Penny the coordinator comes to join us. ‘The Master of Ceremonies is announcing you now, if you’re ready.’ I give Cally’s fingers a last squeeze then Penny gets hold of my shoulders and squares me up to the doorway. ‘So, here comes the bridesmaid, remember to walk nice and slowly. One, two, three … off you go!’
I’ve got one foot moving forwards through the air when Cally’s fingers clamp on my shoulder.
‘Wait!’ She rounds on the wedding coordinator. ‘It’s the wrong music! That’s not Savage Garden!’
I let out a groan. ‘Oh, crap, of course it’s not.’
Penny’s eyes pop open. ‘Savagewhat? Patricia was definite about Vivaldi’sFour Seasons.’ She’s shaking her head. ‘If there were fewer guests, you’d have had the full orchestra not the CD.’
And eye-rolls to that! I’m looking at Cally. ‘Do you mind?’
Cally pulls a face. ‘It’s not ideal, but I’m here because I love Nigel …’
Sure, it’s a first-world problem, but I’m so cross I’m talking through clenched teeth. ‘But it’s Cally’s day, Penny. It’s down to you to get this right for her.’
Penny’s shrugging. ‘Sure, I could stop it and we can go again when I find the right music … but it will totally spoil it.’ Her hiss hangs like a threat in the air, then she adds another blow. ‘By which time the registrars will be out of time too.’
And then there’s a forceful shove in the small of my back, and with no input from me my legs are moving and the ceremony is happening regardless.
As I carefully put one foot in front of the other my sandals are sinking into a regal maroon carpet stretched along a very, very long aisle and there are so many faces on both sides, all turning to look at me. And instead of Cally’s dreamy wishes and fantasies she’s getting very uptight and rather screechy violins.
Then I catch a glimpse of the blond head that must be Nigel and take in his broad shoulders, and as he turns his face breaks into the warmest smile. If that’s what’s waiting for Cally, I suddenly see why she doesn’t mind about any of the rest. Hands up anyone else who wouldn’t mind marrying Chris Hemsworth’s body double.
You’ve no idea how long it takes me to walk the length of the room. By the time I’m far enough forward to see the registrars, Vivaldi is really ramping it up. As I draw level with the awesome Nigel, I send him a little hello wave and a thumbs up because I know how beautiful Cally looks. Then I get straight on with checking what the hell Patricia’s done to the buttonholes. So long as you overlook the gold-sprayed berry bunches, they seem to be pretty close to the white roses and eucalyptus sprigs Cally’s expecting.
In terms of wedding stress my tummy’s had a fair few lurches this morning. But as I spot the satin underneath Nigel’s buttonhole my heart does a little pause again. It’s only short, but it’s long enough to nudge my brain and send my head into overdrive rattling through the memory banks for where I’ve seen a similar lapel before. And as a groomsman appears to point me to a seat on my own on the left-hand front row and I get a full frontal view of his finery, it finally clicks – I saw a suit like this the first time I caught Nic stripping off in my living room.
I’d take ocean-going waterproofs over satin lapels every time …
As the words echo round my skull, I’m desperately trying to sneak a look at the line of groomsmen across the aisle. In keeping with the size of Patricia’s vision, there are effing loads of them. But just because Nic had the suit doesn’t mean he’s at this wedding. There’s no need for panic because obviously he’s in St Aidan; I saw him there only this morning.
And then Cally arrives beside me, the violins finally fade, and Nigel steps forward. And when I look across the gap he’s left and I get a view straight across to the best man, my stomach officially leaves the building. I take a huge gulp of air, but for some reason my lungs seem to have stopped working. Somehow, I manage to pull myself together enough to step forward and take Cally’s bouquet from her.
The best man is Nic.
I think I may just die here and now and be done with it. Of all the weddings in the world, he has to turn up at this one. And when I sneak a little sideways peek it’s ten times worse than I thought. Because instead of looking normally hot, with his dark hair and stubble set off against the black satin lapels, the sizzle is off the scale.
What’s more, he’s bound to have the perfect Mrs Pixie-face here too. Believe me, it’s totally unfair for me to be in the same room as someone like that without my biggest power pants on. But however huge my personal disasters are, I need to blank them out. I’m working for Cally here; she’s what I need to focus on.
When I look at her standing next to Nigel, there’s more colour in her cheeks than I’ve seen all morning, but to be safe, as soon as I’m settled in my velvet high-backed chair I dip into my bag, twist out a nappy sack and scrunch it into my fist. As I perch on the edge of my seat, my eyes locked on Cally, listening to the registrars welcoming everyone, two things hit me. First, how very much in love Cally and Nigel are. Standing side by side now it’s as if they’re lighting each other up. And, on seeing that radiant glow in their faces, the second bombshell hits – I’ve finally given up hoping that this will ever happen to me.
Listening to people in brightly coloured dresses coming up to the front to do readings, I’m so thrilled for Cally and Nigel, but at the same time there’s this core of solid sadness buried deep inside me. That’s the drawback with weddings. If you’re heading for one yourself, they couldn’t be any more exciting or exhilarating. But if you’ve kicked love into touch like I have, they tend to drag you down.
Then Nic produces the rings and as they both slide them on, the tension in their bodies visibly eases. Then as they say their little speeches to each other and Nigel promises to adore Cally forever but not to leave his socks on the bedroom floor and everybody laughs, I glance sideways. And suddenly my eyes lock with Nic’s. The look he’s sending me is half grin, half eye-roll, and for a fraction of a second it’s as if we’re the only ones in the room. I’m just wishing it hadn’t made my heart contract quite so hard when I notice his eyebrows have shot up and that he’s jerking his head. As I follow the direction of his nod down to the floor I spot what he’s looking at and my stomach jumps again.
There I was, dreamily sitting there. But all Nic is doing is getting me to notice the small purple tin that’s dropped out of my bag and is gently rolling across the wooden floor towards Cally, Nigel, and the registrars. I make a dive for it but Nic’s already on it too and no need to guess who gets there first. One stride, Nic scoops it up and as I clamber back up onto my seat again he’s pushing it into my hand and sliding onto the chair next to me.
He’s breathing in my ear. ‘Chocolate pudding in the ceremony, Milla, whatever next?’ He’s biting his lip, but it could be covering a smile. ‘And you might want to readjust …’ he nods towards my chest then lowers his voice even more ‘Flash that lot at Nigel’s elderly uncles and they may just expire on the spot.’
It’s only when I look downwards that I realise quite how much boob got away with the dive to save the chocolate pudding. ‘Shit!’ I slam my hand over my mouth to catch my groan, readjust my bra, slap down my tit tape and feel my cheeks burning.
Nic dips forward again and this time he snatches up the nappy bag drifting across the floor, and hands that to me too. ‘Also yours? Be good, I’ll see you in a bit.’
I’m talking out of the corner of my mouth. ‘Not if I see you first.’ Believe me, after the amount of cleavage I’ve just forced into his face, I’ll be keeping well away.
He gives a low chuckle in my ear. ‘Head bridesmaid and best man are joined at the hip for the day, I thought you’d know that?’ A moment later he’s across the aisle back in his seat, and then the registrars are at the bit where they declare them man and wife and tell Nigel to kiss the bride.
And then, damn me, Nic’s right again, because next thing I know, he’s behind me steering me over to join Nigel and Cally so we can all huddle in and sign the marriage register.
