by Ali Harris
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ Ryan whispers at last.
‘For how long?’
‘All day, six months, a lifetime . . .’
‘Me too,’ I answer. I look up at him, at his face that I know better than my own, at his eyes which are bluer than the Sydney sky and his lips which I’ve kissed so many times and yet not nearly enough times at all.
‘I don’t want to be another day without you, Ryan,’ I say at last. ‘You’re all I want, you’re all I ever wanted but other stuff just . . . got in the way. I–I’m so sorry for what I did—’
‘Shh,’ he says, and he smiles and I know I’m forgiven. ‘This is a fresh start, OK?’
I nod and wriggle my camera out from between us as Ryan kisses me.
‘I’m never going to forget this kiss,’ I mutter into Ryan’s lips as I hold it out and take a photo of the moment I didn’t dare dream would ever happen.
‘And I’m never going to let you go again,’ Ryan says, and I forget all about capturing the moment on film and instead savour his lips in a way I have never done before, and that I swear to myself I will do forever more.
Sealed With A Kiss
You know how you have a year where it feels like everyone you know is getting married and you end up pinging drunkenly from one wedding to another, dancing wildly, behaving badly and secretly wondering when it’s going to happen to you? Well, I never had that. I’d only ever been to one wedding before my own. And even though I was overjoyed to be back together with Ryan, I still retained a bit of my in-built Carter cynicism about it. But this was a Cooper wedding, done the Cooper way. I was back with my first love and little by little over the period of that beautiful, emotionally charged day, I found myself understanding what the fuss was all about and feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, I could do the whole ‘I do’ thing, too. One day . . .
FF>> 10/09/2005>
We’re in Ryan’s teenage bedroom at Jackie and Dave’s house, getting ready for Lydia and Carl’s wedding. Lydia is using the annexe that Ryan and I lived in (was it really only four years ago?) as her bridal suite – before we make our way to the venue. I’m quickly hopping into my outfit while she has her make-up done, before going back in to help her get into hers.
‘You’d better be careful or you’re gonna upstage the bride!’ Ryan kisses my neck, pinches my bum and winks at me in the mirror. I laugh as he spins me round to face him so I nearly fall out of my hot-pink dress.
I put my hands on his chest as he brushes his lips over mine and groans, before nuzzling his nose in my neck.
‘God, I wish we were staying in a hotel,’ he murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down my body. ‘I would rip off this dress right now and . . . ’
‘Now, now, spaghetti arms!’ I chastise, channelling Baby from Dirty Dancing but feeling more like Julia Roberts, pre-Pretty Woman makeover, in my too-tight pink frock. We’re interrupted by Ryan’s mum’s ‘dulcet’ tones.
‘RY! MOLLEEEEEE! Come down and have a glass of pink champoo with us, darlin’s! It’ll soon be time to go!’
‘You go,’ I say to Ryan, kissing him on the lips and tying his pink cravat that sets off his deep tan acquired through holidays, sailing, football and, much to my disapproval, sunbeds. ‘I need to go and do my bridesmaid duties! There!’ I pat his neck and look at him approvingly. ‘See you at the altar, best man!’ And I wave my fingers at him and disappear out of his bedroom door, leaving him to begin the lengthy task of styling his hair.
I run down the stairs, passing the extensive black and white gallery of photos of the Coopers, now featuring Lydia and I. I still can’t believe I’m up there. I asked Ryan if I’d been removed during our brief hiatus, but he’d assured me that Jackie had left me up. And after the way she’d greeted me with a big hug and an emphatic, ‘It’s so good to have you back, my darlin’,’ the first time I came over, I actually believed him. And despite my initial misgivings I feel honoured to be Lydia’s bridesmaid too.
‘Are you sure?’ I’d said when she asked me four months ago. ‘I mean Ryan and I have only just got back together . . . ’
‘You’re not planning on splitting up again, are you?’ she’d replied matter-of-factly, flicking her blonde extensions off her bare shoulders as we’d worked our way through our pizzas in Ugo’s, our favourite local restaurant, one Saturday afternoon.
‘No way,’ I’d said emphatically, and necked a large mouthful of wine.
‘Well then, of course I’m sure. Besides, it’s not like you’re the only one . . . I’ve got eight!’ I’d burst out laughing as she’d leaned in and whispered, ‘Jordan’s got nothin’ on this wedding!’
I’m nervous as we wait in front of Leez Priory, watching the flock of hired peacocks strut past us (‘Wicked idea of Jackie’s!’ Lydia said when we got out of the pink Cadillac). We’re waiting for the nod from the registrar to walk down the aisle (and by aisle I mean ‘pink carpet’). I’m nervous for Lydia – I know how long she has waited for this moment, she and Carl have been engaged for two years and had a baby – but I’m also nervous because I know that this is the moment that everyone will know that Ryan and I are serious, that we’re back for good.
As the strains of James Blunt’s ‘You’re Beautiful’ begin to play from the string quartet inside, I can’t help but laugh at her audacity to choose this as her wedding march. It’s typical of Lydia to be so wonderfully carefree and confident. Lydia turns around and winks at us all and I cradle little baby Beau, an absolute pudding of a boy (who, confusingly, is wearing a pink babygro to fit in with the colour theme), and we begin to walk.
I can’t deny it, I love seeing all those girls’ faces as they watch us come in. Especially when I realize that Nikki Pritchard is there. Single, mum-of-three Nikki Pritchard, who Lydia used to work with at the beauty salon. The same Nikki Pritchard from Westcliff High who was head of the Heathers. I love the gasps of astonishment for Lydia’s white dress ‘with a twist, babes’. The twist being that it’s tight and short, has a hot-pink sash and shows off her brilliant legs and bright-pink Jimmy Choo shoes. ‘I did not pay five hundred quid for these babies to hide ’em under some big blancmange,’ she’d said when she had her fitting.
Then I see my mum and dad and they smile at me fondly, which makes me want to cry. And then there’s Ryan, standing next to Carl and to my surprise, my breath catches in my throat, my chest heaving out of my low-cut dress with all the love I feel for him. I blink back tears as I see how hard Carl is working to hold it together. I see Ryan put his hand on his big brother’s shoulder and Carl clings on to his fingers for a moment, and Ryan then nudges him towards Lydia, who grabs Carl’s hand and practically drags him into a pre-wedding snog. Ryan looks back at me, his eyes dancing with happiness.
‘Time for the wedding breakfast!’ calls Jackie, a vision in fuschia pink, strutting alongside the peacocks on the lawn in front of the marquee in her high heels and even higher fascinator, her blonde layered bob styled to perfection.
It’s all brilliantly bling but completely lovely because Lydia and Carl are so happy and in love and they couldn’t give a toss what anyone else thinks. Even my mum and dad seem to be enjoying it, in their own way. Jackie insisted I pass on an invite to them, too. ‘You’re practically part of the Cooper family, my darlin’, which means so are they!’ I spotted them briefly squeezing hands during the ceremony and they even smiled at the rude jokes in the speeches in between the tentative sips of the single glass of champagne they’d each allowed themselves. Pity they’ve failed to spot Dave topping up their glasses every time they look away.
I smile as Mum comes over now, uncharacteristically wobbly on her feet.
‘So, Molly dear,’ she says, briskly tapping her hat, which is perched primly on her short hair. ‘Do you think it’s about time I bought another of these?’ She winks and I laugh and wag my finger at her as if I am the school teacher. I have never seen my mother wink. I should ply her with champagne more often. I think of how disapproving she used to be o
f Ryan and how far she and I have come in our relationship since my awkward teenage years, and I know it’s Ryan and his family we have to thank for our easier, warmer relationship.
I watch as Mum sways back to Dad’s side. I’m not alone for long.
‘You alright, Molly?’ Ryan’s lovely Nanny Door says, handing me another glass of champagne. I smile as I take it from her, genuinely pleased to have the chance to chat with her. She’s always been my closest ally. She slips her hand through my arm and we wander over to a table to sit down. She looks adorable in a pale-blue trouser suit and I compliment her on it.
‘Oooh, the colour matches my eyes, doll – and my rinse!’ She’s being self-deprecating. I remark how well she’s matched it with some silver shoes and a big silk scarf, and she smiles serenely, clearly pleased by the genuine compliment. ‘Well, I model my style on Jane Fonda, dear. Her exercise vids still keep me young, y’know! Between that, me pelvic floors and a monthly trip to Champneys, I’m in pretty good shape! Anyway, enough about me, what about you, Molly? You were looking a little lost there if I weren’t much mistaken.’
‘No Nan, I was just taking it all in . . . ’
She leans in closer and winks. One of her false lashes has slipped. ‘Thinking what you and Ry will do differently on your big day, eh love?’
‘No!’ I exclaim and then laugh, because I kind of was.
‘No shame in that, doll,’ Nanny says, taking a sip of her champagne and smacking her pink lips together. ‘Sometimes it takes losing someone you love to realize just what you’ve got. Of course, the ideal is to never lose them at all but, well, that’s not always so easy, is it, dear?’ Her voice drifts off and I know she’s thinking of her Arthur. I take her arm and she smiles brightly. ‘Now, d’you fancy a dance? I love this song!’
‘Hey, gorge,’ Ryan says drunkenly as he leads me back onto the dance floor later (I needed a rest after Nanny Door; she was unstoppable once she got up there).
I nod my head as Mum twirls past with Dave to Kanye West’s ‘Gold Digger’ and Dad and Jackie jive by.
‘Check John out!’ Ryan chuckles.
Just then Dave spins my mum around and delivers her into Dad’s arms just in time for a slow dance to ‘Hey Jude’.
Ryan squeezes my waist as we watch them, clearly so much happier doing their little waltz together than the fancy moves the Coopers were making them throw. My throat aches as I realize that this is exactly what their marriage is, a slow waltz and they have, in their own way, been enjoying it all along. It’s me who’s always wished they’d dance faster and fancier.
‘Ehhh, Ry, Molly!’ Carl says in his The Fonz voice as he lurches over to us and throws his arms around our shoulders, closely followed by Alex who clearly thinks he’s Patrick Swayze, and Gaz who appears to be marching across the dance floor like Doody from Grease. ‘Isn’t this just the best day ever! When are you gonna do the deed, eh?’
‘I’d love to do the deed wiv her,’ Gaz says with a chortle, tilting his pork-pie hat in Lydia’s best mate’s direction. ‘Watch this!’ And he marches over to the bridesmaid who is gyrating in the middle of the dance floor. We watch as Gaz taps the girl on the shoulder and she immediately turns around and snogs him.
‘No way!’ Alex yells.
Everyone bursts out laughing. ‘Don’t think that means you can avoid the question, bro,’ Carl says, ruffling Ryan’s hair just as Lydia dances up and throws her arms around us.
‘Come on,’ she says, jumping up and down just as the DJ puts on ‘We Are Family’. ‘All the Coopers together!’
Ryan kisses me on my head as the three of them begin to bounce.
‘But I’m not a Cooper!’ I protest, feeling my feet being lifted up off the floor as Jackie and Dave join us.
‘Not yet,’ Lydia whispers, and I blush.
‘Bou-KAAAAAY TIIIIIIIME!’ Jackie screeches across the dance floor at the end of the song and I watch as the female guests streak past me, an orange lightening flash of fake tan, all yapping excitedly like a pack of Chihuahuas. Lydia gets up on the stage in front of the band clutching her pink floral bouquet complete with pompoms, and Ryan nudges me with his elbow.
‘Aren’t you going over?’ he whispers.
‘Nope, I reckon I’m safer back here,’ I say, folding my arms for good luck.
‘Are you READY?!’ Lydia screeches and holds up her bouquet of fuschia roses as if it’s the Olympic torch. ‘ONE, TWO, THREE-EEEE!’
I watch as the bouquet soars in slow motion, over all the girls’ heads, their faces shine with hope, then turn to frustration, and then disappointment as it flies over and beyond their reach. And then I feel Ryan push past me and I watch in astonishment as he leaps athletically into the air to catch it. Then Ryan lands and turns around, brandishing the bouquet and grinning broadly at me. He runs over and slam dunks it into my arms before doing a lap of the room, like he’s just won the FA Cup. Then he appears in front of me again, throws his arms around me and kisses me as the room erupts into cheers.
I cover my face in embarrassment and he pulls my hands away from my face so he can kiss me. Lydia waves at me from the stage delightedly and Carl gives a thumbs up. I spot Jackie and Dave in another corner jumping up and down and clapping. I feel my skin prickle and my face turn the same colour as my dress.
Ryan laughs. ‘Sorry, babe, I just couldn’t resist . . . ’
‘Couldn’t resist showing off!’ I chastise, but I smile and I slip my hand into his.
He winks. ‘I just know how bad you are at sport. You’d never have caught that! Most girls would be thanking me.’
‘Ah,’ I interrupt, ‘but you forget, Cooper. I’m not like most girls . . . ’
He grins and cups my chin, pulling me in for a kiss. ‘I know, Molly Carter. That’s what I love about you.’
10.01 a.m.
I wander into my empty bedroom, wrapped in a towel. I take a moment to look around. It may not look like much now with the mattress on the floor and everything in boxes, but of all the rooms in the house this is the one I’ll miss the most. It’s been my haven over the past few years. Ryan and I used to joke when we first got together that if it weren’t for work, we’d just stay in bed forever. I’m not sure he expected me to ever carry through my threat. After he went, I lay here for days on end, weeks even. When I’d pulled myself together and could leave the house, I’d still spend my evenings here, going through old photo albums. Because I’d painted the bedroom the same duck-egg blue as our old kitchen, I could almost pretend we were still living in our flat – before everything went wrong.
I redecorated a couple of years ago. I wanted to start afresh, find Molly Carter again, so I painted the room a rich mulberry colour. It felt cosy, womblike. It said ‘single’ not ‘sad’. The now-bare balcony windows were framed by thick, lustrous gold curtains; over the bed was the same print of John and Yoko I’ve had since uni. Stacked around the edge of the room were piles of photography and art books, and my dressing table next to the balcony doors. That’s still there complete with a couple of framed photos I haven’t wrapped up yet. One is of my mum and dad on their wedding day. I go and pick it up. I gaze critically at the picture. I used to hate how serious they look but now I appreciate how hard marriage is, how much a couple has to face together in a lifetime. And how solid you have to be to stay together through all those ups and downs. I am in awe of them. Not just for staying together but because of how strong they’ve been for me.
I rip off some bubble wrap from the roll that’s lying on the floor and look at the picture one more time before wrapping it, noticing how my dad gazes into the camera lens with his wistful smile that I know is his version of heart-burstingly happy. I pop the picture in a box marked ‘Ship’ and glance outside.
The January morning has lifted its blanket of darkness and the vast sky is now stonewash blue with a filter of bright, white sunlight peeking through. It is going to be a beautiful day. I smile and open the doors, stepping out to where my wrought-iron table was
placed until it was packed up along with the two chairs. I have sat there for uncountable hours in all weather, the changing seasons reflecting my changing state of mind. The winter rain mixed with my tears, the spring breeze blew away my misery, the summer sun healing my broken heart.
I hop back in and head over to the fitted wardrobes. I open a door and gaze at the contents on one side as I rifle through.
My jeans are thrown haphazardly in a way that would make a Gap sales assistant faint. My favourite grey skinnies are packed away so I root around for my other fail-safe denim option: dungarees. I know, I know, the item of clothing style forgot, but they’re so comfy. And as my mum would say, ‘You’re moving house, my dear, not going on a fashion parade’. Funny how eventually you really do start turning into your mum. And most surprisingly, how you don’t actually mind.
I pull them on and look in the mirror that is leaning against the wall. I barely recognize myself. OK, so I thought the dungarees were comfy but cute in an ironic 1980s Demi-Moore-in-Ghost kind of a way, but I now realize I look more like Meryl Streep in Mamma Mia. I giggle at the thought and I unselfconsciously replicate a few Abba moves in front of the mirror, singing the chorus of the title song under my breath. I’m interrupted by the doorbell just as I get to the broken-hearted bit.
The Welcome Kiss
I’d never really understood that phrase ‘bosom of the family’ until I met Ryan’s. Probably because my family’s ‘bosom’ always felt meagre in comparison to most; the love was small, contained, more of a Kate Moss double-A cup than the Baywatch bust I longed for. Their love didn’t seem to cushion or protect me, or spill out showily. When I was young I wondered if I’d ever know the kind of ostentatious shows of affection that ‘normal’ families seem to have. And having rested my head in the Coopers’ ample cleavage, I felt like I’d got it at last. I was home. Since then I’ve realized that my family’s love was always there. It still lay a heartbeat away. I just didn’t get close enough to hear it.
