Lost and Found

by Lynda Bellingham

  We were incredibly fortunate to have the perfect man to perform the ceremony. Dearest Peter Delaney was now an archdeacon. It is odd sometimes to regard close friends as others would see them. Peter is someone I respect and trust like no other. But he is also a venerated man of the church and works incredibly hard in the community in the City of London. After he left All Hallows by the Tower, where he blessed my marriage to Nunzio, he took St Stephen Walbrook under his wing. This is the most exquisite church, next door to the Mansion House, nestling in the heart of the City of London. Built by Sir Christopher Wren, it was the prototype for St Paul’s Cathedral. It has a domed ceiling and has an unusual altar, designed by Henry Moore in 1987. It is also the home of the Samaritans founded by Dr Chad Varah in 1953. Could there be a more perfect place to be married?

  We went to talk to Peter, who told us that with permission from the Bishop of London, we could be married in St Stephen’s and there would be no need to have a civil ceremony in a registry office. He talked to us intimately about our reasons for wanting to get married and our faith and I surprised myself by how much it meant to me to have this service.

  So we started to work towards the big day, 31st May, 2008: the very day I would be sixty. However, I still had my reservations about just how far to go with the whole ‘white wedding’ thing. Would folk think I was deluded? Did it matter what they thought?

  Peter had suggested we went to look at the Coq d’Argent for our reception, a restaurant opposite St Stephen’s. It had a roof garden and looked out over London. There were the most incredible views over the City and it was so close to The Gherkin (or No 30, St Mary Axe to give it its rather bizarre full title) you could almost lean over and touch it. The City has that fantastic mix of old and new: the Bank of England stood opposite mocking me; if only I had unlimited funds to spend on the reception! But money is not everything, and between us and the restaurant, we had great fun choosing canapés and wine. Quite a difficult thing to do when one no longer drinks: I did try some wines but all I could taste was alcohol! I put my trust in the sommelier.

  The most exciting news was that the restaurant had permission to have firework displays: I love fireworks. I decided against a sitdown meal because I knew that so many old friends would just want to mingle and rediscover each other. Part of the joy for me, about having a party, is to unite everyone from every different part of one’s life and see how they all get on.

  Dear Jean made me a birthday cake. I had no idea, but Michael was giving me a Zimmer frame with a personalised number plate for my birthday, so she made a little model of me with said Zimmer frame, standing on top of a cake in the shape of a bus pass. Well, no point in ignoring the obvious! The local bakery in Crouch End, Dunn’s, made me a wedding cake, so I had the best of both worlds. The flowers in the church were peonies and sweet peas. Their pale pinks and whites were so delicate and the fragrance was wonderful. We also designed a kind of bower to stand where the guests arrived, where photos could be taken.

  My wedding dress was to be my biggest headache. Once again, I was torn between my secret desire to be a real bride in a white dress and my secret fear of looking like mutton dressed as lamb. I tried to cover all eventualities by choosing a dress that could double up as a party dress at the reception.

  I went to seek the advice of a well-known designer. I am not going to name names but they were completely unhelpful and unfortunately not that interested. They deal with quite a few society weddings and are quite trendy: I had met the designer several times at charity functions, and he was always very charming, saying that if ever I wanted something special to wear to give him a call. Well, there I was, with his assistant giving me the brush-off. She was so snooty and disinterested it made me feel really inhibited. I chose a dress, off the rail, and suggested they make me an evening coat similar to one I already owned, which was his label. Hardly loads of work.

  I had a fitting and the seamstress was lovely but I just didn’t feel comfortable. I explained it had to be right because the wedding was going to be in Hello! but the assistant just dismissed that, saying they were not bothered about the publicity as they had enough clients. The worst kind of fashion snobbery.

  While all this was going on, Michael had organised a trip to the Gambia. No, not a honeymoon, but a pre-wedding week to rest in. How amazing was that? He felt that because we had not had a holiday and I had done the play Vincent River and we had lost my sister Barbara, we should take a break and get some sun.

  The morning we were leaving I had an appointment to see the dress designer people. I had told Michael all my worries and he basically told me to tell them to get stuffed. A man of few words. I tried my dress on and still did not feel comfortable in it. This was my wedding dress and I was supposed to feel special, but I felt like a sack of potatoes, and I was being charged a fortune for the privilege. So I told them to forget it.

  So now I was on my way to the airport with two weeks to go to my wedding, and I had no dress! Mr Positive sitting beside me said that surely there was a bridal shop we could call in at on the way to the airport? We had lots of time! Well, really, there is hardly an abundance of shops at all on the M4, is there? But we were passing out of London via New Bond Street and I remembered that there was indeed a bridal shop there called Pronovia. It had a window full of the most amazing wedding dresses. The real thing, with trains and lace and everything.

  Suddenly it was like being in a sweet shop. I wanted everything. All my thoughts about being too old to wear a white gown vanished until the assistant approached me and asked: ‘May I help you, madam? Are you the mother of the bride?’

  I nearly ran away! But Michael kept me firmly in the shop. After this initial hiccup they were fantastic and couldn’t have been more helpful. I gave them the list of things I couldn’t wear because my arms were too fat and my boobs were too big: all the negatives. I tried on three dresses and the third was it: everything I had ever imagined a wedding dress should look like.

  As I work with a profession that does glamour to perfection, on this occasion there could be no mistake, and Jean had wisely pointed out that if I had a dress that doubled as a party dress, I probably wouldn’t look any different to everyone else at the reception. I was the bride and should look like a bride. Now, thanks to Pronovia, I certainly did.

  They told me to go off on my trip and relax. I should come in to pick up the dress the day after I returned and it would be waiting for me. And that is exactly what happened.

  Michael and I had a fabulous week in the Gambia. Eating healthy food, sunbathing, sleeping and reading. It was bliss and just what I needed. I came back ready to blaze a trail.

  JEAN WAS MY bridesmaid, or matron of honour. Ladies in waiting was probably a more apt description for my entourage, which consisted of Pat Hay, Flic McKinney, Alena and her daughter, Katy, Stacey my stepdaughter (and her son, Cooper) and Lynda La Plante (and her son, Lorcan). We had a hysterical morning getting ready. Pat Hay did my make-up; for the third time! Carol Hemming flew in from Brussels to do my hair. She was doing a film with Michelle Pfeiffer and had got the day off to come and set me up. She couldn’t even stay for the wedding, just did my hair and left. How luvvy is that?!

  I was up and down the stairs like a yo-yo, trying to make coffee and sandwiches for everyone. My brother-in-law arrived with my nephew and niece, and Karel (yes, we are still friends!) My stepdaughter arrived late, so Pat was doing her make-up instead of mine, and then did not have enough time to do her own!

  I had bought all my girls jewellery to say thank you, so we had a little present-giving moment. I look back on it now and feel so proud of everyone, and so lucky to have so many good and kind friends. I also had bracelets made of flowers for the girls to wear instead of the more traditional bouquets; it was a good idea, but impractical as they kept breaking.

  Because Hello! was involved we had to be careful that there were no photographers around as we got in the cars. I felt such a fool covered in a large sheet as, finally, we set of
f for the church. Michael and Bradley, who was best man, had been staying at the Athenaeum Hotel the night before to ensure we would only see each other at the church.

  I just kept thinking about my mother and father and my sister. How strange it was not to have them with me. Death is such a big deal in these important Life moments.

  Getting into the church was another absurd moment. Keeping under the sheet while big burly men hustled me inside. I thought it was all very unnecessary but I suppose that if a photo had been taken it would have spoiled the whole thing.

  AND SUDDENLY EVERYTHING just stopped. All the noise and the bustle seemed to sink into the background. I saw Peter Delaney coming towards me and felt like bursting into tears. This was the real deal. This was what I was here for. To make my vows: vows to be kept for life. For a fleeting moment I saw again my other wedding memories. Not so much because of the men involved but because I felt so keenly how much I had wanted to make things work and how deep down I had at both times felt a niggle at this point; a tiny sense of dread. But not this time. I was truly excited and, deep in my heart and soul, I knew I had got it right. I just wanted to get on with the service and share my love with Michael.

  Christopher Biggins and Nik Grace were at my side; I had asked them to give me away in place of my dad. The girls were lined up behind me and we seemed to take a group breath as the organ exploded into my processional music, the prelude to ‘Te Deum’ by Marc-Antoine Charpentier. I looked up and round the beautiful church. Because it was in the round I could take in everyone’s faces, and everyone’s smiles.

  And then there he was, turning to meet me. Michael looked so nervous! Michael Pattemore, Mr Spain, Jack the lad. It is an incredible moment to stand in front of the man you love and prepare to make those vows.

  Dear Peter is the best in the world, and knew exactly how to settle everyone. He looked me in the eye and said, ‘Lynda, this is absolutely the last time we do this!’

  He took our hands and the service began.

  I had vowed I would not get tearful but it was impossible not to be overcome with emotion. Saying the words of the vows and singing some of the hymns just made me cry. Biggins provided the comedy relief by tripping up at the pulpit as he went to do a reading! Bless him. I could feel Michael shaking as we held hands and I just wanted to hold him. He is such a man, usually. Not sloppy at all but very sensitive. I think he must have been so hurt when his marriage broke up and he had tried so hard to brush it off. But that is why I love him so much, because he feels things so deeply.

  The moment arrived to turn and face the congregation. The music swelled and Michael took my hand and we did a tour of the church. One big circle, stopping and kissing friends and shaking hands and feeling the wonderful vibe in the place. The register was signed and photos taken. Then the main party of people left to go across to the restaurant while we stayed and had more photos taken.

  We had to part at that point, as Michael went in one door of the restaurant and I came in by another, in my sheet! We met at the lift that opens into the roof garden. Then it all began; the whole meet and greet. It was a blur really. I didn’t eat a thing all night and, as neither Michael nor I drank, we were sober – the best way of remembering your wedding day!

  I was concerned that Hello! would impinge on the guests’ privacy. But it was all done very discreetly and nobody seemed to mind.

  Michael had been in charge of the entertainment side of things. His best friend, Steve Markbride, who has a company called Big Bang, is an agent up in Blackpool (he and Michael became friends when Michael had the Palace nightclub there). He had found us a wonderful quartet that played at the beginning of the evening, and then a group that played all the old favourites. It is amazing to me how much people love dancing to all the seventies stuff. Michael and I never dance but we did start the proceedings with a first waltz – well, shuffle! By that time I was so overcome by the whole occasion I didn’t know if I was coming or going.

  As usual Michael surprised me, with the most brilliant video of all my friends talking about me. I had once told him that at my fiftieth I had so wanted a video, and he’d remembered and done this for me now! So there I was, surrounded by everyone, watching old friends doing their spiel to camera. It meant so much to me that they had bothered. People who were not able to come to the actual wedding, like Robert Lindsay and Maureen Lipman and Christopher Timothy. Michael had driven all over the country to get these interviews. He had gone to so much trouble and I never had an inkling. He had worked with an actor called Nathan Amzi, who is a computer whizz-kid and does videos to make money when he is out of work. It was just too much and I was completely overwhelmed.

  I was sitting watching all this on a big screen, clutching my Zimmer frame. Then I became aware of what I would look like in the photos and hastily abandoned it. Too early in my life to be using that just yet!

  While in the Gambia, Michael had spent the week writing his speech. I feel so guilty now because I had kept dismissing him: ‘Don’t worry about it, Michael. Nobody’s going to listen to you!’ How crass. But I really did not think he had to worry too much. Little did I know he was writing a confession. A tell-all.

  The room in the restaurant was quite difficult to speak in because it was a strange shape, and most people were outside on the roof terrace when we called for silence. As usual at these events, everyone had already had lots of champagne and were not in the mood to stand and listen to a speech. But Michael started speaking like a pro, and within seconds the room had gone quiet.

  Most of the guests knew nothing about Michael or his past, and some of my friends were probably quite hostile, having judged Michael from newspaper reports, without even meeting him. Worse still, some were snobs, and thought he wasn’t good enough for me. I appreciate that, after all I had been through, my true friends were protective of me, but suddenly, they were able to see for themselves why I loved this man.

  He told his story simply and with enormous candour. He was witty and funny and, most importantly of all, he expressed his love for me so openly and truthfully there wasn’t a dry eye in the house! I looked round and saw my two boys with tears in their eyes and just felt full to bursting.

  Michael and Robbie hadn’t come to the actual wedding service in the church because of their father. Nunzio had given them a hard time and told them it was a betrayal of him if they went to my wedding. To try and explain to them that theirs was misplaced loyalty was impossible. I understood just how much they had had to endure to be there at the reception at all. But now, looking at them listening to Michael’s speech, I knew it would be OK and we could move on as a family. It’s something that means so much to me and always will.

  Michael’s speech was a revelation. The room broke into spontaneous and appreciative applause after it had finished. Biggins and Nik Grace were on next, but he was a difficult act to follow.

  The reception was of the theatrical variety. Full of life and laughter. So many dear friends turned up for me and I will always be so grateful. It was a mix of really old friends, some very new ones and some that I work with. I was very lucky because everyone seemed to get on. The famous faces mingled with the not-so-famous. There was a wonderful moment when Cilla Black met Michael Redfern, my Oxo husband, and completely confused real life with the commercial. She was convinced I had married my Oxo husband. It didn’t help that they are both called Michael!

  I wandered round all night in a daze. It was like seeing my life paraded before me. All the memories of the good times we had all had. I missed my parents and Barbara so much; my joy would have been complete had they been there. Thank goodness I still had Jean.

  The fireworks were spectacular. My dream come true. Paul O’Grady stood next to me, and pronounced they were ‘Fucking fantastic’!

  I tried to speak to everyone which was quite a feat as there were over three hundred people there. As we finally waved goodbye and descended in the lift, I just wanted to sit down and take it all in.

  We were
staying at the Athenaeum that night, which was very special as it had been the venue for so many of our rendezvous in the last three years. I am sure many couples find that the moment when you get into the bedroom after all the razzamatazz is weird. Even though we had been living together for the last three years, the sense of occasion demands one pays attention. The hotel had put a bottle of champagne in the room with beautiful flowers and chocolates, and a gift of a glass vase from Tiffany. It was all so perfect. We left the champagne but ate the chocolate-covered strawberries and I had a bath because the bathroom was so lovely that I was determined to enjoy it! We had an enormous four-poster canopied bed and we consummated out marriage in style.

  Michael is determined we live life to the full for the rest of our days, and I agree with him one hundred per cent. I fell asleep determined to keep the Zimmer frame in the cupboard for as long as possible.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  BACK IN THE LIMELIGHT AND LOVING IT

  I HAD BEEN ASKED to do a rehearsed reading of a play called Calendar Girls by Tim Firth. Tim had co-written the screenplay, with Juliette Towhidi, of the very successful film of the same name, based on the story of the ladies of a Women’s Institute in Yorkshire who had stripped for a calendar to raise money for the Leukaemia Trust.

  Angela Baker and Tricia Stewart were the two friends who made it all happen when Angela lost her husband, John, to non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. The calendar was launched on 12th April, 1999 and the rest is history. It has been an unprecedented success and raised over £2,000,000 for the Leukaemia Research Fund.