As I was muttering to myself and pacing around the outside of the marquee, trying out jokes like ‘Funny thing. Opal Fruits are now called Starburst. What’s that all about?’ and then banging my head quietly against a pole. Tom appeared.
‘Tom,’ I said urgently, gripping his arm. ‘Please help me, I’ve got to make a speech and I don’t know what to say.’
‘You?’ Tom said, looking outraged.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You were an usher. Help me. I don’t have time for this. What shall I say?’
‘God, you poor thing,’ said Tom solicitously. ‘I can’t imagine anything worse.’
‘Thanks a bundle,’ I said. ‘How are you, anyway?’
‘Good,’ said Tom.
‘See anyone you like the look of?’
‘Don’t try and pimp me out, Lizzy. I’m not a carton of milk that’s about to go off, you know.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m just asking, that’s all. Pulling at weddings used to be my speciality. I wanted to pass my gift on to you.’
‘Yes,’ said Tom. ‘I remember your 2001 season with particular fondness. You were on fire that year. Five weddings – and was it three or four pulls?’
‘Four,’ I said, with pride. ‘That was the summer of the Good Haircut, though.’
‘I remember it well,’ said Tom. ‘Isn’t that why we had to go on holiday to Cyprus the following year, to find where that hairdresser had gone back to?’
‘We found him, though, didn’t we?’ I said. ‘It was worth it. Lovely Pavlos. He was gorgeous.’
‘He was,’ said Tom.
‘I think he was gay, you know,’ I said subtly.
‘He was,’ said Tom. ‘Oh, look, here’s Miles, your stalker boyfriend.’
‘Shut up,’ I said. ‘Don’t change the subject. Very quickly, you and Pavlos? Seriously? Right under my nose!’
‘I’m saying nothing,’ said Tom, looking pleased with himself. ‘And it wasn’t right under your nose. All I will say is, I left knowing the Greek for “Meet me where they keep the mops in five minutes.”’
‘Hello, you two,’ said Miles, gliding over and putting his arm round me. ‘Tom, are you being perverted again?’
‘Pretty much all the time, yes,’ said Tom, coolly. ‘And now I’m off to get another drink.’
‘Oh, don’t go,’ I said. ‘You’re supposed to be helping me with the speech.’
‘You’ll be fine, Lizzy,’ Tom said. ‘Just talk about why you think they’re a great couple. All that kind of thing. What love is all about, blah blah. It’s true in their case,’ he added, flicking a speck off his jacket, ‘so it won’t sound fake.’
‘Is Tom OK?’ Miles asked, as he wandered off to chat to the group next to us, which included Sophia Gunning and David. I’d thought David was on the other side of the lawn – not that I’d been looking out for him.
‘He’s been rather off with me lately. Since you and I started going out, actually. Have you talked to him about it?’ Miles went on.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I know what you mean, though. Hold my glass – my strap’s rubbing again.’
‘I’ll have a chat with him later,’ said Miles.
I saw David glance at us, then turn away.
‘God, I wish I could take this bloody jacket off.’ Miles groaned. ‘It’s so hot. Look, I don’t want him to think…well, you know…’
‘I know what?’ I said. I straightened up and took my glass back.
‘That…Well, that this is just a fling. That it’s not something we’re taking seriously. We are. He should know that. People should understand that.’ He put his hand on the back of my neck and kissed me.
I suddenly thought of Jaden, as if he was from a past life, or a character in a film I’d seen ages ago. Without warning, I found myself remembering what he’d said to me in March on the steps of the V&A; it seemed so long ago. Take it seriously. He’d told me to take the LA job seriously, and it struck me, like a bolt from the bright blue May sky, that what he’d really been saying was, Take your own life seriously. Have more faith in yourself. And even though Jaden was so unlike me, so easy for me to mock, there was something good and comforting about him. Why did all this feel so unreal, then? Was it the day itself, or was it more than that? Uncertainty bloomed inside me, then spasmed as I remembered the speech. ‘Shit, Miles,’ I said, promising myself I’d think about it later when I had it straight in my head. ‘The speech. I’ve got to sort out what I’m going to say.’
A ting from the marquee made me swivel round. Miles put his hand on my back. Dad was tapping a glass nervously with a fork. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, would you take your seats, please?’
I sent Miles in and hung back, waiting for Tom. He came over, with Sophia Gunning and David following.
‘OK, Lizzy?’ Tom said. ‘Thought about what you’re going to say yet?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Say what?’ David asked.
‘I’ve got to make a speech,’ I said, as Miles reappeared by my side.
‘Seriously?’ said Sophia Gunning, as if she wanted to ask for her money back.
David looked amused. ‘You?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I snapped.
‘But you hate making speeches,’ David said.
‘I’m aware of that,’ I said, doom settling in my guts.
‘She’ll be great,’ said Miles, proprietorially. ‘Don’t worry, Lizzy. Tell them about Gibbo proposing to Chin while she was cleaning her teeth.’
‘Quote from the order of service,’ said David. ‘Just pick a bit of one of the readings and read it out again in an authoritative voice. It works a charm. They’ll think you’re being symbolic, Lizzy. They’ll love it.’
‘I’ve lost mine,’ I said.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘Have mine. In case you dry up.’
‘Or draw on your own experiences,’ said Tom, evilly.
The Eliot brothers glanced at each other, then at me. A silence fell as a waiter poured champagne into our glasses and we scanned the table plan.
‘Where are we?’ Miles said. ‘Here – come on. See you later, guys.’
‘Good luck, Lizzy,’ said David.
I turned to look at him. ‘Draw on your own experiences,’ he said. ‘Tom’s right.’
And he walked off.
The wedding breakfast passed for me in an agony of apprehension, the raincloud still perched above my head. The thought of food made me feel sick. It was Chin’s wedding, though, so there was no salmon, smoked or poached, or chicken or new potatoes: this was Wedding Variation Number Four, Notting Hill Boho Relaxed Shabby Chic wedding, remember. There was a Moroccan mezze-style starter on huge platters, then organic bangers from the farm up the road with mash, lots of it. I perked up: surely there is no nicer dinner than bangers and mash. In fact I had quite recovered from (a) being annoyed with Miles (b) being annoyed with David and (c) the looming speech, when scarcely was the last morsel of potato in my mouth than the plates were whipped away, the glasses were refilled, and people were listening to Gibbo explain confusedly why he fell in love with Chin and what today meant to him. I’m sure it was all lovely, but I don’t remember any of it. Then Bozzer told lots of stories about Gibbo, including the time he fell asleep in a wheelie-bin, the time he got mistaken for a homeless person, and the time he went to the loo and tried to get past a stranger in the bar. He stood face to face with the man for about three minutes, saying, ‘Ahm, excuse me, mate?’ before it occurred to him that he was talking and gesticulating to a reflection of himself in a mirror. How we all laughed. Some of us laughed louder than others – this was the famous incident that had taken place at Gibbo’s Friends and soon-to be Relatives Wish Him Bon Voyage evening, otherwise known as the world’s most spurious stag night.
‘And now,’ Gibbo said, waving in a friendly manner at me, as if he wasn’t just about to throw me to the lions, ‘please welcome Lizzy, Chin’s niece, who’d like to say a few words.’
I stood up. Someone handed me the microp
hone and I looked around the marquee. Two hundred faces, silent, watching me expectantly, the waiters standing against the wall, like ballboys at Wimbledon, their hands behind their backs. Through the open side of the marquee, Keeper House looked friendly and welcoming in the early-evening sun.
I took a deep breath and looked at Chin. ‘Hello, everyone,’ I began. I thought suddenly of my friend James, who had started his best man’s speech at a smart London wedding by yelling, ‘Hellooooo, Mayfair!’ and this put me off a bit.
‘Hello, everyone,’ I said again. I didn’t know how to go on. What did I want to tell Chin and Gibbo? I felt a wave of suppressed British panic from my audience. Oh, no, she’s nervous. Oh, no, she’s insane. She’s going to try to persuade us to become Jehovah’s Witnesses. ‘I really won’t go on for very long,’ I said carefully. People smiled. I was encouraged, and ploughed on. ‘Because I don’t think there’s very much to say.’
Chin looked at me dangerously from under her fringe.
‘Er…’ I said, ‘not much to say – because I think I speak for everyone here today when I say that we’re all hugely happy to be celebrating with you.’
There was some nodding. OK, I was on the right lines. I cleared my throat.
‘Chin and Gibbo…’ There they were, on the top table, holding hands, looking so pleased and so right together that my nerves left me and I knew exactly what I wanted to say. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I don’t know about any of the rest of you, but I knew Chin and Gibbo were right when I first saw them together. It’s obvious to anyone with a blind bit of sense.’
Someone laughed, but I ignored them.
‘We spend all our lives looking for love, looking for the right person, and so often we get it wrong, and our hearts are broken, or we get it wrong and don’t realize till it’s almost too late.’
I looked round the marquee for the face in the crowd that I was really saying this to. ‘And I bet when all of you were getting ready this morning, none of you were thinking, Good God, what are they doing, this is a terrible mistake. I bet all of you were thinking, Well this is going to be a brilliant day, and I can’t wait to see those two get married. Because they belong together.’
My legs were shaking, so I stood on one and put the other knee on a chair, like a stork.
‘I want to say something else, too. Today is a great day for our family. Chin is lots of things. She’s an amazing aunt, a wonderful sister, a great friend, and her family has always loved her and been so proud of everything she does. But never more so than today, and she knows why. I think being with Gibbo helped her, though, so much. So I want to thank him on behalf of my family, and his wife, for letting us be here today with them. It’s been a strange year for us in lots of ways, but it’s all OK now. And what I said before, about making mistakes, well, we do. All of us. And that’s what makes us human.’
My gaze roamed around the marquee, was looking for Mike, but found myself staring straight into David’s eyes. I knew with a white-hot certainty that he was looking only at me, thinking only about us, that he was trying to tell me something. Suddenly I didn’t care how many people were there, what I said, if I was nervous. I just wanted him to know. To talk to him, no matter if it was in front of all these people. I stood stock still for a few seconds, until a murmur of discomfort reached me, and I came to with a start. ‘I – I can’t remember what I wanted to say,’ I whispered to myself, under my breath, staring at David. I stumbled on. ‘We – we are here for them…so…we should raise—’ I looked back at him once more. He picked up something from his neighbour’s plate and held it up. An order of service.
My fingers flew to the table, I picked up the thick card and cleared my throat authoritatively. ‘I’m reminded of one of the readings we heard today,’ I said. David nodded encouragingly. I opened the page. ‘“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.’”
A couple of people gave me an approving nod. He was still smiling, in the way that I loved. Only at me. ‘“It is an ever fixed mark,”’ I read, and saw I’d missed out a few lines, but it was probably for the best. I paused. Then I said, as if it was obvious, ‘Um – well. There we go. That says all that needs to be said, doesn’t it?’
Most people nodded, and the more pseudo-intellectual among the crowd did deep head-bobbing and lip-pursing, though I’m sure they’d had no idea what I was talking about – as, indeed, neither did I.
‘So,’ I concluded, ‘if you’d like to stand up, will you all please join me in raising your glasses to the happy couple, and wish them a wonderful marriage and a happy life together. To Mr and Mrs Gibson.’
Everyone stood up. The sound of chairs scraping filled the tent like a hurricane. ‘Mr and Mrs Gibson,’ came the booming response, and then there was applause.
Chin blew me a kiss. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed.
I didn’t look anywhere else. With a sigh of relief I drained my glass.
I clutched the table and sat down. Instantly my right leg started to shake. The stunning girl next to Miles poured him another drink and tapped his shoulder to indicate it was there. Miles smiled at her, then turned to me. ‘That was fantastic, darling. Are you all right?’ he whispered, putting his hand on mine surreptitiously.
My teeth were chattering. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Have a glass of champagne,’ he said solicitously.
‘Thanks,’ I said, grabbed it and took a gulp. Great Aunt Dahlia appeared behind me as Miles turned to Jacquetta and asked her about her career as an underwear designer.
‘Well done, dear girl,’ Aunt Dahlia said, slapping me heartily on the back. ‘Wonderful speech. Unusual to hear from you, but a break in tradition is always welcome when it’s done with such grace and poise.’ She banged her stick on the ground for emphasis.
‘Thank you, Aunt Dahlia,’ I said, chuffed.
‘Poise,’ Tom scoffed from my other side, pouring another glass of wine. ‘I don’t call bursting into tears and wiping your nose on the back of your hand poise.’
‘I didn’t do that!’ I said.
‘Hm,’ said Tom, drinking deeply. ‘Whatever.’ Aunt Dahlia moved off, smiling uncertainly, and I took a sip of champagne. ‘It was a nice speech though, Lizzy. Well done,’ he added.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
I was starting to feel slightly better, but I sat quietly and observed the scene in front of me as the setting sun cast long shadows across the crowd in the marquee. It was that stage of a wedding where the rhythm of the day is clearly established, the food has been eaten, love has been distributed by the giving of the speeches, and people sitting next to each other have worked out if they’re going to snog or not. I watched Gibbo feed Chin a slice of cake and they chatted quietly, absorbed in each other. (‘Cut the cake in front of everyone? Standing there like a page-three girl while some mad old cousins take photos of you with a knife in your hand smiling gormlessly? Do get a grip, Lizzy. The caterers can earn their crust and cut it up themselves.’)
Mike was chatting to Kate, his hand on the back of her chair. She had turned to face him and was looking right at him. They were obviously having one of those conversations where it is not OK to mooch up and sigh, ‘Hi! How’re you? Can I join you!’ Mike looked sad; Kate looked sad. They both looked vulnerable, like real people, rather than my relatives from a different generation. Mike brushed something out of his eyes and smiled at something Kate said, then moved his chair closer to hers. I looked at Tom to see if he was taking this in. He was. ‘What’s going on there, do you think?’ I said softly.
‘Don’t know,’ said Tom warily.
At that moment Miles, still talking to Jacquetta on his other side, put his hand on my thigh and moved it in search of my hand. When he found it, he squeezed it. A sixth sense made me look up and there, standing behind him, was David. I slid my hand out of Miles’s, and nodded at him.
‘Are you having a good time?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said David shortly, looking at Miles. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Oh, fine, thanks, just superb. [Superb? Good grief.] Thanks, by the way.’
‘What for?’ David said.
‘This.’ I raised the order of service. I looked away, back up at him. ‘How’s your table?’
‘Good. Mando. Some Australian cousins of Gibbo’s. Rosalie and Mike. Kate. They’re chatting so I thought I’d go for a stroll. You know, see how you all are.’
I realised he was slightly drunk. His eyes were glittering and his jaw was set.
Miles turned easily to his brother and said, ‘You staying, mate? Or do you think you’ll leave before the band starts?’
‘Is that what you want me to do, mate?’ David said, with a tight smile. ‘Of course, if that’s what’s most convenient for you two, I certainly don’t…’ He trailed off, swallowed as if he would say more, but stopped himself. ‘Yep, I think I’ll head off soon.’
‘Oh right,’ I said.
David looked at me. ‘There’s nothing I need to stay for now, is there?’ He inclined his head, as if he was making a tiny bow, and walked off.
‘Oh, God,’ said Miles, reaching for another cigarette and sliding his arm round me. ‘He’ll be fine, don’t worry about it. He’s always been a bit of a drama queen, hasn’t he?’
He pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head. I swivelled round in time to catch David at the edge of the marquee, still watching us.
‘Sorry,’ Miles said. ‘I thought he’d gone.’
Jacquetta of the underwear leaned forward again, her lace top slack against her bony shoulders and collarbone. ‘So, Miles, what do you do?’ she said, lighting a cigarette and smiling at him.
‘Well,’ said Miles, purring like a cat, ‘I’m afraid it’s not a very interesting answer, but…I’m an accountant.’ He smiled self-deprecatingly.
Jacquetta purred back at him: ‘No, not at all. I think accountancy’s really intriguing.’
Suddenly a thought came into my head: was Miles always like this, or was he doing it to make David or me jealous? Would I always be watching out for the gorgeous girl on the other side of him at a wedding? And if I was, why didn’t I mind?
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