‘It’s great. The kids are having a ball, well, we all are. It’s a fabulous place. Plus there’s the added bonus of not being in the same village as your mother-in-law, or even the same country, come to that.’
Alex guffawed again. Grace was brilliant, she loved her to bits.
The relief on Alex’s face when Margaret climbed into Mark’s car for the drive to the station was palpable. Mark thought his wife had grown two inches taller in seconds, as she waved his mother off with a beaming smile. She had put up with a lot, he knew that, after all she was the one who was home all the time, doing full time Granny-care, as Millie called it.
Mark felt for her, and was so grateful for the help she had given, but Alex felt sorry for the kids, who’d had the excitement of the first couple of weeks of their long summer holiday overshadowed by Margaret’s arrival. It hadn’t been easy for any of them. Alex felt – maybe unnecessarily – that one of them should be with her all the time, and so there had been endless games of Scrabble, walks up the hill, taking Granny to the shops and generally babysitting her and trying to take her mind off events. Thank goodness she had finally gone, hopefully to patch up her marriage. She had made Bruce sweat for a few weeks, then announced that she had always planned to go back to him, once she’d made him suffer for a while. Well, thanks for involving us all in your little plan, Alex thought to herself more than a little begrudgingly. It had been hard for her not to start resenting her mother-in-law; adult family members just weren’t meant to live under the same roof for more than a couple of nights at a time.
‘Serves him right,’ Margaret said on her final evening, as the adults finished dinner and they discussed her return to London. The children had all been excused to go off and do their own thing – it was a beautiful evening and Mark thought they had had their fair share of Granny. ‘Thank you all so much, though. Despite the silly old bugger and his antics, I’ve actually had a very lovely time with you all. Some proper quality time. You really are amazing parents, you know, you two. You should be very proud. Makes me realise just how much of your childhood I missed, Mark, you and David. I’m so sorry. Nothing should ever be more important than your own children, and you two have it just right. Your children are amazing.’
‘It’s OK, Mum,’ Mark had replied simply, his mother’s comments touching him deeper than he was prepared to let on. He went round to her chair and hugged her, as she dabbed at her eyes. It was probably the nicest thing his mother had ever said to him.
Blimey, that’s one to tell Grace about the old bat, Alex thought to herself.
September 2012
Alex and Mark’s wedding was a spectacular affair. Alex hadn’t intended it to be, and by that she didn’t mean that she didn’t want it to be absolutely wonderful, which she did, but just that she didn’t want it to turn into Wedding Number One, all over again, just with Husband Number Two. She needed to cherish the memories of both weddings, not have the two special days blurring together and then wondering a few years down the line, when she was old and grey and reminiscing, just which wedding a particular memory had come from. Both men were too precious to her for that to happen.
Peter and Alex were married in her parents’ local church, and then there had been a marquee in their garden, but that was where the similarity was to end. Second time round there would have to be a marquee again, the house wouldn’t accommodate so many guests, and you could never quite rely on the weather in early autumn to do what it ought to and stay warm and dry, and therefore some kind of cover was needed. The children were all going to be attendants of some sort – even Archie, who was positively allergic to dressing up smartly, was looking forward to his role as chief usher. The girls were to be bridesmaids and Bertie pageboy – so that was a major difference to start with.
And there were some rules, too, to further differentiate between the two occasions. No big white dress, no top table, no formal speeches. Alex had instructed her father that under no circumstances was he was to prepare a speech. She told him she didn’t want any spoons banging on glasses to silence the guests, but if he should fancy saying a few words off the cuff, once the evening was in full swing, then he would be allowed to, but he’d have to grab the microphone from the DJ and do it that way. That was bound to put him off, and she would happily put money on him keeping quiet all evening. The last thing she wanted was the ‘I’m handing my daughter over to this man, I’m not losing a daughter, but I’m gaining a son,’ sort of speech. They’d done that last time, she was too old, and she had been through too much for it to be relevant now. Nor did she need the best man – Mark’s brother – fishing around for stories about her that he could regale the guests with. David hadn’t known her when she was young and naive, in the days when she was likely to commit the sort of acts that warranted inclusion in a best man’s speech – again that had all been done last time by Peter’s best man. David had first met her when she was in the role of widow and mother of three, a sensible, mature woman who had seen tragedy in her life, but who had been lucky enough to find another man to love. That was the message that she wanted to come across about the whole day: Love. We are marrying because we love one another, simple as that. It was to be a day of celebration, not ceremony.
The day dawned to glorious sunshine. Alex felt as nervous as a virgin bride, but only because she wanted everything to go to plan. She came out of the bathroom and gazed up at her wedding dress, hanging on the front of the wardrobe. It was beautiful. A straight dress in oyster pink antique lace, from the vintage shop in Worcester. The lady who sold it to her reckoned it had been salvaged from a local country house, when the National Trust had taken it over. Well, whether that was true or not, it had fared very well, and whatever its age, it was just right for today, understated, simple and classy. Just like me, Alex sighed to herself with a giggle. Well, maybe not the simple bit. She slipped it over her head and the dreamy fabric settled around her curves. Just a touch of makeup – she never wore much anyway – a twist and a clip to secure her hair, and a glance in the mirror told her she was ready. Millie and Rosie came bursting in, pretty as a picture in their frothy cream dresses, and bouncing with excitement. And then she spied her boys on the landing and a lump caught in her throat. Archie was helping his little brother fasten his bow tie; the pair of them looked divine in their morning suits, proper young gentlemen. She gasped at the similarity between Archie now, and Peter on their wedding day, all those years ago. Archie was so like his father.
She smiled as she watched Bertie. He was one of those children who somehow never managed to look properly smart, whatever he was wearing. Today he might be all buttoned up and pinned down, but there was that reckless streak peeping through, his tie slightly wonky, and his hair sticking up in places as though a bird had nested in it overnight. Mabel came bounding in; even she had a huge pink bow tied round her collar in honour of the occasion. It was clearly annoying her, as she kept turning round and trying to bite it.
Alex grabbed her brood and pulled them all towards her in a huge hug. ‘My darlings, I love you all so much.’ And before she could start crying with the happiness that threatened to overwhelm her, she took a deep breath. ‘Come on guys, let’s go get Mummy married!’
Mark had spent the night at the same hotel as his brother. This might be second time round for Alex, but she had to remember that Mark had never been married before, and so he wanted to do as much as he could in the traditional way, which for him meant not bringing bad luck into the marriage by seeing his bride the night before. He was happy to do pretty much everything else the way Alex wanted it, he could understand why she wouldn’t want to replicate her first wedding. Besides which, he didn’t want to feel like all he was doing was filling Peter’s shoes; he hated the thought of any guest who might have been at Alex’s first wedding going away comparing the relative merits or otherwise of both occasions. He was his own man, and his relationship with Alex was as far more than merely replacement husband.
Mark did have one or two
surprises up his sleeve for Alex – pretty big surprises, actually – which he hoped she would love. It had been a devil to keep them a secret; he had needed Archie’s help in organising them, so had to tell him, but he was pretty sure Archie was mature enough not to spill the beans to his brother and sisters. There was no doubt that Rosie would have blurted everything out instantly, bless her.
‘I, Mark, take you, Alexandra, to be my wife,’ Mark gulped, tears welling in his eyes. How he was going to get through these vows without crumbling seemed an impossible thought at the moment.
‘To have and to hold, from this day forward.’ He sniffed and drew a deep breath, as he looked into the eyes of the woman he loved.
‘For better, for worse,’ the vicar prompted, thinking that in the heat of the moment, Mark had forgotten the vows he had so carefully learnt.
‘For better, for worse,
‘For richer, for poorer,’ he carried on unaided.
‘In sickness and in health,
To love and to cherish,
Till death us do part.’ Please God, he sent up a silent prayer, let Alex never have to go through with me what she went through with Peter. Let us both live till a ripe old age, and then quietly slip away, together. No one should have to suffer pain like that.
The rest of the ceremony passed in a dream for Alex. She and Mark barely took their eyes from one another and as the vicar declared, ‘I therefore proclaim that they are husband and wife,’ she breathed out. How long had she been holding her breath for?
Her new husband kissed her, then pulled her close, then there was an immense cheer from the congregation. Were they allowed to cheer in church? She didn’t care, it was lovely and spontaneous and then… hang on minute, who were all these people standing up at the back with trombones and trumpets and goodness knows what else?
There was a ripple from the audience – how many of them had been in the know about this? – and then the band began with what sounded like The Beatles’ ‘All you need is love’. Mark’s friend from work, Josh, stood up and grabbed a microphone that somehow Alex had failed to spot as her father had walked her into church earlier. There was another huge cheer. Alex knew exactly where this was heading.
‘There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done,
Nothing you can sing that can’t be sung,
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game,
It’s easy…’ began Josh, in a deep, soulful voice.
Alex was gobsmacked and her hand went to her mouth in disbelief. It was emotional enough seeing this happen in the film; she had watched ‘Love Actually’ so many times with Mark, it was her ‘go-to’ film when she just wanted to watch something lovely. Or when Christmas was coming. Or any time really. That wedding scene always made her cry. Keira Knightley looked so beautiful and then she married her perfect man and then their friends erupted into that very same song, from within the congregation, the upstairs balcony, all around, until it seemed like everyone was playing an instrument. And… oh my God, this was happening at her own wedding. Oh wow, she couldn’t quite believe it…
‘All you need is love,
All you need is love,
All you need is love, love,
Love is all you need.’
Absolutely amazing. This tiny village church didn’t have the benefits of an upstairs balcony, nor did enough of their friends play instruments, but the effect was the same. The band was brilliant and Josh’s voice was amazing. And then Archie, yes, her very own Archie, popped up in the pulpit with his electric guitar. Just like in the film. More tears streamed down her face. Bless him, he hadn’t been playing very long, it must have taken him ages to practice this. And when had he practiced it? Surely she would have heard him at home? He played brilliantly, looking like the proper rock star up there with all the actions. Oh…oh…
‘Oh, Mark,’ she managed through the tears. ‘You are wonderful. This is just… just…’
‘You don’t need to say anything,’ he replied. Just hold me quickly so no one can see me crying, too!’
The evening reception whizzed through way too fast. Alex flitted from friend to family member, from child to adult, making sure she spoke to everyone, ensuring every memory was well etched into her brain. She couldn’t forget one single moment of this, it had been an amazing day, and it wasn’t over yet. She just hoped to goodness someone had filmed every second, especially that song in church. She was still reeling at all the trouble her new husband had gone to. And Archie, well, she was proud of him beyond words.
It was late into the evening when an Indian man, smartly dressed in a long kurta and turban, tapped her on the shoulder. He looked just like Jimmy from the Indian restaurant in Purbrook. Hang on, it was Jimmy. What on earth was he doing at her wedding?
‘Takeaway for Mrs Hopper?’ he asked, presenting her with a large box. ‘Open please, missus.’
‘But I didn’t…’ Alex began.
‘No, you didn’t, but I did,’ Mark replied mysteriously. ‘Do as the man says and open the box.’
Alex lay the box on the table and unwrapped the cellophane. The DJ had cut the music and everyone was watching them.
Inside was an iPod docking station, iPod attached.
‘Press Play,’ Mark said.
‘Oh my God,’ Alex exclaimed, as Bollywood music started to play. ‘What’s happening now?’
She didn’t have to wait long to find out, as a string of gorgeous Indian Bhangra dancers, in sequinned saris, began to stream into the room. Mark whipped the iPod up to the DJ, who plugged it into his speakers, and they were surrounded by this amazing music, and these beautiful dancers, and Alex was overwhelmed. She didn’t know where to look first, couldn’t take it all in.
The dancing only lasted five minutes or so, then all the guests watched as the dancers disappeared behind the side of the marquee, only to reappear seconds later bearing a variety of Indian dishes, which they placed on the central table, aided now by what looked like all of Jimmy’s waiting staff from the restaurant.
‘Well, what more could everyone want, after a night of booze and dancing, than a curry, don’t you agree?’ Mark laughed, pleased that his other surprise had been well received by his new wife. Well, she couldn’t fail to love it, it was fabulous. Hours of planning, yes, but worth every second he had spent, just to see the look on her face.
‘Mr Hopper, darling husband of mine,’ Alex began, somewhat drunkenly. ‘You are amazing, you are the master of surprises. This is the BEST wedding I have ever been to. I love you.’ She hiccupped. ‘And now, I think you and I should go and get some of that curry before this lot wolf it all down!’
August 2015
Alex stared in puzzlement at the screen. How on God’s earth had that happened? Honestly, all she had done, or so she’d thought, was go on one of these Facebook quizzes that were forever popping up on her Timeline. This one was ‘Can we guess who you are?’ A fifty-year-old artist friend of hers had come out as a twenty-six-year-old man who loved beer and darts, so clearly it was a load of absolute rubbish, but Alex could never resist. These things were put on earth to distract middle aged women from more serious tasks such as getting on with dinner.
‘What do you think of this car?’ asked the first question, and underneath was a cartoon picture of a red sports car of indecipherable make. The obvious answer for Alex was ‘A waste of money.’ Shame there wasn’t an answer which said ‘Something my teenage son drew for an art project.’ OK, so that will make them think I’m a woman.
Second question: ‘How long do you spend getting ready in the mornings?’ Alex hit the ‘More than 30 minutes’ reply. Again, a woman’s answer, she thought.
Third question: ‘Pick a Pixar character.’ Alex decided to try and blind-side the quiz and chose Woody from ‘Toy Story.’ Purely because she liked Tom Hanks. That could make her a male, a child, anything, who knew.
Fourth question: ‘Bitchy girl, mean girl or neither?’ Eh? What sort of question was that,
for goodness sake? Did they mean, would you like to be one, have one as a friend, watch one on TV? How could that possibly determine her gender, age and marital status? What a load of old bull, she should pull out now and get on with supper. But she didn’t, she carried on through with the remainder of the questions, and hit the final button where all would be revealed. Wayhay, congratulations Alex Hopper you are no longer a forty-something mother of four, now you are a fifty-two-year-old man, single, no kids, who likes game shows and football. Of course she was, she always knew she had that kind of alter ego lurking inside her, trying its hardest to get out.
Alex went to hit the ‘Share’ button so that more of her Facebook friends could see this ludicrous quiz and waste some time, just like she had. ‘Share your Facebook details with this website?’ the button asked. Rosie burst into the kitchen, hot and sweaty, with Mabel close on her heels. Alex hit ‘Yes’.
‘Please can I have a drink, mummy?’ Rosie asked.
‘Of course, lovely. What would you like?’ said Alex.
‘Milk, please Mummy.’
‘What have you and Mabel been up to out there?’
‘Well, I’ve been teaching her how to skip with me on my skipping rope. She’s nearly got it, but I think she’s just got too many legs to ever be really good at it, like me.’
Alex smiled as she poured the milk. Rosie and the dog were inseparable. Mabel seemed to have adopted Rosie as her human, not the other way round. Rosie drank up and the pair of them scooted from the kitchen. More skipping, no doubt.
Alex returned to her iPad. ‘Cadmus would like to meet you,’ read the pop-up message. Who the hell was Cadmus? ‘Yuri shares the same interests as you, contact him now.’ ‘Ocnus lives nearby. Make contact now.’ ‘Meet like-minded individuals for friendship or love today.’ Messages popped up, one on top of another.
Hand On Heart: Sequel to Head Over Heels Page 14