A Vintage Wedding (23 page)

‘We’ll say goodbye chastely at her garden gate then. Which somehow makes this all the more charming. Personally I feel old-fashionedness gets a very bad press.’

She laughed genuinely now. He was really nice and easy to be with. If they had been going back to hers, and the boys were sleeping somewhere else, she probably would have asked him in for coffee.

‘When the weather gets better I’d like to take you and your parents, and your gran if she’d like it, to a pub for Sunday lunch, as a way of saying thank you for lunch the other day.’

‘And the boys?’

‘Of course the boys! And the pub I have in mind has a really good adventure playground-type thing in the garden.’

‘Sounds perfect!’

They walked along in silence, his arm around her, walking in perfect step together. All too soon they were at Lindy’s grandmother’s gate.

‘This is it,’ she said.

‘Oh, shame. I hoped it was further.’

‘Well, I didn’t. I can’t wait to get into bed.’ Although it was true that she was aching with tiredness, she could have walked quite a bit further with Angus just then.

‘So it’s time to say goodnight,’ he said.

‘It is,’ she agreed. A million scenarios flashed through her head. Should she kiss him on the cheek? Was he the sort of man who was used to this? Some men kissed everyone, it didn’t mean a thing, but Angus’s family were not touchy-feely. For Edward a kiss wasn’t a casual gesture, it was a preliminary to sex.

But before she could over-think it any more, he bent and kissed her: on the cheek, but firmly – a proper kiss. ‘Goodnight, Lindy.’

‘Goodnight, Angus,’ she said, not kissing him back. ‘Thank you very much for walking me home.’

‘It was a pleasure. I’ll be in touch.’ Then he turned and walked away.

On her grandmother’s doorstep, hunting for her key, she rather wished he’d hung around longer. But as she finally got the key in the lock, she looked up and noticed he’d gone no further than a few yards. He was checking she’d got in safely but hadn’t made a big deal about it. She sighed.

Once it all began and the wedding was obviously going wonderfully, Beth had started to really enjoy herself. Everyone had admired the wedding cake, which did look beautiful. Very slightly amateurish but, as Rachel had said, that added to its rustic charm. While privately she determined that the next cake she iced wouldn’t have anything ‘rustic’ about it, she was satisfied. The delicate lace pattern had worked pretty well considering.

Beth loved to be really busy, to need to think on her feet and fly from task to task. She was just helping to cut the enormous pork pies into reasonable-sized pieces so that no greedy reveller decided he needed half of one when someone said her name.

‘Beth? Is that you?’ She looked up and took a moment to realise the woman she was looking at had been her art teacher at school.

‘Oh, hello, Mrs Patterson. I didn’t know you knew April.’ Although how she would be expected to know this was a mystery.

‘Oh no, we’re old friends of Tristram’s family, groom’s side, but my dear! You look so different. Your hair. You’ve cut it.’

Beth noticed she didn’t say ‘had it cut’ although since the first rebellious chopping off, she had gone to a hairdresser and a few times since. She put her hand to the back of her head protectively. ‘Yes, well, felt like a change.’

‘It looks amazing!’ said Mrs Patterson, somewhat to Beth’s surprise. ‘You’ve always had lovely hair but when it was so long that was all one ever saw of you: the gorgeous hair. Now you see your enormous eyes. It really suits you.’

‘Well, thank you! That’s very good to hear,’ said Beth happily. Her mother had always been so insistent that her hair was her main attraction; she’d always assumed that when she’d cut it off in a fit of rebellion no one would think it looked nice short.

‘I always felt you were hiding your light under that bushel of hair.’

The compliment gave Beth the confidence to smile at Charlie when she saw him. He gave her a grin and an approving glance.

When the dancing started she accepted the arm of someone she knew from the pub. Charlie was doing duty dances but he winked at her when they met on the dance floor so she was confident that when he’d got through the people he had to dance with, he would be there for her again.

For a while she forgot about him and then realised, as she took a sip of the cider her current partner had handed her, Charlie was missing. He’d last been seen dancing with the Amazon, who looked a lot better now much of her make-up had melted off.

Soon her partner became amorous and Beth became too hot. She went to the Ladies, which was hardly more luxurious than it had been when she had first encountered it, just after Christmas. But now it was full of flowers and Rachel had added delightfully fragrant hand wash and hand cream and a scented candle, which, given there hadn’t been time to do more, did make a big difference. She’d done her own share of decorating, of course, but it was Rachel who’d provided the finishing touches.

She examined her make-up and, newly into it, decided she had to apply a little bit more. Her make-up bag was with her coat, which she had put in a little room full of decorating materials, stuffed there by Beth and Lindy (when Rachel wasn’t looking) to get it out of the way quickly. They had set up a makeshift cloakroom for the guests, but as it was a bit small, Beth didn’t want to use up coat space intended for guests.

She found the right cupboard but the door was jammed. She gave it a huge tug, heard something crack and it opened suddenly. She switched on the light. There, on top of the dustsheets, discarded boiler suits and tins of paint, were Charlie and the Amazon. Beth shut the door as quickly as she could but not before she had seen Charlie’s back and the Amazon sitting on the pile of tables. It was perfectly clear what was going on.

Then, realising she didn’t want to go home without her coat, she opened it again. ‘Excuse me!’ She didn’t look at Charlie; she didn’t want to give him a chance to make excuses. She just pulled her coat from off the peg and then left, leaving the door open and the light on. It was their fault if the wedding guests saw what the bride’s brother was getting up to with one of the bridesmaids.

‘Oh God! What’s the matter?’ said Rachel as Beth nearly knocked her over in her hurry to get to the door.

‘Don’t want to talk about it. Do you mind if I go?’

‘No – of course – but are you OK? Do you want me to come with you?’

‘No! Thank you – really, I’ll be OK. I just need to leave now.’

‘But what’s happened?’

Beth shook her head. She really didn’t want to say but felt Rachel had to know. ‘Charlie and the enormous bridesmaid. In that cupboard. Shagging.’

She then pushed her way through the people, avoiding eye contact with her ex-dance partner and got out of the door.

Beth didn’t really know how she felt about anything, only that she wanted to get home.

In spite of her intention to wait, tears started to form and she blundered from the building half-blinded. She went bang into someone on her way out, and as her ballet flats had no grip on them she slipped alarmingly.

‘Careful now,’ said a man, catching her.

It took a moment for her to find her feet. She had to cling on to the man, who was swathed in a dark fleece, a big scarf and a flat cap pulled well down. His voice was soft with a touch of a brogue about it. She knew she should be wary of strange men who appear from nowhere but just then Beth thought she’d been through the worse that could happen and now she was only facing awkwardness.

She sniffed hard, hoping he couldn’t see that she’d been crying. She didn’t want sympathy. ‘Thank you. Could have been embarrassing!’ she said.

‘Or painful.’

‘Mm.’ She yearned to wipe her nose but she knew producing a tissue would be like waving a flag saying, ‘I’m crying.’

As the man didn’t immediately go into the hall and she wanted him out of the way, she said, ‘Can I help you? Are you a guest? The wedding’s still going strong and there’s lots of food left.’

‘Is it a wedding? No, I’m not a guest. I just wanted to look at the hall.’

Beth wasn’t thinking clearly but even to her this seemed odd. ‘At this time of night? It’s a bit late to be checking out a venue.’

He laughed. He had a very pleasing timbre to his voice, she noticed. ‘’Tis, but I saw the lights and thought I’d take the opportunity.’

‘Well, go ahead. No one would notice if you went and had a look round.’

‘So you’re leaving the wedding?’

He seemed reluctant to move and unless he did, she’d have to push past him. ‘Yup. No reason for me to stay.’ She cleared the catch in her throat. ‘I was working anyway and I’m not needed now.’

‘Working as what?’

‘Me and my friends organise weddings. This was our first. But we’ve done it now. I’m tired, I want to go home. But you go in, look around. Have some pork pie.’ Get out of my way! she would have added if she’d been braver.

‘I’ll do that, then.’ He moved at last.

Beth gave him a quick smile and set off down the path.

Beth was in such a whirlpool of emotions she didn’t know which one was dominant. As she walked the rest of the way home, sliding along in her unsuitable shoes, wishing she’d retrieved her others so she could move faster, she was desperate to get inside her own front door so she could cry, or be sick, or maybe shout and scream.

Having got in she sat on the sofa in her coat and stared at the blank television screen for several moments, then she got up and switched it on so the picture in her head would be replaced by something else. Anything that happened to be on would be better than the vision of the man she’d thought was her boyfriend rutting with that girl in the cupboard.

Two seconds later this drove her mad so she got up to turn it off. Then she went to the bathroom to have a shower.

As the warm water streamed over her head and body she tried to put her emotions in order of precedence. She was angry, desperately betrayed, an idiot. When the water went from warm to tepid, she turned it off and swathed herself in towelling, topping it off with her dressing gown. Then she went into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards until she found a sachet of hot chocolate.

She took the chocolate to bed with her, having shed the towels and pulled on her pyjamas. As she sipped she wondered if it would have happened – that terrible scene in the cupboard – if she’d slept with Charlie. A second after she’d had this thought she felt grateful that she hadn’t. But as she finally burrowed under the duvet, praying for sleep and that she’d never have to see Charlie again, she wondered if things would have been different if she had.

And was her heart actually broken or was that physical pain in her stomach simply the result of a dirty great kick to her pride?

As it would be nearly teatime when the others arrived, Rachel decided to bake. It was three days after the wedding and pouring with rain. Beth and Lindy were coming round to discuss how the wedding had gone. Or, as Rachel described it, have a ‘wash-up’ meeting. Lindy had agreed to come as long as she didn’t have to do any actual washing-up.

Before she moved to the country and learnt to loosen up a little, Rachel had rarely cooked – it made so much mess. But now she felt inclined to get out her traditional Mason Cash bowls, a recipe book and her scales, and release her inner Mary Berry.

She made madeleines in her special tins and laid them on a plate, and added a light dusting of icing sugar. She still needed things to be well presented but she wasn’t as stressed when she made a mess and her clearing-up was less obsessive. Now, she discovered there was a lot of satisfaction to be had from producing something so elegant, so delectable, from a few ingredients and an oven. She was spared more philosophical reflection by the sound of rapping on the back door.

‘Oh! What’s that amazing smell!’ said Lindy on the back doorstep as she pulled off her wellingtons. ‘You’ve been baking. I didn’t know you did that.’

‘I haven’t much, up till now. But we’ll see what they taste like before we get too excited,’ said Rachel.

‘They look like something in a cookery book,’ exclaimed Lindy. ‘Your presentation skills are amazing.’

‘My presentation skills have had a lot more practice than my baking but I did like doing them.’

‘Can I have one?’

‘Not yet! Not until Beth gets here.’ Rachel frowned. ‘I’m a bit worried about Beth, actually. Have you seen her since the wedding?’

‘No,’ said Lindy. ‘Why, what happened?’

‘I don’t know if she’d mind me telling you—’

‘I’m sure she wouldn’t!’ said Lindy, impatient for information.

‘At the wedding, she found Charlie and the big bridesmaid, in a cupboard – er – you know.’

‘Oh God!’ said Lindy as she took in what Rachel was saying. ‘How awful! I’m sure Beth really liked him. How utterly horrible. Bastard.’

Rachel nodded. ‘Horrendous. And now I don’t know if it was OK for me to tell you.’

‘I’ll pretend you haven’t, if you like,’ said Lindy, who obviously didn’t know either. ‘So,’ she went on, ‘did you have a nice time? I didn’t see Raff.’

‘I’m not his keeper!’ said Rachel and then sighed. ‘He did say he might not be able to come. He was collecting an old fireplace or something from the other end of the country.’