by Adale Geras
‘I understand, Ma. Really. If you stay with him, then you’ll be miserable. You have to go for what’ll make you happy. I believe that. I don’t think anyone ought to sacrifice herself. Or himself.’ Zannah leaned forward and put her arms around her mother. ‘He’ll be all right, you know. Em’s going to Egypt with him, and Cal and I will take Isis up there lots and lots. Isis adores him and he’ll always be her grandpa. He’ll get over it. And you should tell Em about this too. She might think Pa’s being hard done by, but she’ll be okay with everything in the end, I promise. Don’t worry, Ma.’
‘I am worried, Zannah. I can’t help it. I don’t know how I’ll tell Bob. Or when. I only know I’m going to do it. Very soon. I’m determined about that.’
‘Have you spoken to Graham?’
‘I don’t know if he’ll even want to speak to me after the last time we met. You see why I couldn’t sleep, don’t you?’
Zannah laughed. ‘I suppose so. But we should both try, don’t you reckon?’
‘Yes. I’ll be okay, I think. I wish I’d spoken to you earlier.’
‘Me too. Still, I’m glad you have now.’
Zannah stood up and took her mother’s hand as they walked into the house together. Joss turned to lock the French windows behind her, glancing at the marquee which loomed ghost-white against the dark sky. She closed her eyes and made the sort of wish she used to make as a child: Please. Please let Zannah be happy and let me be happy too.
*
‘Good morning! I hope I’m not too early?’ Alex, the photographer, was standing on the doorstep. Charlotte was ready for him. Even after the disturbed night she’d had, she was up before six. She’d dressed in a respectable house-coat, determined not to put on her wedding outfit till the last possible moment. The breakfast things were laid out in the kitchen, and the agreement was that everyone would help themselves when it suited them.
‘No, not at all,’ she said. ‘We’re all up. The flowers arrived a few moments ago. Maya’s in the marquee, setting out the table decorations. The bouquet and the bridesmaids’ posies and the buttonholes for the men are in the larder. Do just look around wherever you like. I’ll tell Zannah you’re here. She’ll be down for a bite of breakfast in a moment, I’m sure.’
‘I’ll go out to the marquee, then. Take some shots of the tables and so on. Please try to forget I’m here. Really. I don’t need any looking after.’
‘Good. That’s excellent. And do help yourself to breakfast or coffee or anything else you’d like.’
‘Thanks. The house is beautiful and so’s the front garden. I bet the back’s even better. I’m going to have a look.’ He disappeared out of the French windows.
Isis came into the hall, still in her pyjamas. ‘Hello, Charlotte. Isn’t it a lovely day? I’m so excited. Can I go and look in the marquee? Alex is here. I saw him.’
‘He won’t want you getting in his way, dear. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll get you some breakfast? Where’s Gemma?’
‘Still in bed. She’s coming in a minute, she says.’
Charlotte led the way to the kitchen. ‘Sit down, Isis,’ she said. ‘You’ll need something inside you or your tummy will rumble all through the service.’ She put a bowl of cereal on the table and handed Isis a spoon.
‘Will it?’ Isis asked. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, indeed. Eat up.’
‘Can’t I wait for Gemma? Or Grandma?’
‘No,’ said Charlotte. ‘You’d better eat up now. It’s going to get very crowded and busy in here later on. Lots to be done before we set out for church.’
*
Joss looked out of the window in Edie’s room from which she could see most of the garden. She’d gone back to sleep for a couple of hours after her conversation with Zannah, but her eyes felt as though they were made of lead. Thank goodness a professional make-up artist was doing their faces this morning. Bright sunshine slanted across the grass, which Val must have brushed and combed for days to make it so smooth and green and velvety. The azaleas, the wisteria, the ceanothus: every shrub and flower looked as though it had been put in place by a set-decorator. The leaves fluttered a little in the small breezes that blew through the trees. Seven o’clock. Only four and a half hours to go to the service. Just over three and a half hours till the procession. Joss hadn’t been too keen on that idea, imagining everyone soaked and dripping, under umbrellas. That’s my pessimism, she thought. Zannah had been quite sure that the weather would do what she wanted it to, and it had.
She turned to look at her outfit for the day, hanging on the back of the bedroom door. Back in March, when she bought it, she’d thought perhaps it might be too severe, too plain for a wedding, but last night, when she tried it on to show the girls, they’d both said she looked wonderful and she’d decided to believe them. The dress was a sleeveless silk sheath in the most beautiful dark peacock blue, and there was a collarless edge-to-edge jacket to go over it. With it, she intended to wear the pearls that had belonged to her mother: three long strands, joined together in a clasp at the back. Her hat, more of a decoration really, was small and black and Joss intended to take it off at the first opportunity. And there was her bag, lying innocuously on the chair by the door: a velvet envelope in the same colour as the dress. She thought of the piece of paper with Gray’s handwriting on it, hidden in one of the inner pockets. It’s like a small grenade, she thought. I don’t have to pull the pin, but if I do … She pushed the thought away, unwilling to consider it with so much else going on. Later. There would be time enough.
Now she found herself wondering what Maureen had meant to wear for the wedding. She would definitely have eclipsed me, Joss thought. She’d have made it her business to do that. Was she thinking about them now? Joss was prepared to bet that she was. And Gray, what was he doing at this minute? He was probably fast asleep.
Where was Bob? Zannah said he’d told her he’d be here at eight and he was always punctual. She wasn’t worried about avoiding him. She was sure he would go out of his way not to speak to her if he could help it. The hairdresser was coming at eight-thirty. The marquee looked quite different in the light of day. Joss had enjoyed watching it being put up last week, then filled with tables and chairs, cream linen and glass vases. She picked up her towel and went to see if the shower was free. With so many people in the house, you had to get into a bathroom whenever you could.
*
Zannah sat in an armchair and watched Pat, the make-up artist, who was about to start on Emily’s face. ‘I do not,’ her sister was saying, ‘want to look like something you’d find as a prize in a fairground, okay?’
‘Sssh,’ Pat said. She was a chubby, cheerful young woman with a no-nonsense approach and she was wearing no make-up at all, as far as Zannah could see. ‘You chose me, didn’t you, out of all the other make-up artists you could have picked? Just trust me, okay?’
Isis and Gemma were sitting on the bed, waiting for their turn. They were next and then Zannah would be the last to be transformed. The girls had been stunned into open-mouthed silence at the array of jars, bottles, tubes, brushes, tissues, combs, hair ornaments and cotton-wool spread out on the dressing-table. The bedroom in which she’d slept last night had become a theatrical dressing room. She was in her new dressing-gown, more of a peignoir, really, waiting to take her place on the chair. Then the hairdresser would do his stuff and at last, she’d be putting on the dress. It was hanging up, swathed in a sheet, and her shoes – satin, high-heeled, dyed to match the dress – were in the cupboard. They were comfortable, but Zannah wondered whether the comfort would last all the way from the house to the church and back. The weather was perfect, which was lucky. She’d been very upbeat about what they’d do if it was pelting down, but thank heavens she hadn’t had to start arranging for cars at this unearthly hour of the morning. The beautiful handbag embroidered with a pattern of tiny butterflies and dotted with pearls that Edie had given her, was something old and it contained the something blue, a handkerc
hief trimmed with lace that Val had produced last night. She’d be wearing Em’s pearl earrings (something borrowed) and the something new was a set of flesh-coloured satin underwear that she hadn’t been able to resist. Briefly, she thought of tonight: of what Cal would say when he saw it. She shivered with longing, and tried to erase the images that had suddenly appeared in her head. There was too much else to think about before the ceremony.
Someone was knocking at the door. Zannah went to open it and there was Alex.
‘Can I come in, ladies?’
‘Take a picture of us!’ Isis called. ‘Take a picture of us getting our make-up on. I’m going to have blusher. And lipstick. Pat said I could.’
‘Sit down, Isis,’ said Zannah. ‘Just let Alex do his thing, okay?’
Isis subsided on to the bed again. Alex stood near the window. As far as Zannah could see, he was pointing his camera straight at the messy dressing-table. Then at the shoes, and the dress, swathed in its white sheet.
*
Isis and Gemma stood in the doorway of the marquee. Charlotte had told them they could go and have a look, as long as they didn’t get in anyone’s way. Grandpa had come, just a few minutes ago, and he, Grandma and Charlotte were in the kitchen with Em. Mum was still upstairs, getting her hair done and putting on the wedding dress.
There were lots of people in the marquee, including Alex, who was walking about taking pictures of the flower arrangements, the glasses, the piles of plates and the cakestand. The cake wasn’t on it yet, but the caterers had already started to bring out some of the food and put it on the tables, covered with thin cloths. Most of it, Mum had explained, would be arranged while they were at the church, but Isis still hoped to see the cake before they left. It was supposed to be ready at ten o’clock.
Maya, the flower lady, beckoned the girls to where she was. Isis liked Maya. She was quite old, about as old as Grandma, but very pretty, with long red hair in a plait down her back. She was wearing an overall, like the ones they put on at school when they did painting.
‘Hello, Isis … and this must be Gemma. Well, don’t you both look beautiful? Lovely. Really lovely. Your posies are in the larder, next to Zannah’s bouquet. Have you seen them?’
Isis nodded. She was glad Maya had noticed how pretty they looked. When she had put on the bridesmaid’s dress and gone to stand in front of the mirror, she had felt like jumping up and down for joy, only she didn’t dare, because that might spoil it. The rosebuds on the sleeves, the ribbons and the swishy, silky sound of the skirt when she moved about made her feel so happy that she thought she’d burst. She knew she looked pretty, because Gemma did, too, and the two of them did a little dance together when they were dressed. They couldn’t help it. They’d been sent to wait quietly downstairs till it was time to walk to church, but Charlotte had said it was okay to sneak into the marquee, for a bit, to see the flowers.
‘The tables look really, really pretty,’ said Gemma. The vases were like little boxes made of shining clear glass. Each one was full of red and cream rosebuds and dark green leaves, like the ones in Mum’s bouquet. Some people had started to lay the tables with silver knives, forks and spoons. A lady with a big basket was putting little bags of sweets next to each place. There were flowers hanging in enormous bunches from the roof of the tent and all round the walls, the same colour as the table flowers, but bigger, and Isis didn’t know what they were called but they were gorgeous. ‘I can see a butterfly,’ she said to Maya. ‘Up there in the roof flowers.’
‘Lisianthus, those are called, and there’s a few other things as well, but mainly it’s foliage with lisianthus and roses. The butterflies were your mother’s idea and a very good one. Look, here’s one I’ve not put in yet … ’
The butterfly was silver and Isis thought it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. ‘You can keep it,’ said Maya. ‘I’ve got plenty more. Why don’t you put it in with your roses? There’s a little pin thing here, can you see? Just stick it among the flowers.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Isis. ‘I’d love that!’
‘And here’s one for Gemma too.’ Maya smiled. ‘I should have thought of that myself. Well done, girls. They’re just the right finishing touch.’
*
So far, Emily thought, so good. Or maybe not. There’d been a sticky moment back there in the kitchen. Pa came in and sat down and almost as soon as he did, Ma had got up, rather pointedly, and gone to do something that was probably entirely unnecessary. She and Zannah had discussed it a bit last night and agreed that they must have had a row, or Pa wouldn’t have spent the night in a hotel. He claimed that Cal needed moral support, but that was rubbish. Cal was fine, and anyway, Mattie was with him and supposed to be looking after him. They’d had their version of a stag night which wasn’t a stag night at all, as far as Emily could see. They’d gone out together to a movie and had a meal, which they’d been doing regularly since they were twelve. When she’d asked Cal about stag nights, he’d smiled and said, ‘Can’t bear them. As Jack Nicholson said in Terms of Endearment, “I’d rather stick needles in my eyes”.’
Now everyone was ready to set off for the church. They were lined up in the hall. Zannah would go first, once she came downstairs in the dress that everyone couldn’t wait to see. She’d gone into Zannah’s room to help her but had come downstairs while her sister’s hair was being done. Alex had finished taking pictures of her in the dressing gown she called a peignoir (Pretentious? Moi?) and now he was here in the hall, standing next to the grandfather clock, snapping at everything: the bridesmaids sitting together on the bottom step, peering at their posies; Charlotte, very smart in a coffee-coloured crêpe suit and a rose-pink hat, checking her lipstick in the mirror near the front door, Ma obviously miles away, thinking about something else, Pa adjusting his tie. He looked, Emily thought, very handsome. She went over to him. ‘You ready, young Em?’ he asked. ‘You look a treat, I must say.’
‘Oh, this old thing!’ Emily laughed. ‘Just something I had lying about in my cupboard! But I’m glad you like it. I thought I’d never find something to wear. This is not, as you know, my kind of occasion.’
‘Never mind, we’re off in a couple of days to Egypt. Keep that in mind when the going gets tough.’
The dress Emily had found after much searching was a dull mauve and she’d fallen in love with it the minute she saw it and paid the exorbitant price without a second thought. Devoré velvet was possibly not completely suitable for a May wedding, but the dress was loose and floaty and the fabric fell in smooth lines from her shoulders to mid-calf and made her look like a princess. She’d borrowed Zannah’s amethyst earrings – a swap for the pearl ones she’d lent her – and she’d even found a handbag in a slightly darker velvet, sewn with sequins in a flower pattern.
‘She’s here … the bride … ’ That was Alex, from his vantage point. Isis and Gemma jumped and ran to stand next to Ma. Zannah came downstairs and paused for a moment on the bottom step. Emily blinked. She hadn’t expected this. She’d been to fittings, and to rehearsals, but this … this was amazing. Her sister was completely beautiful. The dress was like something out of a fairy tale, every pearl catching the light; the cream lace draped exactly right, the headdress held by hair that had been swept up to reveal Zannah’s long neck and radiant face. Radiant, for God’s sake. You can’t help it, Emily thought. When you try to describe it, you fall at once into clichés. The whole wedding thing was a thicket of clichés, but Zannah was glorious: the very best she’d ever, ever looked. Emily glanced at Ma and saw tears in her eyes. Pa went up to Zannah and kissed her cheek: gingerly, so as not to disturb the make-up. Pat was worth her weight in gold, Emily thought. No one would know that the bride was wearing anything other than lipstick but she knew better. There were layers and layers on both their faces: primer and foundation and concealer and powder and final spritz of Evian spray to fix the whole lot. Fantastic, Emily thought. I might go in for make-up more often in future.
Isis broke t
he spell and shattered the awed silence that had fallen. ‘Mum!’ she shrieked. ‘Oh, Mum, you’re so pretty! Is it time to go now?’
‘Yes,’ said Zannah. ‘It’s time.’
She took her place at the head of the line and Pa went to stand next to her. The bridesmaids walked behind them, carrying their posies carefully. Then came Ma and Em and Charlotte, walking together. Cal would be waiting in the church, where the guests were no doubt already in their seats. This was the moment. They were about to step on to the stage. The show’s about to begin, Emily thought, feeling as though a movie camera was recording everything, as though she was part of a performance, which, of course, she was. It wouldn’t have surprised her to find that music was playing outside, like a kind of overture, but no. Passers-by, and there were quite a few of them, waved and smiled. Alex must have left the house before them because there he was, next to a convenient tree. Emily stuck her tongue out at him. She couldn’t help it and, sure enough, he took a photo of her as she did it.
*
One of her better decisions, Maureen thought, when Adrian’s dreams had melted away like snowflakes on a hotplate, was to insist that he didn’t cancel the booking he’d made for himself and his bride to spend their wedding night at the Savoy. Once the dust had settled, she’d been on to the hotel with tears in her voice, explaining everything to the really lovely girl in Reservations, and here they were, after she’d altered the booking to two nights and two single rooms, sitting in the hotel dining room enjoying a heavenly late breakfast. Adrian looked better, to Maureen’s eye, than he had for ages, but it was best to check.
‘You’re not brooding today, darling, are you? Or fretting?’ She broke off a piece of croissant and buttered it. Heavenly bliss!
‘No, I’m okay. I’m trying not to think of what’s going on in Clapham, but most of the time I can do that, no problem.’
Maureen leaned forward. ‘I’ll tell you what’s going on down there! I’ve worked it out. Since I cancelled Genevieve, they’ll have had to fall back on any old person who could manage to do a wedding at short notice and what they’ll have is’ – she ticked off the offending items on perfectly manicured fingers – ‘Vol-au-vents with pastry the consistency of Play-doh. Not properly heated up. Very little champagne. The rest of the wine at rock-bottom prices, probably from Tesco. Canapés that have stood around too long and got dried out. Terribly stodgy wedding cake. Maybe the columns that hold the tiers apart will collapse. Wouldn’t that be a hoot? In any case, it’s sure to be a cut-price, economy affair. You’re lucky not to be associated with it.’