She groaned, then gave in and laughed. 'Pasta. Blue. Bears. Autumn. Kushiel’s Dart. A stuffed penguin I cried over when my mum threw it out. And cinnamon.'
‘Your mum threw your teddy out?’
‘Mmhmm. When I turned twelve. Apparently, toys are for babies.’
‘Well, you’re my baby. I’ll get you a toy.’
She rolled her eyes, exasperated. ‘I have plenty of the type of toysyou’dbe interested in.’
‘Filthy bitch,' I said, tugging her on top of me and kissing her.
‘Takes one to know one,’ she said against my lips.
The village hall shone like it was part of an M&S Christmas ad.
Half the village was already gathered inside, confused about the aisle between the usual tables that opened onto the dance floor.
Morag elbowed Isla, Owen’s sister, so hard she nearly toppled over.
‘Something's afoot,' she said, smug as anything. 'I told Alistair over breakfast. Have you ever seen the place decorated to the nines like this?’
Alistair nodded the way men do when they're not entirely sure what they're agreeing with. ‘Aye. This is a lot for the ceilidh. We’re usually lucky if we have a couple of strings of lights. I hope the committee hasn’t footed the bill for this.’
‘We’d need a lot of bake sales to cover it,' Morag added.
Eilidh, wrapped in possibly the sparkliest, pinkest dress I’d ever seen, stood beside Amanda, on the other side of me. ‘Why’s the bar closed?’
Scruff trotted between everyone’s shoes, wearing a tiny tartan bowtie and looking very pleased with himself. For once, Morag’s dog was stickless. A rare occurrence.
Meanwhile, Meowrse, Owen’s selectively favouritism-offering cat, had appeared on the edge of the stage, clearly not one to miss the festivities. Scruff passed him and growled, and with one look, Meowrse sent him packing.
The canopy of lights and foliage about had held up well overnight and, through the day, shimmered like a distant galaxy. Ivy and holly curled around the beams, a few sprigs of eucalyptus poking through the cedar. The lanterns cast a honey-warm glow over the wooden floor that had definitely seen more ceilidh dancing than weddings.
Jean stood in the corner bossing around three grown men.
‘No, Kenny, not there. Honestly, if I left you alone for five minutes, this place would look like a jumble sale.’
The ceilidh band broke into a charming folk version of All You Need Is Love. Slightly odd with an accordion and a fiddle, but it did the job.
Amanda's hand found mine as the doors opened, and like magic, the humanist appeared from the side kitchen, taking her place on the dance floor.
Claire walked in on Owen's arm, her dress like something straight from the faerie glens. A deep sage green, covered in tiny amber blooms, with dramatic sheer sleeves.
Gasps and cheers filled the air. A noise from Jean that sounded akin to a ferociously boiling camp kettle.
Claire glowed, her red hair pulled into a loose braid, similarly studded with amber flowers, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright. Owen was beaming, proud as punch to be marrying his best friend. His soul mate. His kilt swished as he walked through the crowd, hands clapping his shoulders as he passed.
My chest tightened as I fought back a wave of emotion. For Jean, who had joined Jim and beamed at her son. For Owen and Claire, having pulled off their perfectly planned, yet unplanned, wedding. And with the knowing that I wanted that. With Amanda. Come hell or high water.
Scruff barked and chased after Claire’s train until he was scooped up by Eilidh, who gently chastised him.
Meowrse watched from the stage like some epic overlord. Looking ready to give his blessing to two of the few people he actually liked.
Amanda squeezed my fingers.
‘This is perfect,’ she whispered.
'You helped make it perfect.’
