Page 70 of The Two Lives of Lydia Bird

Saturday 20 July

My dress is so very incredibly beautiful. I’m standing in front of my mother’s bedroom mirror, ready to go, alone and transfixed by the woman gazing back at me. I don’t know what time it is, if I have minutes to spare or I’m running late as usual; either way I need a little more time to gather myself together. Someone has styled my hair over one shoulder, loose waves and twists intricately interwoven with fine plaits. I raise my fingertips to touch the twisted wire circlet of silver stars across my forehead; it looks as if it tumbled from the night skies. My dress isn’t white: it’s delicate shades of seafoam silk overlaid with net so gauzy I’m almost terrified to move. More tiny stars shimmer on the gown when I turn one way and then the other. God knows where I found it; it’s part mermaid, part moon goddess, ethereal and mesmerizing. I run my fingers over the bodice and find my gran’s marcasite peacock pinned at my waist.

‘The car’s just pulled up, Lydia, love.’

Mum appears behind me in the doorway trying to fasten one of her favourite pearl earrings. She looks amazing in a Jackie O-style boat-neck dress in a deeper shade of seafoam with navy accessories.

‘Carol Middleton’s got nothing on you,’ I say, smiling through a film of tears because I now know how my mum looks on my wedding day.

‘And you knock spots off Kate and Meghan.’ She walks forward and holds my hands; I notice her perfect nude manicure and the familiar liver spots she’s tried every cream under the sun to get rid of.

‘Ready to go?’

I nod. ‘Think so.’

‘Come on then.’ She gives my hands a final squeeze. ‘The sooner we get you married, the sooner I can get my hands on a gin and tonic.’

It isn’t raining here. When Elle helps me out of the car, the skies are the lavender blue of French shutters. Her dark hair is in a chignon at the nape of her neck and she’s lovely in a strapless Mediterranean-blue dress. Victoria, the wedding organizer, is on hand trying to help too; for a brief moment I feel as if she and Elle are in a tug of war and I’m the rope. Elle’s eyes meet mine and I wink to subtly remind her she’s one of the wedding party rather than in charge of proceedings today. I see the reluctance in her eyes as she concedes to Victoria. She can’t help herself; she’s a born organizer and this has brought out her competitive side.

‘Is he here?’ I ask.

Victoria laughs. ‘Of course. Everyone’s inside waiting for you.’

The barn basks in the honey-gold sunshine, its huge doors fastened back to reveal glimpses of the interior as we head towards it. It looks a million times better than all of those staged wedding spreads in the glossy magazines, rustic and romantic and us, filled with flowers and creamy lit candles in the deep shady window recesses. I can smell honeysuckle and pine needles, and I can hear music I can’t quite identify, and my heart is beating out of my chest with longing to see Freddie at the altar.

When we reach the entrance, Mum moves to one side of me and Elle to the other, and we link hands. I don’t think we’d planned on walking down the aisle as a three, but I can’t stop gripping Elle’s hand so that’s how we proceed. My mum, me, Elle. It was just the three of us for so many years; around the breakfast table before school, Saturday evenings squished on the sofa fighting over the remote, piled into Mum’s bed when one of us couldn’t sleep. It’s absolutely as it should be that we make this walk as a three today.

Music begins to play. There’s a pianist and as soon as he begins to sing a Beatles track I realize it’s Jonah. Of course it’s Jonah: who else would we ask to sing at our wedding?

People turn to see us, a change in atmosphere from relaxed to breath-held, a rustle of expectant voices, the excitement palpable. I’m bathed in shafts of warm sunlight and up ahead I can see Freddie’s back turned towards me. All around me I spy familiar faces: my work people, Phil and Susan beaming as if I’m their own child, Dawn tearful, Ryan almost on the verge too by the looks of him. Julia RSVP’d as soon as I sent out the invites to let me know she couldn’t make it; they’re visiting family in Ghana for her brother’s sixtieth birthday celebrations.

Jonah sings of love and wonderful roses, and Auntie June catches hold of Mum’s hand for a second and gives me a little thumbs-up as we pass. Even my cousin Lucy manages to raise a smile from beneath her massive coral hat. I daren’t look who’s behind her, but whoever it is isn’t going to see a thing. Freddie’s family have gathered on the other side – distant relatives I’m less familiar with who always turn up at the promise of a free dinner – and the lads from the pub have scrubbed up in their suits that probably do service at weddings, funerals and job interviews. His mum is up front in a vibrant orangey-red dress that’s more beach wedding than barn, but it doesn’t matter because I’m almost level with Freddie now and he’s turning to look at me. Oh, my heart. I step forward alone as his eyes sweep down the length of me and then back up to hold my gaze, and I’m so slammed by emotion that it’s a wonder I stay on my feet.

‘You’re here,’ he whispers as if he knows how far I’ve travelled to be here, and even though it’s no doubt off-script he leans in and kisses me, his lips warm against mine.

‘And you’re here,’ I murmur, full of wonder. He holds my hand and I don’t want to let go.

His laugh is soft, his words for my ears only. ‘As if I’d be anywhere else.’

The celebrant clears her throat, ready to begin, and we listen as she welcomes everyone, telling them how thrilled we are they’re here to share in our most special of days. She tells them we’ve chosen to write our own vows, which I nod along to, and then her words actually sink in and I realize that I’ve no clue what I was going to say. Panic flutters, a paper moth in my throat. I swallow it down as the celebrant turns to Freddie with a smile; at least he is to go first.

Freddie clears his throat, and then he clears it again for good measure. It’s pin-drop quiet. For once his nerves are written all over his face.

‘To be honest,’ he says, ‘I’ve struggled to know what to say today. Jonah’s always been the wordsmith.’ He turns to glance at Jonah over his shoulder. ‘I even asked him for help with this, but he said it’s the one bit of homework I need to do for myself.’

People laugh softly, Jonah too as he shrugs in acknowledgement. He catches my eye, a fraction of a second at most, the ghost of an apology for the things he said on my hen night. I feel a jolt because in my waking life I’m already missing him, wondering if LA will become his permanent home.

Freddie waits for silence before he refocuses on me.

‘Lyds, you were fourteen when I first saw you, all blonde hair and legs that went on for ever, and there I was with a BMX and a dodgy set of highlights put in by my mother.’ He glances behind him at his mum this time as people laugh again. For a nervous man, he’s already got the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand.

‘Christ knows why you –’ He breaks off and hastily apologizes to the celebrant, who inclines her head, gracious even though this isn’t a religious ceremony. ‘I mean, God only knows why –’ He stops again and the celebrant does the tiniest of eye-rolls as people laugh under their breath. Freddie waits for them to settle before he ploughs on.

‘What I’m trying to say, in my own way and without swearing this time, is that I have no clue why you said yes to me, or how I’ve managed to hang on to you all these years. You’re smarter than me and you’re kinder than me. You’re so far out of my league that it’s not even funny. But still you said yes, and that makes me the luckiest man alive.’

His words are perfect because they are his.

‘I know I drive you nuts sometimes, but I promise you this much: we’re for ever, you and me. I’ll always look after you. I’ll make sure you wear sun cream and on cold mornings I’ll button your winter coat. You light my world up, Lydia Bird, I don’t want to do life without you.’

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