The Winter Wedding

by Abby Clements

  ‘That’s it, perfect!’ Emma pronounced.

  Josh made a face and I stifled the laughter bubbling up inside me.

  ‘Now – the picture frames. I think they’re still not quite right,’ Emma said.

  Josh took a step forward and laid a hand gently on my boss’s shoulder. ‘You know what, Emma – I see what you’re saying. Why don’t you step in yourself and make sure they are right. OK if I borrow Hazel for a minute?’

  I suspected that Josh didn’t need anything from me, but was grateful for the get-out – I’d been following Emma’s whims since eight in the morning, and it was starting to grate. In any case, Emma didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss at all, she was focused on unhooking the pictures I’d got from a nearby antiques market and putting them up in a different arrangement.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, once I was out of earshot. ‘I needed a break.’

  ‘I just wanted to say – the location you suggested is perfect. Listen, I know how hard you’ve been working on the sets, too, and they really do look fantastic. I’ll put in a good word for you with Aaron, see if we can’t get you some more of the kind of projects you want to be working on.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘I mean – with the promotion going to Tim, and Amber coming in, I guess you probably aren’t feeling that motivated.’

  I gave a weak smile. ‘You could say that.’

  ‘I don’t blame you. But let’s see if we can’t change things, at least a bit. No one wants to lose your talent around here, least of all me.’

  At home that evening, I was putting together pictures of flower arrangements for Lila and Ollie’s wedding.

  ‘Roses for a wedding, right?’ I said.

  ‘I guess,’ Amber said, tilting her gaze upwards as if she might find the answer on the ceiling. ‘Everyone seems to have roses.’

  ‘Classic, traditional.’ I pulled a few images together, with a choice of palettes, as Lila and Ollie hadn’t made a final decision on the colour-scheme yet. I’d put together a few pretty options.

  ‘You seem to be really enjoying this,’ Amber said. ‘I wouldn’t have had you pegged as the wedding-y kind.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I guess I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy. But yes, I really am enjoying it. I mean it’s lovely to be asked – and to be part of Lila’s day. But it also feels like something I might be good at. It’s not really a world away from set designing, after all.’

  ‘I guess not. You look happy.’

  ‘I suppose I feel like you do when you’re baking.’

  ‘It’s the best feeling in the world. I mean work’s OK – there are things about it I really like, and Tim’s kind of cool, as bosses go . . . but if I could bake all day? Well, that would be heaven.’

  Amber’s eyes lit up as she spoke.

  ‘Why don’t you?’ I suggested. ‘I mean, you’ve got the family business and everything. I bet your mum would be up for it.’

  ‘Going into business together?’ Amber said. She shook her head and laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I love Mum to bits, but I think we’d most likely drive each other mad. She’d be rearranging the sugar decorations and whatnot.’

  ‘Is she really that bad?’

  ‘Ha!’ Amber said. ‘Yes. I mean she’s lovely – but yes, she is that bad. She can be a real perfectionist. And while she’ll experiment to a point – she’s still pretty traditional. Most of her customers are over sixty, so it’s not really in her interest to break with that.’

  ‘You could always set up on your own,’ I suggested.

  ‘You make it sound so easy,’ she said, with a smile. ‘But wouldn’t you rather have a flatmate who can pay the rent?’

  I smiled. ‘I suppose so. Although perhaps the cakes would make up for that.’

  She laughed. Then, as we fell quiet again, her gaze trailed over to the window. She’d seemed distracted these past few days, and I asked her what was up.

  ‘Jude called me the other day,’ Amber said, trying and failing to look like she didn’t care. ‘My ex.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Oh, that he’s sorting himself out.’ She shook her head. ‘That he made a mistake not showing me how serious he was. That he misses me.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘Yes. I do. The thing is, I kind of always knew that he needed a wake-up call like this – that it would take me moving out for him to see what he was letting go of. But now that he has . . .’

  ‘Too late? I’ve closed that door.’

  Amber nodded. ‘But it’s too little, too late. I need to move on now.’

  ‘Do you feel ready to start dating again?’

  ‘I think so. I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel more ready, if that makes sense. I guess I just need to get back on the horse, go for it. It’s not about Jude any more, it’s not about showing him what he’s missing . . . that time’s over. It’s about finding someone who genuinely appreciates me.’

  ‘You will.’ I was more determined than ever to help Amber on her way.

  Chapter 8

  It was early May, three months before Lila and Ollie’s summer wedding, and I’d come to Lila’s house to talk through the flowers. I’d gone for pink and white roses. But Lila wrinkled her nose – it might have been barely perceptible to someone else, but to me it was a clear sign of her discontent. ‘It’s not that I don’t like them,’ she said. ‘I think they’re beautiful. And very weddingy. I guess they just don’t really seem like what I pictured.’

  ‘And what did you picture?’ I asked.

  She shook her head, and bit her lip. ‘I don’t really know. But something, I don’t know. Different from this.’

  She was right to resist, of course, and it was a niggling feeling I’d been trying to push aside as I’d designed the bouquets and table arrangements. If her wedding were a theatre set it would be perfect, I’d put it together so that all the elements worked in harmony and the final image was one that would bring both beauty and elegance to the day. But this wasn’t a theatre set, or a film set.

  This was my twin sister’s wedding, and even though I knew her inside-out, there was nothing personal about the arrangements I was suggesting.

  Lila looked at me from her place on the window seat in her and Ollie’s flat, a blank, slightly disappointed expression on her face. I could read her like a book. ‘I guess I just never really thought I’d have roses on my wedding day, that’s all.’ She shrugged, clearly as frustrated by her inability to visualise and communicate exactly what she wanted as I was at not being able to conjure it up for her. My fear was that she would start to have regrets about delegating responsibility for her big day, that she would begin to wonder if getting me involved had been the right thing in the first place.

  ‘I think I get it,’ I said. Seeing that look on her face had only made me feel more strongly that I wanted to be part of her day, and to get things right.

  With a dash of reluctance, I put aside the vision that I’d carefully concocted, and that had seemed so perfectly, unapologetically, weddingy. I started to refocus on Lila – the brave and sensitive girl and friend I’d spent so much of my life with. I thought back to Lila and how she had been as a child. Warm summer’s evenings where I’d be digging something up in the flowerbeds near the kitchen, helping Dad to plant herbs, and Lila would be wandering through the long grass and the tangle of poppies and wildflowers at the back of Mum and Dad’s garden, in a white cotton dress, putting letters out there for the flower fairies. She’d stayed up late the night before, writing the letters at the wooden desk in our shared room, and I’d told her it was a waste of time.

  She’d turned to me, her pursed lips forming a perfect red bow, her cheeks lightly flushed with annoyance.

  ‘They won’t write back,’ I’d grumbled, pulling the duvet up towards my chin and turning over to try and go to sleep. ‘They’re not even real.’

  ‘They are real. I’ve seen them,’ Lila insisted. ‘And I don’
t mind at all if they don’t write back. I just want them to know that someone believes in them. That I believe in them.’

  ‘I bet if they do exist they wouldn’t even be able to read and write anyway,’ I said. I guess I was the more cynical of the two of us, even then.

  She didn’t say anything then, just turned her head, with its halo of fluffy blonde hair, knotted from the day’s adventures on the grass, and brought her attention back to the letter she was writing. I pretended my eyes were closed, but actually I watched her until I finally fell asleep. I watched as she paid painstaking attention to the shape and curl on each letter she was writing. Her handwriting was something she was very proud of, and in truth I envied her for it. I envied her too for her capacity to believe in things that had long stopped seeming plausible to me.

  The following Monday, when Lila was gathering her things together for school, packing her dance shoes and outfit, something I didn’t have to think about, I found Dad upstairs in the bathroom shaving, with that noisy electric shaver he used to use.

  I snuck in behind him and when he sensed me he jumped a little. ‘Hazel, hi. You startled me.’ His face broke into a wide smile. Dad had one of those smiles that made you feel that the world was a good place. Mum smiled a lot, but sometimes the sad things that she saw and heard about crept through, and those smiles she gave out didn’t make you feel as safe as Dad’s did.

  Anyway, Dad and I were standing there in the bathroom, with the whale-print wallpaper that I had insisted we get for it, and mine and Lila’s fluffy purple towels on our pegs on the walls, and I knew I had a chance to make things right, to make up for the way I’d been mean to Lila at the weekend. Because she deserved to carry on believing. It was a nice thing to be able to do.

  ‘What is it, love?’ Dad asked, kindly.

  ‘Dad, you have to do something,’ I said, certain now, of the action I must take. I took a deep breath. ‘You have to be the fairies.’

  Mum called out again for us to get ready, so I knew I didn’t have long to brief Dad on what he needed to do, but I managed to give him the general idea. I knew he had it in him, deep down, to be a superhero, and being a fairy was really quite a lot easier than that.

  That evening, when we got back from school, my dad had winked at me – confirmation that he’d done what we’d discussed and that everything was ready. As I’d expected, my sister ran into the back garden and out to the long grass and wildflowers, her hands rifling through the flowers and weeds with determination and a sense of focus. This time I followed her over there, standing back a bit on the lawn, but close enough to watch the scene unfold.

  As she located the wild patch of foxgloves and poppies where she’d placed her letter, she let out a whoop of glee. ‘They came!’ she shouted over to me. Her green eyes were wide and shining with excitement as she held up the card, with her name – LILA – written in purple ink.

  ‘They did?’ I said, smiling. ‘Well, bring it over here, then. Let’s open it together.’ With a spring in her step, Lila came over to where I was sitting, and gingerly fingered the sealed envelope. ‘Perhaps we should tell someone,’ she said.

  ‘Like Mum?’

  ‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Is there a fairy society? Natural History Museum maybe? I don’t think this is common, you know,’ Lila continued earnestly.

  ‘I think it’s OK for us to keep it secret,’ I replied. ‘Anyway, let’s open it first and see what it says. It might not even be from them.’

  ‘It IS,’ Lila said, confidently. ‘I just know it is.’ Inside was a pretty card with a picture of a fairy on it, and a neatly written note. Dad had clearly worked hard to disguise his handwriting, and while you could still tell, a little bit, Lila didn’t seem to notice, or was choosing not to.

  Dear Lila, it read. Thank you for believing in us. It means an awful lot. We always enjoy your visits to our home, this part of the garden, even though most of the time we hide from you. Don’t take it personally. It’s just what fairies do. You’re very big, compared to us, after all, so there’s always the risk of being trampled on – or, well, you telling someone about us.

  ‘Like the Natural History Museum,’ I chimed in. Helpful like that. Lila nodded. ‘You were right,’ she said. ‘ We need to keep this a secret.’

  ‘How did they sign off?’ I asked, genuinely curious.

  ‘Love, Your friends, the fairies.’

  I smiled. Dad had excelled himself. Lila clutched the card to her chest and smiled broadly. ‘It’s the most, most special thing that’s ever happened to me,’ she said. ‘I’m going to write back to them right away.’

  ‘You were right to believe after all, I guess.’

  ‘I was,’ she said, proudly.

  Over the course of that summer, Dad must have written to Lila a dozen times. As the autumn leaves began to fall, and Ben and I raked them in the September sunshine, Lila got her last letter from her friends in the garden.

  ‘They’re flying south for the winter,’ she explained to me. ‘They said they need to do that, like birds.’ She shrugged as if it were nothing but I could see her eyes shining with unshed tears. ‘I didn’t actually know that about them. But it makes sense. They say they’ll have to go to another garden next summer. That’s how it works I suppose. They can’t stay with us for ever.’

  I glanced over at Dad, and caught his eye for a split second, but then he looked back down at the rake he was holding. Beside him, Ben was sweeping piles of cut grass up in his hands, and letting it fall around him, letting out a gurgle of toddler laughter.

  It seemed harsh but I knew Dad had done the right thing. Even Lila couldn’t go on believing forever. This gave both of them a way out.

  That evening, I went downstairs for some water, and overheard Dad talking to Mum in the kitchen. ‘We should do something for Hazel,’ he said. ‘Something special. Like the fairies.’

  ‘Oh no, Simon,’ Mum said, laughing lightly. ‘There’s no need. She’s not dreamy like Lila. You know as well as me, they’re quite different.’

  ‘A surprise, though . . .’ he said, mulling it over.

  ‘I don’t think so, Simon,’ Mum said. ‘Hazel’s always been happier looking after the others; she’s not one to be made a fuss of. Let’s just be grateful for that – she’ll always be our easy child . . .’

  Lila coughed, and my attention was brought back into the room. She was looking down at my iPad and the Pinterest boards I’d put together for her, and frowning slightly.

  ‘They’re not right for you. I can see that now,’ I said. Her relief showed immediately, the lines between her brows smoothed out, her shoulders went from hunched to relaxed.

  ‘What about wildflowers?’ I suggested, drawing the images from our childhood memories back into my mind. ‘Poppies and marguerites . . . We could put them on each table, use some of the lovely apothecary bottles you have, I can easily source some more, string them up around the venue . . .’ I rattled through the other ideas, coming to me quickly and easily now. I could picture the scene perfectly.

  Lila paused for a moment, and then began to smile. The light came back into her eyes. ‘Like in our garden?’ she said, remembering.

  ‘Yes, just like that,’ I replied.

  ‘I think that’s a wonderful idea.’

  Chapter 9

  It was late on Friday evening, and the office had emptied out. It was just me and Josh left, working on a new set design for Christmas at the Manor. Josh looked over my ideas – a lavish pine tree in the living room and tall red candles with frosted white holders on the table. The residents of the manor were rich and not afraid to show it, which was a dream when it came to designing their Christmas decorations.

  ‘Have you got some starting points for sourcing this stuff?’ Josh said. ‘It looks fantastic, by the way.’

  I smiled, and showed Josh the list that I’d drafted. ‘I’ve got a few quotes.’

  ‘OK, that looks good. Can I show you the ideas I’ve had for the village
pub?’

  The village pub was the heart of the community, and where most of the drama took place. The residents of the manor would rarely set foot in it, so it was also the perfect forum for people to discuss them – and where the best gossip came out.

  Josh showed me his sketches of the pub – the cosy fireside where the village dogs stretched out to warm up after long, snowy walks, the mirror strung with fairy lights and the mistletoe hanging down from the beams of the seventeenth-century building. I thought back to the script we’d been given, and pictured Elise and Joey, two of the show’s most popular characters, under there. Everyone knew that the audience were going to go wild when they saw these two finally pair up – all that was needed was the perfect set for the encounter.

  ‘I can make that,’ I said. ‘There’s no way that Elise is going to be able to resist Joey over mulled wine on Christmas Eve.’

  ‘Fantastic. Look – talking of pubs. I’m meeting Sarah in half an hour, at the Railway. Why don’t you join us? It’s about time you guys met – I think you’d get on.’

  ‘Great,’ I said. So, I’d finally get to meet the woman Josh was in love with. This felt like a big deal.

  Out of season, there was no mulled wine, but between us, and over two glasses of red, Josh and I began to conjure up the spirit of Christmas in a booth in the corner of the Railway.

  He glanced at his phone. ‘Sarah’s running late. Which is pretty standard. She kind of runs on her own time.’ He smiled, and didn’t seem particularly bothered by it.

  ‘Cool,’ I said. ‘No hurry.’

  ‘I like this place,’ Josh said, glancing around. ‘Right in the heart of London but it feels almost like a countryside local, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Reminds me a bit of home, actually.’ I thought of the pub, on our village green. Lila and I had had to wait patiently for our eighteenth birthday, with the landlord being one of Dad’s best friends, there wasn’t a chance that we’d be let in underage – but it made it even more special when we were finally allowed to spend the evening there.