The First Last Kiss (10 page)

I didn’t hear back from him.

I’ve just got to face the fact that Ryan and I are over and move on. I put the eye mask on and try desperately to go to sleep so I can forget what a mess I’ve made of everything.

I come out of Arrivals with the rest of my fellow long-haul travellers, too exhausted and too busy tripping over my stupid boho skirt (bought in a moment of break-up madness) to even think about looking up. But then, just as I’m rubbing my sore ankle, I look around and notice all the people who are being greeted by loved ones. I can just imagine the montage of photos of the greeting couples, but I resist lifting up my camera, concluding that I’m not in the mood to photograph other people’s happy reunions.

I sigh, muss up my fringe and pull my hair back into a loose ponytail at the nape of my neck and wearily pick up the handle of my huge suitcase again, thinking about the next leg of my journey and wondering how I’m going to summon up the energy to get on the tube and then back to Casey’s flat. And then go back to work tomorrow.

Work. I’d almost forgotten what that was like. My suitcase crashes into my ankle again and I swear under my breath, then quickly lift my camera to my eyes, unable to resist it this time. I start snapping photos of the people greeting each other, the hugs, the cries of joy . . .

And then, through the viewfinder, I see him.

He’s standing next to a tall, well-built man who is holding a huge placard that says ‘I love you!’ and that Ryan is pointing at.

I look in amazement at Ryan who is smiling at me. He stares at me for a moment and then points again before slowly opening his arms. He grins and then I am running, laughing, crying, stumbling, swearing, but mostly crying. I run, dragging my massive bloody suitcase behind me, camera banging into my chest and my heart pounding out of it. My bra strap slips down my shoulder, my skirt tangles around my knees and if I’m not careful I’m going to fall flat on my face in front of everyone, but none of that matters because now . . . now I am back in my Ryan’s arms.

I throw my body against his, entwine my legs and arms around him like he is a tree, a magnificent, grounded oak tree and I am a bird who has found her way back to her nest. I’m clinging on to him and I can’t speak.

‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ Ryan whispers at last.

‘For how long?’

‘All day, six months, a lifetime . . .’

‘Me too,’ I answer. I look up at him, at his face that I know better than my own, at his eyes which are bluer than the Sydney sky and his lips which I’ve kissed so many times and yet not nearly enough times at all.

‘I don’t want to be another day without you, Ryan,’ I say at last. ‘You’re all I want, you’re all I ever wanted but other stuff just . . . got in the way. I–I’m so sorry for what I did—’

‘Shh,’ he says, and he smiles and I know I’m forgiven. ‘This is a fresh start, OK?’

I nod and wriggle my camera out from between us as Ryan kisses me.

‘I’m never going to forget this kiss,’ I mutter into Ryan’s lips as I hold it out and take a photo of the moment I didn’t dare dream would ever happen.

‘And I’m never going to let you go again,’ Ryan says, and I forget all about capturing the moment on film and instead savour his lips in a way I have never done before, and that I swear to myself I will do forever more.

Sealed With A Kiss

You know how you have a year where it feels like everyone you know is getting married and you end up pinging drunkenly from one wedding to another, dancing wildly, behaving badly and secretly wondering when it’s going to happen to you? Well, I never had that. I’d only ever been to one wedding before my own. And even though I was overjoyed to be back together with Ryan, I still retained a bit of my in-built Carter cynicism about it. But this was a Cooper wedding, done the Cooper way. I was back with my first love and little by little over the period of that beautiful, emotionally charged day, I found myself understanding what the fuss was all about and feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, I could do the whole ‘I do’ thing, too. One day . . .

FF>> 10/09/2005>

We’re in Ryan’s teenage bedroom at Jackie and Dave’s house, getting ready for Lydia and Carl’s wedding. Lydia is using the annexe that Ryan and I lived in (was it really only four years ago?) as her bridal suite – before we make our way to the venue. I’m quickly hopping into my outfit while she has her make-up done, before going back in to help her get into hers.

‘You’d better be careful or you’re gonna upstage the bride!’ Ryan kisses my neck, pinches my bum and winks at me in the mirror. I laugh as he spins me round to face him so I nearly fall out of my hot-pink dress.

I put my hands on his chest as he brushes his lips over mine and groans, before nuzzling his nose in my neck.

‘God, I wish we were staying in a hotel,’ he murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down my body. ‘I would rip off this dress right now and . . . ’

‘Now, now, spaghetti arms!’ I chastise, channelling Baby from
Dirty Dancing
but feeling more like Julia Roberts, pre-
Pretty Woman
makeover, in my too-tight pink frock. We’re interrupted by Ryan’s mum’s ‘dulcet’ tones.

‘RY! MOLLEEEEEE! Come down and have a glass of pink champoo with us, darlin’s! It’ll soon be time to go!’

‘You go,’ I say to Ryan, kissing him on the lips and tying his pink cravat that sets off his deep tan acquired through holidays, sailing, football and, much to my disapproval, sunbeds. ‘I need to go and do my bridesmaid duties! There!’ I pat his neck and look at him approvingly. ‘See you at the altar, best man!’ And I wave my fingers at him and disappear out of his bedroom door, leaving him to begin the lengthy task of styling his hair.

I run down the stairs, passing the extensive black and white gallery of photos of the Coopers, now featuring Lydia and I. I still can’t believe I’m up there. I asked Ryan if I’d been removed during our brief hiatus, but he’d assured me that Jackie had left me up. And after the way she’d greeted me with a big hug and an emphatic, ‘It’s
so
good to have you back, my darlin’,’ the first time I came over, I actually believed him. And despite my initial misgivings I feel honoured to be Lydia’s bridesmaid too.

‘Are you sure?’ I’d said when she asked me four months ago. ‘I mean Ryan and I have only just got back together . . . ’

‘You’re not planning on splitting up again, are you?’ she’d replied matter-of-factly, flicking her blonde extensions off her bare shoulders as we’d worked our way through our pizzas in Ugo’s, our favourite local restaurant, one Saturday afternoon.

‘No
way
,’ I’d said emphatically, and necked a large mouthful of wine.

‘Well then, of course I’m sure. Besides, it’s not like you’re the only one . . . I’ve got eight!’ I’d burst out laughing as she’d leaned in and whispered, ‘Jordan’s got nothin’ on
this
wedding!’

I’m nervous as we wait in front of Leez Priory, watching the flock of hired peacocks strut past us (‘Wicked idea of Jackie’s!’ Lydia said when we got out of the pink Cadillac). We’re waiting for the nod from the registrar to walk down the aisle (and by aisle I mean ‘pink carpet’). I’m nervous for Lydia – I know how long she has waited for this moment, she and Carl have been engaged for two years
and
had a baby – but I’m also nervous because I know that this is the moment that everyone will know that Ryan and I are serious, that we’re back for good.

As the strains of James Blunt’s ‘You’re Beautiful’ begin to play from the string quartet inside, I can’t help but laugh at her audacity to choose this as her wedding march. It’s typical of Lydia to be so wonderfully carefree and confident. Lydia turns around and winks at us all and I cradle little baby Beau, an absolute pudding of a boy (who, confusingly, is wearing a pink babygro to fit in with the colour theme), and we begin to walk.

I can’t deny it, I love seeing all those girls’ faces as they watch us come in. Especially when I realize that Nikki Pritchard is there. Single, mum-of-three Nikki Pritchard, who Lydia used to work with at the beauty salon. The same Nikki Pritchard from Westcliff High who was head of the Heathers. I love the gasps of astonishment for Lydia’s white dress ‘with a twist, babes’. The twist being that it’s tight and short, has a hot-pink sash and shows off her brilliant legs and bright-pink Jimmy Choo shoes. ‘I did not pay five hundred quid for these babies to hide ’em under some big blancmange,’ she’d said when she had her fitting.

Then I see my mum and dad and they smile at me fondly, which makes me want to cry. And then there’s Ryan, standing next to Carl and to my surprise, my breath catches in my throat, my chest heaving out of my low-cut dress with all the love I feel for him. I blink back tears as I see how hard Carl is working to hold it together. I see Ryan put his hand on his big brother’s shoulder and Carl clings on to his fingers for a moment, and Ryan then nudges him towards Lydia, who grabs Carl’s hand and practically drags him into a pre-wedding snog. Ryan looks back at me, his eyes dancing with happiness.

‘Time for the wedding breakfast!’ calls Jackie, a vision in fuschia pink, strutting alongside the peacocks on the lawn in front of the marquee in her high heels and even higher fascinator, her blonde layered bob styled to perfection.

It’s all brilliantly bling but completely lovely because Lydia and Carl are so happy and in love and they couldn’t give a toss what anyone else thinks. Even my mum and dad seem to be enjoying it, in their own way. Jackie insisted I pass on an invite to them, too. ‘You’re practically part of the Cooper family, my darlin’, which means so are they!’ I spotted them briefly squeezing hands during the ceremony and they even smiled at the rude jokes in the speeches in between the tentative sips of the single glass of champagne they’d each allowed themselves. Pity they’ve failed to spot Dave topping up their glasses every time they look away.

I smile as Mum comes over now, uncharacteristically wobbly on her feet.

‘So, Molly dear,’ she says, briskly tapping her hat, which is perched primly on her short hair. ‘Do you think it’s about time I bought another of these?’ She winks and I laugh and wag my finger at her as if I am the school teacher. I have never seen my mother wink. I should ply her with champagne more often. I think of how disapproving she used to be of Ryan and how far she and I have come in our relationship since my awkward teenage years, and I know it’s Ryan and his family we have to thank for our easier, warmer relationship.

I watch as Mum sways back to Dad’s side. I’m not alone for long.

‘You alright, Molly?’ Ryan’s lovely Nanny Door says, handing me another glass of champagne. I smile as I take it from her, genuinely pleased to have the chance to chat with her. She’s always been my closest ally. She slips her hand through my arm and we wander over to a table to sit down. She looks adorable in a pale-blue trouser suit and I compliment her on it.

‘Oooh, the colour matches my eyes, doll – and my rinse!’ She’s being self-deprecating. I remark how well she’s matched it with some silver shoes and a big silk scarf, and she smiles serenely, clearly pleased by the genuine compliment. ‘Well, I model my style on Jane Fonda, dear. Her exercise vids still keep me young, y’know! Between that, me pelvic floors and a monthly trip to Champneys, I’m in pretty good shape! Anyway, enough about me, what about you, Molly? You were looking a little lost there if I weren’t much mistaken.’

‘No Nan, I was just taking it all in . . . ’

She leans in closer and winks. One of her false lashes has slipped. ‘Thinking what you and Ry will do differently on your big day, eh love?’

‘No!’ I exclaim and then laugh, because I kind of was.

‘No shame in that, doll,’ Nanny says, taking a sip of her champagne and smacking her pink lips together. ‘Sometimes it takes losing someone you love to realize just what you’ve got. Of course, the ideal is to never lose them at all but, well, that’s not always so easy, is it, dear?’ Her voice drifts off and I know she’s thinking of her Arthur. I take her arm and she smiles brightly. ‘Now, d’you fancy a dance? I love this song!’

‘Hey, gorge,’ Ryan says drunkenly as he leads me back onto the dance floor later (I needed a rest after Nanny Door; she was unstoppable once she got up there).

I nod my head as Mum twirls past with Dave to Kanye West’s ‘Gold Digger’ and Dad and Jackie jive by.

‘Check John out!’ Ryan chuckles.

Just then Dave spins my mum around and delivers her into Dad’s arms just in time for a slow dance to ‘Hey Jude’.

Ryan squeezes my waist as we watch them, clearly so much happier doing their little waltz together than the fancy moves the Coopers were making them throw. My throat aches as I realize that this is exactly what their marriage is, a slow waltz and they have, in their own way, been enjoying it all along. It’s me who’s always wished they’d dance faster and fancier.

‘Ehhh, Ry, Molly!’ Carl says in his The Fonz voice as he lurches over to us and throws his arms around our shoulders, closely followed by Alex who clearly thinks he’s Patrick Swayze, and Gaz who appears to be marching across the dance floor like Doody from
Grease
. ‘Isn’t this just the best day ever! When are you gonna do the deed, eh?’

‘I’d
love
to do the deed wiv
her
,’ Gaz says with a chortle, tilting his pork-pie hat in Lydia’s best mate’s direction. ‘Watch this!’ And he marches over to the bridesmaid who is gyrating in the middle of the dance floor. We watch as Gaz taps the girl on the shoulder and she immediately turns around and snogs him.

‘No
way
!’ Alex yells.

Everyone bursts out laughing. ‘Don’t think that means you can avoid the question, bro,’ Carl says, ruffling Ryan’s hair just as Lydia dances up and throws her arms around us.

‘Come on,’ she says, jumping up and down just as the DJ puts on ‘We Are Family’
.
‘All the Coopers together!’

Ryan kisses me on my head as the three of them begin to bounce.

‘But I’m not a Cooper!’ I protest, feeling my feet being lifted up off the floor as Jackie and Dave join us.