The First Last Kiss
Page 22
‘Oh, that!’ Mum says. ‘That was just over some nonsense or another. We had a cuddle in bed that night and I apologized. Your dad knew I didn’t mean it and it was forgotten by the next morning.’
I stare at the receiver in my hand and shake my head. ‘But . . . but I thought . . . I thought . . . ’
‘Molly, your dad and I were never going to split up, not even in our worst moments and yes, there’ve been a few. Our struggle to conceive another child for one.’
I’m genuinely shocked and then saddened by this admission. I’d always presumed they didn’t want any more after me. How could I have been so self-absorbed?
‘Your dad and I fit. In our own awkward way, we fit. We’re not massively demonstrative like Jackie and Dave, or probably the most exciting parents in the world. I know I was rather strict and your father was too laid-back and yes, that caused tension. I was stressed with work and I took it out on your father when he didn’t appreciate that my job, my position, was equal to his. And that I was also having to do all the things that mums do: cook tea, make you eat it, take you to ballet and music classes, or horse-riding lessons, or whatever hobby had taken your fancy that particular month. I had to buy your clothes, sew name tags, wash your school uniform, makes costumes for school plays. He just had to work . . . and dream. And sometimes the dreaming bit was really frustrating for me. It’s why we agreed he’d go and do it in his office, where I couldn’t see him just sitting there, doing nothing, whilst I was so busy doing so much. But, as he pointed out to me, it was my choice to be that busy. I could have taken on less, been easier on myself . . . and on you. I know how much I’ve expected of everyone. And I know that made life hard. I just wanted the best for you.’
‘And do you think you got the best for yourself?’ I ask quietly. ‘You didn’t end up in your dream job, or with a rich man, or with your dream house. Or even your dream family.’ I add, thinking of the child they failed to conceive.
‘No,’ Mum admits. ‘But I ended up with the one thing that everyone wants above everything else . . . ’ She coughs. I know talking like this is hard for her.
‘What’s that, Mum?’
‘Love, Molly dear.’
I cover my mouth to subdue my sobs as she continues to speak.
‘Loving someone means having the confidence to know that you won’t be happy all the time, that they can’t make you happy all the time. It’s a totally unrealistic expectation. And sometimes, in a marriage or a long-term relationship . . . ’ she pauses, and I know she’s directing this part of the conversation at me, ‘well, you need to learn that. When your father’s fed up, off he goes to his office, or he drives up to London and goes to some exhibition. And when he comes back, he gives me a kiss and everything is OK. He knows I have a temper. It’s one of my downfalls. But he knows I don’t mean what I say half the time.’
I don’t say anything because suddenly so much makes sense.
‘No matter how frustrated I sometimes feel, I’ve always been very sure that I didn’t want anything else. And your father has always known that. I’m sorry I didn’t convey that to you.’
‘But how did you know that you didn’t want anything else?’ I ask, suddenly desperate to know that secret.
Mum is quiet for a moment. ‘Because Molly, your father has always made me far more happy than unhappy. I’m not a maths teacher dear, but I think that’s the best possible equation you can hope to get. Not very romantic, I know, but it’s the truth.’ She sniffs and I wonder if she’s crying too. ‘And anyone would be lucky to have had a percentage of the happiness I’ve had.’
I’m crying. I’m 10,000 miles away and suddenly all I want is a hug from her.
‘You miss him a lot, don’t you? Ryan, I mean,’ Mum says tentatively, each of her words like little baby steps towards me. We are not used to talking in this way with each other.
I snort, and wipe my nose. ‘What do I do?’ I sob.
‘You tell him, Molly, my dear. You just tell him.’
And so that morning, I put down the phone and I open up Mia’s laptop, and for the first time since I wore plaits and that stupid sailor dress, I do what my mum tells me to. I agonize over every word, every comma and phrase. I delete two paragraphs and start again. I try explaining why I did what I did. I try apologizing first, and then last. And then I ditch the entire document. Because I can’t put into words what I feel. And then it comes to me. I frantically search Mia’s desktop for the old photos we were looking over the other night and which, being the crazily organized freak she is, she has scanned and put into yearly and monthly files on her computer. Pictures from uni and from nights out, and her leaving party when she came to Australia. And then I open the folder marked July 2001 and I look through the pictures of that life-changing holiday to Ibiza, and I find the series of photos that she took of Ryan and I, on the beach, playing volleyball, his arms wrapped around me, both of us gazing at each other like we were castaway on some private island. Young, carefree and completely, unashamedly happy. I open an email, type in Ryan’s address then just write ‘Love’ in the subject heading and attach the pictures. I don’t write anything else. I just sign my name and put one, single kiss underneath. And then with one click, I send it.
12.51 p.m.
I open the cupboard under the stairs and curse as the mop and bucket fall on me.
‘Ouch!’ I yelp, rubbing my nose. I prop the mop against the door and peer inside at all the stuff I’d put in there five years ago and forgotten all about. Packing up this place has sometimes felt a bit like a Russian roulette version of a treasure hunt, with cherished and painful memories hidden all over the place. It’s actually going to be a relief when they’re finally gone.
I scrape my hair back into a stubby ponytail. I pull out a box and sit back on my haunches as I peer in at all the hundreds of ticket stubs, receipts, programmes, flyers and cards. I pick up one. It’s from Rossi’s and I smile: the date is 6th August 2001. Our very first date. Next I find the tickets to the Take That comeback gig at Wembley Arena in 2006. That was such a brilliant night. I’d never seen Ryan so happy. There are also handfuls of cinema ticket stubs. I pull out a ticket and feel my eyes prickle as I realize it’s for the last film we went to see together: Knocked Up. It was hilarious and sad and poignant and ironic all at once. I remember clutching Ryan’s hand, crying, but not knowing if it was with laughter or sadness. I put the stub back and shut the box. I don’t go through any more. I don’t need to. Instead I pull it out and write ‘Storage’ on it. Then I drag it into the hallway. It is pretty heavy and I have never been the strongest or fittest of people even in my youth, never mind now. So I heave and tug, gasping with exertion and feeling my precious necklace banging against me with every pull I make, like a prodding finger reminding me of its presence in my life. I clutch it and smile.
The ’Til Death Do Us Part Kiss
For a girl who never thought she believed in marriage, once I came around to the idea I wondered what the hell had held me back for so long. All this time I’d been afraid of the permanence of the institution, the finality, the absolution.
One person for the rest of your life.
Now I know that this isn’t always possible.
FF>> 22/04/06>
I’m woken by the dawn urgently prodding my eyelids and forcing them open, jolting me into immediate action as my body instinctively responds to what my mind hasn’t been able to forget all night. I’m getting married today. I sit up and clasp my hands to my chest and try to contain my squeal of excitement. I’m getting married today!
I glance down at my sleeping partner and am tempted to wake her, but Casey is lying so serenely beside me and looks so peaceful with one arm gracefully flung over her head, that I know I can’t. Not yet. Instead, I lean over to my bedside table and grab the pad which I left there last night.
My Wedding Day (MY WEDDING DAY!) List
Take photos of the sunrise
Have mani–pedi
Get married!
Have breakfast with Mum, Dad, etc.
Get married!
Put thank-you presents in Mum and Dad’s hotel room,
Lydia’s, Jackie’s etc.
Get married!
Give Ryan’s present to Carl
Get married!
Get make-up done
Get married!
Pick wild flowers for bouquet and for bridesmaids’ corsages and headbands
Get married!
Remember to take bridesmaids’ presents down to reception
Text Carl to check he has rings
PUT ON DRESS
Get married!!!
Get married!!!
Get married!!!
I glance at my watch. It’s not yet 6 a.m. but I slip out of bed and go over to the window. The silvery tip of the sun is bashfully peeking up behind the sea, casting everything else in silhouette, as if the rest of nature is bowing to its power. I desperately want to capture its big entrance properly in a photograph so that this day will always be mine, to have and to hold, forever.
I quickly whip off my pyjama shorts, leaving on my lace vest top I slept in, and I pull on the cropped, white Audrey Hepburn-style jeans I was wearing last night for the meal I had with my bridesmaids and my parents. I tie the scarf that I’ve pulled through the waistband and put my hair up, slip on my Converse (some things never change) grab my camera and creep out of the room. Casey stirs and turns over in bed; I hold my breath but she doesn’t open her eyes and I silently shut the door behind me and run down the corridor, long ponytail flying behind me, desperate to catch the moment before it goes.
As I step out of the hotel and onto the beach and lift my camera to my eyes, I find that with every flash my head is a Rolodex of memories flicking furiously through the years that have led Ryan and I back to this place where we had our first real kiss. Some I can find immediately, others are filed miscellaneously and require a more methodical search through my memory. Others I’ve purposely mislaid or put in dusty old boxes at the back of my mind because I don’t want any bad ones spoiling this perfect day. I’ve always been good at putting things into lists and boxes, never more so than now.
As the sun rises it lights up the Ibizan sky in glorious technicolour, ringing the few feathery plumes of clouds with gold so that they appear to be wearing celestial wedding bands. I sit down on a sandbank and fold my arms across my knees, smiling as I think of everything that lies ahead, the life I am going to embark on as Ryan’s wife.
I look across the beach and catch a glimpse of two windsurfers out just beyond the bay and I know without question that it is Carl and Ryan. It would be exactly Ryan’s wish to begin the day like this and I’d recognize the slant of his body as he leans away from the sail, the curve of his legs, his hold, anywhere. I’ve watched him so many times over the years, so many holidays already, and so many more yet to come. I smile and watch the brothers for a moment, feeling an illicit thrill at seeing my husband-to-be on our wedding day and am then struck by a prick of superstition. Is it bad luck? But surely it doesn’t count if they don’t see you?
I turn my head, just in case. I don’t want to jinx anything. I stand up and brush the sand off my jeans and pick up my trainers, but I can’t resist one last glimpse at them. It looks like they are sailing into the sun’s tail, trying to catch it as it ascends out of the ocean and into the sky – and it wouldn’t surprise me if Ryan managed it. I laugh, feeling my stomach twirl like a majorette’s baton and I scramble up the bank and back across to the hotel, suddenly desperate to get this wedding in motion.
‘Morning,’ Casey yawns and stretches as I come back into the room, clutching a tray of fruit and coffee.
‘Hey, sleepyhead, time to get up. I’m getting married today!’ I put the tray down and jump on the bed as Casey groans and tries to pull the sheet over her face.
‘God,’ she says bleakly, ‘if you’re this excited at’ – she glances at her watch – ‘6.22 a.m., you are going to be completely bloody unbearable by this afternoon!’
‘I’m allowed to be unbearable,’ I laugh. ‘I’m the bride remember!’
I hand her a mug of coffee and she pulls herself up and sips it slowly.
There is a knock at the door and Mia and Lydia burst in screaming. They’re both wearing pink Gap hoodies. I wish I had my camera, I never thought I’d see Mia looking so Essex.
‘You’re getting married! You’re getting married!’ they chant.
Jackie, my mum and Nanny Door follow them. Jackie’s wearing a pink satin dressing gown and has an eye mask on top of her head. Her make-up is already applied, or perhaps she hasn’t taken it off since last night. I know she, Dave, Ryan and Carl all went out for dinner with the boys somewhere in the Old Town. Nanny Door is already dressed although I do hope it’s not her wedding outfit as she appears to be wearing a pink velour tracksuit. My mum is wearing a flannel nightie, a pink cardi and an embarrassed smile. I get the impression that Jackie dragged her here, mainly because my mum would never willingly be seen in public in her nightie. I want to give her a hug but Jackie has dived on the bed and is trying to have a playful pillow fight with me. Every time I try to speak to Mum I get a mouthful of feather-filled cotton in my face.
‘Jack-Jackie, stop it, you’ll spill my coff—’ I give up. Lydia, Mia and Casey have now joined in but in the midst of the carnage I manage to slip off the bed and over to my mum. I pour her a coffee from the pot – black, just how she likes it, and I take her arm and we wander out onto the terrace.
She looks out at the spectacular view of the Mediterranean and it occurs to me I have never been on a holiday like this with her. So I know that my wedding, on a frivolous, sun-soaked party island is completely out of her comfort zone. But I’m really touched that even after her initial and obvious disappointment that we weren’t getting married in a church, she hasn’t criticized our choices, or tried to encroach on our day.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asks now, her pale, unmade-up lips curving into a gentle crescent.
‘Nervous, excited, I can’t wait to be married to him,’ I reply truthfully.
Mum nods and taps her short, carefully cut fingernails on the balcony rail. ‘Well, that’s all a mother could ask for,’ she says. I nod and smile. She pulls her cardigan around her, even though it isn’t cold and gazes out at the horizon. I know she’s feeling uncomfortable and exposed in her nightie. ‘Look, Molly, you should know by now that my view on love has always been very practical. My list of things that I wanted was the following . . . ’ She clears her throat and starts to reel them off like a shopping list. ‘Someone good and kind, loyal and trustworthy, financially secure and had the same beliefs as me.’ She looks up, her sharp grey eyes are watering slightly. This is what your father is and what love is for me. And it’s more than enough.’ She sniffs and dabs her eyes. ‘It’s this sea air.’ She looks at me again. ‘But some people want the passion, the one big romantic love.’ She gently raises her hand and touches my face. ‘And some people really deserve it. You have so much to give and you and Ryan are so good for one another. You really love him don’t you, Molly?’
‘I do,’ I say, as much a practice for my vows as a reassurance of my own beliefs. I repeat them because I like how they sound. ‘I do. It-it scares me sometimes how much I love him, Mum. I don’t want to ever lose him again.’ I’m startled to find I am crying.
‘Well, that’s just silliness,’ she admonishes, swiping her hand across my face to dismiss the tears, as if they were a class of unruly pupils. But there is a gentleness in her expression and her action. ‘I know he is a good man, but Molly, believe me when I say this, he isn’t perfect, no one is.’ She pauses, then. ‘The secret to a strong marriage, Molly, is to not lose yourself in it. We come into this life alone, and we leave it alone. The only true constant, is yourself . . . ’ Her sentence trails off and I know in her head she’s adding, ‘and God’ but she knows saying it out loud would wind me up.
‘That is the saddest thing I
’ve ever heard, Mum,’ I say, shaking my head.
‘No, it isn’t, Molly,’ Mum says with a smile that I used to think was pious but I now think is simply conviction. ‘It just means that the only person your happily-ever-after is hinged on is you. Don’t put that pressure on Ryan, or your marriage. It’s the mistake so many people make.’
She leans in and kisses me on my cheek. It is quick and dry, as if she has forgotten how to do it. ‘Now,’ she claps her hands like she is calling a class for register. ‘We’d better get going, hadn’t we? We want you to look . . . ’ She stops, as if struggling to find a suitable word to describe her only daughter.
‘I think the word you’re looking for is beautiful,’ I say, linking my arm through hers and turning towards the balcony doors. Compliments have never come easily to Mum. I’d have hated being her pupil; if it was anything like being her daughter, you had to kill yourself to get a ‘V. Good’.
She brushes her hand gently over my hand and shakes her head as she looks at me. ‘You’re already beautiful, Molly. You always have been. And clever and creative and remarkably sensitive and wise. But today, you will be radiantly beautiful.’
Swiping away a tear I let her lead me back into the room.
Jackie, Nanny Door and the girls are all giggling conspiratorially in a corner. Casey has now got a pink hoodie on too and I raise my eyes, suddenly suspicious that something is going on. Jackie’s eyes light up as she spots us and she steps forward and hands me a little package. ‘An early wedding-day gift for you, darlin’! Open it, open it!’
Mum goes and stands over with them as I rip open the paper and pull out a beautiful white satin kimono. My initials, MC, are embroidered beautifully on the front. I love that they will stay the same even after I’m married. There isn’t much difference between Carter and Cooper, so I plan to change my name to Ryan’s. I’ve always said it’s something I’d never do and I don’t know what changed my mind. Maybe it’s because I know how important it is to Ryan. And because I like being part of the Cooper clan.