by Fox Brison
I sighed and stared daggers at Angie and Ali. Or evils. Yes that was a far more accurate description. I stared evils at them. I was sorely regretting asking them to be my matrons of honour. Okay so I wasn’t, but I’d much rather have had Sara. If only my BFF wasn’t the sister of the other bride! I grinned. Natalie was so worried about her ‘best man/woman’ and she desperately wanted to ask Sara, but wouldn’t because of me.
So I made the decision for her and chose Ali and Angie to be my joint chiefs of all things bridal.
Big mistake. Humungous.
“Why can’t I buy a dress online again?” I said a little petulantly. I didn’t mind shopping per se, but shopping for a wedding dress with Angie and Ali in the snottiest boutique in Berwick? I’d rather stick a hot poker in my eye. “Amazon sells everything.”
“You’re not buying your dress off Amazon,” Angie said, affronted by the suggestion.
“Why not?” Ali cocked her head whilst sipping on her wine.
“It’s bad luck,” Angie muttered.
“Bad luck?” I repeated. We shouldn’t have been teasing her, but it was so much fun. “Can’t I just wear two something blues to make up for it?”
“Oooh matching lingerie.” Ali waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“No, it doesn’t work like that.” Angie blushed. “Okay I have no clue if it’s bad luck or not, but it should be.” She added a touch regretfully, “The thing is, Skye, I might not get to do this again, what with having two boys. Besides, this is mine and Robbie’s wedding present to you.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I opted for polite refusal. “No, Angie, you can’t.”
“Yes, Skye, we can. No more arguments. If you want to pay for something today, get us all another glass of wine.”
So that’s exactly what I did. They ceased being complimentary after the first three!
***
Six dresses later I was contemplating walking of the shop starkers and wearing my birthday suit to the wedding. I wanted a simple little number, but Angie, ever the romantic, was seeking something with pizazz. Note to self: remind the boys how lucky they are that they don’t have to go through this with their mother.
“It’s perfect,” Angie gushed. “The lace roses on the bodice are so delicate and beautiful, just like you.” She was going for the hard sell; I was being buttered up so much I’m surprised the dress didn’t slip right off me.
I looked in the mirror again and this time I gave myself the evils. I’m a walking doily.
“Don’t you think the train is a wee bit long,” Ali pointed out. “The hall at the castle is only thirty feet long. That train’ll be out of the door and half way to Newcastle!” She scoffed. We were on our fifth glass of vino and were on the brink of being shown the door, which wouldn’t have been a bad thing, at least it would have ceased Angie’s attempts to dress me as Marie Antoinette.
Finally, lucky dress number eight hit the spot. “It’s a bit snug,” I said, gobsmacked by the vision in the mirror.
“Honestly?” Angie said. “It looks like it was tailor made for you.”
“I agree. It’s traditional but contemporary too. Nat’ll be a drooling puddle of goo when she sees you in it,” Ali added warmly.
Time is a great healer.
If you’d suggested to me a year ago that Ali McNeill would be sitting in a dress shop watching me try on slinky gowns for my wedding to Natalie Jeffries, I would have, basically, pissed my pants and suggested you get checked out by a local shrink.
I examined my reflection critically.
“I’m going to have to drop a couple of pounds, I don’t want to look daft. Do you remember Sara’s dress, Ange?”
“Aye, I saw it in the Advertiser. I did wonder at the time what the hell was Sara thinking.”
“Her monster in law forced her to pick one she didn’t like. Sara still regrets backing down to this very day. To be fair, it wouldn’t have been so bad but on top of everything else the seamstress mismeasured Sara, so two days before the wedding at the final fitting, she could barely squeeze into it. She was cut in two, it was so tight.”
“That would explain the pained expression in the photo’s then!” she laughed.
“Aye. Her mam and I managed to cobble together a different fastening for the back,” I continued musing, “but it was like a farce from an Elizabethan melodrama. When Sara breathed in, I pulled tightly on the laces at the back whilst Mrs Jeffries hooked them over tiny little clasps.” I examined myself in the mirror one last time. It was a nightmare scenario and one I was not going to repeat. “I might get it let out an inch. Better safe than sorry.”
Angie and Ali smiled as I turned to face the mirror again. Honestly, I couldn’t seem to drag my eyes away from it. I grew teary eyed because, quite frankly, nothing had ever prepared me for this day.
Except maybe life had.
Maybe I had to go through the trials and tribulations in order to fully appreciate where I now stood. And more importantly, I thought as I chuckled at my two joint matrons of honour arguing over dress colours, to appreciate the people I was sharing it with.
Chapter 44
Natalie
In three days’ time I’m going to be a married woman. And that doesn’t feel as surreal as the love child of a Dali painting and an acid trip. Getting married was always something esoteric to my mind. Sure it was possible, but I never thought it would happen.
Being with Skye, I appreciated history far more than I ever did before, especially the challenges people faced, and, in most cases, overcame to even get us to this stage. For me. Okay, not just for me, that’s narcissistic, but for future generations of minorities. Whether it was a black woman on a bus in Alabama refusing to give up her seat, or gay people in New York responding to a police raid on a pub, or a woman running across a racetrack in 1913 to promote women’s rights, they all took a stand to ensure I had a voice in the future.
Besides as Andy pointed out, when Ireland held the first ever referendum for gay marriage, ‘why shouldn’t you be allowed to get married, and be as miserable as the hetero population.’
If that slogan had been used, I suspect the ‘yes’ vote would have won by a far greater margin.
“Abbs!” I called when she and Brooke finally emerged through the electronic doors and into Edinburgh airport’s arrivals hall. I snuck out this morning before Skye was even half awake to pick them up; I didn’t tell her they were coming because I wanted it to be a complete surprise. Their plane landed over an hour ago and Brooke did not look a happy chappy. In fact, she appeared frazzled with a side order of pissed off. “Is everything okay, Brooke?” I was half expecting steam to shoot out of her ears, à la a Loony Tunes cartoon character.
“Yeah, fine,” she said curtly, before hugging me with some feeling.
“Was customs busy?” I enquired politely. Perhaps talking about it might relieve the tension.
“Yes and it didn’t help that our passports got… misplaced.”
Ouch! Heavy emphasis on not only the misplaced but on the scowl thrown at Abby.
“For the love of all that’s holy, Brooke, I did not, for the fiftieth time, I. Did. Not touch the damn passports!”
“Then tell me how they ended up in your backpack instead of my purse.”
“Gremlins? Leprechauns? Little elves put them there whilst we were sleeping?”
“Sarcasm? Really, Abby? Really?”
“Listen, Brooke, I have absolutely no idea how they ended up in my backpack because you always carry our passports and travel documents. We did only make the plane with seconds to spare, so could you possibly have shoved them in my bag by mistake?”
I immediately recognised that was a losing argument, even before Brooke drawled, “And who’s fault was it we were running late?” Touché Brooke.
“Fine! We should have left earlier, but at least I’ll admit when I’m in the wrong!” Oh nice counter attack, Abbs.
Brooke stormed ahead of us without replying or having any ide
a of where she was going.
Wow, and I think Skye’s a stubborn mule?
“Are you sure you want to get married, Nat?” Abby asked in a stage whisper that would have been heard back in Boston.
“I heard that,” Brooke called over her shoulder.
“You were meant to,” Abby replied, only this time she didn’t bother staging anything, especially not a whisper.
***
The first ten minutes in the car was slightly frosty, however, Brooke’s stress levels soon equalised and when we stopped for a coffee at the service station a few miles outside the airport, it didn’t take long for her and Abbs to kiss and make up.
We reached the island a couple of hours later and navigated through the narrow streets to the Ship guesthouse where they were staying. “The Island is so cute,” Abby said as she climbed out of the car. “The whole place is beautiful… and that little road with the hut, where you popped the question? Romantic as hell, Nat!”
I stopped on the causeway for two reasons. Firstly I wanted to show them the infamous hut that had come to mean so much to Skye and me, and secondly, I loved seeing the reaction of friends the first time they visited the island. Some, like Harriet, reacted as if I were a demon and it was a portal into hell, but most shared Brooke and Abby’s view.
Brooke took at least fifty photos and promptly uploaded them onto Instagram without having to use a single filter to improve the setting.
“Yeah, it’s cute alright, and I can appreciate it now as an adult, but as a teenager growing up not so much cute as restricting,” I admitted, struggling to lift Brooke’s Luis Vuitton suitcase from the boot. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay somewhere more…” I wanted to say posher, but instead I went with, “bigger?”
“Not at all,” Brooke replied, “we’re near you guys, right?”
“Yes, just down the road.”
“This’ll do fine, Nat, it’s quaint,” Abbs added.
“Do you want to unpack and have a rest before seeing Skye?”
“Nope, we’re going to break through the jet lag. We’ll book in, get changed, then go and surprise the heck out of your new fiancée.”
***
“Hi honey, I’m home,” I called as the three of us tiptoed into the cottage.
“Hey baby, oh god,” Skye swiftly covered her modesty and doubled back into the bedroom, followed by twin chuckles. It turns out Brooke and Abby were the ones who got the surprise.
I doubt they expected to see Skye stark naked at eleven thirty in the morning.
***
“I can’t believe you guys are here.” Skye was still blushing - but fully clothed. “This is the best surprise ever. I’m so happy you could make it!” She gave them both hugs of welcome.
“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Brooke said
“We even flew in a few days early because we didn’t want to miss your goose parties,” Abby added.
“Goo… oh you mean hen parties.”
“That’s the one.”
“Who’s watching Bean?” Skye asked.
“My folks are staying for the few days,” Brooke explained, “although when they turned up, he looked kinda disappointed. I think he expected it to be you again.”
“Ahh, I miss him too.” Skye greedily eyed up the bags I was unpacking. “I see you called into the café?”
“We popped in for a few minutes. I wanted to introduce Abby and Brooke to Mam before it got too manic over the weekend.” Skye had an overly deep fondness for an elevenses snack (a cup of tea is too dry without something to go with it, she’d say) and I thought that Brooke and Abby would be peckish after their journey, so I grabbed a bag of goodies, everything from bacon and sausage rolls to croissants and my Mam’s famous, and Skye’s favourite, apple turnovers.
“I hope all this pampering doesn’t end the minute you get me down the aisle, Jeffries.” Skye kissed me. “I’ll pop the kettle on.”
“My God, this is a-maze-ing,” Brooke said through a mouthful of apple turnover. “Your Mom makes these?” I nodded. “Do you think she’d consider moving to Boston? Or shipping me a box every week?” she said, grabbing another from the box.
“So Nat showed us where she popped the question, Skye. What clinched it?” Abby asked.
“Holding me hostage above the North Sea without mobile service until I said yes did the trick.” Skye touched my thigh. As usual, it warmed me though and I held her soft hand in place.
“Well I think it was utterly romantic, although compared to this one’s effort, being taken to the golden arches for a happy meal would sound romantic. And that’s even with the chip for a ring!” Abby said and Brooke put her head in her hands.
“Go on,” I said, “you can’t leave us hanging like that.”
“Well we were at Brooke’s sister’s wedding and one of her uncles asked when we were going to do the deed. Brooke here said as soon as possible because I was the only person she trusted to turn off her life support! Her uncle was not amused,” Abby explained, laughter lighting her eyes.
“I was joking,” Brooke smiled ruefully.
“That didn’t stop you whipping me off to Vegas three days later for a quickie-”
“What are you complaining about? At least I didn’t ask you to sign a pre-nup!”
Abby lifted her hands in a ‘see what I mean’ gesture. “Life support? Pre-nups? Not exactly the Wedding March and white dresses was it?”
“Oh you would have hated all that and you know it!”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still tease you,” Abby laughed.
“I don’t know, Abbs. To me it sounds like it was the ultimate romantic gesture,” Skye observed softly. “If you think about it, Brooke was saying you were the only one she trusted with her life.”
I contemplated my future wife and felt an unexpected arc of pain shoot through my body. The parallels to her situation were stark and far too real for me, although Skye was handling it like she did everything else – with grace and strength. She may be a bit of a geek, obsessive, and hate change, but I wouldn’t swap a single molecule because every single one of those elements created the incredible woman sitting beside me.
An hour and a glass of bucks fizz later, the clouds parted and sunlight flooded the cottage. “Fancy walking off brunch? We could show you the sights and Skye can bore you with the history associated with them,” I said jokingly and Skye slapped my arm.
***
“Is everything alright, Nat?” Abby asked as we walked. Ahead of us Skye was pointing out the castle to Brooke, no doubt giving her a potted history lesson at the same time.
“Hmm?”
“You’ve been a little, well, quiet since we were talking before.”
“It’s nothing,” I waved it off.
“It’s something,” Abby argued and I caved.
“Skye found a lump on her breast.”
“Oh, Nat, I’m sorry.” Abby gripped my forearm.
“We’ve put it on the back burner where it’s been simmering away, but when we were joking about life support and stuff, it boiled over and caught my attention. I feel so impotent, Abbs.”
“Brooke and I went through something similar when we first started dating. Trust me, Nat, Skye doesn’t see you like that, not at all. Jesus, she thinks you hung the moon, you can see that every time she looks at you. You’re everything to her. Is that why you proposed?”
I snorted. “God, no, she didn’t tell me until after I asked her, but it just, I don’t know… it reaffirmed my decision.”
“I know it’s difficult, Nat, but the best thing you can do is keep doing exactly what you have been. Fill your life with happiness and good memories, because that’s the only thing that will shorten the shadows at the end of the day.”
Chapter 45
Skye
“Hen night!” Angie screamed hysterically as she, Ali and Sara surged like an uncontrollable tidal wave into the cottage. Technically, Sara should have been with Nat and Ab
by (who were on their way down to Newcastle where Nat was having her hen do with a phalanx of Sunderland players as honour guard) but I was loaned Sara for the night.
Besides Andy and Tommy had blagged an invite to Nat’s do, Tommy boasting he wanted to make sure it was done right, and Sara didn’t want to spend the night with her husband, she wanted to let loose with the girls.
“Remember you promised,” I warned as I poured four glasses of the punch that Sara brought with her in a five litre bottle. “Nothing too wild.”
“No, Mum,” they all intoned and chuckled. Naughtily.
“Now hang on! A meal, a few drinks. That’s all,” I reaffirmed
“Yes, yes, we heard you the first time,” Angie said with a glint in her eye, before belying all of her promises as she emptied the carrier bags that were strewn around her feet, and several t-shirts and costumes fell out onto the floor.
Five minutes later Tara and Brooke arrived, and after introductions were made and glasses of punch were either poured or topped up, Brooke coughed and spluttered. “Dear god what’s in this?”
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Ali said, gruffly.
“It’s Granny O’Shea’s concoction,” Sara said. “I added the green food colour in her honour.”
“And because it looks like da bomb,” Ali added.
I only hoped it wasn’t as potent as poteen because the last thing I needed was someone ending up in casualty. My eyes watered; it was like white spirit.
“I… erm… maybe…” Brooke was lost for words. It was either that or the punch had destroyed her vocal chords. “So this hen party is basically another name for a bachelorette party?”
She’s alive!
“Oh, Brooke, you poor, poor child,” Sara owned the twin glint to Angie’s and I knew I was in trouble. She poured more green punch into Brooke’s paper cup, even though Brooke’s eyes were already starting to glaze over. “This will be absolutely nothing like one of your bachelorette parties.”
And that didn’t make me nervous at all. Basically they were going to… ah here it comes.
“Okay, Skye, you go and put this on.” This was a pink tutu which was held out on the end of a magic wand. A magic wand with a silver glittery star on the end.