Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,55

face up to her disapproval, but on the other hand, wondering how I will explain it to my sister.

I tried so hard to get Mia onside. I took her out for a gourmet pizza and tried to explain why it was so important to me to be married to Patrick. I promised her I would never forget Adam, and that Patrick wouldn’t replace him. But Mia dismissed my pleas, answering me in monosyllables or just saying, ‘Whatever.’ In the end, I gave up and neither of us mentioned the wedding again.

I found myself a cream woolen jacket and skirt and some white faux fur of such a high quality it looked real. A dressmaker in town added it to the collar and cuffs, and when I put the outfit on, I feel like Anna Karenina.

So here we are, the morning of my second wedding, a cold, grey January Wednesday. Last night, I had a vivid dream. Patrick and I were floating down the aisle of a cathedral, hand in hand, jubilant about our imminent nuptials. We stood there in front of the vicar, and when it came to the line where the vicar said, If any of you has a reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace, Adam appeared, fire coming out of his eyes, spitting splinters of glass. ‘She is already married to me! This man is an imposter!’ he screamed. I awoke, my heart thumping, my body slick with sweat. Afterwards, I tossed and turned and couldn’t get back to sleep.

The kids have been allowed to take the day off school, so I let them sleep. I spend a long time putting my make-up on, trying to cover up the dark rings under my eyes. At 9.30 a.m., I wake them.

‘I’m sorry, Mum, but I’m not coming.’ Mia sits in her bed, clutching her arms around her bent knees.

‘But–’

‘Don’t make me. If you want to marry that man, then what can I do? Nothing. But you can’t make me come to the wedding. Please, Mum, I don’t want you to be angry.’

I slump onto the end of her bed. ‘I’m not angry, Mia. Just disappointed. I hope that eventually you’ll come to love Patrick, not as a father, but as a friend.’

Whilst Mia isn’t embracing my union with Patrick, she is at least vaguely civil around him. I have no idea what he said or how he changed her mind, but whatever it was, it worked.

She harrumphs, then swings her legs out of bed. ‘Going to the bathroom now,’ she says. It’s my hint to leave the room.

‘I’m not having you stay here by yourself all day,’ I say to her retreating back.

‘I’m going into school,’ she replies. ‘Can you order me a taxi?’

By 10.30 a.m., I am ready and so is Oliver, who has agreed to attend. Cassie arrives, holding a large posy of white flowers, which she gives to me. ‘Let’s get this show on the road,’ she says, planting a kiss on my cheek.

A car hoots outside. I wonder if Patrick has organised a car for me as a surprise, so I dash to the door to look. But it’s the local taxi firm, a car to take Mia to school.

‘Good luck, Mum,’ she says as she heaves her school bag onto her back and dashes out of the house.

I try not to let her absence affect my happiness, but what mother doesn’t want their daughter at one of the most important occasions of her life? Cassie gives my forearm a quick squeeze. ‘Come on, hop into my car and let’s go to the registry office.’

Park House is an imposing Georgian building with a red-brick exterior and white columns, built on the edge of a park in the centre of Horsham. The last time I was here was to register Adam’s death. It feels like yesterday. Cassie locks the car and starts striding towards the entrance. She has made an effort today, wearing a smart, tailored dress nothing like her normal attire.

‘Hey, aren’t you coming?’ she asks when she notices that I’m still hovering by the car. And then I see Patrick. He is standing by the door, pacing backwards and forwards, a red rose in his buttonhole. When he looks up and notices me, his face lights up. I feel ridiculous now for doubting myself. I smile back and stride towards him.

We get married in the Chairman’s Room, a small room with white panels on the