I watched as Miss Bloomfield and Mr Flower said their vows, promising to love each other until death did them part. Then Mr Flower put a thin gold band on Miss Bloomfield’s tiny finger, and gave her a kiss, while everyone in the congregation sighed happily. Well, Julie sniffed.
Then Dad and I followed Miss Bloomfield – no, Mr and Mrs Flower! – into the vestry where they signed the register, and then we came out to a fresh burst of organ music. Mr and Mrs Flower walked back down the aisle together, her arm tucked in his, and I followed again, smiling back at everyone. There were more lovely comments, louder this time, and I was so delighted it was hard to carry on walking slowly and regally. I wanted to skip, to run, to dance, to twirl round and round until my raspberry-pink skirts whirled like a spinning top.
Then we were outside in the church garden. There wasn’t an official photographer, but everyone whipped out their mobile phones and took photos of Mr and Mrs Flower. They asked me to be in the photos too, and Mrs Flower made Dad come and pose as well. ‘Seeing as you’re family!’ she said, with a little wink.
Julie tried to get into a lot of the photos – ‘because I’m the matron of honour’, she kept saying, though she was nothing of the sort.
Then we crossed the road to the White Lion pub and went to their back room, where they’d laid out plates of sandwiches and sausage rolls and little pizza triangles.
‘Oh Lord, I forgot the cake!’ said Mrs Flower.
‘Give me your keys and I’ll go back for it,’ said Dad.
Mr Flower protested, saying he’d nip back himself, but Dad insisted.
‘He’s a lovely man, your dad,’ said Mrs Flower.
‘Well, he takes after his “aunty”,’ said Mr Flower, and they both chuckled. ‘Happy, Iris?’ he added.
‘Very,’ she said.
‘No regrets?’
‘None at all.’
‘Let’s hope we’ve had our first and last little tiff,’ said Mr Flower.
Mrs Flower nodded, and blew him a kiss.
‘Oh my, look at the lovebirds,’ said Julie. She cooed over my dress some more, stroking the silk and holding up the skirts to admire the petticoat. I twitched away from her, scared she was going to lift the skirts higher to see my matching knickers.
Mr Flower was busy buying everyone drinks. He put aside a pint of beer for Dad and bought me a fizzy lemonade.
‘Here you are, dearie. You’re the prettiest little bridesmaid I’ve ever seen. You’ve really made our day. Well done, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Now, come and sit with Iris and me and let’s tuck into all that food.’
‘Grab us a couple of those serviettes, please, Albert. Tilly and I don’t want to spoil our dresses,’ said Mrs Flower.
I ate very carefully even so, leaning right over my plate and holding my lemonade glass with both hands. Dad sat with us too when he came back with the cake. It seemed too splendid to cut.
‘You must save the little marzipan figures at least!’ I said, so Mrs Flower wrapped them up in another paper napkin and tucked them into her handbag. I imagined the little marzipan Flowers smiling at each other secretly in the dark depths of her bag while the real Flowers smiled at the table. I saw they were eating one-handed, so they could still hold each other’s hand under the cloth.
The cake looked even more delicious inside, a fluffy sponge with three layers of cream and jam. Mrs Flower cut it up carefully, arranged the slices on a big serving plate, and then asked me to take it round to everyone.
‘We’ll keep you a big slice with lots of icing and a marzipan flower,’ she said, putting it on a little plate for me.
I carried the big plate of cake around, offering it to everyone.
‘Aren’t you a helpful little girl?’
‘Such a little sweetheart.’
‘Lovely manners – and so helpful!’
It was fantastic being treated as if I were wonderful when all I was doing was passing round a plate of cake. I liked being with all these old people. And they all liked me. It was so easy to make friends.
Then the landlady of the pub brought out trays of sparkling wine. ‘Let’s have a toast to the bride and groom, ladies and gents!’ she shouted.
Everyone raised their wine glasses and I held up my lemonade and we all repeated ‘The bride and groom!’ and drank to them.
‘Speech, speech, speech!’ Julie cried.
‘No, no, Julie, we don’t want any speeches whatsoever,’ said Mrs Flower in a sudden fluster. ‘You know I go all to pieces if I have to do any public speaking.’
‘Then you mustn’t make a speech, my dear, because I want you to stay deliciously all in one piece,’ said Mr Flower gallantly. ‘There’s only going to be one speech, and I’m the one going to make it. Don’t worry, folks. It’s going to be very short and sweet.’
He stood up and cleared his throat. ‘I’d like to tell you all something. This is the happiest day of my life!’
Everyone went Aaaah! Mrs Flower gave him a little nudge, blushing.
‘I’m so lucky. I was happy enough pottering away like an old codger, but when Iris came into my life I could scarcely believe my luck. And I still can’t! Doesn’t she look a picture in her lovely bridal outfit! And I’ll tell you who else looks a picture too – our little bridesmaid, Tilly. Stand up, Tilly dear, and give us all a little twirl.’
It was my turn to blush as I gave the briefest flick of a twirl.
‘Your being here is like the icing on the cake for Iris and me. So we’d like to give you a little present.’ Mr Flower fumbled in his pocket and brought out a small box. He held it out to me, smiling. ‘Here’s to Tilly, the prettiest, pinkest bridesmaid ever!’
Everyone toasted me this time, as I opened the box. There was a necklace inside, a little chain with a delicate silver charm in the shape of a flower.
‘It’s a flower, see, to remind you of us Flowers,’ said Mr Flower.
Mrs Flower did up the clasp for me and I thanked them both fervently and held the little charm tight in my hand, stroking it for luck. I was struck dumb with happiness.
Dad was usually very quiet in company too, but he chatted away to Mr and Mrs Flower, asking them all about their honeymoon plans, and talking about his own holidays in the Isle of Wight when he was a little boy.
‘Is the Isle of Wight a really nice place?’ I whispered.
‘Yes, it’s got lovely beaches, and I liked going round Osborne House where Queen Victoria lived,’ said Dad. ‘I remember there was a wonderful playhouse for the royal children in the gardens. You’d like that.’
‘Could we go there one day? Maybe for a holiday?’ I asked.
We hadn’t had a proper holiday since Mum went. Well, we’d tried going to EuroDisney a few months after she left, just for three days. It didn’t really work. It was too loud and bright and cheerful, and everyone was in families. Dad and I felt quieter and sadder and lonelier than ever.
We could still feel quiet and sad and lonely sometimes – but it would be peaceful paddling in the sea and making a sandcastle and seeing the special Osborne playhouse.
‘Yes, we’ll go there. In the summer holidays. Deal!’ said Dad, and he held out his hand. I gave him a high five.
‘Oh goodness, I wish people wouldn’t do that silly high-five thing,’ said Julie. ‘It’s so American. Why can’t you shake hands properly? I always tried hard to teach my children manners.’
I was very, very glad I wasn’t Julie’s child.
‘Don’t you agree with me, Iris?’ said Julie.
‘It’s a bit late in the day for me to start having children,’ said Mrs Flower. ‘But Albert and I are discussing getting a little dog when we get back from our honeymoon. And we’ll do our best to train him to do little tricks, but we won’t really care if he shakes his paw or does a high five, just so long as he’s happy.’
Julie sniffed. Mrs Flower laughed and said something quietly to Mr Flower that set him chuckling. Julie sniffed again.
‘I hope she’s not making a
fool of herself,’ she said. ‘They’re all lovey-dovey now, but I’m not sure it’s going to work out, you know. They’re two such different temperaments. Albert’s so relaxed and easy-going, but Iris can be very pernickety at times, very set in her ways. I can’t see them always agreeing.’
‘I think they’ll get on perfectly. Never a cross word,’ said Dad firmly.
Someone put some money in the old jukebox in the corner and some ancient pop song started playing: ‘Save the Last Waltz for Me’.
‘Come on, Iris! Come on, Albert. You haven’t given us a first waltz yet!’ someone shouted.
Mr Flower stood up, gave his new wife a little bow and held out his hand. ‘Would you do me the honour of a waltz, Mrs Flower?’
‘I’d be delighted, Mr Flower,’ she said.
I thought they’d just shuffle around for a few bars of music and then sit down again, but they seemed to be serious ballroom dancers. Mr Flower stood upright, his arms outstretched. Mrs Flower reached up to him, clasping him with one hand, the other resting very lightly on his arm. They stood poised and then plunged into the dance, swooping and twirling round the tables and chairs in the crowded room, their faces rapt.
Everyone clapped and cheered them, and their cheeks grew pinker and they smiled a little, but they didn’t miss a beat. They were so impressive that someone set the record spinning again the moment it had finished.
Mr Flower motioned with his hand for everyone else to join them. Couples got up and did their best, enjoying themselves even though they weren’t serious dancers like the Flowers. There were more single ladies than men. They were all looking hopefully at the two widowers drinking beer together in the corner. Julie was particularly blatant, tossing her hair and laughing loudly at nothing in particular. The old men put their pint glasses down reluctantly and turned to the ladies nearest them. The remaining women started dancing together instead, taking it in turns to steer each other round.
Julie looked scornful. She downed a very large gin and tonic and kept staring at Dad. He fidgeted uncomfortably, then bent his head close to mine.
‘You don’t think she’s waiting for me to ask her to dance, do you?’ he whispered.
I nodded.
‘Oh help!’ said Dad. He took a deep breath. ‘Julie, I do hope you don’t mind not dancing. I’m afraid I haven’t a clue how to do this ballroom lark,’ he said in a rush.
‘Oh no, thanks very much,’ said Julie. ‘I’m very happy to sit this one out. Don’t feel sorry on my account. It’s a bit pathetic anyway, making out this old pub is blooming Blackpool Tower ballroom.’
‘Well, everyone seems to be having fun even so,’ said Dad. ‘Especially Iris and Albert, and that’s all that matters.’
‘Oh, the little lovebirds,’ said Julie. ‘Well, I hope it lasts. Mr Albert Flower can be very fickle, you know. He was sweet on me for a while. Very keen, he was. But he’s not really my type, so when I made it plain I wasn’t interested, he was suddenly all over poor Iris like a rash. And she was so desperate after all these years of spinsterhood that she wouldn’t listen when I warned her. She’s always been naïve. Well, downright stupid at times.’
Dad and I flinched.
‘Oh, come on,’ said Dad nervously. ‘Don’t take that tone, not at their wedding. It’s such a special day.’
‘I see you’re one of life’s romantics,’ said Julie scornfully. ‘Was your wedding day so special then?’
There was a little pause. I took a large gulp of my fizzy lemonade.
‘Oh, I see!’ said Julie. ‘So, are you divorced then?’
‘Tilly’s mum and I are . . . separated,’ said Dad.
‘Ooh, sorry! I’ve clearly touched a nerve there,’ said Julie. She leaned across Dad to me. ‘So are you one of those suitcase children, living part of the time with Mummy and part of the time with Daddy here? Poor little thing!’
I looked at Dad. He was staring at his empty plate, looking so sad. I felt the lemonade fizzing inside me.
‘I live all the time with my dad and it’s lovely,’ I said. ‘Now I wish you’d shut up and stop being so nasty.’
‘You rude little madam! You could do with a good smack-bottom,’ said Julie. She rose to her feet and marched off to the ladies’.
Dad shook his head at me. ‘You were rude, Tilly. Very rude,’ he said sternly. Then he smiled. ‘But I don’t blame you one little bit. Nosy old bag!’
The waltz record finished and this time someone put on an old Abba song.
‘Even I can bop about to this,’ said Dad. ‘Come on, Tilly, let’s dance.’
We danced in and out of the tables. I’m not that great at it, and Dad does really cringe Dad-dancing, but it didn’t matter at all. Mr and Mrs Flower did an amazing jive together as if they were still teenagers, but nearly all the other guests just jiggled about, waving their hands in the air. Then we all swopped partners and I danced with lovely Mr Flower and one of the other old men and two different ladies, and Dad danced with all the others. I even saw him offer to dance with Julie again, just to try to make friends, but she shook her head haughtily.
Then Mr Flower consulted his pocket watch and said they’d better be off soon to catch their train to Portsmouth for the ferry to the Isle of Wight. There was a lot of kissing and hugging and more congratulations. Julie went surprisingly tearful and hugged both Flowers as if they were going to Australia instead of a little excursion to the Isle of Wight.
Dad drove the four of us to collect their suitcases and then to the railway station. We stood on the platform with them and then waved them off, wishing them well again and again.
‘Promise you’ll keep in touch, dears?’ said Mr Flower.
‘You must come to tea the minute we come back. And we must arrange a baking day, Tilly!’ Mrs Flower called.
We really did seem to have become family now.
‘Oh, I absolutely loved being a bridesmaid,’ I said on the way home. ‘I wish I could be one all over again!’
We were passing Sid’s as I spoke. And I had a sudden thought.
‘Dad, Dad, could you pull up? I need to pop into Sid’s for a minute. There might just be another reply to my advert!’
‘I very much doubt it, sweetheart. And I think renting yourself out once is more than enough,’ said Dad.
But guess what!
Chapter Twelve
‘ANOTHER REQUEST, DAD. Someone else wants to rent me!’ I said triumphantly, waving the letter like a flag.
I read it quickly as Dad drove away. ‘Oh, Dad, I absolutely have to do this wedding!’
Dad sighed heavily. ‘No! I’m not letting you carry on like this, Tilly. I’m not having my daughter renting herself out!’
‘But look what a lovely day we’ve had with Mr and Mrs Flower.’
‘That was different. It was just a very small informal wedding for two dear old people,’ said Dad.
‘Dear old people who have become like family to us now.’
‘Yes, they have. But it’s highly unlikely that this lady will be like dear Iris,’ said Dad. He gave a quick glance at the letter as he drove. ‘What’s her name? Something Smith?’
‘It’s a man, Dad. Simon Smith.’
‘He’s the one fixing up bridesmaids?’ said Dad. ‘Are you going to be a secret for his bride?’
‘He hasn’t got a bride. He’s got another bridegroom,’ I said.
‘Oh Lord.’
‘He’s marrying Matthew Castle. It’s not in St John’s or any other church. He says they’re not religious so they’re going to a registry office for their wedding. Oh, Dad, please can I be their special bridesmaid?’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Dad.
He wavered a little when we got home and I made him read Simon’s letter for himself.
Dear Tilly,
I love your advert! You’re very good at drawing. Your dress looks truly beautiful. No wonder you’re determined to wear it at a wedding.
My partner Matthew Castle and I are getting marrie
d in a couple of weeks. We’ve been together nearly twenty years! We’re not religious so we’re having a simple registry office ceremony in the Guildhall, with fifty of our family and friends attending. However, we’ve had a peep at the venue and it does look a little too much like an office. We’re going to bring flowers and we’ll be wearing our Sunday best, so to speak – but we thought a special little bridesmaid would be the finishing touch.
It would be perfect if you could come. You will need to discuss it carefully with your parents, of course. They might not be happy about the idea. But if they agree, perhaps your mum or dad might like to ring me on my mobile – 07779 54321 – and then we can meet one evening and discuss arrangements.
With best wishes,
Simon Smith
‘There, Dad! Doesn’t he sound nice?’ I said.
‘Yes, I suppose so. Very nice. But I still don’t like the idea of your being a bridesmaid for strangers.’
‘Yes, Simon says you might not be happy about the idea,’ I said, tapping the letter.
‘Hmm, well, that’s annoying too, because I don’t want him to think I’m prejudiced.’
‘Couldn’t we just phone him and meet up and see what he’s like?’ I wheedled. ‘Please, Dad. Today’s been the best fun I’ve had in ages and ages.’
‘I know. And I’ve enjoyed it too. Well, let me think about it. Let’s have a cup of tea and that extra slice of cake Iris gave us to take home. I’m peckish all over again.’
Dad made the tea in our special initial mugs. He had M for Michael and I had T for Tilly. There was an L for Laura, Mum’s name, which we couldn’t bear to throw out, but we kept it right at the back of the china cupboard. I divided the cake carefully and put the halves on two different plates. We sat down on the sofa together and I reached for my mug. Dad had filled it very full, almost to the top.
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