Page 38 of Italy and Forever

Ginny peered at the picture of a young couple under the tree outside, the bride in a long-sleeved vintage satin dress with caps on the shoulders and a rather playful lace veil. The groom’s moustache was a little too big for his face and his suit sleeves too short, but Ginny thought that, for a wedding that clearly took place in the eighties, it could have been much worse.

‘This is you and Oswald?’ she asked. She doubted she would have recognised them, although there were some clear echoes of Andreas’s wiry hair and rugged features in his father. ‘You were married here?’

‘Forty-two years ago,’ Petra said. ‘Wolfgang married us, too. Everyone in our family gets married here. You have no idea how pleased I was when Andreas agreed they would too. I thought we’d done something wrong, the way he always ran away from family and commitment, but I see now, he just needed time and the right person.’

Ginny’s throat clogged uncomfortably. The photo reminded her of similar ones hanging in the house where she’d grown up. Her father and stepmother, grinning in elation, her lace dress catching in the wind.

She remembered that day. She’d been six years old. Mainly she remembered going to bed that night at her grandmother’s house, crying and punching her pillow, her whole body shaking with the emotions she’d been too confused and afraid to express in public.

‘We can recreate this picture after the ceremony on Saturday.’

Ginny nearly jumped when Rhys spoke. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her and now he was standing unexpectedly close. She stepped away under the pretence of counting the spaces in the pews, but she lost count over and over.

It was a relief when the priest locked up and said his farewell, followed soon after by Petra. Rhys was hidden behind his camera, the lens pointed at the church and the vivid yellow tree.

Petra and Oswald had been married in the spring, not the autumn, she thought absently, remembering the photo with lush green leaves and pink flowers in the background.

‘Are you okay?’

Her hand flew to her chest as she whirled to find Rhys watching her, his camera hanging over his shoulder now. ‘Yes,’ she insisted. ‘I just… We’re going to need more ribbon for the pew bouquets.’

She perched on the low wall beneath the tree, staring blankly at the yellow leaves, browning off at the edges.

‘I don’t know where all the guests are going to park. And I’m worried I should have made the order of service bilingual instead of doing one German version and one English version. Maybe we’ll need a translation from Italian. Can you even get legally married just in German here? What if Sophie doesn’t understand? Do you think Petra has covered all of this?’

Her chest tightened and she absently reached for a little fuzzy case that had fallen from the tree, two nuts peering out. But it wasn’t covered in fur, they were spikes.

‘Yow!’ She snatched her hand back and was shocked when Rhys took it between both of his warm ones.

‘It’s a chestnut,’ he said. The words were practical, but in combination with the press of his thumb over her knuckle, they made Ginny light-headed anyway.

‘That was silly of me,’ she replied through her teeth, not daring to look at him. She felt so wobbly and out of her depth, and it was somehow all his fault that her instincts were off-kilter. Nothing else could explain why she was struggling to find her usual enthusiasm for weddings and why Rhys, of all people, suddenly made her heart race. ‘It doesn’t hurt any more.’ She pulled her hand back and he immediately shoved his into his pockets.

He stomped on the ground, before crouching down to remove two small nuts from the case he’d opened with his boot. He held them out to her. They were pretty, shiny and dark and shaped to fit together in their little casing. She took them from him, moving them around in her hand.

‘There are lots here,’ he said, opening another case with his feet. ‘I used to collect these from Pontypool Park as a kid.’

He looked around for somewhere to put the nuts, finding nothing. Ginny held out her hand for them, stowing them in her pocket. Using the edges of her shoes, she jimmied another case open and gathered the nuts inside.

‘Do you think we’ll be able to roast them back at the hotel?’ she asked.

His only response was a shrug, but he opened another case, handing her the nuts.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever eaten them before,’ she commented.

That earned an eyebrow-raise. ‘You should try them.’

After another few minutes of gathering nuts in silence, Ginny could breathe normally again. ‘Did you get what you needed from the church? Do you want to look around for a location for the photos after the service?’

He nodded, peering up at the tree. ‘Aside from recreating that old shot, I think the meadow down the road will be good for the formal photos.’ He paused, giving her a curious glance. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

Ginny sighed and slumped against the stone wall again. ‘That photo of Petra and Oswald just reminded me of my dad’s wedding – the second one, after my mum died.’

‘Ah.’ She suspected he regretted asking. He slipped a few chestnuts into his own pocket. She’d preferred it when he was handing them to her.

‘Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one carrying Mum’s memory.’ She blinked, surprised herself at what had come tumbling out of her mouth this time. ‘Vivienne – my stepmum – even wants us to call her “Mum”. I was so young when she married my dad that I do call her that, but it’s never felt like the same word I use when I talk about my real mum. Like, if I knew another person called Rhys, it wouldn’t feel like your name, you know?’

His lips twisted in a way she interpreted as an understanding smile, although she was a little lost when it came to other people’s emotions right now. She opened another case and turned the smooth nuts over in her fingers before adding them to her pocket. It was nearly full.