around me, to know things were going to be all right.
As he reached to smooth his hair I saw a flash of silver and knew, with a grin, that he was wearing the cufflinks I had left out for him. Reminding myself I shouldn’t get too excited, he might just be being friendly, I tried to keep my gaze neutral and not stare back at him too much. The service seemed to go on for ever and I was considering leaping over pews one and two to get to him. I needed to know. I needed to know now. Amy had chosen hymns with lots of verses and I started to pray the organist would play double tempo, get that beat going, get us out of there. I almost forgot to hand over the bouquet at the end and tripped down the aisle after Amy, clutching Will’s brother’s arm, craning my neck over my shoulder to see that Luke was watching me leave.
Loitering by the doors, holding out a basket of confetti for people to take, I could see him slowly moving towards me, in the shadows of the church interior. He was talking to some girl with an enormous peacock-style fascinator and had yet to notice me in the doorway. I practised my surprised-to-see-you-smile, which felt strained as the minutes ticked by and an older couple in front of him had paused to tell the vicar the sermon had been good. Yes, yes, it had been excellent, well done, I’m sure he knows, let’s keep this queue moving, people, some of us have lives to live and boyfriends to see. This was the moment. He emerged blinking into the sunshine and as he passed me he reached his hand into the basket.
‘Luke, hi,’ I said softly.
‘Lottie.’ His voice was loud as he spilled rose petals around my feet. ‘God, sorry.’
The queue was still moving and a bald man behind Luke was leaning his grubby paw into my basket. Luke seemed to be swept away in a tide of bodies and that had been our big reunion. My body wilted with the anticlimax.
I couldn’t fix it as the moment I was outside I had to become assistant to the photographer, ushering family members, flower girls and pageboys into the right place for some pictures outside the church. Every so often I caught Luke in a huddle of guests and almost tripped over the pageboy I was shepherding. He looked incredibly handsome in his tailored suit, neatly shaven, his eyes flashing as he turned to smile and caught my eye. Did he seem pleased to see me? Was that a smile of excitement? A pity smile for something he was going to do later? Dump me at a wedding? The tension was unbearable and I truly thought there couldn’t be another photo taken. When I finally looked up, the guests had all moved down the road to the reception and I was left carrying a single bay tree, being bundled into one of the usher’s cars.
The reception was held in a marquee on the edge of a lake and guests were milling