by Dani Atkins
‘What’s this?’ Gran had asked when I’d passed her the slim plastic CD case when I arrived at her suite that morning.
‘Pachelbel’s Canon in D,’ I said, running my finger beneath the title on the case. ‘Your wedding music.’
‘I can see that, Mandy. But why do we need it? I thought you were going to play it as I walked down the aisle?’ It wasn’t exactly an ‘aisle’ in the true definition of the word, more of a walkway between two rows of decorated chairs in the residents’ lounge, but I knew what she meant.
‘I know, Gran,’ I said, taking her hands in mine. I immediately noticed the absence of the wedding ring my grandfather had given her. It must have been an especially poignant moment when she’d slipped it from the finger where it had lived for over half a century. ‘I’ve practised the piece so many times I can play it note-perfect without the score,’ I assured her, ‘but the thing is… I don’t want to be sitting down at the piano watching you walk up to meet Josie on your own. I want to walk beside you. I want to have your arm linked in mine.’ Oh God, I was starting to well up again. People were right: weddings do make you cry. ‘I want to give you away, Gran. Please say you’ll let me.’
I think it was a ‘yes’ she mumbled in reply, before gathering me into her arms with surprising strength for a woman in her seventies.
‘Oh my darling girl, of course yes. I would love that.’ Gran’s usually steady voice was decidedly choked, something I tactfully pretended not to notice.
The CD was now in Jamie’s care, and was hopefully cued up and ready for him to press the ‘play’ button the moment Gran and I appeared at the doorway of the lounge.
Beth from Crazy Daisy had been extremely busy, transforming the room where the ceremony was to take place. The first thing I noticed was that there appeared to be far more flowers than I remembered ordering, but when I hesitantly questioned this, Beth brushed it aside, telling me they were from a cancelled order that she hadn’t wanted to go to waste. For a supposedly astute businesswoman, she really was a terrible liar.
At home, the wedding day had begun awkwardly. I’d been buttering a slice of toast, careful not to get crumbs on the pale-blue silk sheath dress I’d borrowed from Mum.
‘Isn’t that your mother’s?’ Dad had asked, coming into the kitchen in his usual Saturday morning attire: old faded shorts and a T-shirt souvenir from a concert he’d attended before I was even born. It was his lawn-mowing outfit, and as he surveyed the clear skies with an approving nod, there was no need to ask if he’d had a last-minute change of heart.
‘Yes. Mum said I could borrow it.’ My chin was lifted as if in a challenge, but he simply gave an insouciant shrug and returned to the task of choosing which box of breakfast cereal to pull from the cupboard.
‘It’s the one I wore at that wedding last summer – you remember the one, where the girl from your office called it off at the last minute?’
Dad had his back to us, but I saw his shoulders tense up beneath the heavy metal tour dates etched across his T-shirt as Mum added: ‘Let’s hope the wedding today has a much happier outcome.’
While Jamie was loading the dress box on to the back seat of the car he’d borrowed, Mum walked with me to the door, pausing to give me an extra-long hug. ‘Tell your Gran I wish her all the happiness in the world and that I’ll be thinking of her this morning,’ she whispered in my ear.
There was really no need to speak softly, for Dad was already firing up the Flymo, the drone of its motor obliterating the sound of our words. For a single moment he looked up and our eyes locked. He wanted to say something, I know he did, but pride was like a paralysis, seizing up his tongue, his throat, and working its way down to his heart.
*
‘Well?’ asked Gran, performing a careful twirl before me in the suite she would no longer occupy from this day forward.
‘You look beautiful, Gran.’
Gran turned to study her reflection in the mirror. The jewels of the designer gown caught random rays of sunlight streaming through the window and enveloped her in a nimbus of twinkling gems. She reached for a pair of pearl-drop earrings, and was hooking them into place when a soft knock at her door heralded the arrival of Mrs Blackwood, Sunnymede’s manager.
Gone was her usual pencil skirt and smart blouse. Today she was wearing a brightly patterned floral dress, with pink satin peep-toed shoes. She was dressed for a wedding, and she wasn’t the only one. Every member of staff I’d seen that morning had forgone their usual workday clothing. As I journeyed back and forth between Gran’s room and the lounge, I realised there seemed to be an unusually high number of staff on duty that day. It was only later that I learnt that even employees who weren’t rostered to be working had given up their free time to attend. It was the kind of support that made my heart sing and my lower lip want to tremble.
Of course, Gran and Josie knew nothing of this yet, as neither of the Sunnymede brides had set foot outside of their respective suites all morning, and wouldn’t be doing so for another half an hour yet.
‘I just wanted to let you know that the registrar has arrived,’ Mrs Blackwood informed us, stepping into the room and smiling broadly at the elderly woman in her care. ‘You look radiant, Amanda,’ she declared, crossing the room to give Gran’s wrinkled cheek a gentle kiss.
Mrs Blackwood struck me as a woman who seldom cried, but even her eyes were suspiciously bright as she shook her head, as though reminding herself of the purpose of her visit. ‘The registrar asked if she could see a copy of your wedding certificate.’
‘I have it on the table over there,’ Gran replied, turning to retrieve it, but I was closer.
‘I’ll get it,’ I said, reaching for the document. But as I went to place it in Mrs Blackwood’s outstretched hand, I froze as a very familiar name in the witness column caught my eye. I drew the certificate back towards me.
‘Mum?’ I questioned, my voice soft with wonder. ‘Mum was at the registry office to witness your wedding on Thursday?’ For the first time that day, Gran looked a little less than comfortable.
‘She was,’ she admitted quietly, her eyes dropping to her pretty white silk shoes.
‘But I thought you said you didn’t want any of us to be there? That it was just a quick legal formality?’
Gran’s eyes were soft, and I knew she was remembering a treasured moment that belonged solely to her and the woman her son had married. ‘That is what I said, but I think your mum wanted to show her support for Josie and me,’ Gran explained. ‘I had no idea she was going to turn up.’ Her eyes flew to Mrs Blackwood, and you didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to work out who Mum’s accomplice had been in all this. ‘But I’m very glad that she did.’
As I walked down the corridor to Josie’s room, I kept thinking about how much it had meant to Gran having Mum as a witness to her wedding, and how brave it was of Mum to have done that. It must be hard supporting someone you love as much as I knew she did my father, when you also knew they were in the wrong. And yet however grateful Gran was for her daughter-in-law’s support, I knew that just one kind word from Dad would have meant so much more.
One of my favourite carers in the home was helping put the finishing touches to Josie’s wedding outfit. With help from the staff, Josie had purchased a beautiful oyster-coloured floor-length dress online, and looked lovelier than I’d ever seen her look before. She’d waited a very long time to be a bride, and her joy that this day had finally arrived was so great it transformed her.
Both brides had been visited by the hairdresser that morning, and Josie’s wispy curls had been tamed with copious amounts of hairspray, which meant the small feathery fascinator set at a jaunty angle on her head was practically glued in place.
‘Josie, you look absolutely lovely,’ I declared, rushing across the room to hug her before she attempted to meet me halfway. For her to take a tumble today, of all days, was absolutely unthinkable.
Josie’s response was to blush a charming shade of bubblegum pink,
and my heart ached a little as I realised how infrequently she’d been told those words throughout her life.
‘How is Amanda?’ she asked, with a degree of breathlessness caused by neither angina, emphysema nor any other respiratory complaint. It was pure unadulterated excitement.
‘She can’t wait,’ I told her truthfully.
I reached for the small gift bag I’d been hiding behind my back. ‘I’ve brought you a little something,’ I told her, feeling suddenly shy as I placed the shiny bag in her hands.
‘Oh Mandy, you didn’t need to do that,’ she said, her quivering fingers rummaging in the bag to find the item hidden amid the nest of shredded tissue paper. After a few moments’ searching, she found and withdrew the shiny gold tube. I watched as decades slowly peeled away, leaving her looking like a child on Christmas morning with a surprise stocking gift. Very carefully she pulled the tube apart and twisted the base, her smile broadening as the pillar-box red lipstick came into view.
‘You are bold enough to wear any colour of the rainbow,’ I told her warmly. ‘Don’t ever let anyone make you think that you can’t.’
In answer, Josie took a small wobble-free step towards me and hugged me just as tightly as Gran had done earlier that morning.
‘What would make me happiest of all is if someday you were able to think of me as your second grandmother,’ Josie admitted, sounding close enough to tears that she was likely to take me down again.
I squeezed her back, just hard enough for her to know I meant every word. ‘I already do, Josie.’ Even the carer was reaching for a tissue, as I repeated the words that were completely true. ‘I already do.’
*
Perhaps by the time you’ve almost reached your ninth decade nothing really fazes you, for it was my hands rather than Gran’s that were trembling as I passed her the delicate lily-of-the-valley wedding bouquet.
‘Are you ready?’ I asked.
Gran paused for a moment, bathed in a wide shaft of sunlight that was streaming in through the window. She looked ageless, timeless. Whoever had worn this dress before her could not have looked more beautiful in it. It simply wouldn’t have been possible. When the dreadful day came when eventually we would lose her, this was how I would always remember my grandmother, I promised myself.
Her eyes scanned the room, lingering for a moment on the photograph of my grandfather on the shelf beside her favourite chair. She breathed in and then slowly exhaled. ‘I am.’
We walked side by side down the carpeted corridor towards the lounge, Gran’s hand tucked firmly in the crook of my arm. We’d already had word that Josie was safely in position in one of the two flower-decorated chairs positioned at the end of the aisle.
The lounge had large double doors that were currently thrown open, and through the gap I could see that the room was filled to capacity. There was a riot of colour within, from both the flowers and the brightly attired wedding guests. As we approached the threshold I saw Mrs Blackwood give a small nod to someone within the room. Suddenly, with perfect synchronicity, everyone bent down to gather something from beneath their chair. Gran and I wore matching mystified expressions until the guests began to straighten in their seats. Every single person in the room had put on a hat. Admittedly, some were not the usual wedding style – I spotted at least two flat caps and even a fez – but every head wore some sort of headpiece.
Mrs Blackwood was setting a small neat pillbox upon her own smartly coiffed hair. ‘Someone once told me it’s not a proper wedding without a hat.’ Her eyes were warm as she looked at the woman I was beginning to suspect might be her favourite resident. ‘And this is a proper wedding, Amanda. Your Sunnymede family are all delighted to be sharing this special day with both of you.’
Gran’s smile never wavered, not even for an instant, but for a second I glimpsed a fleeting sadness I wasn’t supposed to see. Her real family should be here. I shouldn’t be the only one to witness this. The weight of my family’s absence felt like a boulder on my shoulders.
Within the lounge, I searched for and found Jamie’s face. There he was, poised beside the CD player, looking unbelievably handsome in a shirt and tie. His eyes met mine and his smile grounded me, and then suddenly the grin was gone, wiped from his lips, which were now slightly parted in surprise.
The weight on my shoulders now felt almost physical, which was hardly surprising, because that’s exactly what it was. It was the weight of a hand halting me from stepping forward. I looked down. Those were fingers I recognised: they’d mended my bike when it was broken; they’d taught me how to catch a ball; they’d held my hand when we crossed the road.
Dad? What was he doing here?
I spun around, my expression unknowingly identical to Jamie’s as I took in the smart suit, shirt and tie. He didn’t look like a person who’d come with the intention of speaking up when they asked if anyone here knew of any just cause or lawful impediment…
He cleared his throat, and it was only in those moments before he spoke that I could see he was nervous. ‘Mandy, if you don’t mind, I believe this is my job.’
With a suaveness I really don’t think I’d seen in him before, he gently removed Gran’s hand from the crook of my arm and tucked it within his own.
‘Hello, Gerald,’ Gran said softly, pride and love battling it out to see which emotion would sit on her face as she looked at her son. It was a draw.
‘Sorry I’m late, Mum.’
I think all three of us knew he didn’t just mean to the ceremony.
‘You’re here now, my love, and that’s all that matters.’ There were questions to ask and apologies to be made, but this wasn’t the time for either. Gran turned to me. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Mandy?’
I kissed her cheek, and then Dad’s, loving them both so much that I wanted to freeze this moment for ever. ‘Just give me a minute to get to the piano,’ I said, weaving among the rows of guests to reach the place where Jamie had already moved in readiness. He held out the piano stool and remained behind it as I lifted the upright’s lid. Without the sheet music, and with my eyes blurry from tears, it could all have gone horribly wrong. But it didn’t. I played better than I’d ever played before or since. I played for the woman who’d taught me so much more than just scales and arpeggios; I played for the woman who’d shown me that when every voice speaks up against you, there’s only one you should listen to… the voice in your heart.
30
‘Has it sold yet?’
Jamie’s arm disappeared from around my shoulders as fast as a python slithering into the undergrowth as my mother entered the lounge. I pressed the refresh button again on my phone’s screen and shook my head sadly.
Mum set down the coffees she’d been carrying on the low table in front of us, and Jamie reached for his. He was now a frequent enough visitor for my parents to know how many sugars he took in his drinks, and yet he still jolted away from me as though I was radioactive whenever they came into a room. Still, I suppose it was early days. ‘You just need to give them time,’ Gran had advised me recently. ‘That’s what I’m doing.’ It was good advice, and it seemed to be slowly working for both myself and my namesake.
‘I still think you’ve priced it too low,’ said Jamie, sitting back carefully on the settee cushions. He held his drink warily, as though carrying nitroglycerine. Admittedly, it would take very little to ruin the light beige fabric, so I couldn’t really blame him for being cautious. Some days it struck me as funny that Jamie still believed his entry into the Preston household was so precarious that even a coffee spill could see him permanently excluded. Other times, it felt too close to the truth to be amusing. One day at a time, as Gran would say.
‘It’s the same with cars,’ Jamie continued, tensing up just a fraction as my father entered the room and settled himself down in his favourite armchair. ‘If they’re too expensive they won’t sell, but if you don’t ask for enough, people automatically think there’s something wrong with them and that they’re being conned
.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with Gran’s dress. It’s absolutely perfect,’ I defended hotly, frowning as I stared at the tiny box on my eBay screen that told me that with less than two minutes until the auction ended, there was still no one who wanted to buy the gorgeous Fleurs wedding gown. ‘And it’s not about making money. That’s not why we’re selling it. We’re going to give it all to charity anyway.’
I could practically see my father shudder at those words. They must have been like a dagger thrust deep into his accountant’s heart.
‘It’s about the dress going to the right bride.’
‘Like the wand finding the right wizard?’ Jamie teased gently, quoting another of my favourite childhood authors. My youthful reading really had been all about dragons and magic. His hand briefly covered mine where it lay on the no-man’s-land space between us on the settee cushions.
‘Exactly.’
Dad set down his newspaper and reached for something on the table beside him. ‘I think the F1 qualifier is about to start,’ he announced, pointing the device in his hand at the large-screened television in the corner of the room. Dad, whose only interest in cars was whether they successfully conveyed him from A to B, was once again holding out an olive branch to Jamie. Today it took the shape of a TV remote control. It was early days, but anyone could see he was definitely trying, with both Jamie and Josie.
With the sound of roaring car engines filling the room, I turned my attention back to the screen on my phone.
‘What if no one wants to buy it?’ asked Mum, settling herself down on the other settee. ‘What will you and Gran do with it then?’
‘You could always keep it and wear it at your own wedding.’
