by Jenny Colgan
“How did you get here, Mum?” said Polly.
“That nice young American boy sent a car for me,” said Doreen. “He’s looked after me so well! Such a lovely chap.”
“Reuben?”
“He’s a darling,” said Doreen.
“He is,” said Kerensa, looking fondly at the crib in the corner where she’d laid Herschel-Lowin.
Polly looked around.
“And you promise me Huckle knew nothing about this?”
“Nope,” said Kerensa. “Reuben thought he’d pitch a fit and insist that you needed a chance to do it your way. Whereas we’ve decided that it’s just time for the two of you.”
“Seriously?”
“You’re so busy, you’d never have gotten around to it.”
Kerensa knelt down.
“You’re not cross, are you?”
Polly looked around again. Planning her own wedding wasn’t at all the kind of thing she’d dreamed of as a child. Everything she’d dreamed of—running her own business, being independent, baking things people wanted to buy—those things she’d done. But in this big, mad, beautiful house . . .
“Who else is coming?” she asked weakly.
“Everyone,” said Kerensa, with a wicked glint in her eye, and sure enough, there were already fleets of cars crunching up the drive toward the house, and laughing, shouting people disgorging from them.
“Oh Lord,” said Polly.
There was a woman lingering by the door carrying a huge box of what was clearly makeup. Polly turned to her.
“Okay,” she said. “Whatever it is you do—do it all. Twice. Then add some more for luck.”
Kerensa poured them all glasses of champagne.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “I have a breast pump.”
“I really don’t deserve this,” said Polly. “I don’t deserve any of this. Not really.”
Kerensa blinked. “You’ve been the best friend in the world,” she said hoarsely. “Anyway, choose a dress, the rest are going back. Reuben hired the entire shop. Plus you’ll need an hour for Anita to paint your nails and stick extra hair in.”
“What do you mean, extra hair?”
“All the brides these days have extra hair,” said Kerensa. “Well, they have lots extra in some places and lots less in other places. We can do that too.”
Polly thought of how often Huckle had said he liked her strawberry-blond hair natural and curly rather than how she normally did it, ironed flat and sprayed down.
“Actually,” she said. “I think I’ll just leave it like it is.”
“But it’s all curly.”
“Maybe curly is all right.”
“My God, your children are going to have, like, the world’s curliest hair.”
Polly smiled to think of it.
“Well,” she said. “Maybe I’ve made my peace with that.”
She started trying on the dresses, having a giggle at the really massive princess one—she couldn’t help it; it looked stiff and strange and not like her at all, and was profoundly uncomfortable to wear.
“No,” she said. “Definitely not.”
“It’s okay,” said Kerensa. “I’ve taken lots of nice pictures of you in it anyway, so if you want to you can substitute that frock in the wedding pictures later. Reuben can do all the computer stuff.”
“Hmm,” said Polly. And then she saw it. It was just behind the cupboard, and wasn’t at all like the rest of the showy diamanté numbers. In fact it was rather plain: a simple vintage dress with a boat-neck lace top and a deep V at the waist. If anything, it was slightly medieval. It didn’t have petticoats or hoops or sparkles or ruffles or bows. Neither did it cut her off as the strapless numbers did, making her look like the top half of her was cavorting about naked. This dress was subtle, sweet, understated . . .
She slipped the cool silk underskirt over her head. It flowed down her body and fitted immediately, perfectly, as if it had been made for her. It shimmered as she moved; it wasn’t too tight or too puffy; not too fussy and not too plain. The tiny glinting vintage sequins caught the light in a subtle way; the pale ivory color set off her red hair perfectly. She looked in the mirror and barely recognized herself.
“Oh,” Doreen said quietly. “Oh. That’s exactly what I’d have chosen. For you,” she added quickly, looking up and wiping her eyes. “I mean for you, of course. That’s what I would have chosen for you.”
Polly came over and hugged her mother for a long time and they had a small cry together. Then Anita, the hair and makeup girl, unpacked her box and started work.
Polly could see more cars arriving.
“Oh my Lord,” she said. “I’m quite nervous now.”
She turned to Kerensa. “What music are we having?”
“Just the normal stuff,” said Kerensa quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
Polly blinked.
“Oh my God, what about rings?”
“We’ve borrowed a couple for you,” said Kerensa. “They have to go back and then you can choose your own.”
Polly shook her head.
“No, it’s all right,” she said. “I think we have a better idea.” And she sent a quick text to Huckle.
After half an hour of painting and polishing and primping—at one point there were three people working on her at once—Kerensa gave Polly some fresh underwear and declared her ready.
“I still think I should have had more notice and I wouldn’t have eaten all that toast and leftover canapés over Christmas.”
“Shut up,” said Kerensa. “You look beautiful.”
And she did. Exquisitely beautiful and perfect and gorgeous in the pale winter sunlight that reflected off the snow and streamed in through the huge windows overlooking the bay. Polly blinked as she watched the activity on the drive. Old Mrs. Corning was being helped out of a large car by Pat the vet. Everyone was here.
“How?” she said. “Seriously? Everyone’s known about this for weeks?”
“Yup,” said Kerensa smugly.
Polly shook her head, bemused.
“This is mad.”
“I think it’s the funnest thing to happen to Mount Polbearne for ages.” Kerensa peered out of the window. “Oh wow.”
“What?” said Polly. She glanced out. It was Huckle’s mum and dad, looking cheery and bemused, and with them was Huckle’s very troublesome brother DuBose.
“Whoa,” said Polly. “You really did get everyone.”
“Just lock up the jewelry,” said Kerensa. “Oh! I almost forgot. I have a present for you.”
“On top of what?” said Polly. “Oh my God, Kerensa, this is totally mad already.”
“Sssh,” said Kerensa. “Doing this has been about the only nice time I’ve had this year.” She looked adoringly at the baby in the cot. “Worth it, though.”
She brought out a velvet jewelry case and handed it to Polly, who opened it. Inside was a delicate necklace on a platinum chain, with a tiny row of puffins, each with a little diamond. You couldn’t even tell what they were unless you got close; otherwise it just looked like a lovely piece of filigree.
“Oh my God,” said Polly.
“Hah!” said Kerensa. “I knew you’d like it.”
“I love it!” said Polly, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh my God, I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”
“Everything,” said Kerensa. “Come here. I told them to use the waterproof mascara.”
The two girls held one another tightly.
“I’m going to do this,” said Polly disbelievingly. “I’m actually going to do this.”
“Unless you reckon anyone better’s going to come along,” said Kerensa, and they both burst out laughing.
Doreen stood up cautiously, still a little nervous. Polly noticed that she had had her nails done and was even wearing a tiny bit of makeup. She had made the most massive effort. Polly blinked.
“This is . . .” Doreen swallowed hard. “This is all I ever wanted for you.
No. I wanted whatever you wanted for you,” she said with some difficulty. “And I should have been better at letting you see . . . letting you know that whatever you wanted was fine. And . . . I should have . . .”
“Mum,” said Polly. “Forget about that. Forget about everything. It’s fine. It’s all fine. Please.”
And they embraced too, just as a very trendy photographer in cowboy boots and a bald spot came in and started taking shots of them with an unnecessarily complex-looking camera.
“Reportage,” hissed Kerensa. “Nothing cheesy.”
“Yes, because this isn’t at all cheesy,” wept Polly. The photographer ignored them completely and kept snapping away.
“Hang on,” said Polly. “What about music? And readings? And all that stuff?”
“Well, you told me all that,” said Kerensa.
“What do you mean? No I didn’t. How?”
“When we were at school,” said Kerensa. “Remember? I made plans then. We wrote it all down in an exercise book. You helped.”
Polly went white.
“You didn’t . . .”
“What?” said Kerensa innocently. ““I Want It That Way” is a perfectly good song to walk down the aisle to. I did actually speak to their management, so they’re on their way . . .”
“YOU DIDN’T?”
Kerensa grinned. “I didn’t.”
“Oh,” said Polly, mostly relieved and a teensy-tiny bit disappointed.
“Ha! I knew it! You totally look disappointed!”
Polly shook her head.
“Trust me, I am so round the bend with shock and terror, disappointment is the furthest thing from my mind.”
“Don’t worry,” said Kerensa, squeezing her hand. “We’ve gone very trad.”
She glanced at her watch. It was coming up to two o’clock.
“Okay,” she said. “You know, I think it’s nearly time.”
“Oh my God,” said Polly. “Oh my God. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. Where’s Neil?”
“He’s with Huckle,” said Kerensa. “The groomsmen stick together. Don’t worry. And you’re never ready. Oh, and Huckle’s fraternity brothers are here too. I’m amazed you didn’t hear them before now. Reuben wouldn’t let them stay in the house; we had to put them up in a hotel.”
“Because they’re frat boys?”
“And he wanted to be one and they wouldn’t let him. He says he’s working on a disease to eradicate them all.”
Polly shook her head.
“This is mad.”
“I had a lot of displacement energy,” said Kerensa grimly.
Marta came in, beaming and giggling, and exclaimed at Polly’s transformation. Polly hugged her too.
“Mr. Finkel says it’s time,” Marta said. “He says come on, and bring the baby with you.”
Kerensa nodded. She hopped into the bathroom and shimmied into a pale silk slouchy dress that immediately eliminated all the lumps and bumps and made her look like she hadn’t had a baby at all. In fact she looked stunningly lovely, all her spark, her mojo right back.
“Chief bridesmaid,” she announced.
Outside the door was a tiny gaggle of children from the village, as well as Reuben’s youngest sister. They were an orgy of cream and flowers and giggles and gorgeousness, and as Polly emerged, they burst into spontaneous applause.
“Hello, you lot!” she said cheerfully. She crept forward and peered over the balcony.
Kerensa hadn’t been lying. Everybody was there. Absolutely everyone. The entire gang from school, and her college friends—obviously word had gotten out—all done up in their wedding best. Polly hated to think what would have happened if she’d said no. The logistics of everything were mind-boggling. She glanced down the big staircase, her heart beating terribly fast.
“Are you ready?” said Kerensa.
“Yes! No! Oh my God,” said Polly. She stepped back. “Actually,” she said. “Mum. It is totally up to you to say no, honestly. Completely. But I was . . .”
She was so confused and emotional, she could barely get the words out.
“I just wondered if maybe . . .”
“Anything,” said Doreen.
“I thought I might . . . maybe we could call Carmel? Just . . . I mean, there’s . . . I mean, I have a whole bunch of half-brothers and -sisters out there who I don’t know or anything, and well, I mean. If I was. If I wanted to get to know them. Maybe. One day. Well.”
“You want to invite them?”
“Maybe just Carmel,” said Polly. “To start with. But if I was . . . if I was ever to get to know them, this might not be a bad way of beginning it.”
They looked at each other.
“On it,” said Kerensa, pulling out Polly’s phone from the handbag she’d spirited it into.
“Hang on,” said Polly, raising her hand.
Doreen stared at the floor for a moment, then looked up again with something resolute about her eyes.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes. If there is a family out there for you, Polly . . . more of a family, I mean. Yes. It’s so far in the past now . . . Yes. It’s fine.”
Polly nodded. “Thanks.”
“I’m texting right now,” said Kerensa.
They hung on with bated breath. Then Kerensa looked up.
“They’ll be here in time for the afternoon tea,” she said.
“No way,” said Polly.
There was a sound of scuffling and some impatient throat-clearing from behind them.
“Right,” said Kerensa.
“Right,” said Polly. And Doreen put out her arm to walk her down the aisle.
Chapter Forty-Three
Polly stood for just a second at the top of the stairs, looking dazedly at the whole of the life they had built together spread out before her. People were bunched around the staircase, smiling, beaming at her, dressed up in hats and wobbly on high heels, and oh my goodness, it was incredible to Polly that they’d all managed to keep it a secret.
And then a path was made, with a red carpet running down it, running through the throng of giggling delighted people, and she saw, just for a second, Huckle’s broad back, in a black jacket. Neil was perched on his shoulder, wearing a bow tie, obviously caught up in the solemnity of the moment. Reuben, a head shorter, was standing next to him. Polly just stood for a second, a thrill going through her as suddenly, gradually, the crowd became aware of her, and Reuben glanced around and nudged Huckle, who turned too, both of them with white Cornish heather in their buttonholes, and Polly’s heart leapt, and the same swing band as before—but now looking not at all so snotty—started playing a song it took Polly a moment to recognize.
Huckle spotted her, and his face lit up in a way she would never forget for as long as she lived.
And he gave her the biggest wink as she started down the stairs in the pretty low-heeled shoes she’d picked out, biting her lip, desperately hoping she wouldn’t stumble, a bevy of bridesmaids around her, one throwing rose petals that were spilling out all around the long skirt of her dress and the new shoes that she hadn’t had a chance to practise walking in, and it was quite useful, in fact, that she had to concentrate so hard on not falling down the stairs that she didn’t really have a moment to start crying or get terribly anxious about it.
But then suddenly the fact that everyone was there, the way the entire world appeared to have known about her big day before she did; the fact that she had had absolutely no idea about what was planned or how she was going to react . . . suddenly all of that melted away. Because Huckle was holding her gaze with his strong blue eyes. And Neil was hopping on his shoulder in his bow tie, and in his claws he held two entwined rings of fresh seaweed from the low tide on the shore.
The song continued. “It must be love! Love! Love!”
The rest was more or less a blur, although Polly had heard lots of people say that about their wedding day. She remembered amazing food; and Mattie the vicar doing the traditional vows with a huge beaming smile; and load
s and loads of champagne; and constantly being surprised by people she hadn’t seen for too long, buried as she had been in work and her own problems. She remembered Reuben’s speech, which had somehow turned into a massive tribute to how brilliant he was, and she remembered Huckle’s because he simply stood up and said, “This is love and I am in it” and sat down again, and she remembered his face when his mum and dad came up to embrace them; and she remembered Merv dancing with Doreen, and Jayden saying to Flora, “We could get married like this” and her face being absolutely horrified, and Bernard throwing himself on her and thanking her for saving the sanctuary, which meant Reuben had clearly paid her invoice before she’d even sent it, and she’d made a mental note that turning the puffin café into something would have to be her summer project, but before she could start discussing it with him, Huckle had pulled her away, and Selina, looking absolutely foxy in red satin, had slipped in and grabbed Bernard’s elbow.
And she remembered, later, Carmel turning up, looking very nervous—alone, but with her camera—and she’d hugged her, and Carmel had toasted her, just once, smiling a smile with heartbreak behind it, before they were both whirled into the massive hora that had started.
And then, late at night, the cars started to arrive, including a huge limo for Polly and Huckle and Neil, and they cuddled up in the back seat, giggling occasionally, kissing often, shaking their heads at the madness and the joy of it all, and when they reached the causeway across to Mount Polbearne, the tide was out, and the way was lit, incredibly, astonishingly, all the way to the island with huge proud braziers.
God knows how Reuben had managed it, or how he’d gotten permission. But it looked like a magical winding path leading straight out to sea; a secret golden road, known only to them, that would close as soon as they had passed, sinking back beneath the waves.
The local cars all drove on over. But the wedding cars stopped, refusing to venture on to dangerous territory they didn’t know.
So Polly and Huckle, right at the back of the convoy, had to get out of their car, the tiny waves already lapping at their toes, and Polly took off her absurdly expensive shoes and hitched up her skirts, and both of them, floating on champagne and bubbles of pure happiness, giggling their heads off, charged along the causeway as the waves closed over behind them, the flaming torches snuffed out one by one, so that from the mainland it must have looked as if Mount Polbearne was nothing but a mirage in the distance; a lost dream.
