Page 105 of When You're Gone

‘… Although at three o’clock this morning when Sketch was banging on my bedroom window, I was very tempted to say no.’ Bridget knocks her shoulder gently against Sketch’s, and he tosses her a grateful smile.

They have chemistry. There’s no denying it. For the first time watching them interact, I’m not jealous, and I wonder if someday Bridget and I might grow to be friends, too. I run my hands down the front of the dress Bridget chose for me, and I realise that I’d like that.

‘You’ve all done this for Sketch?’ I fight back tears in awe of their kindness and creativity.

Sketch shakes his head. ‘They did this for you, Annie,’ he says. ‘We all want you to be happy.’

‘They did it for us,’ I correct. ‘So we can be happy. Together.’

‘So,’ Bridget says sternly as she pulls herself tall and straight almost matching Sketch’s height. ‘Are we having ourselves a wedding or what? If you two don’t crack on with this, you’ll miss the boat.’

I swallow a lump of too-wide-for-my-throat air. Bridget must be sad that Sketch wants us to travel, and she’ll miss him terribly, I can tell. But she hides her feelings well. Ma doesn’t hide hers quite as impressively. She’s smiling brightly, but her beautiful eyes glisten as she blinks away tears.

The priest waves a cream piece of paper over his head and explains that we’ll need two witnesses to sign the register. Ma and Mr Talbot volunteer happily. I’m overwhelmed that this is actually happening, and as Sketch takes my hand and leads me to stand in front of the man I’m struggling to acknowledge as anything other than Bridget’s all-black-wearing brother. It just doesn’t seem real that with the power of a few words and some signatures on a piece of paper, Sketch and I will be husband and wife. But that’s exactly what happens.

‘I will love you for the rest of my life,’ Sketch says as everyone, especially me, hangs on his every word. ‘I have loved you since we were eight years old, and I look forward to the day I still love you when we are eighty-eight years old. Annie Talbot, you make me a better man.’

Ma sniffles back tears, and Mr Talbot clears his throat with a proud, emotional cough.

‘Annie, I know you haven’t had time to prepare vows, but is there something you would like to say?’ the priest asks me.

‘Always and forever,’ I blurt, the words tumbling from my lips so quickly they almost run into one long nonsensical word. ‘I will love you for always and forever,’ I clarify more slowly.

Sketch laughs. ‘Short and sweet. And here I thought you were the wordy one.’

‘Always and forever isn’t short and sweet,’ I correct. ‘It’s long and powerful. I love you, Arthur Talbot.’

‘I love you, too.’ Sketch beams with pride. ‘I love you, Annie Talbot.’

Everyone claps loudly at the mention of my new surname that fits as comfortably as if I’ve been walking around in the wrong skin all my life and I’ve only just been fitted with the right size. The perfect match.

‘Whoop, whoop,’ Bridget whistles. ‘Three cheers for the bride and groom.’

‘Hip hip hooray,’ everyone chants. ‘Hip hip hooray.’

Ma hurries over to me and wraps her arms so tightly around me I can’t breathe. ‘You’re all grown-up now, Annie.’ She sniffles. ‘I couldn’t be more proud of you.’

Mr Talbot pats Sketch firmly on the back. ‘Well done, my boy. Well done.’

Sketch shakes his head at his father’s formal approach, and to my surprise, he grabs Mr Talbot and hugs the ageing man. ‘Thanks, Pops.’

Mr Talbot is noticeably startled, but he quickly composes himself and hugs his son in return. ‘Is it too early to mention grandchildren?’ Mr Talbot quips.

‘Pops!’ Sketch blushes.

‘I hate to spoil this moment,’ the priest says, ‘but I need the register signed so I can make this official.’ He pats his shirt pocket and rolls his eyes. ‘I don’t suppose anyone thought to bring a pen?’

I hold my breath as a wave of disappointment washes over me as everyone shakes their heads. Everyone except Bridget, who stands with a confident hip out and her head tilting to the opposite side.

‘What would you do without me?’ she gloats, half laughing.

‘Thank you,’ I mouth as she brushes past me to offer her brother the pen.

Sketch signs first. He leans the page against the nearest tree. For someone who is so comfortable with a paintbrush in his hand, Sketch looks positively awkward trying to create the letters of his name with the blue ink. I suspect he hasn’t put pen to paper often since he left school, if ever. I’m next. I take the pen from Sketch and a tingle darts down my hand as his fingers brush against mine. Shaking like one of the leaves on the trees with a mix of disbelief and excitement, I write the words Annie Fagan for the last time. Then Ma and Mr Talbot sign. Finally, the priest scrawls something on the bottom line, and as simple as that, it’s official. I really am Mrs Talbot.

‘Now,’ the priest says, suddenly becoming quite serious, ‘I hate to rush you along, but I have nine o’clock mass this morning in town, and I’ll need a ride back.’

‘No problem,’ Sketch says with a smile. ‘Annie and I need to be getting on our way soon anyway if we’re going to catch the ferry on time. We can drop you back to town before we go.’

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