A flicker of awkwardness passed between us again. I leapt to defuse it.
‘Feeling ready for your speech?’
His chest rumbled with a surprised laugh. ‘These people aren’t going to know what’s hit them.’ He faced the front as the music started to play. ‘Here we go.’
I watched him watch the other members of the wedding party set off down the aisle, a small smile on his face. Something sharp spiked my chest. How had everything between us gone so incredibly wrong? We were bigger than awkward small talk; we made fun of people who loved awkward small talk. I stared down at the tulips in my bouquet and felt the prickle of tears; at least a wedding was the one public place where it was absolutely acceptable – if not encouraged – for people to cry. All I had to do was hold it together for approximately twenty more minutes, until they exchanged vows. After that there wouldn’t be a dry eye in the house, and I could blend right in.
Isla’s sister and another of Joe’s friends set off in front of us, and at the end of the aisle, I saw my brother stepping from one foot to the other, blatantly nervous. He looked suave in his tux, and I noticed something tiny tucked into his lapel. Was that …? I snorted quietly. It was. A tiny NERF bullet. I felt a wave of endearment, watching Joe’s face as he waited for Isla to appear. In a crowded room, they’d always been the face that the other one wanted to find. Maeve had finally reached the front and turned to us, eyeing the atmosphere between Rory and me and shooting us both a look. I didn’t have time to think about it, because Rory nudged me, signalling for us to start walking. The music hit its crescendo, and behind me, Isla and her dad stepped into place.
This was really happening. My big brother was getting married.
40
‘That was the most beautiful wedding I’ve ever seen. Isla looked radiant.’ Angela dabbed at her eyes with a lilac handkerchief (sorry, but handkerchiefs were at the top of my list of things that needed to go, alongside slow walkers on Oxford Street).
‘She really did.’ Mum was standing with us in the garden, watching the photographer take photos of Joe and Isla as a married couple. He was getting them to look into each other’s eyes, and Joe kept making her laugh by accident so that they’d have to start the whole process again.
‘I can’t actually believe it.’ I vocalised my disbelief. ‘My stupid brother. A husband.’
The service had been perfect. All of their favourite people in the same room, Joe only faltering on his vows once – but not on the name, which was the only thing that really mattered, circa 1998 and the Ross/Emily/Rachel saga. We were all in that limbo stage of a wedding, where the reception hadn’t started yet and unless you were a member of the bridal party, you didn’t have a lot required of you except downing free prosecco. Everyone was outside in the warmth, soaking up the rays and getting steadily tipsier.
‘Hi you.’ Maeve appeared beside me, two glasses in hand. Her dress hovered just above her knees, a muted sage green that complemented the emerald earrings she’d splashed out on because ‘how often do your best friends get married, and why shouldn’t we be buying our own jewellery?’
She presented one of the glasses to me with a flourish. ‘I bring you party juice.’
I wrinkled my nose. ‘I’ll drink it as long as you never call it that again.’
‘I can’t promise that, unfortunately.’ She pointed to the photographer, who was squinting in our direction and waving us over. ‘I think we’re being summoned.’
Mum was watching us with amusement, listening to Angela waffle on about sit-down dinners versus wedding buffets (the horror, apparently). I squeezed her shoulder, fighting the urge to stick to her like glue. Whether that was for my own protection – I hadn’t spoken a word to Rory since we’d partnered up to walk back down the aisle – or Mum’s, I wasn’t sure.
‘Okay, can we get the bride and groom with the maid of honour and the best man?’ The photographer, a rugged-looking man with excess facial hair, navy silk braces over his white shirt and a budding man bun, gestured for Rory and me to step forward.
‘Fancy bumping into you again.’ Rory touched my elbow, positioning himself as instructed. He was doing that thing I’d seen him do at work events, a polite small talk tactic. My chest ached.
‘Fancy that.’ I focused on the camera, waiting for the perfunctory click and my permission to leave.
‘Smile like you know each other, come on guys,’ the photographer instructed, kind of joking but mainly looking exasperated by the whole ordeal. ‘Rory, can you put a hand on her waist?’
He did as he was told, his hand slotting into the dip where my dress spilled over my hips. My skin burned under his touch, and I was acutely aware of every single touchpoint between our bodies. I squashed it down and heard him clear his throat behind me. Click. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see that one.
‘Much better. And now one with the whole bridal party?’
Everyone else filed in, laughing as we were forced into various stupid positions so that Isla and Joe would have a whole album of ridiculous poses to mark the best day of their lives. I joined in, my attention completely zeroed in on the feel of Rory’s breath hot against the back of my neck. He could have distanced himself from me as soon as the others joined us, but instead he’d remained almost in the exact same position. His fingers still lingered on my hip.
‘You all right down there, Webber?’ He glanced at me, eyebrow raised. Maybe my fluster hadn’t been quite as subtle as I’d hoped.
I smoothed down my dress. ‘Never better.’
His eyes didn’t leave mine, and one side of his grin lifted slightly. I could not stop staring at his mouth, a definite sign that I needed to ditch this glass of bubbly.
Isla turned to me, beaming and breaking the spell. ‘Penny. This day is perfect.’
She really was the most gorgeous bride. Her blonde hair was framing her face in delicate waves, secured with a tiny braid running across like a headband. The diamantes in her dress shimmered in the sunshine, and her make-up gave her an elegant glow. Joe couldn’t take his eyes off her, and I couldn’t blame him.
‘You know,’ she continued to chatter on as the group disbanded, Rory letting go of me finally to go and speak to Mum, ‘weddings are the one place where literally anything goes. What happens at the wedding stays at the wedding.’ Her wink was overexaggerated.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
She laughed. ‘Keep drinking the free bar and I think you’ll get it eventually.’
I watched her go and join her sisters, the post-ceremony energy clearly erasing some of the atmosphere between them. On the other side of the lawn, Mum had been pulled away from Rory to stand with Dad for a photo. Dad said something that made her laugh, and she swiped at his shoulder before smiling again for the camera. Next to me, someone else was watching them with fascination too.
‘Hi. I’m Penny.’ I held out my hand to the red-haired, middle-aged woman standing next to me. I’d never seen her before in my life, which made me think I knew exactly who she was.
She startled, blushing immediately. ‘Sorry, I was just –’
‘Are you Linda?’ I blurted it out, and it looked like she was expecting it even less than I was. But the elephant in the room needed addressing. At least this bloody mimosa was good for something.
Linda – she confirmed it immediately with her raised eyebrows – blushed even deeper, seeming to shrink back into her grey dress. It was an understated shape and fit, like she was trying not to stand out.
‘Yes, that’s me. Maybe I should go inside …’ She mumbled it softly.
She was the complete opposite of Mum – hair neatly in place instead of wildly out of it, muted colours instead of bold, shy where Mum was outspoken – but I felt a pull to her. No one should feel out of place.
‘You can stand with me if you like.’ I grabbed another glass from a passing tray and handed it to her.
Linda looked completely taken aback, and a little overwhelmed. I wondered what had led her here, if she’d had to psych herself up to get started on Level, and if she had any kids who’d been forced to dig through their WhatsApp history and find photos for her profile. I imagined Mum turning up to a wedding where she didn’t know anyone, and the thought almost made me grab Linda’s hand in solidarity.
