Four Weddings and a White Christmas

by Jenny Oliver

  Having been quite excited to hear about the un-engagement, he watched with a feeling of disappointment, that they had changed their mind about a wedding, succumbing to the pressure of tradition. He was about to turn away, to see if he’d packed anything suitably smart if there was indeed about to be a ceremony, when he saw Hannah and Jemima heaving a bench over from the side of the tennis court to sit amongst the group of chairs. Jemima was calling the directions, pausing every now and then to readjust her grip. When Wilf came over to relieve her of her duty she batted him away and soldiered on determined. Hannah was following her orders, pausing with Jemima and carrying on when she was ready. The whole manoeuvre was taking a lot longer than it might have done had Wilf been allowed to help. And Harry, as he watched, realised that he would have probably overridden Jemima, moved her aside so the process could be done more efficiently. He knew for a fact that that was what his dad would have done. Yet what else did they have to do? It was early still, the other chairs were in place. There was no hurry. And it was making him smile, watching her, watching Hannah watching her as they took their snail’s pace across the lawn. Watching Wilf’s mum give directions and then stand with her arm around her son’s shoulders.

  As he continued to stare, he considered how he had constructed his life so that he spent as little time with family as possible. With his own and other people’s. It was only as he paused to watch, now as an adult, that he started to allow the possibility that one could be different to another. That not all families had to work the same way. And not all dads had to be like his.

  ‘Oi, Harry, stop watching, you lazy bugger, and get your arse down here and help.’

  As Wilf shouted up at the window, Hannah turned and, shielding her eyes from the sun, stopped to look up at him.

  ‘Yeah, Harry, you lazy bugger,’ Jemima shouted, putting the bench down with a thud.

  ‘Jemima!’ Hannah said. ‘Language.’

  ‘Wilf said it.’

  Wilf’s mum swiped him across the top of his head. ‘Wilfred! Language.’

  Wilf batted her hand away. ‘You can’t do that any more. I’m an adult.’

  ‘Behave like one then,’ his mum said and Jemima added a nod like an emphatic full stop.

  No one was looking up at the window any longer.

  Harry couldn’t get dressed quick enough. He wanted to be out there, to be part of the tiny group in the idyllic stillness. To join it before lots of others joined in and asked about the chairs and what was happening, before someone said, shall we have breakfast and suddenly everyone would be bringing out baguettes and juice and shouting about who wanted coffee; he wanted to partake in the moment that he had been watching, with just this odd assortment of people who would probably never normally stand just the five of them – not including Willow who was asleep on a blanket – working together to make something happen.

  But as he jogged down the stairs and came out the living room French doors, he saw that Alfonso was coming over from the tennis court, sweaty from an early morning game, Emily’s Jack not far behind. Annie, Matt and a couple of the other guests were strolling out, yawning, Annie’s hair damp from the shower, Matt asking questions about the chairs. Harry watched Alfonso chuck his tennis racquet on the grass and jog over to Jemima, taking the bench from her and saying, ‘Here let me,’ and wanted to shout, ‘No let her do it.’ Then he heard Emily call from the kitchen window, ‘Shall we have breakfast? Who wants coffee?’ And Harry felt his usual self slip down over his head, like pulling on an old, familiar sweatshirt, and he put his hands in his pockets, scuffed the gravel a couple of times with his foot and then ambled over to stand on the sidelines by Wilf and say, ‘So what? You getting married then?’

  ***

  When breakfast was finished, Wilf’s mum stood up and did a quick clap with her hands. Her bracelets clinked on her wrists while the sleeves of her white linen dress wafted like a sheet being aired. ‘Excuse me, everyone, can I just have your attention, darlings? If I could ask you to make your way over to the chairs by the walnut trees? Holly and Wilfred would like you to be a part of their hand-fasting ceremony.’

  Harry looked around to see where Holly and Wilf were, but they’d slipped away. He mouthed ‘Hand-fasting?’ to Hannah who was sitting at the other end of the table and she just did a little shrug like maybe she knew what Diana was talking about, maybe she didn’t. Harry narrowed his eyes at her and she looked away with a smile.

  ‘As you know, Wilfred and Holly have foregone the idea of a tradition wedding ceremony – and, having got quite a few under my belt, I can completely understand why,’ Wilf’s mum went on, tipping her head wryly to the crowd who all sniggered – her list of ex-husbands quite infamous. ‘But they do want to do something to celebrate their relationship and their child. So they have taken the tradition of hand-fasting from the Celts, where their hands will be bound as a symbol of their love, and welcome you to join them.’

  A wave of murmur spread over the table as people picked up their coffees or downed their freshly squeezed orange juice and started the stroll to the walnut trees. Emily, who had obviously slipped away from breakfast to get changed as well, was leaning against one of the trees, looking all dishevelled hippy-chic in silver flip-flops, a long black dress and loops of thin gold jewellery. As they started to approach, she pressed a button on an iPod dock and some folky tune swept into the air that made Harry start to roll his eyes until a voice next to him said, ‘Enjoy it, Harry, just go with it.’

  He looked across to see Hannah walking next to him. She too had changed since he’d seen her earlier in the morning moving the bench. She was wearing a straight green dress that swished around her knees and nipped in at the waist with a thin gold belt.

  ‘You’ve changed,’ Harry said. ‘How did you know about this?’

  She glanced up at him to reply. ‘Who do you think made her dress?’

  Harry almost clapped. But the idea of it was far too close to the thumbs up from Annie and Matt’s wedding. So she’d made another dress. He was exponentially pleased.

  ‘I want to sit with Harry,’ Jemima piped up as Alfonso fell into step on Hannah’s other side.

  ‘Suits me,’ Harry replied and then made a strategic aim for the bench, sitting at one end of it so that Jemima came in next to him, then Hannah next to her and Alfonso had to sit on the plastic chair.

  ‘So you’ve done another dress?’ Harry asked as they took their seats.

  Hannah nodded. ‘I’ve made quite a lot of other dresses actually.’

  ‘Well good for you.’

  ‘Mummy has an Etsy,’ said Jemima.

  Harry frowned.

  ‘I have a shop on Etsy. You know the site? It’s for independent designers and makers.’

  ‘Like eBay?’

  ‘Yeah kind of. But it’s handmade or vintage. But yeah, you sell to the global market through your shop on their site.’

  ‘Global market, eh? Sounds like a different person talking from the one I first met in the café.’

  Alfonso interrupted then, nudging Hannah on the arm to point out the white lanterns hanging in the trees and the clip-on birds with gemstone and feather tails that had been clipped all over the branches like a multi-coloured aviary.

  Jemima turned to Harry and said, ‘When Mummy made a dress for someone in America, she and Granny got really, really stressed and we had baked beans three nights in a row for dinner. We had to stop because Grandpa kept farting.’

  Harry barked a laugh that surprised even him and all the rows turned to look at him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, holding up a hand, not realising that the noise of the crowd had lulled, having had the cue that Holly and Wilf were about to arrive.

  Emily turned the music up a touch. Everyone twisted in their seats to see the couple approach. Everyone but Hannah, who turned Harry’s way for just a second and winked at him, before looking back down the aisle.

  The French doors to the house opened and Wilf stepped out, carrying Willow, d
ressed in grey chinos, blue flip-flops and a soft, white cotton shirt open at the neck.

  Harry had never appreciated a wink before. He’d thought it was something that belonged to football players on the pull in bars or guys who cruised on motorbikes and chewed gum. He’d never understood the inclusiveness of it. The secret you and me gesture behind it that encircled the winker and the winkee. It gave him a rush of pride and satisfaction that allowed him to settle back and enjoy the show.

  Wilf held his hand out and Holly stepped out and down the steps, her hand in his. The crowd seemed to spontaneously applause. She was wearing buttercup-yellow silk, the dress skimming her figure and the skirt rippling along the floor as she walked. To Harry she looked like one of those 1940s movie stars, Rita Hayworth or Katherine Hepburn, her silhouette enhanced at every angle by the gown. A gold braid wrapped around her waist twice and went up to meet the V of the low neckline. The sleeves draped low to her elbows, the back, which he caught a glimpse of when she turned to kiss Wilf on the lips before they started the walk, was split from the waist to the neck where it tied with same gold braid.

  ‘You’ve done it again,’ he said to Hannah, and, as her head was turned from him, he watched her ears move back and could tell she was smiling.

  ‘Sshh,’ she whispered. ‘We’re not meant to talk.’

  ‘I’m complimenting you. How can you sshh me mid-compliment?’

  ‘Sshh,’ said Jemima.

  Harry shook his head. ‘Ridiculous. I take it back. She looks terrible.’

  He heard Hannah laugh.

  Alfonso turned around to see what was going on.

  Harry focused all his attention on the couple, wiping all expression from his face.

  ‘OK?’ Alfonso asked Hannah.

  ‘Fine,’ Harry heard her whisper. ‘Fine.’

  Harry wondered if she’d told him that she’d made the dress.

  He decided that she hadn’t and that felt like a point to him.

  As Wilf, Holly and Willow made their way down the aisle, Harry considered how pointless keeping score was since he was never going to have a relationship with this woman who lived over the other side of the world to him and had a child. Harry lived a selfish, uncluttered life with a job that consumed nearly all his waking hours and more, and that suited him fine. So concluding that he was actually just playing a game of petty one-upmanship with Alfonso, he decided to focus his attention on the events unfolding in front of him and relish his disdain for whatever a hand-fasting ceremony turned out to be.

  When they reached the front of the group, a white-haired woman who Harry had never met before stood up and in front of the pair. Emily took Willow from Wilf’s arms and sat down next to Jack. The white-haired woman introduced herself as a humanist marriage celebrant, and explained that while Wilf and Holly were not having the entire wedding ceremony, she would preside over the few words that they were going to say to one another and then some of their close family and friends would step up as part of the hand-fasting ceremony.

  Harry glanced around to see who might be involved with that. He saw Wilf’s mum beam a smile and assumed that meant she was.

  It was nice, he supposed, having other people involved. Gave them something to do. It was nice not inside, he thought, less restrictive. Less claustrophobic. He was quite impressed that Wilf was doing this, actually. It was quite hippy-ish for Wilf. He could hear the celebrant saying things like ‘Originating from the ancient Celts’ and ‘a trial period where a couple were bound together’. He had to look away when she starting talking about ‘their hands joined together with their wrists and the beat of their hearts touching’.

  He felt Hannah lean over and give him a nudge on the arm.

  ‘Stop it,’ she whispered.

  ‘What?’ he said, incredulous.

  ‘That.’

  ‘What.’

  ‘You know what. The eye-rolling. Stop being such a cynic.’

  ‘The symbolic ribbons will tie the couple’s hands in a gesture to express their love and commitment to one another,’ said the celebrant.

  Harry raised his eyebrows at Hannah as if the words proved him justified. She raised hers back as if they didn’t at all. He looked away, back at the couple, with a smirk.

  ‘Will Wilfred and Holly please join hands,’ said the celebrant.

  As Harry had expected, Wilf’s mum, Diana, was the first to go up and lay a ribbon. She wafted up in her layers of white linen and clanking jewellery and draped the red tie over their joined hands, for strength, courage, good health and longevity. Emily was next. She stood with Willow and, holding the baby’s little hand in hers, together they placed the green ribbon. Harry had been too busy watching Wilf’s face to see if he was cringing with embarrassment about the whole process and missed what the ribbon colour was for.

  ‘What was green?’ he asked.

  ‘Caring,’ said Jemima.

  He nodded. Wilf was not cringing at all, quite the contrary, he looked almost like he might be about to cry.

  Holly’s father laid a blue ribbon. Honesty and sincerity.

  Jack, Wilf’s best mate, strode forward with the gold ribbon – unity – and gave Wilf a good slap on the shoulder and Holly a kiss on the cheek, saying, ‘Congratulations. Couldn’t be happier for the two of you.’

  Maybe it was quite nice, Harry conceded. That was nice. No formality, just friendship.

  Annie was orange. Harry missed the meaning again.

  ‘What was that?’ he asked.

  ‘Open hearts,’ Jemima said. ‘You’ve got to listen, Harry.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry. I’m listening.’

  But there didn’t appear to be another ribbon because Holly had turned to the crowd and was starting to speak. ‘When I was growing up there was a woman who taught me what being a good person was. She lived on Cherry Pie Island and recently passed away. Her name was Enid Morris and you don’t need to know her or have known anything about her, just that she was an ordinary person, but for me she stepped in when my mother left and she took on that role to a certain extent in my life,’ she said. ‘She looked beyond my anger and my tantrums – yes, I had many a tantrum, if you would believe that!’

  Wilf raised his brows and the crowd laughed.

  ‘She looked behind it and found the cause. She listened, she told me off when it was needed and she cared. I was a young person and I was struggling and Enid took me by the scruff of the neck and pushed me to succeed, challenged me. And it didn’t matter that we weren’t related by blood. She saved me. Now I try to use what I learnt from her with everything I do for Willow. She taught me that it’s not about being the best parent you can be, but the best person.’

  Harry was listening now. He found himself jealous of this character that Holly had had in her life. Who had willed her to succeed. Part of him thought that his mum could have had it in her if only she’d had the courage to stand up to his dad a bit more. Instead she’d done it from the sidelines, leaning in every now and then whispering, ‘Go, Harry,’ while hoping that no one else heard.

  A woman from the middle row had stood up and was walking up the aisle. She was sort of scary looking, like Worzel Gummidge. She had crazy grey hair and was wearing a dress with flowers on it that looked like it had been in her wardrobe since the fifties.

  ‘I have asked Enid’s daughter Martha to lay the last ribbon, in honour of a woman who taught me that my future didn’t have to come from my past. For that I am for ever grateful because I am free to build my own family exactly as I want to, free of anything that has gone before.’

  Harry wanted to pause the action and ask Holly to repeat it all so he could get his notebook out. He found himself straining to see, almost as if he looked hard enough the words would be floating across the sky like subtitles.

  The crazy-haired woman laid a purple ribbon across the rainbow of ties already binding the couple’s hands. ‘Purple,’ she said. ‘For wisdom, peace and harmony in all ways.’

  The crowd r
oared.

  Wilf was crying, sobbing actually. Holly was crying, but she was also looking lovingly and perhaps slightly pityingly at Wilf. Emily was crying. She was standing up trying to clap while holding the baby. Annie was crying.

  ‘Are you crying, Harry?’ Hannah asked as Jemima climbed onto her lap and stood on her knees to clap and get a better view.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ he said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Never been surer.’

  He felt Hannah study him for a second or two and then, seemingly satisfied, turned away to watch the happy couple.

  Harry took the opportunity to lift his left hand and with his index finger do a tiny dab at the corner of his eye, quick as a flash, as if a tiny speck of dirt had landed on his face.

  When he glanced left he saw Hannah’s face whip back to the front, a satisfied smirk on her lips.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re smiling. I had something in my eye,’ he said, realising immediately that he should have just said nothing.

  ‘Course you did, Harry.’

  He opened his mouth to object but decided he’d said enough. At the front, Wilf pulled Holly into a crushing one-handed hug, their ribbon-tied other hands clutched between them. The crowd roared some more.

  Perhaps that was what love was, Harry wondered as he watched the pair – Wilf’s notions of tradition banished and Holly’s focus firmly on her new family – having one’s set views unstuck and finding a future free of one’s past.

  Emily and Jack are getting hitched.

  You are invited to Montmorency Manor to celebrate in style!

  Come dressed in your best vintage glamour.

  30th September, 4 p.m., no gifts – just laughter and mischief!

  Chapter Twelve

  Sometimes when Hannah couldn’t sleep she thought about France. She thought about the warm sunshine, Jemima’s non-stop chatter, her big bedroom with the crisp white sheets and the windows that opened out onto views of fir trees and tennis courts. But mostly she thought about the moment just before she left for home. When she walked out carrying her and Jemima’s bags, heading towards the hatchback she’d hired.