by Claire Davis
A cheer went up from behind.
“We’re married, darling!”
We finally signed the register and saw our names together on the page, like two birds cuddling. We turned to face our friends, and for the first time, I looked properly at the front row. Loz’s parents and sisters were on one side. On the other side—mine—Paul, Kathy, Lou, and Hikmat, dabbing his eyes. Kathy was the first person to stand. She stood smiling, her hair still brilliant red though flecked by the years. I smiled back, and it was just for her. Then she threw her scarf into the air and cheered. The whole hall was suddenly engulfed. People stood and shouted and cheered. The floors rang with stamping feet and then a tornado of scarves. There was enough celebration in that room to burst the ceiling clean off into the air.
On the last row, I saw Mum standing against the wall next to Jenny. She looked old and frail, and a bit confused. I waved, and in that second I let that old wound go. Mum smiled and nodded and then I was swept out the doors by the bursting of the euphoria, to drink fizz and hug all our guests.
****
Much later, I walked around the room looking at all the beautiful things Lou had done for us. The tables were decorated with flowers and sweets, poetry and little toys for the children. There were cloth foxes, paper bunnies and even the napkins were decorated with little animals, dancing. We had balloons and flowers bursting out the containers—bubbles for the kids cascading across the rooms in excited clouds. Chocolate fountains and table upon table laden with food, and everywhere people talked and laughed. It was as if she’d climbed inside my head and saw the kind of day I wanted.
“Thank you so much, for all this work.” I kissed her cheek. “I never imagined anything like this.”
“It wasn’t just me, dad. Hikmat found the drummers, Shaz and Farzhana helped me with the tables—even your boss chipped in for the flowers. Last night we sat here making the final touches. It’s been lovely, coming home to do this.” She hugged me again. “I loved it, Dad. It’s our way of showing you how happy we are for you. Today is the best work of my life! You see now?”
“I do.” All this time I’d been trying to tell her, and she’d been planning how to show me. “What happened in the past—it’s up to you what you want to know.”
“All I need to know is right here in this room, Dad.” Her blue eyes shone. “Let me show you my paintings from Paris.” On the walls, her precious work brought here to Bradford.
“They let you borrow them?”
“Couldn’t say no—they’re mine. And what better place than their home?” She laughed. “I was so homesick at Uni, painting these helped me cope.” She was looking at me, and I knew what she was asking. At the bottom of one picture—my favourite, there were three tiny figures, difficult to make out for most people maybe but not me. A man, girl, and the shadowy, insubstantial figure of a ghost boy stood facing the sweep of Baildon Moor. The wind was blowing, but we held hands, joined to form an invincible force against the ravages of the past. “I wanted him to be here, too.”
“I see us,” I told her. We hugged for a long time.
“I’m still working on Nan.”
“Can’t believe she came, even if it was only for an hour. I bet Jenny dragged her out the house.” We both laughed. “Now I think of it, Jenny was holding onto her in case she ran off.”
“Probably. Let’s have a dance, Dad.”
She pulled me into the throng, where I noticed Loz dancing with Kathy, and Jenny doing some kind of bhangra with Arnold.
****
“But?”
“Not home, darling.”
We were ushered out the front doors through the final fireworks. A car honked and when I looked more closely I realised it was Lou’s red Nissan—with things attached on the back by long string and a big sign of ‘Just married.’
“But?”
“Bye! Thank you for coming!” Loz waved at the crowd throwing confetti and cheering. “We love you all!” I waved too and noted Jenny still standing close to Arnold from the fifth floor. I grabbed the flower garland and ran back to the crowd.
“Catch!” I shouted to Jenny, who caught it, and then me. “Thank you.” I hugged her until people pulled me away and the car honked.
“Eh,” she said tearfully. “Don’t forget to bring us back biscuits from France.”
“No cheap rubbish!” Hikmat said. “We want the pricey ones in tins!”
“Look after her? And you have to get the biscuits until I get back. No need for gluten free for a couple of weeks! She likes the pink wafers and—”
Hands frog-marched me to the car. “Aren’t we going home first?” I scrambled into the backseat with Loz, still waving and not wanting to look away. “I wish this day could last forever.”
“I know, darling it was so perfect. But we’ll have the photos, and there’s a huge pile of prezzies waiting. Today is only the start.”
“Where are we going?” The car sped away. “I know it’s Benidorm!”
“Shall we tell him?” Lou asked gaily from the driving seat.
“Oh I don’t know, maybe we should tease him a bit longer.”
It was funny, all those days of never touching when Lou was around, and suddenly I couldn’t stop. I ran my hands through Loz’s curls. “The airport? But what about our cases?”
“All in the boot. Not the airport. We are going,” Loz said grandly.
“To Paris!” Lou shouted.
“To see...”
“The Mona Lisa!” they shouted together.
“The Mona Lisa? The Louvre?”
“Driving through the tunnel tonight, staying at a posh Paris hotel so I can ravish you.” Lou chuckled lewdly, so I joined in. “Then tomorrow, off to The Louvre and then Lou’s gallery.”
“Oh my god. The Mona Lisa?”
“Then Lou will go back home, and you and I fly to Tenerife to hit that beach!”
“The Mona Lisa!” I said, again. “Are we?”
“Yes!” They shouted together, as the car drove into a dawn of orange love, all the way down through England towards the coast.
The end.
About the Authors
Claire Davis
I live in the beautiful UK and grew up in the Midlands.
A very ordinary person.
Al Stewart
Originally from an enormous housing estate in the
south of England.
Early influences include male ballet dancers or anyone
in tights.
Robin Hood, and all my sister's boyfriends.
Have written poetry from a young age but fairly
recently moved on
to books about ordinary people. Find me on twitter.
I'm crippling awful at talking about myself but can
draw a horse.
Claire Davis and Al Stewart can be found on Goodreads
and Facebook. They are British authors and best friends
who started writing together whilst at college.
http://astewartcdavisbook.wix.com/author
By the Authors
The Invasion of Tork
The Invasion of Adam
If I Should Stumble
Eight Inches to make Johnny Smile
The Forest Savage
Shut Your Face, Anthony Pace
Ribbons and Frills
Last Dance of the Sugar Plum
