The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights

by Sarah Lefebve

  “What if a bird poos on them?”

  “What if a bird poos on us?” I asked. “Or, more to the point, what if it rains on our hairdos.”

  “I told you, it’s going to be beautiful later. It’ll be sunny by the time we’re done,” she said.

  “Isn’t bird poo white anyway?” Emma had asked, still pondering the last part of the conversation.

  So, anyway, we get drenched getting into the car and half an hour later we get drenched again getting out of it and into the hairdressers.

  I’ve told Katie I’ll have my hair done any way she wants. I may live to regret my flexibility. She might decide she wants me sporting a mohican. Okay, probably not, but you never know.

  The three of us sit in a row facing the mirror. Emma, here in her supervisory capacity, flicks through a bridal magazine.

  “What about this?” she says, holding up the magazine so that I can see it in the mirror.

  I screw up my face.

  “She won’t want anything too poufy,” Kate tells my stylist.

  My friend. She knows me well. She knows I am the girl who washes her hair as soon as she gets home from the hairdressers because it looks too ‘big’.

  “No mousse. No gel. No hairspray,” she adds.

  My stylist screws her face up this time.

  “Well maybe just a bit,” I concede.

  Before I can change my mind she squirts what is definitely more than ‘just a bit’ of mousse onto her hand, rubs it between her palms and splats it on top of my head with a grin.

  After a brief discussion Katie decides I should wear it half up half down. So that’s what the stylist does, weaving in lots of little twisty things with sparkly bits in the middle that we brought with us from Accessorize.

  “I like it,” Emma says as I swivel round in my chair to show her the finished effect.

  “You should wear it like that for your own wedding,” she adds. “It really suits you.”

  “I didn’t know you were getting married too,” the stylist says. “When’s the big day.”

  “I’m not,” I say.

  “No, but you will be one day,” Emma says, sticking her head back in the magazine.

  Half an hour later Katie is done too.

  She looks lovely. She normally wears her hair down. Today it’s swept off her face in soft curls.

  Not only does she look gorgeous, but she looks bloody smug as well. It’s stopped raining. And not only has it stopped raining, but the sun is shining.

  Whoop whoop!

  “Time check,” Katie says as we walk out to the car.

  I glance at my watch.

  “11.13am precisely.”

  “Just think Katie, in less than two and a half hours you’ll be a married woman. Goodbye Katie Roberts, hello Katie Henley.”

  Becky Newman, I think to myself. I can’t help it. These things just pop into your head.

  “Hello, I’m Katie Henley, pleased to meet you. Have you met my husband, Matt?” Katie says, grinning.

  “Oh my god, my husband!” she repeats, as if she has just heard the word for the first time.

  Next stop, makeup.

  We’ve decided to do our own makeup. I’ve never liked other people painting my face – the beauticians at the makeup counters in Boots, for example – tickling my eyelids with their makeup brushes and scrutinising every imperfection. I always end up laughing. And it’s not really all that funny, so then I just look really stupid. And why would I want to look stupid when I can just smear the stuff on my own face?

  Besides, Katie said she wouldn’t feel like her if someone else did her makeup.

  “He’s marrying me,” she explained. “I want it to be me he sees when he’s standing at the altar.”

  She must want to look a bit different to normal though – she has allocated a whole hour and a quarter for makeup.

  I could shower, style my hair, put on my makeup and get dressed in that time and still have at least twenty minutes spare for a double vodka and tonic for Dutch courage.

  “I’m going to leave you to it,” Emma says, as we rifle through our pooled makeup supplies.

  I really must update my makeup, I tell myself, removing a loose chunk of eye shadow from the bottom of the bag and examining a dried up lip gloss and a concealer stick with bits of fluff stuck to it.

  I pick up one of Katie’s Ruby & Millie eye shadows. “You’ve got ages yet, stay a bit longer.”

  “I need to get ready. I need to look my best for my reading,” she says, winking at Katie.

  She’s definitely up to something.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE

  I stare in the mirror at my friend’s reflection.

  “We did a good job,” she says.

  “We did,” I agree. “You look beautiful Katie. Matt’s a very lucky man.”

  “I love him so much, Becky.”

  “I know you do. And he loves you too.”

  “Here. This is for you,” she says, handing me a gift bag.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s just something to say thank you for putting up with me over the last nine months. I know people usually give out presents at the reception, but I wanted this to be just me and you.”

  There are two presents inside the bag. The first is a silver necklace with a tiny glass heart pendant.

  “I thought it went with your dress,” she says, slipping it around my neck and fastening it.

  The second is a framed card bearing a quote about love. It’s the same card that Katie and Matt have on their bedroom wall. I told her once how much I loved it.

  Love is not finding someone you can live with. It’s finding someone you can’t live without.

  “It’s not easy to find,” she says, squeezing my hand.

  “No.”

  “You’ll find it again, B,” she says, and I feel a lump rise in my throat. “You did a very brave thing. A wonderful thing. And for that alone you deserve to be happy.”

  “Don’t make me cry,” I tell her. “It’s taken me hours to look this good!” And she laughs.

  I’m dabbing at a stray tear that’s fought its way out of the corner of my eye when Katie’s dad puts his head around the door.

  “Ready, girls?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX

  You are my husband, you are my wife

  My feet shall run because of you

  My feet shall dance because of you

  My heart shall beat because of you

  My eyes see because of you

  My mind thinks because of you

  And I shall love because of you.

  Traditional Eskimo Love Song

  “Marriage is the union between one man and one woman,” the vicar announces, his voice echoing around the church that’s packed full of Katie and Matt’s friends and family.

  There’s an impressive assortment of hats among their guests. It’s nice. Not many people wear hats these days. It’s all that curling and straightening – people are afraid of putting a dent in their hair. There are some lovely outfits too. Lots of fabulous dresses on the ladies, smart trouser suits and colourful tie choices on the men. I spotted Fi and Adrian as we were walking down the aisle. She is wearing a pink dress and he is sporting a pink tie. Very colour co-ordinated. Very Fi.

  I’m babbling now, I know, but I’m afraid if I actually stop and think how wonderful this all is, I might cry. And then I’ll think about James. And I’ll cry some more. And pretty soon I’ll be a blubbering wreck and guests in the back rows will be handing me down their tissue supplies. And that won’t do at all. Standing next to Matt at the front of the church, I’ve never seen Katie look so beautiful. Or so happy.

  I can’t imagine what their lives would be like without each other.

  Sitting down, I look behind me and spot Emma. I smile. I wonder if she’s nervous. She waves a piece of paper at me with a big grin on her face. I think she’ll be okay.

  “We have come together in the presence of God,” the vicar booms out, making
me jump in my seat. These pews aren’t the comfiest. My bum’s going numb.

  “…to witness the marriage of Matthew and Katherine.” Matthew and Katherine? Who are they? Oh, yeah…

  “…to ask for his blessing on them and to share in their joy.”

  Matt squeezes Katie’s hand.

  “But first we have a couple of readings that have been chosen by Katie and Matt’s friends and family. First Katie’s father Roger Harris will be reading an excerpt from Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, from a scene where Dr Iannis is speaking to his daughter Pelagia.

  Roger steps up to the altar and pulls a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. Placing it gently on the lectern in front of him, he looks out at everyone, clears his throat, and smiles. He looks so proud.

  “Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision.

  You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being ‘in love’ which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.

  Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.”

  He smiles at his daughter and future son-in-law and then returns to his place beside Katie’s mum.

  And then it’s Emma’s turn.

  “And now Katie and Matt’s good friend Emma is going to read a piece about love by an unknown author. I Knew That I Had Been Touched By Love.”

  There’s a brief interlude as she shuffles past everyone on her row, followed by the clicking of her heels against the marble floor as she makes her way slowly to the front. The noise echoes softly around the church.

  Then, just before she reaches the lectern, she turns and smiles at Katie and Matt. And then at me.

  She’s carrying an A4 folder. Crikey, how long is this reading?

  “Actually, there has been a slight change of plan,” she tells her audience.

  “I’m going to do two readings, not one.

  “You see, I found one that I loved – and that took me a while, I can tell you,” she laughs. “But then I found another. And I liked that one even more. Because it described what Katie and Matt have better than anything else I’d found before. And boy have I read a few wedding readings. You should see my library fines! So, well, anyway, what can I say? I’m greedy – so Katie and Matt said I could do both.”

  She smiles again. The church is silent. You could hear a pin drop. Even the kids have gone quiet. She has every guest in the building hanging off her every word.

  And so she starts.

  “I knew that I had been touched by love the first time I saw you, and I felt your warmth, and I heard your laughter.

  “I knew that I had been touched by love when I was hurting from something that happened, and you came along and made the hurt go away.

  “I knew that I had been touched by love when I stopped making plans with my friends and started making dreams with you.

  “I knew that I had been touched by love when I suddenly stopped thinking in terms of ‘me’ and started thinking in terms of ‘we’.

  “I knew that I had been touched by love when suddenly I couldn’t make decisions by myself anymore, and I had the strong desire to share everything with you.

  “I knew that I had been touched by love the first time we spent alone together, and I knew that I wanted to stay with you forever, because I had never felt this touched by love.”

  When she has finished, she looks up and smiles.

  “And now for the one that beats all the others,” she says, opening the folder, “the one that says it like it really is.”

  I had no idea that Emma had put this much work into it. She obviously felt guilty about the whole three-times-a-bridesmaid thing.

  “My boyfriend has got lovely brown eyes,” she reads. “My boyfriend has a cute dimple in his right cheek and a tiny scar above his left eye. My boyfriend makes me laugh – even when I feel like crying.”

  Suddenly my hand flies to my mouth and I gasp. A little louder than I’d intended. Emma stops. Katie looks around. Matt looks around. The best man looks around. The vicar looks over at me. He probably thinks I’ve just remembered some just cause or impediment why these two persons should not be joined in holy matrimony. “Do be quiet,” he probably wants to say, “I haven’t got to that bit yet.”

  As for Emma – well, she just looks at me and smiles. It’s a smile that’s just for me and a lump catches in my throat. And then she starts again.

  “Is this why he is Mr Right?

  “No.

  “My boyfriend makes me feel loved. When he touches me he makes me feel something that no-one else has ever made me feel. I want to be with my boyfriend all the time, and when I am not with him, I miss him.

  “Is this why he is Mr Right?

  “No.

  “My boyfriend would listen to my dreams every morning if I wanted him to. My boyfriend would chat to me while I was sat on the loo – he wouldn’t mind.

  “Is this why he is Mr Right?

  “No.

  “The reason my boyfriend is Mr Right is none of these things and all of them.

  “How do any of us know we have met Mr Right?

  “The answer is simpler than you would ever imagine. There is no why. There is no how. There is just knowing.

  “We just know.”

  I don’t understand. It was in the bin. I put it there myself. On top of a pile of soggy tissues. It was the day that Katie came round and dragged me out of bed.

  Katie…

  Just as I’m identifying the culprit, she turns around and looks at me. Slowly she plants a kiss on her fingertips and blows it over to me. And I breathe again.

  “Who is Mr Right?” Emma continues.

  “Mr Right is someone you love unconditionally. He’s someone you want to be with forever, someone who makes you feel safe and secure…

  “He’s someone who will wipe your nose when you’re on the top of a mountain because your hands are so cold you can’t even take your gloves off to do it yourself …

  “He’s someone you’ll grab and kiss – up against a police riot van if there’s one in the way – not because you want to, but because you just can’t stop yourself.”

  Katie looks at Matt at this one and laughs out loud. So does the rest of the church. Even the vicar.

  “It can be sudden, or it can creep up on you. And before you know it you are head over heels in love…

  “And when you’ve found him you won’t question it. You’ll never ask yourself ‘is he the one?’ Because you’ll know that he is…

  “You’ll never feel like you’ve settled. You’ll look at him and know that he’s a part of who you are – and that losing him would be like losing your whole world…

  “You’ll no doubt have loved before. But this love will be different. This love will be the best of all things…

  “There are so many things that make up a whole. But ultimately it’s got to feel right. And you’ve got to at least believe it will still feel right in years to come.

  “It’s like Captain Corelli said,” she adds, looking up from the words in front of her for a brief moment. “It’s alright when you are young and fresh-faced and sexy. But you won’t always be.

  “Can you still see yourself with him when he is old and wrinkly. Sitting on a park bench? Holding your hand?

  “You have to know that when you’re sixty, or seventy, or eighty, you’ll still want him to be sitting there next to you, holding your hand.

  “I once asked an old friend of mine how she knew her husband was the one – how I’d know when I had found the one. And she looked at me and said ‘honestly
?’

  “I nodded.

  “‘When you don’t need to ask that question’, she said.”

  Then Emma closes her folder, takes a breath and begins her third and final speech. And this one is all her own.

  “Some of you who know me might be wondering why I’m up here,” she says, “why I’m not down there with Becky, in a bridesmaid dress with a bouquet in my hand and twinkly bits in my hair.

  “Katie did ask me. She wanted both of us – Becky and me – as her bridesmaids. But I said no. Because I was superstitious,” she laughs. “I believed that a penny on the floor was good luck and that being a bridesmaid three times was bad luck.

  “I thought that if I was bridesmaid for the third time then I’d be jinxed – that I might never find someone to marry myself. Not that I ever really believed in Mr Right,” she laughs. “Katie and Becky will tell you that. I thought the best I could hope for was to find someone who I could love quite a bit,” – everyone laughs at this, “and who wouldn’t get on my nerves too much. You know – by leaving their dirty socks all over the bedroom floor and deleting the Eastenders omnibus.

  “But I was wrong. Love isn’t finding someone you can live with. Love is finding someone you can’t live without. And when you find that person you can try to live without them – if there is a reason why you think you should, or why someone else thinks you should. But in the end you’ll just have to be together. Why? Because. Just because.”

  I look up at my friend and I smile.

  “Someone told me that when I was just a little girl,” she smiles.

  “I thought it was rubbish. But I know now that it’s true. You just have to look at Katie and Matt to see that.”

  And then she gathers up her papers, steps down from the altar and walks back to her seat, stopping only to hand me the folder.

  I open it up and there in front of me, on page 26 of Love Life magazine is my very first feature. How Do You Know You’ve Found Mr Right? By Rebecca Harper.

  And at the very top of the page there’s a note, in Emma’s handwriting. Look behind you.

  So I do. And when I do, I see my Mr Right. And I find myself falling in love with him all over again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN