‘Sorry, Iris. I’m here now.’ Dominic addressed his daughter directly and the look on his face indicated he either hadn’t heard his wife’s dig or was a master at ignoring that kind of comment. ‘A minor emergency. Someone needed a pump for a flat tyre, I’ve been rummaging in the garage. All sorted.’ He smiled at his girl. ‘You look...’ He shook his head, as if no words could adequately convey his pride, his love.
His voice filled the space. Enya looked right at him, damning the fact that just the sound of him was enough to fill her with a heady cocktail of desire, longing, and regret. An unwelcome and potent mix. He might not be for her, Iris’s dad, Aiden’s father-in-law to be, but she would forever be grateful to the man who had bothseenher and made her feel seen. He would never know, and she could never convey, just what this had meant at a time when she so desperately needed to shake off her cloak of invisibility.
‘Right, Dad, so as I told you earlier, you are to walk with Enya behind the bridesmaids, Mum and I will go in first, it means Aiden and I get a second or two together just to take it all in before we start, and you know where to stand?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘I know where to stand.’
‘Great. And also remember,’ Iris now addressed them all, reminding Enya of a teacher giving a last-minute instruction to her less than reliable students, ‘this is not a conventional wedding. There are no hymns, no singing, it’s not overly formal. We keep it fun, we enjoy the music.’
‘Some of which I’ve chosen.’ Dominic beamed, clearly delighted to have been given the task.
‘Yes, and I should warn you, Enya, that Aiden has picked some of his dad’s favourites too for this evening.’
‘Thank you for the warning. I went waterproof just in case.’ She pointed at her lashes, and noted how Dominic stood to one side, almost with his back to her, his head tilted as if he might just be employing the same avoidance tactic.
‘We nearly forgot the buttonholes!’ The florist Enya had seen earlier up a ladder now approached with a shallow box containing the small bunches of flowers. They were neat and delicate, with fronds of whisper-thin fern to break up the white miniature roses, lilies of the valley and sprigs of elderflower that were tied with rough twine. ‘Can I leave you to it?’ She handed over the box to one of Iris’s bridesmaids and rushed towards the main house, suggesting a floral emergency that required her urgent attention.
Trish selected one and pinned it to her dress. ‘Do you need a hand, Enya?’
‘Oh, thanks, yes.’ She lifted her chin as Trish pinned one of the pretty little sprays on to her dress; the scent was glorious.
Dominic stood tall, as if he expected his wife to attach his. She did not.
‘Would you do the honours?’ He addressed Enya directly and held out his buttonhole.
She nodded and took the flowers from his palm. Careful not to let her fingers anywhere near his. Her shaking hand a giveaway. Theonly saving grace was that Trish and Iris paid them no attention. Enya lifted his lapel, feeling the heat of his body near her palm, as she pinned the flowers into place.
‘There.’
She patted his jacket and let her eyes glance up towards his face. A face she hadn’t seen this closely since he had fled from her kitchen and she had stood there bereft, staring at the space he had occupied, as if the shape of him lingered still.
His expression, she feared, matched her own; it was that potent mix of longing and regret that, had it been expressed in music, would have been loud and building, a crescendo that carried you along with its passion and its beauty, a trailing rapture that could pierce her very soul. Feelings that had the ability to floor her, to be her undoing, and her salvation. A moment of connection, knitting all the strands of desire and roping her to him, this man who had come into her life in the most unconventional of ways and had turned things upside down.
‘Thank you.’ His voice held the distinct huskiness of all it tried to contain.
They stared at each other and in that moment, she knew that this was no infatuation, no glossy novelty that would wane as quickly as it had grown. It was something deeper and more profound. This realisation only served to pierce her heart, understanding that the facts had not changed, that Aiden and Iris were about to embark on a complicated journey with Holly’s baby at the centre of it and the last thing they would need was her confessing to her feelings for Dominic. It felt cruel. She reminded herself of the advice she had given Holly:
‘... none of us knows what is around the corner and sometimes, things or people that we think are meant for us really aren’t, not forever...’
‘Okay, here we go!’ Iris turned to face her entourage, her face split with a smile of pure elation. This girl was ready, more than ready, to march up that aisle and grab the future she wanted.
Trish raised her arm and Iris slipped hers through it, just as the music began to play loudly. It wasn’t what Enya had expected, no hymn, no mournful lullaby or thought-provoking melody. No slow evocative ballad with words of love and tenderness, nothing like that.
Instead, it was instant and booming, an explosion of strings, guitar, banjo and bass! It was energetic and life-affirming and entirely rousing. All present jumped on the spot, moved their shoulders, or tapped their toes or stepped gaily from foot to foot, arms moving, heads nodding, mouths preparing to sing along. It was a sound that encouraged movement and participation, it encouraged life!
And then came the slowing, hypnotic and clear voices of those very clever Mumbley Boys.
Enya felt the beat in her breastbone and breathed in time to it. She stared ahead as the bridesmaids, with their bouquets held aloft, almost danced down the tunnel and then the aisle in a slow yet intricate step.
The music was loud in her ears, as Dominic came to stand next to her, close now. She could feel his presence, could smell his cologne, and she remembered what it had felt like to fall heavily into his arms on that day, for that brief time when she found a place to rest.
He reached down and took her hand inside his, where it fitted neatly, entirely, and where her fingers curled naturally around his.
She turned her face to look at him and he did the same, as the music built into a crescendo that carried her along with its passion and its beauty. He spoke five words, five words said clearly and with resolution that would become indelibly etched in her brain, there for perfect recall whenever she closed her eyes.
‘I will wait for you.’
That was what he said, and she got the message loud and clear. If only it were that simple. Then the last gentle squeeze of her fingers before he let go of her hand and offered her his crooked arm. She placed her hand through it. Both looked ahead, as they walkedthrough the flower arch, along the tunnel and into the marquee, surrounded by flowers and love, music and an atmosphere of infinite possibility, before they came to rest on the designated spot and separated, coming to a standstill opposite each other. Their children, hand in hand, beamed into the face of the other as if they had struck gold and been brave enough to claim it as their own. And while her heart sang for her son and this joyful union, her eyes were firmly fixed on Dominic and his on her.
