by Helen Juliet
Peter and Clara certainly didn’t mind, from the amused looks on their faces. Before anyone else could do anything, little Milly scampered to her feet, racing over to fetch the headdress and return it to Kinny’s lap.
“Thank you,” she whispered as the crowd calmed down again.
Once Kinny had hastily blown her nose, the registrar raised her hand.
“I take it that’s a ‘no’?” she asked playfully.
The rest of the ceremony transpired with little more than the occasional sniffle, until the moment came to finally announce the couple as husband and wife. “Mr and Mrs Cove!” the registrar cried to rapturous applause as the couple kissed. Nicholas stood and bellowed louder than anyone, clapping his hands and wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand.
No matter whatever else happened now, Clara and Peter were married. Curse be damned.
There were fifteen minutes or so where they and the witnesses had to sign the official documentation, and then people were invited to come up and take photos. Nicholas got a prod from his grandma.
“Well come on then,” she said, waving her smartphone at him. “Help me up. I need to get a good angle!”
Nicholas smiled to himself and offered his arm so she could use it to help her shuffle over and snap several shots of the couple posing with their pens over the marriage certificate. Rather than make her move and sit again, Nicholas maneuverered them into a corner, and together they waited.
“Once again, ladies and gentlemen,” cried the registrar. “Mr and Mrs Cove!”
The classic wedding march blasted over the sound system, and Peter and Clara happily waved their way back down the aisle as their loved ones cheered them on. “Come on Grandma,” said Nicholas once the throng began to slowly shift and follow them out. “Let’s make sure we get a good spot behind the photographer.
The staff from the town hall were keen to usher them all outside, as they had to hurriedly transform the room so it was suitable for the wedding breakfast in less than an hour. They were already rolling in the tables by the time Nicholas and his grandma headed towards the doors, and a dozen or so wait staff were already rallying around with table cloths, stacks of plates and trays laden down with cutlery.
Nicholas had almost forgotten that it was sunny outside after all the rain they’d had the past week. There was a cool breeze in the air, but the sky was bright blue with only a few white and fluffy clouds trundling on their way overhead. The photographer was lining everyone up on two sides down the steps in anticipation of throwing the confetti, and Nicholas allowed his grandma to steer them near the front.
“Here,” she said, thrusting a box of paper confetti into his hands from her handbag. “You make sure you get ‘em good and proper. I’m going to use one of those slo-mo filters.”
The town hall’s imposing white columns made for an impressive backdrop to the official photos. After the guests had doused Clara and Peter thoroughly with the confetti, the photographer then began organising people into groups to best capture everyone in attendance. There were still ordinary passers-by who stood around gawking, but now the ceremony was complete, Nicholas felt like he didn’t mind them as much. Neither did Clara, from the happy expression she was able to maintain throughout.
Nicholas was required for a few of the family photos, as was his grandma, so he daren’t venture too far to get himself a glass of bubbly. But he appreciated it when one of the waiters came by with a tray. It was just what he needed to calm the rest of his nerves.
His thoughts were still tinged with melancholy, but he was determined to just enjoy the rest of the day now. Peter and Clara were only going to get married once, and unless the congregation all got food poisoning, or the best man speech was a disaster, he was pretty sure they were in the home stretch.
He immediately wished he hadn’t jinxed either of those eventualities. But if he was lucky, the universe was actually done with them now.
“Hey Nicholas,” said Kinny as she walked out of the entranceway and down the steps. She’d divested herself of both her crown and her bouquet, and was already looking much less puffy than before. He turned and smiled at her before sipping his drink. His grandma was still on his arm, and Ash had gravitated towards them both as the photos wore on.
“You’re looking better,” he said with a grin.
“Thanks,” she replied with a laugh. “So, I thought you said you’d organised a harp for the dinner?”
Nicholas groaned. After his conversation with Ash, he’d forgot to actually tell anyone about his fuck up. Hopefully there was time now to run in and hook up her Spotify playlist. “I know, there was a mix up.”
But Kinny raised her palms to him and shook her head. “Oh don’t worry, I just wasn’t sure. This guy seems wonderful.”
Nicholas blinked.
“What?” he stammered.
Kinny jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Mr Handsome on the guitar. He’s playing a really cool cover of Katy Perry.”
Before he’d even registered what was happening, Ash was slipping her arm between his and his grandma’s, and plucking the champagne flute from his hand. Stunned, he turned to face her.
“Go,” she hissed, breaking into a smile.
He tried not to run.
Many of the guests were already making their way inside again, hugging everyone in the receiving line before they re-entered the room for the meal. Nicholas’s grandma had wanted to let the crush disperse before she attempted to get to her seat, so a lot of people were already milling around the room.
That meant Nicholas had to dart around numerous guests as he crossed the threshold back into the hall. The music he was hearing already confirmed what was happening, but he wanted to see it with his own eyes before he really believed it.
Because yes, standing there in the corner of the room with his beloved guitar, was Fynn.
Chapter Fourteen
Nicholas was going out of his mind.
There hadn’t been any way he could talk to Fynn while everyone was taking their seats, and then he was stuck for three whole courses while the people around him laughed and drank and ate, and he had to restrain himself from not looking over into the corner every five seconds.
Luckily, the direction he was sat meant he was facing Fynn. He wasn’t on the top table, but on one of the family tables to the right of the room. The result was he had almost all the guests between himself and Fynn, but he was still naturally in his line of sight. So while he doubted he was being entirely subtle in the attention he was giving him, at least he wasn’t craning his neck to look behind him.
What was he doing here? How was he here? What had happened to his audition? Nicholas kept swaying abruptly between twisting up with guilt that he might have squandered his big chance to come and be at the wedding, and overcome with joy that he had got at least one more opportunity to see him again, when he thought he might never have.
It was inevitable that they would catch each other’s eye, as it felt like Nicholas spent the whole meal staring at him. But every time their gaze met, Fynn would flash him the smallest smile, then carry on looking about the room as he played.
“He’s good, isn’t he?” Aunt Sally gushed from his side, elbowing him in the ribs as she caught him gawping. “And pretty easy on the eyes.”
“Eww,” wailed at least two of her sons.
Nicholas didn’t reply, but he certainly didn’t disagree.
He recognised most of the songs Fynn played. He could barely focus on eating more than a few bites of each course, as each track brought back different memories for him. No more so though, than Rick Astley.
Nicholas’s cheeks flamed as he finally caved and dug out his phone from inside his jacket. He felt certain everyone could read his mind replaying their first kiss, then their first time in bed as he hastily tapped out a text.
‘I told you not to Rick-Roll my sister’s wedding’ he wrote, adding a crying-with-laughter face. ‘I’m so happy you’re here. Thank you x�
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He forced himself to put his phone back in his pocket after that. Fynn wouldn’t be able to read any messages until after he was done playing, and Nicholas was determined not to over-do it and scare him off. He did his best to eat, but mostly fiddled with the newly-made name cards. Nicholas had made his own one first as a test because he knew he’d bodge it up. But he had to say the simple little card hadn’t turned out that badly, even if the lace was a bit wonky and the writing smudged.
As people slowly made their way through dessert, he glanced at Fynn again, and then resorted to sitting on his hands.
Finally, things started wrapping up, and the event liaison approached Nicholas’s dad at the top table. She was a short and very round woman with a bob haircut. Nicholas might have mistaken her for a mild-mannered aunt, but there was steely glint to her and a purpose to her stride that told him that she was in charge of making the day run as smoothly as possible.
She leant over his dad’s shoulder and showed him the microphone she was holding in her hands. Presumably, that meant it was almost time for the speeches. They exchanged a few more words, then nodded to each other, before she looked over and gave the mic a subtle shake towards Fynn. He didn’t pause in his singing, but he did nod once to show he’d understood; he needed to wrap things up.
A surge of panic flared through Nicholas. As much as he’d been eager for the meal to end, he’d not quite appreciated that that would mean Fynn leaving before he could go and speak to him. Perhaps he could signal him somehow, but he wasn’t sure there was a subtle way to say, ‘I know I probably don’t deserve one but please could I have an explanation as to why you’re here?’
However, as Fynn drew the Take That song to a close, it seemed he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. He sought out the liaison’s gaze and gave her a nod. Nicholas guessed he was asking to play one more song. Brilliant, that gave him at least three more minutes to work out what he was going to do from the confines of his table.
The first few bars of music were unfamiliar to him as they drifted across the chatter in the room. But as soon as Fynn began the lyrics, Nicholas’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. He couldn’t even remember if he’d told him about Clara and Peter’s slightly embarrassing favourite song, but apparently, he must have.
“I’m giving you everything, all that joy can bring, this I swear,” he began. Most people carried on as they had been, but Nicholas didn’t miss the way Clara’s face lit up in astonished recognition. She tugged Peter’s sleeve, and pointed at Fynn. “And, all that I want from you, is a promise you, will be there – Say you will be there.”
Clara searched the room until she found Nicholas, then pointed at Fynn again. “Spice Girls!” she mouthed over at him. He nodded and gave her two thumbs up. She pointed at him, and raised an eyebrow. ‘Did you do this?’ he guessed she was asking. He nodded, and she blew him a kiss.
“But any fool can see they're falling, I gotta make you understand.”
Clara had started singing along, with Peter murmuring some of the words too. So that got some of her school friends paying attention, and they started singing as well. Fynn winked at the bride and groom and made his performance louder, nodding at the other guests to encourage them to join in too.
“I’ll give you everything on this I swear! Just promise you'll always be there!”
Nicholas laughed as more people started signing. Even his old gran joined in across the table from him, clapping her hands as she enthusiastically got almost all the words wrong.
“I’m giving you everything, all that joy can bring, this I swear. And, all that I want from you, is a promise you, will be there.”
Nicholas applauded with the rest of the room as Fynn removed his guitar from over his head, and took a bow. He propped the instrument against his leg, then turned the applause to the bride and groom.
“Wasn’t that wonderful?” the event liaison said into the microphone, getting everyone’s attention as the room calmed down once more. “Now, I hope you all enjoyed your meal as much as you did getting serenaded by the very talented Mr Dumashie. How about another round of applause for him and our lovely catering staff?”
The party cheered eagerly, and one of the tables filled with Peter’s uni friends rang their cutlery against their glasses. Nicholas smiled, so proud of how well Fynn had done. It was hardly a concert, but he’d entertained the group effortlessly, and from their enthusiasm he’d say they were definitely wanting more.
But the liaison was soon drawing them back in to face the front once more. “It is my great pleasure to hand you over to the father of the bride. I’m sure he’s got some wonderful stories for you all.” She extended her hand as Nicholas’s dad got to his feet. “Everybody, Robert Herald!”
Nicholas had forgotten his anxiety in the excitement of the last song, but now he turned his attention back to Fynn, only giving his dad a couple of half-hearted claps. Fynn was already snapping the clasps shut on his guitar case, obviously keen to slip out unnoticed. But Nicholas could never not notice him. When he looked back up, Nicholas gave him a hopeful smile, which he was pleased to see reciprocated. But then he inclined his head, and headed soundlessly to the door. Nicholas tried not to make it totally obvious as he watched him until he disappeared from sight.
As his dad started his speech, Nicholas snatched his phone from out his pocket again. ‘Please don’t go x’
He had so much he wanted to say, but it didn’t feel right to do it over text. Whatever had happened, Fynn had made Nicholas feel so achingly important by showing up to play. He was desperate to know what had happened with his audition; it would be awful if he’d cancelled it out of a sense of obligation.
He had to physically grip the chair to stop himself going running off to see if he could catch Fynn before he disappeared out of Nicholas’s life again. There was absolutely no way he could bail on the wedding speeches though, so for the time being, he was trapped.
He couldn’t leave and he wouldn’t let himself text again. So it was all he could do to hold the phone in his lap and surreptitiously check as often as possible whether or not Fynn had seen his message. He knew it was rude, but not as rude as absconding, so if any of his relatives disapproved, they’d just have to lump it. As the minutes trickled by, he willed Fynn to look at his phone before he went home. But no matter how much he glared at them, the ticks remained grey.
Unable to do much else, he knocked back his champagne and allowed the buzz to help him drift off a bit.
At least his dad’s speech was really good. It was filled with anecdotes of Clara from when she was small that made the room laugh, but also so much sincerity it was hard for even Nicholas in his distracted state not to be moved. Then Peter fumbled through his short, but sweet, ode to his new wife. His timing was a bit off, and he didn’t always manage to speak into the microphone properly, but it was obvious how much he adored Clara. By the end of his five minutes, his cheeks were pink, and his eyes were damp behind his wire-rimmed glasses, but everyone was smiling at him.
“To the bride,” he called out.
“To the bride!” the room chorused back.
And then came Danielle.
Nicholas knew that she had been working on her speech for weeks. He’d heard her muttering it to herself as he passed the den, or in the kitchen when she’d been making her smoothies, even once or twice through the closed door when she’d been on the loo. She’d obviously put a great deal of effort into it, so it wasn’t really a surprise that when she took the mic, she signalled to the event liaison for a projector and laptop to be wheeled out. Nicholas used all his willpower not to groan, knowing that more than likely meant they were going to be here for a while.
He had never wanted to be somewhere else more in his life, so of course, there was no escaping any time soon. Instead, he gave in and checked his text messages again. No joy.
Danielle waited until the projector was all hooked up and beaming onto the darkened wall, then opened the first slide. ‘Clara and Da
nielle: A Friendship Through the Ages’ read the title. Nicholas felt a cold sweat prick on his skin.
“I first met Clara when I was just two years old,” Danielle began. The next slide showed a blurry photo of the two of them together as babies, the slightly bigger Danielle with her arms wrapped around a squidgy Clara. That got an ‘aww’, and for a second Nicholas thought they might have been okay. “We’ve been best friends ever since,” she continued with relish. “Which was a good job, because I’m pretty sure she would have been totally lost without me.”
The next photo showed the two girls standing side by side at about five and seven years of age. They were both in ballet gear; however, where Danielle was stood pretty and proud with her toes pointed and her arms held perfectly in front of her, Clara had hers folded and looked to be on the verge of tears. Danielle laughed into the microphone, but aside from Aunt Louise and her friend Michelle, there were only a few, awkward chuckles from the rest of the room. Clara was looking at the photo with wide eyes as she bit her lip. Nicholas sunk down in his chair and peaked between his fingers.
By the time they’d been treated to the tale of how Danielle had saved Clara and her friends from crashing and burning at the school talent show, and the unforgettable incident when she’d visited at uni and rescued Clara’s other mates from the horrors of their favourite kebab shop by getting it closed down due to health and safety regulations, the staff decided to be absolute heroes and top up everyone’s wine glasses, even though they weren’t supposed to, now the speeches were underway. They could probably see the growing horror on the group’s faces and figured that a little extra on the bar bill for Nicholas’s dad was probably better than a riot.
They heard about how Danielle had found Clara a new flat after the estate agent had screwed her over when she’d signed the contract without reading it properly. And how she’d fixed Clara’s hair after a particularly disastrous fringe and highlights cock up; Nicholas felt that particular story could really have done without the accompanying photo. In fact, why was there even a photo of that tragedy in the first place? Clara looked stunned in it, like she had been taken by surprise. Had Danielle snapped it at the time hoping to use it in this very speech some day?
