by Jenny Colgan
And he lifted her back on to a verge, then threw down the waterproof cover he’d had in his backpack.
‘Dib dib dib,’ said Posy.
‘Shut up, you,’ warned Matt, as he deposited her on it.
Then he withdrew the chilled bottle of champagne. Posy had a sharp intake of breath.
‘Ooh,’ she said. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Matt simply. ‘I just really really hoped you were. Then I figured that if you weren’t, there’d be some girl that would be happy to see a bottle of champagne, and she’d do.’
Posy smiled, then waited. Patiently, without worry, without doubts, or second thoughts, or thinking more about anyone else in the world, as Matt looked back, rummaging awkwardly in the bottom of his rucksack. Then he found what he was looking for and knelt down, carefully making sure his knee was on the edge of the waterproof and not the grass.
‘Posy,’ he said, again. She held her breath, not wanting to ruin the moment by making smart remarks or, in fact, saying anything at all.
‘Posy. Please please please, let me, let me, let me, let me get what I want this time.’
She looked him straight in the eye and without a doubt in her mind, or a thought in her head beyond happiness, acceptance, joy and relief, she said: ‘YES!’
Posy is unutterably overjoyed.
Matt is glad to be back in his own bed.
Chapter Thirty
‘Are you totally, absolutely sure?’ asked Posy. ‘Because I’m definitely having my doubts.’
‘Shut up,’ said Leah. ‘It’ll be gorgeous. Trust me.’
‘I don’t trust anyone who wears as many ostrich feathers as you do.’
‘That’s because you don’t understand fashion.’
‘I’m anti-fashion. I’m going to do what Matt does and live in trackie bottoms for the rest of my life.’
‘Not if you want to see me again, you aren’t. And I’m your head bridesmaid, so I get to choose.’
‘That’s not how it works!’
‘Yes, it is. That is exactly how it works.’
‘I’m sure it’s not.’
‘Ssh,’ said Leah, her mouth full of pins.
‘Well, when I am your head bridesmaid, I am putting you in such a great big white meringue that you’ll need someone to help you get to the toilet.’
‘Be quiet.’
‘And the top will be a strapless bodice completely encrusted with Swarovski crystals.’
‘Shut up.’
‘And a huge pointy tiara . . . OWW!’
‘Don’t argue with the person with the pins.’
Posy examined herself in the mirror. In fact, although it was a bit avant-garde, her Leah-designed wedding dress - a starkly simple, boat-necked square top in cream jersey, which hugged her waist then became a deconstructed knot of ruffles and ribbon in the skirt-made her look slender and elegant, somehow untouchable and, well, she had to admit it, it was lovely. She adored it.
‘It won’t be long anyway,’ she said.
‘Woan be long what?’ mumbled Leah through the pins.
‘Till it’s you and Gavin.’
Leah straightened up. ‘Well, for starters we’d have to wait for his divorce to come through, and there’s his kids to think of, and he’d have to want to get married and ask me and everything . . .’
‘Neh, it’ll happen,’ said Posy.
‘You reckon?’ said Leah, smiling.
‘Yes. Work is totally brilliant, he just swans around in a daze grinning all the time and singing happy songs. Me and Margie just take huge lunches.’
‘Does she still talk about Almaric all the time?’
‘Yes. I see it as doing community service. But I’m signing her up for some online dating.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘No, I’m not. Through Facebook. There’s a group called “Ifancywomenwithcats”.’
Leah shook her head. ‘Gosh.’
The door of the hotel room banged open and Fleur entered.
‘What’s going on? Can I get drunk yet?’ She flumped down on the bed. ‘Sis, I’ve decided. I don’t want to wear that bridesmaid’s dress.’
Leah sniffed pointedly.
‘Fleur, could you not have let us know more than an hour in advance?’ said Posy. She wasn’t going to get upset with her sister. She wasn’t going to get upset with anyone, not even her mother.
It had been a very quiet chat, in the end. Posy had explained, without losing her rag, for once, that she and Matt were getting married regardless of what anyone thought; that her father, Marian and Jason would certainly be there (subject to Jason being arsed, of course - he was delicate), and she was welcome to attend or not depending on her personal beliefs.
And she and her mother had met, again, formally and cordially for lunch, and there had been no shouting, but her mother had, looking her straight in the eye, apologised. Explained she had meant well but that she had let her personal disappointments creep in and that she hoped Posy understood. And Posy was so happy and delighted with everything in the world, she’d said that she did indeed understand and that in fact if her mother hadn’t told her all those mad lies she might not be as happy now, which they both realised was a bit of a stretch, but was going to have to do. For now. She’d worry about the grandkids later.
Jonquil was currently sitting in the hotel lobby, sipping tea and looking so frightening that none of Matt’s friendly relations dared to approach her.
‘See, that’s the thing, sis,’ Fleur was explaining, ‘I loved the dress. It’s totally amazing and everything.’
Leah stopped bristling.
‘So I thought I’d wear it out on the town, yeah? So I wore it last night. And, anyway, to cut a very very long story short, it slightly, like, got taken off with someone’s teeth.’
Leah and Posy rolled their eyes.
‘Well, thanks, Fleur,’ said Posy.
‘I’ll pay you back,’ said Fleur.
‘With what?’ said Leah and Posy in unison.
‘Aha!’ said Fleur. ‘Mum’s agreed to take me on in partnership. I’m going to be a psychotherapist too!’
Both the girls stared at her. Fleur stared back complacently.
‘What?’
‘Spell it,’ growled Posy.
‘What?’
‘Can you spell psychotherapy?’
‘While you’re getting into this,’ said Leah, ‘the sample I brought in case you did exactly what you did actually do . . .’
Fleur tutted as she wrestled herself into it. ‘It’s crap being sample size.’
Posy and Leah exchanged glances.
‘Maybe it was just me doing the learning this year,’ mused Posy.
‘What? What are you all talking about? You’re all so boring,’ said Fleur, stomping off.
It was only a short aisle down Marylebone Registry Office, even though the room itself was very beautiful, and Posy was determined to savour it for as long as she could.
‘I may have been engaged twice,’ she’d said the week before, ‘but I’m only getting married once.’
‘I am incredibly glad to hear it,’ Matt had said, pulling her back to his warm, muscled body. He had called Melissa, who hadn’t taken it personally, but had moved gyms. After he’d explained to Posy his plan to finance his business (‘In sex?’ she’d asked, and he’d reassured her for the final time, no), they had started looking for financiers together and it looked like they’d found someone. It was very exciting.
‘It is nice - horrible, but a bit nice,’ Posy had mused, thinking about Melissa. ‘To have the chance to feel sorry for someone for once, rather than everyone feeling totally sorry for me all the time.’
‘I wouldn’t feel sorry for Melissa,’ Matt had said. ‘She makes more in a year than we will probably make in our entire lives.’
‘Yes, but I’m sure she’s terrible in bed.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘I’m kidding! Hilariously! Kidding
! Too soon?’
‘Too soon,’ Matt had agreed, taking her in his arms.
And now here was the room, packed with people. Her father looked absolutely fit to burst with pride as he proffered her his arm.
‘I dreamt one day of doing this,’ he’d told her that morning, as he’d put a new chunky gold necklace round her neck, which had made Leah blanch with horror but didn’t bother Posy because of what it meant. ‘Your mum told me over her dead body it would ever happen with either of you.’
They peered through the doors to the front row where her mother was standing, looking chic, tall and cross.
‘I’m not married yet,’ whispered Posy. ‘Look out for concealed weapons.’ Her father squeezed her arm.
‘You look beautiful. Weird, but beautiful.’
‘I will take that as my motto.’
The music struck up, the swooning opening chords to ‘How Soon is Now?’ Posy, having not been quite sure exactly how she would feel at this moment, suddenly found her mouth cracking open in a huge, daft smile. It didn’t go with the wonderful, austere frock, but it was completely genuine and utterly uncontrollable and she didn’t even try to stop it.
The room was pink and green and beautifully decorated - Paul McCartney had got married here, and Liam Gallagher. And her. She glanced around. There were Chris and Elspeth, Elspeth’s belly taking up a seat and a half - she must be ready to pop at any moment. Chris seemed to have got larger, too, as if in sympathy. How on earth they got on to that barge she had no idea.
And was that Adam wearing sunglasses indoors? In August? He was sitting next to a very young blonde in a cerise mini-dress whose mouth was hanging open. She looked incredibly bored already, just wait till she got to the speeches. Almaric and his bride had sent apologies, which was a huge relief to Posy. She didn’t think it was entirely beyond Sukie to body-charge her up the aisle, just so she could know what it felt like. Almaric, though, had sent her the most beautiful vase - twisted and fragile like the stem of a rosebush with, carefully inscribed on the bottom, For posies for Posy, with my greatest esteem and regard, Almaric Grunt.
‘His surname is GRUNT?’ Matt had asked in consternation.
‘Uh, yeah. That’s why he had such a pretty first name, I think,’ said Posy.
‘You wanted to be Mrs Grunt?!’
‘Only when I was an idiot. Can I be Mrs Farmer, please?’
‘Well, you’d never have accidentally picked him up on the internet.’
‘No. Please can I be Mrs Farmer?’
‘Maybe. Except when you’re misbehaving, in which case I reserve the right to call you Mrs Grunt.’
Gavin was near the front with the youngest of his children, who was wearing a princess fairy dress and looking delighted, and sitting next to Margie, as Leah was on bridesmaiding duties.
‘You’re going to do it, after all,’ he’d said, when she’d gone to explain to him, at some length why even though she’d used up every drop of her annual leave, and then some, haring up and down the country that year, could she please have some more to do what she had originally planned to do in the first place and get married and go on honeymoon?
‘I know,’ she’d said. ‘Are you going to try and dissuade me as well?’
‘Actually,’ Gavin had said, ‘funnily enough, I don’t feel so bad about marriage any more.’
‘Is that so?’ Posy has asked mischievously. ‘Well, I am so happy that you’re happy.’
‘Hmm. Is this some terrible thieving annual-leave flattery?’
‘Yes,’ Posy had said. ‘But I am happy that you’re happy.’
Marian and Jason were on the end of the front row, waving furiously. Marian was wreathed in smiles. Jason had some ketchup on his top lip. And there, at the end, was her mother, turning round with a fixed, bright red-lipsticked smile on her face.
Matt stood, with his brother next to him, smart in a grey suit at the end of the aisle (she’d managed to talk him out of his ‘dress trainers’). He wasn’t crying, or joking, or looking nervous. He looked completely and utterly confident, capable, strong - her man. Posy hadn’t thought her smile could get any wider, but it did. He grinned at her, and gave her a single wink. Posy advanced towards him, the registrar smiling patiently. Just as she got up there, though, she felt compelled to move. Just for a second, she slipped out of her father’s arm and moved to the right, towards the front of the pew. She kissed her mother full on the cheek.
‘I love you,’ she said. Her mother bit her lip, hard, and brought up her long thin hand to cup Posy’s chin.
‘I love you, too,’ she whispered, the words unusual in her mouth. ‘I love you, too. And I wish you so much happiness.’
Posy blinked once or twice then turned back again, towards Matt, who was patiently and calmly holding out his arm.
Posy Farmer has changed her status.
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Epilogue
Scotland, 2015
Posy sat fiddling with the damn fire again. Aelthred, whose bright red hair echoed her father’s so much, sat next to her.
‘It’s very cold, Mummy,’ she said.
‘It is, my sweet,’ said Posy, pulling her up into her warm jumper. ‘That’s because your father is out chopping down the wood, then he will come back and build up the fire and our cottage will be all warm and cosy.’
‘Goody! Goody! Goody!’ shouted Aelthred. ‘It’s the cosiest place in the whole world!’
Posy hugged her knees. She’d put on so much weight, but at least it kept her warm. If only Chris would let her get a television. Or go to the cinema. Or take her out. Or let her buy cloth instead of suggesting she spin it.
‘Mummy?’ said Aelthred sleepily as she cosied up in her mother’s comfortable folds. ‘Can we go to the manure heap tomorrow?’
‘Hmm, a special treat, eh?’ said Posy, sighing.
‘It’s nice to feel cosy and safe, isn’t it?’ said Aelthred.
‘Is it?’ said Posy. ‘I suppose.’
Monaco, 2015
‘Well, would you like that new express tummy tuck or not?’
‘Yes. Why not?’ said Posy. ‘After six kids, it’s probably worth getting some work done.’
‘And so worth having the kids, don’t you think?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Posy dreamily, staring into Adam’s eyes. ‘You know, darling, I never ever thought us getting married and becoming super-rich could possibly have worked out so well.’
‘You never know how people change,’ said Adam. ‘Although obviously it’s great that I’ve still stayed in shape and everything and am such a reformed character.’
‘It is,’ said Posy. ‘Shall we take the yacht out after lunch?’
‘Let’s.’
Wales, 2015
Extract from the Welsh Daily Argus:
Posy Grunt, 38, widow of the famous potter Almaric Grunt, today faced up to reports of the potter’s womanising ways as the dispute over his inheritance hit Cardiff County court.
The couple, who had no children, endured a famously boozy and tempestuous marriage before Grunt, 38, drove his car off a cliff following a night-time binge.
‘I loved my husband very much,’ the widow - Grunt’s second wife, after his first, Sukie Grunt, had run away to join the circus - said, leaving court. ‘The fact that he was followed everywhere by a bunch of floozies wasn’t really his fault. He was terribly attractive.’
Felicia Thomas, 24, who was with Grunt the night he died, vigorously denied the allegation. ‘Almaric understood the real me,’ she insisted. ‘He could look into your soul.’
‘He could look into your knickers!’ Mrs Grunt shouted on the courtroom steps, before being led away by her best friends, Gavin and Leah o’Hanrahan, 38.
London, 2015
‘It’s your turn. You bred a hyperactive climbing monkey, you get up for him.’
‘You do it, though.’
‘No, you do it.’
‘Please. I will lov
e you for ever and make you some banana bread.’
‘Banana bread? What about real cake?’
‘There’s fibre in banana bread, Posy.’
‘Yes, that will persuade me to get up at five-thirty. Fibre.’
‘He’s crying very loudly.’
‘I know. Does it appeal to your paternal instincts?’
‘OK, let’s say one-two-three and we’ll both get up.’
‘I love your motivational attitude.’
‘One, two, three . . .’
‘You didn’t get up!’
‘Neither did you!’
‘Mamma? Dadda?’
‘Come in, sweetheart. Into the bed?’
‘Dus.’
‘Now, Rory, let me teach you some exercises.’
‘Now, Rory, would you like to cuddle up and have some extra sleep and relaxation?’
‘Then we’ll get up and have some muesli?’
‘With Coco Pops sprinkled on the top. And we’ll read magazines. ’
‘Then you can come help Daddy train for his triathalon.’
‘Then come back and watch telly.’
Matt looked across the pillow and smiled. ‘It’ll be a lovely day.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Posy. ‘I think it will.’