Rox gives Mum’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘Get it together, Mother. We don’t want panda eyes.’ At that she abruptly turns away and dips her head.
‘Are you welling up too, Rox?’ Freya teases.
Rox spins back to face us, her eyes glassy as she snatches a tissue from Freya. ‘So what if the ice queen melts every now and then. Blame global warming. It’s not every day your big sister gets married, is it?’
‘Let’s cheers to that. A glass of champagne is in order; well, I’ll have sparkling apple juice…’ Freya goes to the ice bucket and returns with a bottle of bubbles and three glasses. Mum goes to the kitchen to find Freya a drink.
Once we all have a glass in hand, Mum gives a speech about finding true love, which makes us all well up, make-up be damned. ‘Here’s to Aubrey!’
‘Cheers!’ We clink glasses. ‘Here’s to the honeymoon of my dreams!’ Oops, it just slipped out. I forget that most people hold the whole wedding part in much higher regard, whereas for me, it’s the stepping stone to the fun part, the romantic holiday, with my brand-new husband.
Mum frowns. ‘You’ll enjoy the wedding first though, won’t you, darling?’
I guzzle champagne too fast, my mouth parched as if I’ve run a marathon and not simply sat there all morning being pampered. ‘Yes, yes. But the honeymoon is what I’m most looking forward to. Just me and Miles…’
I run an online travel agency curating exotic itineraries for loved-up couples. Now it’s my turn to experience romantic travel with my soon-to-be husband. Having been a solo shoestring nomad for so long, our bougie honeymoon seems so wildly glamorous, I’m practically vibrating with excitement.
Tonight, we’re staying in a swanky hotel in London with a view of Tower Bridge. And tomorrow we’ll catch the Eurostar to Calais to board the famous sleeper train, the Winter Wonderland Express. While the train has been offering five-star holidays for decades, this is the first time they’ve curated a Christmas-themed tour, highlighting all the festive markets along the European Arctic Circle route. We disembark in Lapland and enjoy an igloo stay in the hopes of catching the spectacular Northern Lights. Luckily, I got our tickets for a song. One of the perks of being a travel agent is generous discounts, so even Miles had to agree it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that we had to grab with both hands.
‘The cars are here!’ Freya calls just as my dad knocks and enters. My dad is the taciturn type, so I don’t expect any blubbering from him. I envelop him in a hug and hold tight, like I have so many times in my life when I needed reassurance, needed comfort. He shores me up and reminds me that today is special, but marriage doesn’t mean I lose my identity simply by taking on a different surname.
‘I love you, Dad.’
‘Love you too, Poppet.’
‘Are you ready to get married?’ Mum asks.
‘I’m ready.’ All my worries evaporate as I consider marriage for what it really is, once you push the pomp and ceremony to one side.
A promise to each other.
And what more can I ask for, except a promise from the man I adore that he’s committed, that he wants to do life with me as his sidekick?
2
16 DECEMBER, KENT, ENGLAND
Wedding Day
Mum and the bridal party go ahead in a vintage Rolls Royce. Dad and I take the second car, trailing a few minutes behind them.
‘Are you OK?’ He gives me one of those paternal stare-downs that he’s used my entire life to get me to fess up on my small crimes, like pulling my sister’s hair or hiding her Barbie dolls.
‘I’m OK. I just wish we were marrying in front of our nearest and dearest, not the entire village, in case I fall over on these ridiculous heels and knock out my two front teeth, or mess up my vows. Like, what if I say I don’t, instead of I do? There’s a lot to worry about.’
My toxic trait is to blurt out the most ridiculous things when I’m under pressure. It’s like my mouth speaks before my brain engages, so there’s a very real chance I might let slip an oddity that will raise eyebrows.
Dad gives me a sage nod. He’s circumspect, like those inscrutable detectives on TV who remain stubbornly silent; a silence you can’t help but fill, blurting all your secrets as you go. He’s doing that now, as if he knows I’m not quite being honest with him and he’s prepared to wait me out.
I wring my hands. ‘What if my wedding ring doesn’t fit? What if it slips off? What if the dog Miles doesn’t have ate it! I guess I wish I’d held my ground and kept our nuptials small, but this is important to Miles, so…’
Miles proposed early on, very early on, so this has all moved rather fast, but he,we, felt certain it was time to get serious, grow up. Marriage, house, responsibilities.
‘None of that matters in the scheme of what today really means – a celebration of your love and the commitment you’re making to one another.’
‘Why can’t you tell me I’m being dramatic? I’m making mountains out of molehills. Why do you have to be so wise?’ I laugh. He’s right though; if anything goes awry, we’ll deal with it.
‘You’re not being dramatic, love. It’s natural to feel a gamut of emotions on your wedding day. Miles has invited hundreds of people, while he gets to wait safely at the other end of aisle, wearing flat shoes that grip to the earth. Blame the patriarchy,’ Dad jokes.