Confessions of a Serial Dater (24 page)

And then Carmen, Jess, Flora, Ned, Charlie, Lewis and Paul are laughing right along with me, because they, of course, are the only other people who also see the irony of the situation.

The whole congregation—a small congregation, thank goodness, consisting only of family and close friends—soon catches on and is laughing along, too. Not Jonathan’s side, obviously…

Nor Philip, who is keeping a straight face, because I don’t suppose it would be right for a vicar to laugh at such an absurd situation, especially whilst in the actual house of God.

“Well, I don’t mean to break up this confession session,” Carmen says, trying to stop her laughter. “But time’s passing and we have a plane to catch. Don’t we, Rosie?”

“Because, Rosie, it’s your one chance at true love,” Jess tells me insistently.

“Are we going, Rosie?”

This is crunch time. Do I go home and continue with my nice, safe life, or do I take the biggest risk of my life?

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Mum tells me, smiling widely.

“And don’t worry about the reception buffet, either,” Granny Elsie winks at me. “It shan’t go to waste. Go get your excitin’ pair of shoes, my girl.”

“Yes,” I say, sliding Jonathan’s two-hundred-quid engagement ring off of my finger, and hand it to Elaine, who hasn’t yet found her tongue since I upstaged her. “Have a good life,” I call over my shoulder to her, also meaning it, before we dash down the steps toward Ned’s car.

Halfway down the church steps I pause to take off the pinchy shoes. I’m never going to wear pinchy shoes ever again.

“What time is it?” I ask for the millionth time as Ned lurches off the M25 onto the M4, and as the car he ruthlessly carves up honks on his horn.

“Stupid fucking bastard,” Ned shouts, giving the driver the finger. Who knew Ned was Mr. Hyde behind the wheel?

“Just after twelve. Stop fussing,” Charlie tells me. “Actually, scrub that. Keep fussing,” he grins.

“It’s nice to see you all flustered for once in your life,” Lewis finishes for him.

“Two minutes, in fact, since the last time you asked,” Car
men says. “Honestly, I’ve never seen you so fucking impatient and worked up about anything before. It’s fucking fantastic,” she grins, and the panic builds in my stomach. What if we’re too late?

“What if we’re too late?”

“We’ll get there on time,” Ned assures me. And then, “Fucking bastard, did you see how that shit carved me up?” He solicits agreement.

“Calm down, darling.” Flora pats his arm. “Just concentrate on the road.” Ned is, it has to be said, not the best driver on the road. As he lane jumps, we all lurch to one side of the van.

“But what if he isn’t on the two o’clock flight? What if he was on an earlier one, and right now he’s cruising miles above the Atlantic Ocean, and I never see him again?” I fret.

“No chance,” Lewis shakes his head. “He needs to be there at least two hours before the flight is due to depart.”

“Therefore he must be on the two o’clock. Or a later one.”

“But what if—”

“You have to believe,” Jess tells me from behind, where she, Philip and Paul are squashed like so many sardines in a can. Yes, Philip, because he didn’t want to be left out.

“God will provide,” Philip tells me. “Sorry, that sounded a bit pompous, didn’t it?” he adds. “Just wanted to make you feel a bit better.”

“Are you sure it’s terminal three?” Ned booms from the driver’s seat as he swerves into the correct lane.

“Oh, God, what if we’re going to the wrong terminal?” I fret some more. “Have you got any more of that brandy, Carmen? Only I think I need some more.”

“No. You don’t need false courage to do this,” she tells me firmly. “Besides, we finished it off at the church.”

“But are we nearly there yet?” I ask, like some kid in the backseat of a car on a long journey.

“Ned has it all under control,” Paul says. “You do, don’t you, Ned?”

“Stop.” Flora commands from the front seat. “All of you, stop. We
will
get you there on time, Rosie, in the
right
place, in
one
piece, and we
will
find Luke. Now take deep breaths.”

I am taking such deep breaths that by the time Ned drops us outside the terminal, I am nearly hyperventilating.

“Go,” Flora tells us as we fall out of the van. “We’ll park and then come and find you.”

As I head to the main door of terminal three ahead of everyone, it suddenly hits me that I don’t know where I’m going, and I do an about-turn. My friends all stop in their tracks.

“Virgin Atlantic check-in would be a good place to start,” Carmen says before I can ask the question. And off we go again.

And as we dash through the airport, a lot of people pause to stare at us.
A barefoot bride, with bridesmaids, a vicar and three men dressed in full morning attire will have that effect on a busy airport,
I think but don’t care as we race toward the Virgin Atlantic desk. Where there is a very long line.

“God, we’ll never be on time,” I say, taking my place at the end of the line. “It’s hopeless.”

“Faint heart never won fair doctor,” Charlie says, tugging at my arm. “Forget politeness for once, Rosie.”

“Our profuse apologies,” Carmen tells the line of passengers, taking my other arm, and they pull me to the front.

“Next, please,” one Virgin Atlantic representative announces.

“I’m really sorry,” I tell the also bemused passengers. “But this is a complete love emergency. Please,” I say to the also thoroughly bemused representative. “I know that this is highly unusual, but I find myself in a highly unusual situa
tion and need desperately to find out if a passenger has already checked in—”

“We know that you can’t divulge specific information—” Carmen jumps in.

“But it’s a case of completely requited love—” Jess adds. “Completely requited.”

Oh, I hope she’s right.

“His name’s Luke Benton—” Paul.

“He’s an utterly gorgeous doctor—” Charlie, of course.

“And he thinks his beloved—that would be our Rosie, here—is marrying someone else—” Lewis.

“Because I didn’t tell him I loved him this morning when he came to see me before my nonwedding,” I wail. “I was an idiot, who didn’t know the real thing when it stared her in the face, so he doesn’t even know—”

“That she didn’t marry the wrong man,” Carmen jumps in.

“And he’s flying to America and I’ll never see him again.”

“This is highly irregular,” the baffled Virgin Atlantic representative—Amanda, according to her badge—begins.

“Dear lady, I can vouch for them all,” Philip, cutting a swathe in full vicar regalia, announces to her. “I am a vicar.”

“Well,” she says, shaking her head. “This is one I haven’t heard before.” And then she grins at us. “I shall have to get my manager to check on procedure.”

“Everything alright?” Two beefy security guards are by our sides before we can blink.

“These people causing a disturbance?” Two more beefy security guards arrive, and I’m panicking that they’ll throw us out of the terminal.

“It’s a love problem,” Amanda, our new VA friend, tells them, and quickly gives a summary of the problem at hand.

“Basically, this young lady here was supposed to get married. The real love of her life is on a plane bound for New
York, and she’s only just realized that it’s him she wants, rather than the groom. That about cover it?”

“Yes.” We all nod like so many nodding-head puppies or kittens in the back window of a car.

“I’ll be right back, if you’d like to wait here?” As if we’re going anywhere else! But God, it’s already 1
P
.
M
. He’s probably boarding the plane already!

“Give the poor girl a break,” a woman on line shouts.

“It’s true love,” another one nods in agreement, followed by a chorus of approval from the other passengers.

“Oh. Well, I like a good love story,” one of the guards nods.

“Especially with a happy ending,” says another.

“Did you see
Love Actually
? Very tender, very heartwarming.”

“Oh, that’s one of my keepers.”

“I’m sorry,” Amanda says as she returns to her desk, and we all hold our collective breath. “I cannot divulge any passenger information.”

That’s it, then. I’m too late.

“But there must be something we can do—” Carmen insists.

“Show some heart,” the same woman on line shouts, to the agreement of the other passengers.

“If you’ll let me finish?” Amanda says with a smile. “We’re checking with the airport authority, but if you’d like to give us your full name, and that of your loved one, we’re going to see if we’re allowed to make an announcement over the public address system.”

And so I do, and ten minutes later, we are standing by security check-in.

“Will Doctor Luke Benton please make himself known to an airline representative?” booms the address system. “Miss Rosie Mayford urgently needs to tell him that she loves him, and is awaiting him at the security check-in. Repeat. Doctor
Luke Benton. Miss Rosie Mayford is, unlike Elvis, in the building, and she is anxiously awaiting a response to her declaration of love. Please make yourself known to an airport or airline representative.”

“My God, it’s official,” I say, grinning to my friends. “The whole airport knows I love him.”

Fuck. The whole airport…I’m so nervous that I can barely think of what I’m going to say if he turns up.

“Hey, love, if he doesn’t turn up, I’ll marry you myself,” one of the guards tells me.

“Your Eileen won’t like that much,” his partner tells him. “He’ll be here, love. How could he resist such a romantic gesture? I couldn’t resist such a romantic gesture, could you, Bert?”

Five minutes later the same message is announced on the address system, and we have now attracted quite a crowd of spectators and well-wishers.

“Doctor Benton, according to the great Phil Collins, ‘You Can’t Hurry Love,’ but now is not the time to take that advice. Please make yourself known.”

Everyone laughs encouragingly as even the public address announcer gets into the spirit. But I’m getting a bit worried, because it is now one-twenty, and the plane must be getting quite crowded.

“It’s no good,” I say, my heart sinking into my toes. “He probably can’t even hear the announcement on the plane.”

“Oh, no,” a red-coated Virgin Atlantic representative tells me. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but they’ve announced you over the plane’s address system, too. I can’t tell you which plane, or confirm whether or not he’s on it, but don’t lose hope,” she says, winking at me.

“Well, we’ve come this far, we might as well wait,” Philip tells me. “Have some faith.”

At one-thirty-five the announcement is made again, and
there’s still no sign of him, and the plane must be getting ready for takeoff, and so I have to face it. He’s just not coming.

“What’s happening?” Flora and Ned finally catch up with us. As everyone fills them in, I sigh and look down at my feet. I did it. I took a risk. I knew that it could go either way, but for a few hours I thought that we might have a chance, that he did love me.

“He’s not coming. We might as well accept it. I might as well accept it,” I say.

It is now one-forty-five. Far too late. Time to go home. I concentrate harder on my panty-hose-clad toes to avoid all the sympathy stares.

“Well, I expect he had on earphones—you know—was listening to music, or whatnot, and couldn’t hear the announcement,” Flora tells me, trying for upbeat and failing.

“Rosie,” Carmen says in my ear, and nudges me.

“Look,” Paul urges me.

“Oh, oh,” Jess says.

“God has provided—” Philip. “Oh, sorry, everyone, that sounded a bit odd, didn’t it?”

“Rosie, he’s coming.” Charlie nudges me, too.

“There he is,” Lewis adds.

And the crowd roars.

And then I look up.

On the other side of the security check, the crowds have parted to form an informal corridor. In the distance, past the duty-free stores, I can see a man jogging through the corridor.

The crowd cheers as he passes them.

It’s Luke.

As he reaches the security check-in, and the security guards pat him encouragingly on the back and let him pass, his eyes are fixed on me. I walk forward to meet him.

He’s hot and disheveled and out of breath. And I’ve never seen him looking so utterly gorgeous, I think, as I reach up and smooth back his floppy hair. I’ve wanted to do that forever.

The crowd quiets in anticipation as it collectively waits for the outcome of my flight of fancy. And I’m frozen into speechlessness.

“It’s you,” he teases, breaking the silence, his eyes crinkling as he smiles down at me. And I’m nervous, exhilarated, anticipatory, as my heart pounds so loudly in my breast that the whole airport must be shaking with it.

“I think we can safely say that it is, in fact, me,” I smile back, my voice as shaky as my legs. And then, “Just in case there was a slight possibility you missed it, I think you should know that—I—I love you.”

“I didn’t really believe it until I heard you say it. By the way, I love you right back,” he says softly. And then, just before he kisses me, he pauses as he sees my feet. “What happened to your shoes?” he asks, raising a James Bond sardonic eyebrow at me, and I laugh.

“They didn’t fit.”

“We are definitely going to have to do something about your footwear situation,” he says, lowering his head.

And as he kisses me, and as I’m winding my arms around his neck, the crowd lets out a roar of approval as they clap and cheer.

And as he kisses me some more, another announcement booms from the public address system.

“For those very few of you not currently crowding the security check-in area, you’ll be delighted to know that Miss Rosie Mayford has located Doctor Luke Benton. We’d like to take this opportunity on behalf of Virgin Atlantic and all staff at Heathrow airport to wish them a happy future. The weather is fair for a happy landing.”

Ten months later…

Luke and I got married this morning, and he kept his promise about looking into my footwear situation.