by Sharon Owens
‘Vicky love, you’ve got to stop telling complete strangers to pray for good weather,’ her husband told her over and over. ‘Somebody might report you to the men in white coats.’
‘I know, Sam. I know. But sure what harm can it do?’ she replied breathlessly, lighting yet another row of strawberry candles and holding one up towards the window.
‘And please will you stop all this business with the candles, love? You’re scaring the life out of me. I keep thinking you’re going to convert to Catholicism. Either that or burn the bloody house down.’
‘Shush, Sam, they’re not holy candles. They’re only scented tea-lights from M&S. But I won’t light another candle for the wedding, I promise you. If it bothers you that much.’
But he knew in his heart that she would.
On the day itself, Vicky slept in. She’d been awake half the night fretting that the rain would come and spoil their open-air ceremony. That’s all Mark would tell them. That the ceremony was to be held in the open air. He’d send black cabs to collect them at eleven o’clock, he said.
And so Vicky had been in a deep sleep when the alarm finally went off at eight o’clock. Her husband quickly shut off the beeps, slipped out of bed and went to put the kettle on.
‘Another hour or two of sleep will do her no harm,’ he told Jasmine, who was just coming out of the shower.
And also they all needed some peace and quiet before the hoopla kicked off. But he’d barely had a lovely sip of nuclear-hot tea down his throat before the first callers began to arrive at the house.
‘Come in, come in, it’s good to see you,’ he said warmly, throwing open the door in his old blue dressing gown. ‘But try not to make any noise. We’ve just got Vicky off to sleep.’
Vicky was afraid to open her eyes when she eventually woke up at ten o’clock. But as she lay rigid as a statue on the pillow she could feel the warmth of the sun stealing across her face and she began to relax and breathe normally.
‘Thank God,’ she sighed. It felt so nice and warm in the room. Was it really a fine day outside, she wondered. Or had Sam just turned the heating on full blast for Jasmine’s big day?
‘Wakey, wakey,’ Sam called then, coming into the room with a cup of freshly brewed coffee and two warm croissants for his wife. ‘It’s like Piccadilly Circus downstairs. Bridesmaids, beauticians, hairdressers, nosy neighbours… You name it, they’re drinking tea out of our best cups and eating all our chocolate biscuits.’
They both knew he was enjoying every minute of it.
‘Tell me it’s a beautiful day,’ his wife demanded, her eyes still closed.
‘Yes, well, it is a scorcher. But probably the fact it’s the height of summer had something to do with it.’
A scorcher? Vicky finally opened her eyes.
‘Thank God,’ she said happily. ‘I hoped it would be a beautiful day. It was the candles that clinched it.’
‘Here, woman, get this breakfast down your neck and then will you please give our Jasmine a hand getting ready? She’s been up for ages. Fussing like I don’t know what about her make-up. You women and your flippin’ make-up. It always looks the same to us blokes.’ He set down the tray and opened the bedroom curtains. ‘Oh heck, the flowers have arrived. I’ll get the door.’
He hurried down the stairs.
‘Jasmine, pet?’ her mother called.
‘What?’
‘Is the shower free?’
‘Yes. But don’t be long in the bathroom. I need the loo, like, every five minutes,’ Jasmine called back. She was rummaging in her old bedroom for a safety pin. One of the bridesmaids had lost a button off her dress. ‘I hope the flowers are nice.’
‘They’ll be lovely,’ Vicky said happily, stuffing half a croissant in her mouth. ‘Never mind lovely, they’ll be bloody brilliant. Have the bridesmaids been here long?’
‘Yes. Ages.’
‘Are they all in their dresses?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
‘Is their hair done?’
‘Yes, Mum. I’m getting mine done next.’
‘Right. Have the rest of those wedding presents been taken over to your flat?’
‘Yes. The boys took them over half an hour ago.’
‘Good. They’ll be safer at the flat. Everybody around here knows we’ll be out all day. Has the minister been in touch?’
‘Yes! Mum, will you please stop asking me questions and get out of bed and help me? I’m having an anxiety attack,’ Jasmine gasped. ‘I’m completely mad. This is sheer utter madness. I barely know Mark and now I’m having his baby and we’re getting married. And I keep forgetting his surname. I’m going to miss my flat so much. I’m going to miss working with Ruby every day. The cars are coming in fifty minutes. And Mark’s family are all dead posh types from Hillsborough. Oh God… Oh God… Oh God…’
Vicky flung off the bedcovers and went dashing across the small creaky landing to Jasmine’s old room. Her daughter was sitting on the bed wearing a pink dressing gown and slippers and hyperventilating into a small paper bag that had recently contained three boxes of biodegradable confetti.
‘Sweetheart, love, you’ll be fine,’ Jasmine’s mother soothed, sitting down and sweeping her only daughter into her arms.
‘Mummy, help me,’ Jasmine said between sobs.
‘You’ll be fine, love, I promise you. Today will be fine. I know it.’
‘I’m scared to death, Mum.’
‘What of, pet?’
‘Of growing up.’
‘I know, it’s not easy,’ her mother sighed.
‘I feel as sick as a parrot,’ Jasmine said, wheezing.
‘Nerves or morning sickness?’
‘Both? I don’t know, maybe it’s too late in the pregnancy for morning sickness. Oh, I don’t know any more…’
‘Right, wait here. I’ll get you a barley-sugar sweet and some herbal sedatives.’
‘A double vodka and Coke would go down well, but I suppose I have to be a good girl from now on,’ Jasmine added mournfully.
‘No, not a double vodka when you’re pregnant, and not on your wedding day either,’ her mother said firmly. ‘We’re not savages. I’ll get you a tiny, tiny glass of pink fizz. Will that do you?’
‘Okay. Thanks, Mum.’ Jasmine laid her paper bag on the bed and took a deep breath.
‘Will I send the stylist up in a minute?’ Vicky asked gently.
‘Yes, okay. I love you, Mum.’
‘I love you too.’
‘Mum?’
‘Yes, love?’
‘Will you do lots of babysitting for us, Mum?’ Jasmine asked tearfully.
‘You try and stop me,’ her mother smiled. ‘I’ll be round at your house every day for breakfast. You’ll be sick of the sight of me, I promise you.’
‘Thanks, Mum. Thanks a million.’
‘Now listen, I have to get ready myself. Are you definitely okay here? I’m only in the bathroom, remember? Has your breathing returned to normal yet?’
‘Yeah, I guess so. Just send up the fizz along with the stylist, will you?’ She gazed at her black and white designer wedding dress (a gift from Ruby), which hung on the front of the wardrobe door. ‘I can always divorce Mark if it doesn’t work out,’ she added doubtfully.
‘Divorce, huh? That’s the spirit,’ Vicky said, giving her beautiful daughter a double thumbs-up.
‘Let’s get this show on the road then,’ Jasmine said, plugging in her hairdryer.
‘Right,’ Vicky said. She was halfway down the stairs already.
‘So much for modern marriage,’ Jasmine sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair. Not that she truly believed she would ever want to divorce Mark, no way. But, still, it was a comfort to know that there was a get-out available if Mark turned out to be weird in some way. And then she thought of how he’d looked so earnest and even a tiny bit goofy when he’d smiled at her after they’d made love two days earlier, and she knew in her heart she was doing the right thing.
/> The happy convoy of black cabs parked in a neat line and the guests gathered in the grounds of the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum at Cultra. The sun was splitting the stones and the entire place was immaculately tidy.
‘And we’ve just to wait here?’ Sam said to the driver.
‘Yes, mate.’
‘Yes, Dad,’ Jasmine said.
‘That’s what Mark said? Definitely now?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘We’ve not to go in to the reception desk or anything?’
‘No, Dad.’
‘Flippin’ mystery man! I hope your Mark hasn’t come up with anything too mental,’ Sam muttered, fixing his oversized tie for the tenth time.
‘Leave that tie alone, Sam, would you?’ scolded his wife. ‘There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s meant to look that big.’
‘Leave it alone, Dad,’ Jasmine said.
‘It feels too loose. It’s gonna fall open any minute,’ he muttered.
‘No, it isn’t. Leave it alone,’ Vicky said sharply.
She slapped his hand away and almost dislodged her hat in the process. A huge great woven thing with coffee-coloured feathers that made her resemble a bird of prey.
‘Stop fussing, the pair of you. You’re making me nervous again,’ Jasmine complained, rubbing her stomach gently.
Immediately they were both contrite.
‘Sorry, love.’
The line of cabs set off again, leaving the guests from both sides of the family to mingle as best they could on the lawn.
‘We all look gorgeous, Dad. Even your hat looks nice, Mum. Now that I’ve got used to it a bit more. The thing is, I did say I wanted this wedding to be a surprise,’ Jasmine said in a watery voice. ‘I just hope that the surprise part isn’t Mark doing a fucking runner on me.’
‘Don’t say fuck on your wedding day, Jasmine,’ her mother sighed.
‘Sorry, Mum. Oh, I wish Ruby was here… Why isn’t she here yet anyway?’
Jasmine looked like an illustration from Vogue magazine in her very stylish, three-quarter-length white tulle dress with black embroidery on the bodice. She had a small spherical bouquet of black roses studded with green stones and green silk banana leaves. Her long hair was simply braided into a loose plait. And she wore a pair of beautiful green silk shoes with a black rose on each toe.
‘Relax, everyone. It’s probably an open-air ceremony somewhere in the museum grounds and then a traditional cream tea in the café or something,’ Vicky said cheerfully. ‘No doubt that’s what the fashionable folk of Hillsborough are doing these days.’
‘Speaking of which, I suppose we ought to go and say hello to the snobs?’ Sam said doubtfully.
‘Shush, they’re not snobs. They’re actually quite human,’ Jasmine said, waving across to Mark’s parents.
‘I thought you said they were snobs?’ he muttered.
‘Not snobs, Dad. I said they were dead posh,’ Jasmine hissed back.
‘What’s the difference?’ Jasmine’s father asked.
‘They’re all brainy with lovely manners, Dad.’
‘That’s made me feel nervous now,’ he fretted.
‘Where’s Ruby? I want Ruby,’ Jasmine said. ‘Was she in one of those cabs? Did anybody notice?’
‘Here she comes now,’ Vicky said happily, not at all jealous that her only daughter was looking around for another female for comfort and reassurance.
‘Jasmine, hi! Oh, you look fabulous!’ Ruby said, hurrying up to her friend. Tom was lagging slightly behind, looking very dapper indeed in his single-breasted black suit and a metallic bronze tie.
‘My God, he does scrub up well,’ Jasmine said approvingly to Ruby.
‘I know, doesn’t he?’ Ruby whispered back.
At that exact moment a great cheer went up from the small gathering of excited guests as Mark and the minister came sailing up the drive in a vintage bus with hand-painted advertisements for soap and tea on the side. Mark was wearing a white suit and a green tie and waving furiously at them all.
‘Oh, what next?’ Sam said, shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘Are we all supposed to squeeze into that old bus!’
‘I think it’s lovely,’ said his wife, fumbling in her handbag for the camera. ‘An old bus, how romantic!’
‘Oh wow,’ Jasmine said, and she began to laugh hysterically. ‘I don’t care if he is in an old bus! At least he’s here!’
‘You’re not getting married in that rackety old thing,’ her father said then. ‘Not if I have anything to do with it.’
‘Oh now,’ Vicky said in a worried voice. ‘Don’t make a scene, and Mark’s gone to so much trouble as well.’
‘It’s okay,’ Ruby assured them both, giving Jasmine a big hug. ‘You won’t be getting married in a bus, love.’
‘You were in on this?’ Jasmine asked.
‘Yes, sorry for not telling you, but Mark wanted something really memorable,’ Ruby smiled. ‘This is just his wee joke to get all the fun going… You’re actually getting married on a steam train.’
‘That’s pretty memorable, you’ve got to admit,’ Tom added, waving back to Mark.
‘And we don’t have to get into that auld bus there?’ Sam asked, visibly relieved.
‘No,’ Ruby told them.
‘And is there going to be food and all, by the steam train after the wedding?’ Sam asked hopefully. ‘I’d love to have a picnic by the trains even if they aren’t moving.’
‘He loves steam trains,’ Vicky said affectionately. ‘He always says they remind him of his childhood, and going to Bangor on day trips.’
‘Yes indeed, it’s your lucky day, Sam. The reception is going to be held on the biggest steam train,’ Ruby laughed. ‘That one’s inside the museum building. It’ll not be moving anywhere, but the servers are going to be wearing 1940s uniforms. I’ve seen it already this morning and it looks fabulous. We’ve been here for an hour already. Mark asked Tom and I to get here early, and give him a call if there were any problems. But it all looks totally amazing so don’t worry. They’ve got bunting up everywhere and the wedding cake is in the ticket booth. Oh dear, I shouldn’t have told you that…’
‘Ruby, tell me everything,’ Jasmine gasped. ‘I don’t think my nerves can take any more surprises.’
‘That’s it really, sweetheart. We’ll be going for a drive round Belfast after the food and the speeches, in one of the old open-top buses. But it’s a big, roomy bus and not a wee bean tin of a thing. Do you like the sound of that?’
‘That sounds like heaven,’ Sam said, patting his giant tie with sheer relief. ‘I get to have my lunch on the train and then I get to show off around Belfast on an open-topped bus. Hooray!’
The emotional open-air wedding ceremony was over within a few short minutes and everyone shouted and cheered and threw confetti over the happy couple. Then they all went inside for the reception. Photographs were taken of everyone posing merrily beside the buses and trains. Speeches were made and toasts were drunk, and after that they all piled on to the bus for the Grand Finale, an hour’s tour of the city.
‘This is the best wedding I’ve ever been to,’ Ruby sighed as the ancient bus went serenely up the wide sunny road. ‘I mean, as a guest.’
‘Me too,’ Tom agreed, putting his arm round her tenderly. They were sitting on the lower deck in a quiet corner, carefully nursing two glasses of very expensive champagne, Mark’s father’s contribution to the festivities. Neither of them mentioned their own weddings. This was a day to make happy memories.
‘It was all so relaxed, wasn’t it?’ Ruby said contentedly.
‘Yes, it was,’ Tom agreed.
‘I like the idea of a buffet too. It’s nice to be able to wander around and not have to sit beside one person for, like, six hours,’ Ruby said thoughtfully. ‘Especially if you don’t know them very well.’
‘True. Let’s drink a toast to buffets.’
‘Cheers!’ Ruby said, raising her glass.
‘Cheers,’
Tom said, laughing.
‘You look so nice in that suit,’ Ruby told him.
‘Do I?’
‘Of course. You should get dressed up more often.’
Tom looked at Ruby’s perfect cleavage in her red dress and also at her slim ankles in matching red shoes.
‘Don’t get me thinking about clothes,’ he begged Ruby.
‘Why not?’ she said.
‘Because then I’ll only be thinking about taking yours off,’ he whispered into her ear.
‘Stop it,’ she giggled.
‘I can’t help it,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You’re turning me into a sex addict.’
‘Oh, am I now?’ Ruby said quietly.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said sex addict on a vintage bus,’ Tom whispered.
‘Why not?’
‘It just seems inappropriate,’ he said, rolling his eyes towards Jasmine’s parents, who were chatting animatedly with the minister.
‘Kiss me,’ Ruby said then.
‘Okay, but just a quick one,’ Tom replied.
When Mark and Jasmine came downstairs from the top deck a few minutes later, Tom and Ruby were lost in a lingering kiss. Jasmine was extremely impressed.
‘Tom was once so shy he ran away up Ravenhill Road rather than say hello to us,’ she told her new husband quietly.
‘Seems to be making up for it now,’ Mark said gently.
‘Do you think we’ll ever be as in love as they are?’ Jasmine jokingly asked him.
‘Jasmine, nobody could ever love anyone as much as I love you,’ Mark said, giving her yet another hug.
And he meant it.
43. The Baby
The months seemed to fly by. Jasmine continued to work in Ruby’s shop even though she was sitting on the luxury armchair for most of the day towards the end of her pregnancy. Ruby was constantly answering the doorbell and unpacking the new stock and ringing up the purchases as Jasmine pottered around the shop with a duster in one hand and a book of baby names in the other.
‘I can’t say a word to her though,’ Ruby told Tom on one of their regular walks along the beach, pretending to be cross with Jasmine for being unable to whizz about the way she used to.
