by Anne Brooke
Half an hour later, the two of them have a pretty good compromise. It’s a Wedgwood option, and combines just the right amount of plainness for Kieran and floral touch for Olivia: it’s a white pattern with a dark blue floral trim which looks even better than the one Olivia has chosen with her mother. Who needs Royal Doulton anyway? It’s so last year! Wedgwood is the way to go.
However, what makes Olivia happiest – and in a way that surprises her – is how delighted Kieran is with their crockery choice. Maybe their engagement course was right; this is what marriage is about in the long run – less to do with togetherness or romance, and more to do with having discussions together and thrashing things out in as decent a manner as possible. Though obviously, having both is the best way!
“There,” Olivia says, writing their first present choice down on the list. “Go, us! We’ve begun.”
An hour or so later, they have a full list. It isn’t the usual run of wedding lists, but it expresses them, who they are and all their oddities. It includes the crockery, a Wellington boot holder, a subscription to the Penguin classic library collection, a book on photography, a set of tablecloths with non-matching napkins, a doorstop, and two hot-water bottles. Kieran is against electric blankets on some kind of moral grounds, though Olivia is never sure what these moral grounds are.
One thing the list doesn’t have is any kind of kettle or toaster. They both have a perfectly good kettle already, plus a spare. And neither of them likes toast. Such a quirky list will probably raise some eyebrows, especially from Olivia’s wider family (not known for their liberal minded attitude at any level) but they will just have to get used to it.
When Olivia shares the list with her mother on her next visit, her mother glances at it and then turns it over.
“Is that it?” she asks, lips pursed. “No toaster, no kettle, no towels?”
Oh. Towels. Now there’s a thought. Olivia will add those to the list as soon as she’s spoken to Kieran – once they’ve decided on a colour. But she laughs at the other items her mother assumes are missing.
“We already have several kettles,” she protests. “There’s no need to make people buy another one, and we don’t like toast, so we would only hide it away in a cupboard.”
“Yes, I know, dear. I’m not completely mad – not yet anyway. But a wedding list isn’t only about the couple, you know. What if you have visitors to stay and they ask for toast. You don’t want to look mean.”
Olivia smiles and pours her mother a fresh cup of tea from the pot. “We wouldn’t look mean. We’d toast the bread under the grill.”
Her mother laughs. “That’s what your grandmother used to do before they invented toasters. I always said you and my mother were alike.”
“Maybe. But without her northern accent – you know we lost that when you moved south to marry Dad.”
“That’s it. Blame me,” her mother replies. “But don’t think you can change the subject so easily. I want to make sure you understand the purposes of a wedding list. It’s there so you can buy all the basics, either as new or as spares for the ones you already have.”
As she’s talking, Olivia’s mother takes the list again and peers over her glasses at it. This is serious, Olivia can tell, so she braces herself for whatever motherly advice is about to come her way. Sometimes she may even act on such advice. Though this is something she will never admit to anyone, not even Kieran. Whether this is one of those occasions remains to be seen.
“I mean,” her mother continues. “I’m not sure if people will know what a welly bag is, let alone a hedgehog shoe scraper. Are you planning on lots of walks in the countryside when it’s raining? I thought you usually kept the outdoor life for when it’s sunny.”
“Yes, that’s true. But you know how much Kieran likes to be tidy – I think he’s planning to take a firmer stance against me throwing my stuff all over the place once we get married. He also hates mud on the floor, so I imagine he’s hoping that if we get a cute shoe scraper, it might encourage me to leave the mud outside.”
“Hmm, I see,” her mother says. “Tell him from me: good luck with that! I never succeeded in house-training you during the first eighteen years of your life so I’m not convinced he’s going to succeed now. Time will tell.”
Olivia rolls her eyes. She’s sure her mother will never forgive her for treading mud over the new living room carpet when she was just fifteen years old. It had taken several weeks, two hires of the carpet cleaning machine, plus a fair amount of Olivia’s pocket money before it was restored to its original state again. Almost. Setting that low point of her childhood to one side. Olivia has to admit her mother may be right. All the boot scrapers and bag-tidies in the world won’t be enough to clear up after her, probably.
She will have to discuss the list with Kieran again. It’s strange how the things she assumes will be simple about getting married can suddenly become clouded with unseen problems. She sighs and takes another gulp of tea. Her mother smiles.
“Look, darling,” she says as she pats Olivia’s hand. “I’m not saying you and Kieran shouldn’t be the people you are, because that’s a wonderful thing. I’m sorry if I was negative about your list. I’ve just spent the whole morning shopping for a Mother of the Bride outfit and there’s nothing in town I like. It’s frustrating, but I think I’ll wait for the new season clothes to be in. Still, that’s nothing to do with the list – it’s a good list, but you need to put more basic items on it so the guests can have a range to choose from. Anyway, you won’t want ten hedgehog scrapers, will you?”
Olivia laughs. “No, I suppose not, although all those hedgehogs might well discourage the postman from bringing me any more council tax bills so it wouldn’t be all bad. Look, Mum, I know you’re right, and I’ll chat it through with Kieran tonight and make it a list to die for, don’t you worry. I’m sorry about the shopping though. Tell you what – why don’t we go together and make a day of it one weekend? It will be fun, and I can buy you cake as well. What’s not to like?”
“Sounds wonderful,” her mother replies. “But my plan is to surprise you with my outfit, just as you’re surprising me with yours, so you’ll have to wait until your big day, I’m afraid.”
“Fair enough. But if you get desperate, don’t forget I’m here and I can kick ass with tricky shop assistants if I have to now. At least that’s one thing wedding shopping has taught me.”
“I’ll bear that in mind, darling,” her mother replies.
Chapter Eight: Bridesmaids
Olivia isn’t sure how she feels about bridesmaids. They are the kind of wedding accessory every bride should have – at least this is what all the bridal magazines tell her – but so far in her preparations, she’s not given it any thought. She’s been a bridesmaid three times in her life and none of it has won her over.
The first time, she’d been fifteen years old, when her brother’s fiancé – now his ex-wife, thank goodness – asked her if she’d like to be the chief bridesmaid. Olivia’s mother had been delighted and had almost at once gone into a kind of lacy frenzy of joy which she’d not recovered from until the wedding and all its paraphernalia had been long forgotten. Much like she’d done for Olivia herself then.
Back then, Olivia had been pleased and surprised – her sister-in-law-to-be was girliness personified, almost to the point where Olivia would have been happy to take the wretched woman and smother her with her own lace dress. Still, the thought of being a bridesmaid was exciting, and she’d happily accepted. Not that there had been any chance of refusal – not with her mother going full pelt for making the event into the Wedding of the Year for the county.
The reality had been very different. Gina – her new sister-in-law – had dressed Olivia in a bright pink satin flouncy dress which brought out her late teenage spots, clashed with her ginger hair and made her look like a Michelin Woman who’d had a bad day. Olivia never knew whether Gina had done this terrible act deliberately, suspecting how much Olivia secretly disliked her, or whether she
was just so girly that she’d imagined bridesmaids should only ever be dressed in shiny pink meringues.
Either way, Olivia’s wedding smile was glued to her face, and it was lucky Gina survived the wedding at all. Five years later, when the divorce came through for the unhappy couple, Olivia had to admit to relief. However, she’d been impressed how Gina had in fact run off with the counsellor who was trying to save her marriage – it showed an unexpected class and if Olivia had known back on the wedding day in question how her brother’s marriage was going to turn out, her false grin might well have been a little more natural. She’d never been a fan of either of her brothers, who were much older than she was and – of course – far less lovable.
Anyway, when her middle brother got married, a couple of years later, Olivia had been a bridesmaid at that one too. Her new sister-in-law then hadn’t been too bad and the dresses she and her fellow bridesmaid had worn were quite pretty. At least Vikki had some idea of style and hadn’t insisted on her own vision of what they should wear, come what may.
Still, no matter how elegant everyone looked in the wedding photos, it didn’t stop the marriage disintegrating eight years afterwards, when Vikki ran off with the scoutmaster. Really, it’s astonishing Olivia has agreed to marry Kieran at all – as a family they don’t have much luck with marriage. Or maybe it’s the bridesmaids issue that puts the kibosh on it?
Olivia wants to marry the man she loves with her heart and soul, not to mention all her bodily parts. However, the thought of running around worrying about which bridesmaids she should choose and which of her friends won’t be upset if she doesn’t choose them is way beyond her. Not to mention the hassle of working out what everyone should wear and what her colour themes should be once the bridesmaids were in the bag – Olivia has enough to worry about for herself and Kieran without adding other people into the mix.
Then, of course, there’s the whole question of Kieran’s best man. She has no idea who he may ask, as he isn’t particularly close to his family, though he has one or two work friends he may approach. Like her – at heart – her fiancé is a bit of a loner and doesn’t like getting too close to the people around him. In fact, in the early days of the two of them going out together – though they’d been friends in their church group for longer – he’d once told her how alike he thought they were.
When Olivia laughed, he explained the truth was he himself said nothing to anyone to avoid giving away anything personal, whereas she said lots and lots of things for exactly the same reason. There was depth and wisdom in what he’d said and she’s never forgotten it.
Maybe they should look at doing things differently then, just as they’ve always done? Olivia makes a mental note to raise the issue of bridesmaids and best men with Kieran at the earliest opportunity. She could well have made an actual note too, but by now she’s feeling suffocated by lists, and can take no more of them.
Her opportunity comes at the end of the week when she and Kieran meet up at their usual mid-town winebar before heading home. Usually she would steer clear of wedding subjects as she thinks of winebar time as “their time” but Kieran asks her how everything is going and whether there are things he can helpfully do.
She smiles at him as she takes another swig of the chardonnay – she isn’t the kind of woman who sips at anything – and then remembers her earlier mental note.
“Darling,” she begins and at once Kieran looks at her as if she’s suddenly turned in to his worst nightmare. She can’t help laughing. “What’s that look? What have I done now?”
“Nothing,” Kieran shrugs. “But I’ve learnt over the time we’ve been together that when you start a sentence with ‘darling’, it tends to mean I’ve done something horribly wrong or – worse – I’m about to.”
Olivia assumes an expression of innocence and raises her eyebrows at him as if this is news to her. Of course it isn’t.
“Harsh but fair,” she says. “But this time it’s different. I’ve been wondering about bridesmaids and best men.”
“I see. Are we for them or against them?”
“Both or neither at the moment. You see, I’m thinking about not having any bridesmaids at all, but it depends on whether you’d thought about a best man. I mean if you wanted one, and if so if you’d already got someone in mind. If you have, that’s fine, and I’ll pick a bridesmaid or two, but I wondered if none might be an option.”
At the end of this blur of words all bundled together, Olivia takes another swig of her wine, finds – how did that happen? – she’s finished it, and orders another one, plus a second beer for Kieran. Glasses in pubs must be getting smaller these days.
As she takes her change from the barman, Kieran nods. “It might be radical, but it would be very much us. Then again, what would your mother think?”
Olivia ponders his question. “She probably wouldn’t mind at all. Just as long as she can be there to see her only daughter get married, and get to wear a hugely extravagant hat, she’ll be happy.”
“In that case,” Kieran says, finishing his first beer and starting to pour the second into his empty glass. “In that case, why not have the wedding without them? Though, won’t it look odd if I stand at the front of my church on my own? And, anyway, who will you walk down the aisle with? Your mother? Your stepfather? Both?”
Olivia hasn’t thought about that issue in any depth either, but she supposes she has to walk down the aisle with someone, especially if there are no bridesmaids. And maybe it’s mean to get Kieran to stand on his own in church, waiting for her to arrive. The last thing she wants to do is to make him feel awkward. Weddings are weird enough as it is.
Suddenly it comes to her – must be that second glass of Chardonnay, which always does the trick.
“Why don’t we walk down the aisle together?” she asks him, laying her hand on his arm. “There surely isn’t a law against it, and I can’t think of anything more wonderful than walking down the aisle on the way to get married with the man I love and want to spend the rest of my life with.”
He stares at her for a moment and then leans forward and kisses her. “That sounds wonderful, and likewise to what you just said. If your mother and stepfather are happy, then that’s exactly what we’ll do. I love you.”
Chapter Nine: The Cake
Olivia is sure she doesn’t want a white wedding cake. She’s not having a white dress, not as such, so why have a white cake? More than that, she really hates fruit cake and has no idea why anyone would want to eat such a thing. She doesn’t even like Christmas cake (which apparently everyone likes), so tends to stick to the mince pies if allowed the choice. When she raises the question with Kieran, he gulps.
“I’ve not given it any thought. What sort of cake were you thinking of?”
Olivia purses her lips. “Our favourite cake is chocolate, so we could opt for that.”
“Mmm, chocolate, now you’re talking. Sounds good, but what about sending slices to people who can’t come or who won’t be there because we like small weddings? Work people, church people, and so on.”
This is a good point. Olivia collapses onto the sofa with a sigh and draws her legs up to her chin. “Back to the fruit cake then? Oh well.”
Kieran shakes his head as he seats himself next to her. “Not necessarily. What about two layers of chocolate and one of fruit? That way, we can keep the fruit one for sending away and eat the chocolate layers at the lunch.”
Olivia laughs. “I think we might need to share the chocolate cake with our guests, or Mum will have something to say about it.”
“Shame!”
Sorted then, at least in terms of the actual cake, but what about the icing and decoration? While Kieran starts reading the next chapter of his latest war book, Olivia flicks through her increasing pile of wedding magazines, hoping to gain inspiration.
All the cakes in the pictures, though funnily enough she can’t see that many, remained determinedly white. With the occasional pink flowers or mauve glitter here
and there, but all in all: white.
“I don’t know, there’s nothing inspirational in any of these pictures,” she complains at last when she’s flicked through everything at least three times to make sure she hasn’t missed anything. She hasn’t.
Kieran puts down his book, marking his place with the tiny scrap of paper he always carries around with him for use as a bookmark. Olivia has no idea why he doesn’t use a real bookmark – she has hundreds of them lying around but when she’d offered him use of one of hers once, he’d been most offended at what he’d taken as criticism of his choices. Men can certainly be odd.
Right now, she can see he’s thinking, and hopes it’s something good. She doesn’t have to wait long.
“What about green?” he says.
Olivia blinks. “Green? A green cake?”
“Yes,” he says, warming to his theme. “The same colour as your eyes. You can decorate it with gold to go with your hair. It will be stunning.”
Privately, Olivia thinks her loved one may well be taking loyalty a step too far, but she can’t fault his enthusiasm. “What sort of decorations?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Anything you like. Flowers? Stars? Stripes?”
Olivia laughs. “Stars and stripes are too American, and I’m not carrying flowers, so it will be odd to have them on the cake. Maybe we can have tiny statues of us, in gold?”
Kieran stares at her for a full minute with a look of absolute horror on his face before she cracks and bursts into laughter. “No! I’m teasing, really I am, but I had you going there for a moment, didn’t I?”
In retaliation, he lunches for her and tickles her until she begs for mercy. “No statues then?” she says when she can speak again.
“Absolutely not! No statues … of us anyway. But, actually, now you’ve mentioned it, maybe it will be nice to have figures that aren’t us? I mean you love Chaucer and all that Canterbury Tales stuff. What about having medieval people as decoration?”
