‘It’s really lovely to be here, and to meet you, Penny.’ Her features were less ‘deer in the headlights’ now, and she was smiling, albeit a bit warily. ‘I’m a bit nervous.’
‘You don’t need to be.’ I gave her a conspiratorial look. ‘We don’t bite.’
I’d been dreading this moment – caught between feeling relieved that Dad was building a life again, and sadness for Mum that she had to watch it happen. But looking at her now across the garden, radiant in her independence and her philosophy that actually, not everyone needed or wanted a partner, I felt nothing but pride. For both of them. There was no absence of love here.
She pointed towards Joe, who was being lifted into the air by his friends. ‘My son is about the same age as Joe.’
My breath caught in my throat at the thought of everything that was yet to come. But today wasn’t about that.
‘Do you want to come and meet him?’ I clinked my glass against hers. ‘Probably best to do it now, before he can’t remember where he is.’
She smiled at me, her surprise evident. ‘I would love that. If that’s okay.’
***
For a wedding on a budget with a limited timeframe, we’d managed to make the dining hall look like something out of a fairy tale. The cursive font on the blackboard at the entrance had been written in white chalk, outlining who would be seated where, and when dinner would be served. Each table had tall, white candlesticks that dripped rainbow wax as they melted, bringing a little bit of magic to the centre of the conversations. And there were fairy lights everywhere. Our table was called ‘Honey, Honey’, a salute not only to the ABBA song but also to the nickname that Isla and Joe had adopted in high school. The whole wedding party was seated here. We’d floated the concept of a ‘sweetheart table’ just for Joe and Isla, but as Isla had aptly put it, they had the rest of their lives to sit next to each other. They were currently making their way around the room, mingling. Isla had changed into a short, floaty white dress that was perfect for dancing – witnessing Joe try to dance later would be one of the highlights of the night – and she had kicked off her heels, walking around barefoot. Something literally only she could pull off. Isla’s sisters were at the bar, leaving me, Rory, and Maeve with the other groomsmen. Rory was already well on his way to getting drunk, and the bread rolls hadn’t even been dished out yet.
Maeve reached over and fixed his collar, both of us at a loss for what to say as we all settled into awkward silence. Something that was not familiar, and did not feel good. Joe’s friends were discussing a girl’s profile on Link. I felt a bead of sweat roll down my neck. Someone, somewhere, hated me.
‘Okay.’ Maeve clasped her hands on the table. ‘This is ridiculous. It’s Isla and Joe’s wedding.’
‘I’m well aware.’ Rory nodded, loosening his tie and taking another long drink. Gone was the soft, attentive Rory from before the service. It was like he’d put on a performance, just to get through it. That, and alcohol always revealed the doors we’d been hiding behind.
‘First of all’ – Maeve ignored his attitude, pouring him a glass of water from one of the jugs that had been put on the table and stealing the wine right out of his hand – ‘you need to sober up. You have a speech to give in a few courses’s time – remember that?’
Shit. I poured myself a glass of water too.
‘And second, come on you two.’ She flicked her gaze between us. ‘You have got to sort this out. At least just for tonight.’
I waited, holding my breath. ‘Do you maybe want to step out –’
Rory’s eyes met mine and he quickly looked away. ‘I think I’ll just see you guys later.’
He stood, stumbling slightly, taking his water with him to the table where Isla and Joe were currently chatting to my parents and Linda.
‘Oh, for crying out loud.’ Maeve poured herself some more wine. ‘This is going to be a long night.’
41
Maeve was tapping her nails against the table, irritated. ‘Weddings are not supposed to be this angsty.’
I sipped from my water glass. ‘Have you seen Four Weddings and a Funeral? Father of the Bride?’
I knew she had; we had them on rotation.
‘Okay smart arse, correction. This wedding is not supposed to be angsty. Isla and Joe are the least dramatic people I’ve ever met.’
They were still on the other side of the room, Joe dipping Isla for a photo that Mum was taking on a disposable camera. We’d left one on every table, hoping to grab a selection of candid, less polished shots. I could guarantee that at least one of Joe’s friends would end up mooning for a photo, leaving a nice surprise for us when we got the photos developed.
‘What on earth is he doing?’ Maeve threw her hands up as Rory started dancing with one of the florists, twirling her in an almost-perfect circle. A few other people were dancing too, not wanting to wait until after dinner and already moving to the pre-dinner playlist carefully chosen by all of us. My skin prickled at the sight of Rory pulling the florist close to his chest.
‘Right. I’ve had it.’ Maeve jumped up, narrowly missing a spillage of red wine on the delicate material of her dress. Her hand reached out for mine, and I didn’t think I had a choice in whether I took it. ‘Come on.’
I ignored the nosy looks from the other groomsmen as she half dragged me in the direction of the bathrooms, willing the glass of wine in my hand not to spill.
‘Are you going to tell me what this is about?’
She stopped for a second. ‘If you don’t already know, then you’re dumber than I thought. Wow, this place is nice.’ Maeve stroked the gold mirror in the bathroom, momentarily distracted. ‘Actually, maybe I shouldn’t be stroking that. This is still a toilet.’
The last time I’d been in a bathroom as nice as this one had been at the corporate mixer where I’d met Daniel. At least this time, I wasn’t absolutely smashed. I was going to hear every word when I got a talking to, which, looking at Maeve, I was definitely about to get.
‘Penny.’ She stared me down.
‘Maeve.’
‘I cannot stand it that you and Rory are having a stand-off on one of the most important days in our social calendar, well, ever.’
I shrugged, at a loss. ‘It’s this thing with Level, it’s –’
‘Penny Agatha Webber.’ Maeve narrowed her eyes. ‘This is not about Level, and I’m sick of you both pretending that it is.’
I decided to let it slide, given the fraught circumstances, that she’d just said my middle name out loud. I cursed Mum’s addiction to Christie novels every time I had to register for anything serious.
‘It is about Level.’ I folded my arms.
‘If it’s all about work, why did you get so defensive when you thought Rory and I were dating?’
On the other side of the bathroom door, someone tried to get in. Maeve body blocked it.
