‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘It’s fair to say I was prickly about a lot of things regarding your father.’ Then he confessed that he does have a bit of a hang-up about providing for the family, and I said, ‘Like your dad,’ and he didn’t contradict me.
So then I tried to prove that we could in fact live on my income (if we made a lot of changes) so the old stereotypes were dead. And if he was a real feminist he wouldn’t feel the need to be the breadwinner but could support the family unit in other ways. And Dan listened politely and agreed with everything and then said, ‘Actually, we’ve got a big new order coming in, so is it OK if I carry on contributing financially, just for the moment?’
Thank God.
I spray myself with Maze lily-of-the-valley perfume – a gift from Joss – then step into my shoes and head downstairs to find the girls peering at Dora.
‘I want her to talk,’ says Tessa, who has just seen Harry Potter for the first time. ‘Dora, talk.’ She addresses the snake bossily. ‘Talk.’
‘Talking snakes are not in real life,’ says Anna, glancing at me for confirmation. ‘Made-up things are not in real life, are they, Mummy?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘They’re not.’
I’m never going to tell them that my made-up friend came to life. They don’t need that kind of complicated, weird stuff in their heads. When they meet Joss, she’ll be Joss.
‘See you, Dora,’ I say, shepherding the girls out of the kitchen. I won’t say I’ve got fond of Dora, exactly, but I can look at her. I can kind of appreciate that she’s an amazing creature. Especially as I know she’s moving out of the kitchen. (Yes! Result!)
Basically, our whole garden is being revamped. The Wendy houses have already gone, and the girls barely noticed. Instead, we’re having a new outdoor room for Dan, all glass and wood, in which he’ll have his office and a special space for Dora. And we’re starting a vegetable patch.
‘If you’re such a bloody gardening expert,’ I said to Dan one night, ‘why aren’t we eating home-grown rocket every day?’ And he laughed and phoned up his mate Pete who does landscaping, and together they drew up a whole garden design. They even planned to put in some hardy annuals. Whereupon Dan suddenly remembered me trying to interest him in the garden before, and apologized for having been so distracted. He didn’t need to. I get it; he had a few other things on his mind.
Then we invited Mary Holland round to have lunch and help plan the herb garden. (Partly to show her – and each other – that there are no hard feelings or misunderstandings left.) It was great, because John looked over the fence from next door and started joining in the discussion. So then he came over, too. And we ended up with this rather high-powered gardening forum, all to discuss a tiny herb bed.
Since then, Mary’s been back to visit us a few times – she gets on well with Tilda, too. (‘I can see why you were worried,’ Tilda breathed in my ear, about five seconds after meeting her.) Meanwhile, Dan has taken to popping over to see John and talking about his work (whilst quietly making sure the fridge is full) and I do feel as though our existence has opened up a bit. We’re doing a bit less watching our past life on DVDs. A bit more building our own present life.
The girls can even have their own bedrooms now that Dan won’t need the study. (Except of course they don’t want their own bedrooms and wept when we mentioned it and Tessa wailed, ‘But I will miss Anna!’, clinging to her as though we’d suggested Anna go and sleep in the gulag.)
The car is waiting in the road, and as I shut the front door, I have a flashback to our wedding. Daddy leading me out of the house. Me looking like a Disney princess. Like so many things, it seems a lifetime ago. A different me. Today, there’s no one to lead me and the girls out of the house. There’s no one to ‘give me away’. I’m not a thing to be handed over, I’m a person. And I want to commit to another person. And that’s the end of it.
Quite nice to be in a posh car, though. As we glide along, the girls wave at passers-by, and I redo my lip gloss several times and run over what I’m going to say. Then, before I feel quite ready, we’re pulling up in front of Willoughby House. And even though I know this isn’t my actual wedding and I’m not a bride, and it’s really not a big deal … I still feel a whoosh of sudden nerves.
The driver opens the door and I emerge as elegantly as I can, and passers-by stop to point and take pictures, especially when Anna gets out in her Gruffalo costume, holding her bouquet. We’ve all got winter bouquets of eucalyptus wound round with ivy, which Mary dropped round this morning, together with a buttonhole for Dan. All from the St Philip’s Garden. She gave me a massive hug, and said, ‘I’m so, so pleased for you,’ and I could tell she genuinely meant it.
‘Come on, girls,’ I say when we’re all in place. ‘Let’s do it.’ And I push open the door to Willoughby House.
It looks phenomenal. There are flowers and greenery everywhere, cascading down the banisters and arranged in sprays. Guests are seated on gold chairs in rows, in the hall and through into the drawing room. Music begins and I process slowly between the chairs, up what is almost an aisle.
I can see lots of volunteers, watching with misty smiles, all wearing pastel hats. Dan’s parents are dressed up smartly and I beam at Sue. I had lunch with her a couple of weeks ago and apparently she and Neville have taken up ballroom dancing again. She seemed quite excited about it. Certainly they look a lot more relaxed today than they have for ages.
There’s Mary, looking gorgeous in a pale-aquamarine dress … Tilda, in a jewelled shawl … Toby and Michi … Mummy in a new pink suit, talking animatedly to Michi (probably selling her stacking rings). My heart catches as I see John, with his distinctive white, tufty hair, sitting on his own at the end of a row. He came. Even though Owen’s really not well these days, he still came.
Clarissa is standing to one side, capturing everything on video, and Robert is at the other side, recording from that angle. He meets my eye as I pass and nods. He’s a good guy, Robert.
And there, ahead of me, standing on a small carpeted platform, is Dan. He’s dressed in an elegant blue suit which brings out his eyes. His hair is glowing in the sunshine, filtered through the famous golden stained-glass window. And as he stands there proudly, watching me and the girls approach, he suddenly reminds me of a lion. A victorious lion. Happy and noble. Head of his pride.
(At least, joint head with me, obviously. I think that’s understood.)
The inspiration to use Willoughby House as a wedding venue came originally from me. Dan and I had decided to renew our vows and I was googling places, and they all promised elegant rooms, and reception space ‘steeped in history’ and I thought: Hang on, hang on, hang on …
Talk about monetizing Willoughby House. It’s made for weddings!
It took a bit of time for the licence to come through, but since then we’ve already had three weddings (all daughters of supporters), and there are more enquiries every day. It’s changed the whole nature of the house. We have constant influxes of flowers and visiting brides and all the hope and excitement that weddings bring. It’s fun. It makes it feel like a proper, living space again.
Not just that, the website is up and running! A proper, functioning website where you can book tickets and read about events and everything. (The online shop will come.) And it makes me feel joyful every time I log on, because it’s not like every other website, it’s us. We couldn’t afford 3-D spinning pictures or celebrity audio tours, but what we’ve got is beautiful line drawings on every page. There are drawings of the house and artefacts, and even a sketch of Mrs Kendrick on the History of the Family page. Every page is more charming than the last and it feels like the perfect alchemy of old and new. Just like Willoughby House. (And indeed, just like Mrs Kendrick, who has recently discovered texting and now sends Clarissa and me emojis pretty much on the hour.)
‘Welcome everybody.’ Mrs Kendrick steps forward and I stifle a giggle, because she’s gone and bought a robe. A kind of high-school-graduation robe, in
deep purple, with trailing arms and a square neck.
I mean, actually, it quite suits her.
When it came to the question of who would be the officiant at our renewal, it occurred to us that this isn’t a legal ceremony, so anyone could do it. And actually, I couldn’t think of anyone I would rather have than Mrs Kendrick. She was very touched. Then she asked me about a hundred questions a day about it, until I wished I’d asked anyone else.
But now she’s standing, beaming around as though she owns the place – which of course she does – saying, ‘Today we are delighted to welcome Dan and Sylvie to this historic house, to renew their marriage vows. Which is an honourable estate, not to be undertaken lightly,’ she adds, making dramatic gestures with her capacious robe sleeves. ‘Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.’
OK … what? This all sounds very random. But she seems to be having a good time, swirling her robe sleeves, so what does it matter?
‘Now!’ she continues. ‘Sylvie and Dan have written their own vows, so I will pass you over to them.’ She steps to one side, and I turn to face Dan.
My Dan. He’s haloed in the golden light. His eyes are all crinkly and loving. And I thought I was on top of this, no problem … but suddenly I can’t speak.
As though sensing this, Dan draws breath, and I can tell he’s choked up, too. Why the hell did we decide to make emotional vows to each other in front of other people? Why did we think this was a good idea?
‘Sylvie,’ he says, his voice a little crackly. ‘Before I make my vows, I want to tell you one thing.’ He leans forward and whispers in my ear, ‘We’re going to St Lucia tomorrow, it’s all fixed up. All four of us. Familymoon. Surprise.’
What? What? I thought we were done with surprises. He was not supposed to do that. Although, oh my God, St Lucia! I blink a couple of times, then lean forward and whisper in his ear.
‘I’m not wearing any knickers. Surprise.’
Ha! His expression!
Dan seems temporarily to have forgotten about making his vows, so I’m about to launch in with my own set, when there’s a slight kerfuffle from the entrance hall. The next moment, Dr Bamford is making his way into the room. He waves at us cheerily and takes his place on a chair.
‘Surprise,’ I say to Dan. ‘I thought he ought to be here. He started this all off, after all.’
‘Good call.’ Dan nods, his eyes softening. ‘Good call.’
And then somehow we’ve said all our vows and not cried or tripped up, and everyone has applauded and we’re all on the champagne. Clarissa is playing jazz records on the old gramophone and some of the volunteers are dancing in a makeshift dancing space. I can see Robert talking intently to Mary – hmm, there’s an idea – and Dan’s parents are doing a rather flashy quickstep. Neville’s eyes are fixed on Sue’s, and the sight of them moving in perfect time with each other makes me blink. Then, as if she can sense me watching, Sue meets my eye and smiles over Neville’s shoulder and I wave back.
I catch Clarissa’s eye as she changes a record on the gramophone and give her a fond smile. Clarissa has been another revelation. Three months ago she stunned us by revealing she’d written a ghost story set in Willoughby House and recorded it as a podcast! Without telling anyone! She said she’d heard me suggesting it and it had stuck in her mind and had thought she’d ‘have a bash’. It’s up on the website now, and keeps being downloaded, and we all know that Clarissa will end up going into writing full time one day. She just doesn’t seem to know it herself, yet.
As I’m standing there with Dan, watching everyone, he leans over and murmurs, ‘Have you told Mrs Kendrick yet? Or Clarissa?’
I know what he means and shake my head. ‘Not the time,’ I say quietly. ‘After we get back.’
I’m so proud of everything we’ve achieved at Willoughby House. And I love the place more than ever now it has a new lease of life. But nothing changes if nothing changes. I saw that slogan on a T-shirt the other day, and it really resonated. I’ve changed. My horizons have shifted. And if I want to keep on growing and changing, I need to challenge myself.
It’s taken a while to work out what to do next, but I’ve finally found the perfect thing. I’m masterminding the campaign for the new children’s wing at the New London Hospital. I saw the advert for the post and instantly I thought: Yes. It’s a big job, and I had to persuade Cedric and his board that my skills would transfer from the world of art history, but every time I think about it I feel a surge of adrenaline. I’ll be helping children. I’ll be achieving a whole new level of fundraising. And someone else can take on my work here – someone with fresh eyes and energy.
Sometimes you need to poke things with a stick. If I hadn’t poked our marriage with a stick, what would have happened, long-term? I don’t like thinking this much, because it’s irrelevant now, everything did come out and we’re OK. But let’s just say … I don’t think it would have been great.
When I look back at ourselves, I feel that the Dan and Sylvie who were married for all those years, were so pleased with each other, who thought life was such a breeze … they’re different people. They had no idea.
‘Congratulations!’ A booming voice greets us and I see Dr Bamford approaching, glass in hand. ‘How nice to see you again, and thank you for the invitation! I’ve always meant to visit this place but never have. Wonderful collection of books. And the basement kitchen! Fascinating!’
‘You probably think it’s strange that we invited you today.’ I smile up at him. ‘But as I think I said in my letter, you really started something when we saw you, all those months ago.’
‘Oh dear!’ exclaims Dr Bamford, and I can tell, he doesn’t remember at all.
‘No, it was good,’ Dan reassures him. ‘In the end.’
I nod. ‘In the end. You told us we would have another sixty-eight years of marriage and it kind of kick-started … Well, we didn’t react brilliantly …’
‘We freaked out,’ says Dan honestly. ‘I mean, sixty-eight years. That’s a lot of box sets.’ He laughs at his own joke, but Dr Bamford doesn’t seem to hear. He’s peering thoughtfully at Dan. He transfers his gaze to me, then back to Dan.
‘Sixty-eight years?’ he says at last. ‘Dear me. Hmm. I may possibly have overestimated a tad. I tend to do that. My colleague Alan McKenzie is forever chiding me on the matter.’
Overestimated?
‘What do you mean, “overestimated”?’ I say, staring at him.
‘What do you mean, “overestimated”?’ Dan echoes, only half a second behind me.
‘Dr McKenzie recently advised me to shave a good half per cent off my calculations. Which would mean you have closer to, let’s say … sixty-four years.’ He beams cheerfully, then notices a tray of canapés passing by. ‘Ah, smoked salmon! Excuse me a moment …’
As Dr Bamford pursues the canapés, Dan and I stare at each other, stricken. I feel cheated. I had sixty-eight years and now I only have sixty-four.
‘Sixty-four years?’ I gulp at last. ‘Sixty-four? That’s no time!’
Dan looks equally traumatized. He seizes me to him as though we’re counting every second, crushing me against him. ‘OK, so we only have sixty-four years,’ he says. ‘Let’s make them count.’
‘No more wasting time,’ I agree fervently.
‘No more petty arguments.’
‘Live every moment.’
‘Set the alarm earlier,’ says Dan urgently. ‘Ten minutes a day. We can claw back some time that way.’ And he looks so worked up that something inside me says, Wait a minute. We’re overreacting again.
‘Dan …’ I say more gently. ‘No one actually knows. We could have seventy-two more years together. Or two. Or two days.’
My gaze travels around the room, suddenly seeing everyone here in a different light. There’s Mummy with her brittle smile, who thought she would be with Daddy for a lot longer. John, facing a future without Owen, his eyes sad even as he talks to Tilda – who herself had to cope
with a life that didn’t pan out the way she hoped. Dan’s parents, still dancing, faces determined, making it work. Mary and Robert, chatting closely with shy smiles, maybe at the start of something? And my girls, dancing joyously in their Chelsea top and Gruffalo costume. Out of all of us, they’ve got the right idea.
‘Come on.’ I put a hand on his arm and squeeze it fondly. ‘Come on, Dan. Let’s just get on with life.’
And I lead him on to the dance floor, where everyone breaks off to applaud us. Dan throws some shapes and Tilda whoops and the girls spin round and round with me, laughing.
And we get on with life.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
While writing this book, I reflected a lot on longevity, loyalty and partnership.
I am lucky enough to have been writing books for many years, for which I’m endlessly grateful to my wonderful and loyal readers. Writers don’t really have the facility to ‘renew their vows’ with their readers – but I’m lifting a glass to you all, anyway. Thank you so much for reading.
I would also like to take this opportunity to acknowledge and thank my publishers around the world. I am, again, lucky enough to be published in many countries, from the UK, US and Canada, throughout Europe, to South America, Asia and Australasia. I have worked closely with many of my publishers and have built up fantastic long-term relationships with them. Other countries I’m yet to visit – but I’m still very aware of how much energy and enthusiasm goes into publishing my books. I will be forever grateful.
I would like to thank in particular my agenting team – a group of very talented and supportive people, who could only ever surprise me in a good way. (This is not a challenge!) Araminta Whitley, Marina de Pass, Kim Witherspoon, Jessica Mileo, Maria Whelan, Nicki Kennedy, Sam Edenborough, Katherine West, Jenny Robson, Simone Smith and Florence Dodd: thank you.
Thanks also to The Board, which has been in my life nearly as long as I have been writing. Can’t imagine doing it without you.
Jenny Colgan, thank you for being my Doctor Who expert.
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