The Two Lives of Lydia Bird - Josie Silver Page 0,98
hands; I notice her perfect nude manicure and the familiar liver spots she’s tried every cream under the sun to get rid of.
‘Ready to go?’
I nod. ‘Think so.’
‘Come on then.’ She gives my hands a final squeeze. ‘The sooner we get you married, the sooner I can get my hands on a gin and tonic.’
It isn’t raining here. When Elle helps me out of the car, the skies are the lavender blue of French shutters. Her dark hair is in a chignon at the nape of her neck and she’s lovely in a strapless Mediterranean-blue dress. Victoria, the wedding organizer, is on hand trying to help too; for a brief moment I feel as if she and Elle are in a tug of war and I’m the rope. Elle’s eyes meet mine and I wink to subtly remind her she’s one of the wedding party rather than in charge of proceedings today. I see the reluctance in her eyes as she concedes to Victoria. She can’t help herself; she’s a born organizer and this has brought out her competitive side.
‘Is he here?’ I ask.
Victoria laughs. ‘Of course. Everyone’s inside waiting for you.’
The barn basks in the honey-gold sunshine, its huge doors fastened back to reveal glimpses of the interior as we head towards it. It looks a million times better than all of those staged wedding spreads in the glossy magazines, rustic and romantic and us, filled with flowers and creamy lit candles in the deep shady window recesses. I can smell honeysuckle and pine needles, and I can hear music I can’t quite identify, and my heart is beating out of my chest with longing to see Freddie at the altar.
When we reach the entrance, Mum moves to one side of me and Elle to the other, and we link hands. I don’t think we’d planned on walking down the aisle as a three, but I can’t stop gripping Elle’s hand so that’s how we proceed. My mum, me, Elle. It was just the three of us for so many years; around the breakfast table before school, Saturday evenings squished on the sofa fighting over the remote, piled into Mum’s bed when one of us couldn’t sleep. It’s absolutely as it should be that we make this walk as a three today.
Music begins to play. There’s a pianist and as soon as he begins to sing a Beatles track I realize it’s Jonah. Of course it’s Jonah: who else would we ask to sing at our wedding?
People turn to see us, a change in atmosphere from relaxed to breath-held, a rustle of expectant voices, the excitement palpable. I’m bathed in shafts of warm sunlight and up ahead I can see Freddie’s back turned towards me. All around me I spy familiar faces: my work people, Phil and Susan beaming as if I’m their own child, Dawn tearful, Ryan almost on the verge too by the looks of him. Julia RSVP’d as soon as I sent out the invites to let me know she couldn’t make it; they’re visiting family in Ghana for her brother’s sixtieth birthday celebrations.
Jonah sings of love and wonderful roses, and Auntie June catches hold of Mum’s hand for a second and gives me a little thumbs-up as we pass. Even my cousin Lucy manages to raise a smile from beneath her massive coral hat. I daren’t look who’s behind her, but whoever it is isn’t going to see a thing. Freddie’s family have gathered on the other side – distant relatives I’m less familiar with who always turn up at the promise of a free dinner – and the lads from the pub have scrubbed up in their suits that probably do service at weddings, funerals and job interviews. His mum is up front in a vibrant orangey-red dress that’s more beach wedding than barn, but it doesn’t matter because I’m almost level with Freddie now and he’s turning to look at me. Oh, my heart. I step forward alone as his eyes sweep down the length of me and then back up to hold my gaze, and I’m so slammed by emotion that it’s a wonder I stay on my feet.
‘You’re here,’ he whispers as if he knows how far I’ve travelled to be here, and even though it’s no doubt off-script he leans in and kisses me, his lips warm against mine.
‘And you’re here,’ I murmur, full of wonder. He holds my hand and I don’t want to let go.