My jaw is still slack. Today is supposed to be about a wedding and the wholesome nature of love and now that’s all that floods my mind. What does she flog him with? Remind me never to borrow her belts.
‘Question… then why?’ I enquire.
‘Education, dear sister,’ she says, her eyebrows doing a cheeky jig. ‘I always thought it was funny that you guys went to university and then literally shut down in your twenties and turned into adults. We’re still allowed to have fun. I encourage fun.’
‘Is that why you did two degrees and a master’s then – just to be able to justify that lifestyle?’
‘Well, I also did that to get one over on all you bitches and become the smartest sister,’ she answers, pointing to her forehead. She has a ridiculous point. I mean, Emma is the heart surgeon so she’s the one I’d want standing over my aorta, but if I was stuck in a street fight outside a chicken shop in a foreign country, without a phone and a wallet, then I definitely know which sister would pull me out of that hole.
‘So getting back to Sam coming to this wedding…’
I shake my head. ‘It’s limited capacity. In Emma’s eyes it’s not even a wedding.’
‘He could come for the after-drinks part?’ Lucy says.
‘There is no after-drinks part. It’s literally a ceremony and lunch. We’ve explained this to you many times, Luce.’
‘But it’s a wedding.’
‘But it’s Emma.’
‘So snoresville. I bet you she’s got chicken for the main. Bet you a tenner.’
‘I’ll take that bet. She’ll be classy and go for lamb,’ I retort, fist-pumping her. Two little girls suddenly run in wearing navy and gold dresses. I turn and smile broadly to see them take to my bed and start jumping so the netting of their skirts balloons up and down. The joy on their faces is a picture. On their feet, brand-new gold Converse, fresh out of the box – Jag definitely picked the outfits. Lucy can’t quite contain her excitement and jumps up with them. My bed had better be able to take that, Lucy.
‘You guys look AWESOME!’ she screams. In the doorway stands Linh, her head resting against the doorframe. She wears an elegant trouser suit that she’s accessorised with flowers and ornate earrings. She looks over to me and beams.These are the reasons to stay alive, why we stay behind. I can almost hear her whisper it into my ear ever so quietly.
* * *
‘Why is Lucy limping?’ Beth asks me as we gather in the foyer of this waterfront hotel in the city of Bristol. It’s Emma all over. It’s classy yet functional. You know it’s a hotel with a good parking facility, pillow menu and that breakfast is included and not some add-on buffet extra.
‘She fell off my bed,’ I reply.
‘Having sex?’
‘No. She was jumping with the girls. Why would she be having sex onmybed?’
Unfortunately, this gives both of us a severe case of the giggles and Meg glares at us in reprimand as she tries to organise everyone before we walk down the aisle. For the smallest wedding in the world, Emma does seem to have the biggest entourage.
‘OK, we need all the little people first. Hold hands. And then each sister in single file and then Emma with her two girls giving her away… Are we clear?’ barks Meg.
Our nephew, Joe, salutes her cheekily and Lucy laughs.
‘We need a bride, though, Meggsy?’ Lucy says, heckling the co-ordinator.
‘She’s in the loo. And slow walking, one together, two together. Lucy, go through it with the girls. Gracie, go check on Ems.’
I go in search of our missing bride, turning to see the toilets signposted by the reception desk. These are fancy loos, with towels instead of dryers and mandarin and ylang-ylang hand lotion as a bonus. In fact, it’s a very fancy hotel, though I’d expect nothing less from Emma, my organised sister-twin. She’s posh but not posh, with good taste and a precision about her. She’d have thought about every last detail of the day, from the types of drinking glasses, the folds on the napkins (swans, fancy), to what socks the boys are wearing.
‘Ems? Meg told me to come in and check on you,’ I say, as the main door of the ladies closes.
I push at some of the doors until I get to the last cubicle and find her sitting on a closed toilet. I hadn’t seen her outfit yet but it’s what you’d imagine Emma would pick. It’s a white tea-length dress with good tailoring and a clean neckline. No veil or lace but a flower in her hair finishes off the look. Pride swims deep in my veins to see her so graceful, so beautiful.
‘Just having a deep cleansing breath,’ she says.
‘Take your time.’
‘Or not, the registrar has to get to another wedding after ours,’ she giggles, nervously. Her hand trembles and she clenches a fist to steady it. She’s a surgeon by trade so it’s strange to see her hand shake like that. I go over and wrap mine around hers.
