Page 78 of The Happiness Project

‘Just don’t go skinny-dipping in it and have it back by midnight. Now hurry up before you ruin my mascara.’

Charlie puts the watch on then gives Patty a peck on the cheek, being careful not to disturb her make-up. The four of us hug then Patty heads out to the waiting car with Mum and Michael while Charlie and I get into a ridiculously huge Cadillac with Dad. It feels so over the top but I’m loving this and I think our car might just explode with the excitement radiating from us.

The guys still haven’t revealed the theme for today and it’s no clearer when we pull up to the venue they’ve chosen — Marianne’s dance studio. I recall her saying that they held parties and weddings here but wonder why the guys have chosen it.

‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ I say to Charlie.

We meet up with Charlie’s parents outside and I leave him in their care while I head into the ceremony room with my family and Michael. I honestly didn’t know what to expect — after all, we’ve been given a dress code and there’s a drag artist officiating — but this room is amazing, with fairy lights twinkling all around the perimeter, a four-piece band in the corner playing melodic versions of songs I remember Mum listening to on the radio and a stage at the far end with a simple wedding canopy at the centre. There’s a red-carpet aisle which winds its way to the side stage stairs and chairs arranged in a semi-circle facing it. There are no sides to choose — the families are together.

We take a seat in the second row as I don’t want to miss any of this. When everyone is seated there’s a buzz unlike any other wedding I’ve been to where it seems to go deathly quiet. I guess that’s the church effect. Then suddenly, there’s a hush and I look around for what is happening and see why the room has stopped breathing — Jackie Kennedy Onassis is walking onto the stage. Obviously not a reincarnation but Poppy O’Cherry channelling that most famous of style icons, complete with bouffant auburn hair, cherry-red shift dress, pearl set and pillbox hat. They stand with their gloved hands in front of them and music starts up at the back of the room. It’s a musical version of a 1950s tune and I do know it from somewhere but without the lyrics I can’t quite place it.

‘What’s this song from?’ I whisper to Michael but he shrugs.

On my other side, Patty smiles and tells me I’ll work it out soon enough.

‘You know, don’t you?’ I ask, slightly miffed.

She raises her finger to her lips and tells me to shush.

We all stand as the guys walk down the aisle and onto the stage together. I can see that they’re both a bit nervous and Charlie is practically clinging onto his very-soon-to-be husband. Poppy clears their throat and begins the ceremony completing all the official parts simply and without fuss. Incredibly for a six-foot-tall Jackie Kennedy, they manage to fade into the background and not outshine the grooms.

‘And now,’ says Poppy, addressing us, ‘Peter and Charlie have written their vows to each other.’

The guys angle slightly so they’re facing each other but also the congregation (or audience — I don’t know what we are outside of a church). Charlie begins with words that I’ve never heard but have seen practised. Many an hour he’s spent reading them over and over then closing his eyes and seeing if he remembers them — I’ve watched his lips move for days now. Again, those words are familiar and one or two hang like clues waiting to be revealed.

‘. . . waiting for so long . . .’

‘. . . take each other’s hand . . .’

There are a few giggles as some people finally get it and Patty asks me if I know the theme yet. I’m livid with myself but cannot grasp it.

Peter’s vows seal it.

‘When I first saw you, you were dressed in a tattered old wedding dress just to entertain your friends and I was scared. Not because you were pretending to be a ghost, but I was scared of walking out of that room and never feeling again the way I felt right then.’

It’s my favourite line.

‘Dirty Dancing,’ I whisper to Patty and she nods.

‘I declare you husband and husband,’ says Poppy from the stage. ‘You may now seal it with a kiss.’

The room stands and cheers as the guys embrace; we converge on them with confetti and party poppers as they walk down the stage staircase while around us the event staff move all the chairs to the side and waiters dressed in holiday camp blazers arrive with champagne (in coupes!) and canapés. I rush to congratulate the boys.

‘I love the theme,’ I tell them. ‘Although technically it was supposed to be 1963, not the fifties.’

‘I knew you’d know,’ Peter says, smiling.

‘I couldn’t say 1960s or everyone would come in horrible hippy clothes,’ said Charlie. ‘And everyone wore fifties fashion in the movie.’

I admit they did and manage to give them one kiss each before they’re swamped by everyone else.

I stand back and bathe in their reflected love. Michael approaches with champagne and I hold that glass as elegantly as I can. The golden champagne glistens off the crystal-like fairy dust. I’m back in that Disney movie and everything is perfect.

‘May I just say,’ Michael begins, ‘that you look absolutely ravishing tonight. Stunning, incredible, beautiful . . .’

I kiss him on the cheek, then thank him. Mum and Dad are with Poppy so I pull Michael over to find out what they’re saying.

‘Have you ever thought of running for prime minister?’ Mum is asking, and of all the things I imagined she might be discussing, this was not one of them.

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