by Ellen Berry
Although Lucy had only met Emma and Dylan on that one occasion, she couldn’t help feeling moved as hymns were sung and they said their vows. Lucy and Ivan’s marriage had been a ramshackle affair in a registry office. In a fit of rebellion, she had worn a black leather jacket over a plain white shift. Her mother had pushed for a traditional, lavish do, but she and Ivan hadn’t wanted that.
‘You had to be unconventional,’ her mother had said, mustering a stoical smile, but with disappointment clouding her grey eyes. They had all reconvened at Lucy and Ivan’s flat where their friends had brought various dishes to form a mishmash of a buffet. They drank cava, not champagne. Much later, after copious quantities had been downed, she heard her mother whispering to her Aunt Elspeth, ‘My only daughter – and we’re sitting here eating garlic bread and pizza! Still, I suppose young people like to do things their own way.’
Emma and Dylan’s ceremony came to an end. Lucy caught Della’s glance; clearly, her friend had picked up on her wave of emotion, and squeezed her hand. ‘Better not cry,’ she whispered with a smile. ‘See that photographer over there? She’s from Country Style magazine.’
‘Oh, God, I’d forgotten about that,’ Lucy exclaimed as they all started to file out of the church. There was a real mixture here, she realised now: Emma and Dylan’s friends, most of them so ridiculously good-looking that Lucy couldn’t help staring, fascinated. It wasn’t as if the inhabitants of Burley Bridge wore sackcloth and had never encountered mascara. However, such high-octane glamour was distinctly lacking in regular village life, and these beautiful young things were attracting plenty of attention from passers-by as they boarded the waiting coach.
Then there were the locals. Phyllida had certainly had an inclusive approach as Lucy spotted numerous familiar faces: Len, who owned the garage, plus many of the shopkeepers, and even the head teacher from Marnie and Sam’s school.
They were greeted at Fordell House by a cluster of waiting staff bearing trays of champagne. In the rather faded but still opulent lounge, Davide fluttered from group to group, topping up glasses as if he were staff himself, and Lucy gratefully took a sip of champagne.
‘What a job you’ve done,’ exclaimed Len’s wife, Pauline. ‘It looks stunning. Honestly, I don’t know how you do all this.’
‘Oh, I enjoyed it,’ Lucy said, thankful that no one had seen her in the early hours of the morning, hand-tying the final decorations and picking out thorns from her fingers. Yesterday, when she and Rikke had come here to wrap swathes of greenery around the polished mahogany banisters, she had wondered if it was opulent enough. She had created centrepieces of birch twigs and sweetpeas, with tiny white fairy lights nestled within. Now, as the waiters started to do the rounds with trays of canapés, she allowed herself a swell of pride on seeing that it had worked.
But where was James? Lucy caught herself looking out for him, and when he and his father appeared, smartly suited but with James looking rather harassed, she waved to attract their attention.
James arrived at her side as his father wandered off. ‘We had a bit of a wrangle this morning,’ he murmured. ‘It was kind of tricky. I wasn’t sure we’d make it at all.’
‘What happened?’ Lucy asked, surprised to note how pleased – and, actually, relieved – she was to see him.
He grimaced. ‘Dad couldn’t see why it might not be the thing to turn up in ancient cords and a holey Snoopy T-shirt.’
Lucy chuckled. ‘Mmm, yes, they’re relaxed – but possibly not that relaxed.’
‘I had to virtually force him into that suit,’ James added, shaking his head. ‘He’s like a teenager sometimes.’
‘The suit thing can be quite an issue,’ she murmured, ‘for someone who doesn’t like to conform.’
‘Yeah.’ James chuckled. ‘It’s only clothes, though, isn’t it? No big deal really.’ Across the room, Kenny was chatting animatedly with Phyllida, making her laugh.
‘You look very smart,’ she added truthfully. ‘Both of you, I mean.’
He shrugged and smiled and said, ‘You look wonderful—’ He seemed to catch himself then, and quickly reached for a glass from a passing tray.
‘Oh, thank you.’ Lucy smiled, a little taken aback by the compliment. It felt lovely, though, to have someone say that to her. She glanced around and wondered if anyone might be making assumptions about them standing together and chatting, then decided she was being ridiculous – and that she didn’t care anyway.
She was, quite simply, happy. She had friends all around her, a glass of champagne in her hand, and everyone loved her flowers. The realisation lifted her heart.
‘Erm, I just wanted to say,’ James added, ‘I’m sorry about the other day, in the woods. I think Dad thought he was being funny.’
‘Oh, that’s fine,’ she said quickly.
‘He can just be a bit, you know … he doesn’t think before he speaks these days.’ Their eyes met, and she could see how important it was to him to straighten this out with her.
‘It really is okay,’ Lucy said, more firmly now as Phyllida tapped a teaspoon against a glass and called out, ‘Can everyone head outside to the front lawn for the group photograph, please!’
Out they all shuffled, to be arranged in rows around Emma, Dylan, his parents and Phyllida, who was presiding over the occasion like the figurehead of a ship, dressed in elegant mauve silk with a matching hat with a tuft of netting sprouting from the front. Davide had been relegated to standing at one end, with Kenny and James. Lucy, who was standing next to Della and Frank, caught James’s eye. She smiled, glad that he was here, his ‘You look wonderful!’ declaration still ringing in her ears, probably because she was unused to such an enthusiastic response (‘You’re fine, Luce!’). And it was true that he looked good in his dark grey classic suit; he scrubbed up extremely well.
‘Okay, everyone – bright smiles please.’ The photographer – who looked barely old enough to be in charge of the expensive equipment – commanded everyone’s attention from behind her tripod. ‘Ready …’ The gaggle of young children in attendance were called to heel. ‘That’s it … but I can’t quite see everyone at the back.’ There was some last-minute reshuffling, and then a collective gasp as Kenny burst from the group to assume a dramatic pose – arms outstretched – at the front.
‘Dad!’ James exclaimed, to a ripple of amusement from the guests. ‘Dad – please, come back here.’
Lucy glanced with amusement at Della. ‘So where should I stand?’ Kenny asked, possibly feigning confusion.
‘Perhaps not right at the front, Sir?’ the photographer offered diplomatically, as James lurched over and tried to take his father’s arm.
‘Stop manhandling me!’ he snapped. ‘What’re you doing?’
‘C’mon, Dad, you need to come back a bit …’
‘Why?’ Kenny blustered.
‘Because you’re not actually getting married and you’re standing in front of the bride …’ James glanced over at Lucy, and she caught him suppressing a smile, surprised by the surge of warmth she felt for him. Was she too harsh on her own mother? She couldn’t imagine ever being as patient as James clearly was as he managed to coax Kenny, gently but firmly, back to his allocated position. As if fearful that he might break rank again, the photographer rattled off the shots at remarkable speed.
The incident seemed to have only added to the occasion, as the level of chatter and laughter had risen by several notches by the time the buffet was set out, and Rikke’s harp music rippled beautifully across the room.
So much praise was heaped upon Lucy that, by now, she was unsure of what to do with it. As the afternoon tipped into a convivial evening, she was pencilled in for three future events. The photographer was doing the rounds of the room now, taking reportage shots as the guests mingled.
‘Could I get one of you two, please?’ she said, at which Lucy and Della obligingly beamed at the lens.
‘And me!’ It was Kenny again, lurching over with champagne sloshing out o
f his glass.
‘Dad – stop photobombing!’ And now James had appeared, smiling wearily.
‘You did all of this?’ Kenny barked at Lucy, indicating the floral arrangements on the tables.
‘Er, yes …’
‘Amazing what you can do with a few bits of old twigs, Lucy,’ Kenny chuckled, swaying slightly and resting a bony hand on the table for support. James rolled his eyes good-naturedly. ‘Where’s the champagne?’ Kenny added, looking around. ‘My glass is empty, James. Where’s that girl with the tray?’
‘Dad, maybe have a water or an orange juice this time around?’
‘Stop trying to police my drinking,’ he retorted, catching Lucy’s eye as though she might be an ally. ‘He’s always like this,’ he added.
‘That’s right, Dad,’ James said resignedly. ‘Put on this earth to ruin your fun.’
And so the evening went on, and now the pressure was off, Lucy realised that she was enjoying herself very much. A couple of champagnes had given her a warm, fuzzy feeling. While she would have loved Ivan to have seen her flowers, she didn’t feel completely at sea without him at her side. ‘Look how patient James is with his dad,’ she murmured to Della later, as they watched Emma and Dylan leave in a vintage Bentley.
‘He’s so good with him,’ she agreed. ‘You and James know each other from way back, don’t you?’
‘Yes, we met when we were nine and I used to come on holidays here.’ She wasn’t rattled this time by the mention of her and James having some kind of connection. Perhaps it was the champagne, or the general conviviality of the occasion, but today she was just happy to be here. Anyway, she had nothing to be embarrassed about and nothing to hide.
‘I hadn’t realised he was your partner in crime when you were nicking Mum’s fruit,’ Della teased her.
Lucy laughed. ‘Did he say it was his idea?’
‘No, he blamed you!’ They both chuckled. ‘So, whose idea was it?’
‘I couldn’t possibly say,’ Lucy said as they drifted back inside. The two women settled on a chaise longue. The party was starting to thin out now, but Lucy was in no rush to leave. The children were sleeping over at Carys’s tonight. She was lucky, she decided, despite everything that had happened. Last Christmas she was still barely managing to struggle through the days – and now here she was, on this beautiful August day, at a wedding.
‘You know James and his brother didn’t have the easiest time, don’t you?’ Della’s voice cut into her thoughts. ‘After their mum died I mean.’
‘Yes, I do.’
Lucy remembered the day James had told her he’d lost his mum, when they had sat by the river, eating prawn cocktail crisps that dissolved on their tongues, and drinking tepid Coke. The Linton kids had been there too. Being local, they had known about James’s history already. Unlike Lucy, they had visited Hally at home, and had known his mum as well as his crazy-sounding dad. ‘His mum was so sweet,’ Toni Linton had told her later, when Hally had gone home. ‘She made us a picnic and we took it to the woods. There was a clearing and we lit a fire and all sat around it. It was so fun.’
Now, in the faded grandeur of Fordell House, Lucy sipped her champagne, wondering if Toni had been talking about the clearing where she and James had gathered eucalyptus a few days ago.
Lucy’s heart had ached for Hally back then. To lose a parent when you were only a child seemed like the most brutal thing imaginable. How could you possibly fill that gap, she wondered? ‘You should come here in winter,’ Toni had added. ‘We’re all allowed up to Hally’s then ’cause his dad needs help selling Christmas trees.’ What fun that sounded: helping the customers to choose their trees, taking the money and – best of all – bagging up trees with the netting machine Hally had told her about.
More guests were leaving the wedding now, and Lucy told Della she’d like to say goodbye to James and Kenny before Frank drove them home. The front door was open, and she spotted James outside, tie loosened now, seemingly having been cornered on the steps by a middle-aged woman in a powder blue silk suit. Lucy stood and waited.
‘I worry for your dad, James,’ she was saying, hand plonked on her ample hip. ‘I really think you should have him diagnosed as soon as possible.’
‘Reena, look,’ he started, ‘I know there’s an issue but it’s not as easy as you might think.’
‘But he thought my holiday house was his place! He tried to barge his way in, James.’ The woman was tipsy, Lucy realised, her voice strident.
‘Yes, but that was just the once – it hasn’t happened since.’
‘But surely, if he saw a psychiatrist … There’s someone who comes to the GP’s surgery in Heathfield twice a month. I hear he’s very good with elderly people.’
‘He’s really not keen.’
‘I realise you have help,’ she went on, ‘but is it enough? I worry about him …’
‘Well, I do too.’ Just as she was about to head back to Della, Lucy saw James registering her presence, perhaps with a trace of relief. He made his excuses with a tight, distracted smile and beckoned her outside. They strode to a low stone wall and perched on it.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to interrupt you there, but we’re about to leave.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ he said quickly. ‘Reena’s a decent person and she does want to help. But with Dad …’ He paused. ‘It’s kind of tricky.’
Lucy nodded, wary of saying anything insensitive, and reluctant to show that she had heard the details of the conversation. ‘I’m sure you do whatever you can.’ She paused. ‘Where is he now?’
He nodded towards the cars on the drive. ‘He’s having a doze in the passenger seat. I’d better take him home in a sec.’
Lucy nodded again. ‘Well, it’s been lovely seeing you today. I’m so glad you were here, James.’
‘I’m glad you were too.’ He looked around the huge but rather neglected garden, and when he turned back to her, their eyes met for a moment. Maybe it was the champagne, or the headiness of the occasion, but it startled her as she sensed a flicker of something between them; then, suddenly, it was as if they were thirteen again, hatching plans as they sat together with their feet dangling in the shallow river. She had nurtured a crush on him then – secret and powerful, before she’d properly known what one was. But it had been a crush all the same.
‘D’you fancy Hally?’ Brenna Linton had asked once, when it had just been the two of them lying on the warm, clipped grass in the Lintons’ back garden.
‘Of course not!’ Lucy had retorted, sensing her cheeks reddening. ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘A lot of girls do,’ she said, giving her a sideways look.
‘Well, I don’t.’
‘My sister does,’ Brenna had added, meaning Toni. ‘She’s mad about him.’
‘Really?’ Lucy had tried to act casual but had been aware of a flicker of envy catching fire now in her belly. After all, the Lintons were here all year round. Hally was bound to be closer to them than he was to her; they spent way more time together.
Now Lucy cleared her throat, and James fished his car keys out of his jacket pocket. ‘Is your dad okay,’ she asked quickly, ‘after all those champagnes?’
‘He thinks he had champagne,’ James replied with a conspiratorial smile, ‘but between you and me, I made sure the ones he was offered were alcohol free.’
‘That must have taken some doing!’
‘It did,’ he chuckled, ‘but the girl serving us took care of it. The way Dad is, he can’t handle alcohol, although he used to love a drink.’
‘But didn’t he notice? And I thought he seemed tipsy …’
James chuckled. ‘He thought it was booze, so it affected him that way.’
‘Placebo effect,’ Lucy suggested, and James nodded.
‘Very clever.’ She touched his arm without thinking. ‘You’re brilliant with him.’
‘Oh, God, not at all,’ he blustered. They parted ways with the briefest of hugs, and she
went back inside to find Della and Frank, who were ready to head home.
Later that night, as she wiped away her make-up, she wondered if she had imagined that moment between her and James, out in the garden. Although she had been drinking, he hadn’t, and she hoped she hadn’t hung around him too much, or been too gushy, or …
Lucy caught herself fretting momentarily as she undressed, but by the time she had climbed into bed, her worries had faded and she lay there, not lonely tonight but … she wondered quite what she was feeling, and realised it was contentment. That’s what it was.
She was truly content, and not just because of the champagne – perhaps for the first time since Ivan died. In fact, she had felt happy for most of the day. To any normal person that might have sounded unremarkable: after all, weddings were generally joyous occasions. But to Lucy, it felt nothing short of miraculous. She lay there in her cool white bed, thrilled and amazed that she could still feel that way after all.
Some day that had been, James mused, sitting up in bed in his old childhood bedroom in a T-shirt and PJ bottoms, with an unread book on his lap. The wedding – Christ, the effort it had taken to persuade his father to go. James hadn’t been crazy about going either but the Somervilles had always been so good to Kenny, sending over a huge ham or a boulder-like fruitcake at Christmas, paying him generously for his logs and giving him the odd handyman job when he’d been out of work. In the summer months he’d come home with a box of lettuce, accepted out of politeness (his father would rather have eaten his own eyeball than consume salad), and in autumn there were apples and blackberries from the orchard. To not attend the wedding would have been rude, James had reasoned – and now he was delighted that they’d gone.
To think – Lucy was living here now. He’d loved those days when they were just kids, getting up to all sorts. He’d always thought of Burley Bridge as a pretty drab place, where nothing ever happened – then she’d show up at her aunt and uncle’s without warning. From one year to the next, he’d never know if she was coming, but when she arrived, it would immediately feel as if she had never been away.