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It’s November. Months since I’ve worked on a wedding. At first she was reluctant, but I’ve persuaded Honey that I really want to do this one. Control freak that she is, she wasn’t happy about it, but eventually she gave in. It’s only a small, simple wedding after all. Nothing fancy, at a lovely old house which belongs to a friend of the bride.
The wedding is early evening, so the church will be lit by candles. It’s a place that echoes with memories - the same church that Pete and Maria got married in. The one where Cosmo’s buried, which is somehow fitting because as the bride knows, life and death are part of the same shebang.
She’s praying for a starry night, the bride, so that the photographer can work by moonlight, capturing all the people precious to her in a place that’s so close to her heart. Her dress is hung up away from the groom’s eyes – a simple, elegant dress with short sleeves and a fur bolero to keep the cold out. There’s a pair of hunter wellies too – shiny new silver ones - just in case. It’s quite a walk to the church.
She’s going to love these tiny white narcissi, the first of the winter, with snowdrops for hope, white heather for luck, with little sprigs of spruce and rosemary for remembrance – Mrs Orange brought some from her garden. There’s also the ubiquitous hazel twigs - as a precautionary measure – because all marriages have ups and downs, as she knows only too well.
And the reason I know all this?
Well, after several weeks of experimenting, the posy finally worked. At least, I think it was the posy – and one evening, after a romantic candlelit dinner, looking slightly surprised, Alex went down on one knee and proposed. Next, he called me a witch. I threw myself at him and kissed him passionately, then told him not to be so rude. But I’m wondering, just maybe, if I am...
Our reception’s at Pete’s and Maria’s house, the music I’ve left to them. Well, it would be rude to pull rank on a rock star. I’ve a sneaky suspicion it might have something to do with Bella Mac who’s about to embark on a sell-out world tour, but no-one will actually tell me.
But it could be fish and chips in the pub for all I care, as long as it’s with this man I’ve found for whom I’m the only girl in the world. You see, it’s true, as I finally discovered. There really is someone for everyone...
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Wildflowers Page 27
