A Perfect Home (43 page)

The early morning sky was clear and bright as Claire packed up her little van with things to take to the wedding. Sally helped her carry trays and boxes from the shop, filled with lace-edged tablecloths, embroidered napkins, and yards of floral bunting that she had made specially to decorate the garden. Claire had even had hundreds of tiny cupcakes made, all iced with red and pink hearts. Napoleon skittered excitedly between the two women as they went backwards and forwards between the shop and the van; he seemed to know a journey was imminent and kept trying to jump into the van, desperate not to be left behind.

Inside the café the children watched their mother and Sally through the window as Gareth made them bacon muffins and strawberry smoothies for breakfast. Emily and Ben could hardly contain their excitement as they waited for Claire to finish so that they could finally set off for France. Oliver was trying to look nonchalant and bored but Claire knew he was secretly just as excited as his siblings.

‘I wish I could come with you,' Sally sighed. ‘I love a wedding. Any excuse for dressing up and having a bit of a bop.' She wiggled her hips in a little demonstration of her dancing skills.

‘Sorry, Cinderella, you've got a shop to run,' said Claire, as she tried to squeeze the last box of bunting into the back of the van. Together the two women banged the doors shut and leant back against them for a rest.

‘I'll just have to wait for yours then,' Sally grinned at Claire.

‘Wait for my what?'

‘Your wedding'

‘You'll be waiting a long time,' said Claire. ‘Like forever.'

‘Why don't you hitch up with that bloke from the butcher's?' Sally waved towards a shop on the other side of the street. ‘I know he fancies you. He's always asking you to try his speciality sausages. You could do worse – though it is a bit of a shame about the wart on his chin and the dodgy comb-over. Look, I can see him now, arranging his chops in the window – shall I go over and tell him you're desperate for a nibble on his chipolata?'

‘Sally, stop it.' Claire gave her friend a playful swipe.

‘Or that man from the estate agent's who comes in for his lemon meringue slice every day? There are things you can do to cure halitosis you know. Just a few hints on your first date and he'd have it all cleared up by the wedding day.'

‘Sally! I'm not marrying the butcher or the estate agent just to give you the opportunity to show off your moves on the dance floor – I'm sure Oliver would get you a ticket to the next youth club disco if you're that desperate for a boogie.'

‘Don't worry, our invite to William and Vanessa's wedding will be dropping through the letter box any day now.'

Claire laughed. ‘Somehow I don't think you and Gareth will be top of the guest list and I doubt that The Cotswold String Quartet will be taking requests for Dancing Queen.'

‘Sounds like it's going to be a barrel of laughs,' said Sally making a face. ‘Don't tell me – William's mother is in charge of the preparations.'

‘Of course, and from what Emily tells me its pretty much a re-run of mine and William's wedding though with the right bride in the grotesque dress this time!'

‘Are you sure you're all right about William getting married again?' Sally touched Claire's arm, her face genuinely concerned.

‘I keep telling you. I'm fine about it. Anyway William and Vanessa are made for each other, not to mention William's mother and Vanessa! William and I were never really meant to be. It's all in the past.'

‘Have you got the copy of the magazine to show to your mum and Brian?' Sally made as though to run and fetch it.

‘No, don't worry, my mum got it sent over especially last week, she couldn't wait this long to see it.'

‘What did she think?'

‘She was impressed. I'm very happy with it, it looks lovely and Zoë's written the article beautifully.'

‘No made-up bits this time,' laughed Sally. ‘And I look very nice in that picture where I'm hanging bunting from the dresser. My boobs look stupendous.'

‘That'll be the reason that we've had so many more men coming in this week.'

‘Have we?'

‘No!' Claire laughed. ‘I'm only joking, I don't think people looking in an interiors magazine are really going to notice a pair of big boobs, especially when the picture is only the size of a postage stamp.'

‘Gareth wants to ask Sienna for the original so he can put it in a frame.'

‘Ahhh,' smiled Claire. ‘Isn't he lovely? Sienna certainly is a very good photographer. It's funny to think if she hadn't broken her leg she would have photographed the house that time.'

‘How differently everything would have turned out then,' said Sally. ‘You'd probably still be trying to make lavender bags in the spare room, William would probably have built a three-storey windmill in the garden, I'd still be working at Anna's, and Gareth would have been stuck in his IT job, and Gareth and I would never have got back together, nor would William and Vanessa. In fact Sienna falling off her hang glider started a whole chain of events that have ended up with us here, outside your lovely shop.'

Claire smiled. Sally was right, though she had omitted to mention the biggest catalyst of all in the chain of events – Stefan; though she tried hard not to think of him, Claire couldn't deny that after that moment when she set eyes on Stefan her life had never been the same again.

At last Claire piled the children into the little blue van, with Napoleon sitting between them and she pulled slowly away from the curb, waving from the open window.

‘I hope it's a good wedding,' Gareth called from the café doorway.

‘Maybe you'll find a man in France,' shouted Sally as Gareth placed his arm around her shoulder.

‘I'm not interested,' Claire called back.

‘If you found a man, Mummy, would you have another baby?' Emily asked from the seat beside her mother.

‘No, darling,' smiled Claire, edging through the town's early morning traffic. ‘I don't think I'll be providing you with any more brothers or sisters, man or no man.'

‘You're too old for a man now, Mummy, aren't you?' said Ben.

‘Yes, Ben, I'm too old and too busy. You lot are enough for me.'

The morning of the wedding was warm and cloudless. Claire got ready in the sun-drenched bedroom, carefully taking her dress down from its hanger on the hook behind the door. All the guests had been asked to dress in white and Claire had found a genuine Dior concoction of silk and satin and chiffon in an antiques market in Bergerac. It hung delicately from thin shoulder straps and as she slipped into it she felt as though she was being surrounded by a gentle breeze. Looking into the mirror, she gathered her hair up loosely in a mother of pearl clasp and put on a softly crocheted silk cardigan to hide the ugly scars on her arm. There was a gentle tapping at the door and Claire's mother walked into the room. Claire smiled; her mother looked beautiful, almost regal, in flowing lavender with a lilac lace bolero jacket and a comb of yellow rosebuds in her hair. Her eyes shone brightly and her sun-brown skin looked radiant.

‘Will I do?' Elizabeth asked.

‘Oh, Mum, you will so much more than do! You look amazing.'

‘So do you,' replied Elizabeth taking her daughter's hand in hers. ‘You should be the one getting married; you look like the perfect bride. I'm too old for all this nonsense; this should be your day.'

Claire laughed. ‘You're worse than Sally; she's been trying to marry me off to all sorts of ghastly men lately. I'm perfectly happy being a wedding guest, thank you.'

Her mother picked up a pink camellia corsage from the little oak dressing table beside them and carefully pinned it to the bodice of Claire's dress.

‘Your grandmother's favourite flower,' she said adjusting the petals against the spray of green leaves behind. ‘What is it they are meant to mean?'

‘Longing,' answered Claire trying to banish the image of a painted teacup from her mind.

The door opened again and Emily appeared, looking like an angel in a simple white lace tunic, a bunch of loosely tied pink roses in her hand. She stopped and gazed at her grandmother,

‘Wow, Granny. I didn't know you were so pretty.'

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and smiled. ‘Thank you, darling – I think that was a compliment.'

Emily ceremoniously handed her grandmother the bouquet with a curtsy. ‘Here are your flowers and a message from Brian, he says, “Don't be late and don't change your mind”.'

‘Do you know, I think I have changed my mind,' Elizabeth said as she took the flowers from Emily and let them hang limply by her side. ‘I'm not sure this getting married thing is really such a good idea. I don't know why Brian wants to make such a fuss, let's just call the whole ceremony off and have a jolly good party instead.'

‘Come on,' laughed Claire taking her mother firmly by the arm. ‘Emily you take the other side and don't let go of her until we reach the town hall!'

Brian arrived at the ancient town hall by motorbike and sidecar, wearing a bright purple silk shirt, Buster and Napoleon beside him with large white bows tied on to their collars. The dogs were allowed in especially for the ceremony; Oliver and Emily kept them under control by bribing them with dog biscuits throughout the formalities. Elizabeth shakily got through her marriage vows while Brian anxiously waited for each response, but as the mayor pronounced them man and wife, Elizabeth's beaming smile betrayed her joy. Standing on the steps of the hall, as they were showered with rice and petals, a contagious happiness radiated from them both.

Afterwards it seemed as if the whole town gathered at the old farmhouse for the reception. They stood amidst a mass of flowers that Claire's mother had grown in the garden. Her sunflowers swayed like extra guests surveying the scene from their lofty heights, and window boxes overflowed with red and pink geraniums along the front of the house. A violinist friend of Brian's – the son of a gypsy, so he claimed – wandered around playing music to the crowd as they drank tall glasses of Pimm's floating with cucumber and wild borage flowers. The children helped themselves to cloudy home-made lemonade from earthenware jugs that sat on a table in the shade of the vine-covered trellis.

Long tables stretched across the grass, clothed in white and interspersed with jam jars filled with lavender and late roses. Claire had scattered pink petals in between the plates and cutlery.

Assorted pies and two cold poached salmon waited in the cool kitchen to be brought out, along with a selection of fresh salads piled into huge, honey-coloured bowls made by a local potter. Neighbours brought large wheels of cheese, home-cured hams, breads, and wonderful desserts and pastries to add to the feast.

The lunch was long and leisurely. Bottle after bottle of champagne was opened, toasts drunk, and touching speeches made. Brian's speech had even reduced the men in the party to tears as he declared his happiness at finding someone that he loved so much to share his life. Then Claire's mother stood up and in French thanked everyone for coming and making the day so special, and then thanked Brian for transforming her life and bringing her such joy. As the newly married couple kissed to the guests' cheers, two local women appeared carrying a pyramid of choux buns covered with a delicate cobweb of spun sugar, a thick band of brightly coloured marigolds and chrysanthemums at its base. Claire explained to the children that this was a traditional French wedding cake called a croquembouche, and they were delighted when a large silver sword was produced for the bride and groom to hit the top with, showering the guests with shards of splintered caramel.

At last the light began to fade and the evening party began. A group of local musicians played accordions and violins and the guests danced, young and old alike, on a dance floor Brian had made from wooden pallets and old floorboards.

Claire sat on the steps of the kitchen, watching from a distance. She had danced with various men: the local doctor, the potter, the baker's teenage son. After that she had accepted a dance from the town's mayor, who had performed the wedding ceremony that morning. By the time Claire danced with him he was very drunk and his feet repeatedly stepped on hers as he spun her around enthusiastically. She didn't like the way he held her too close in his sweaty arms and she caught a glimpse of his wife watching them, her arms crossed over her large expanse of bosom.

At last Claire managed to escape. Leaving the dance floor she found a glass of wine and a quiet space to watch the magical scene. Fairy lights criss-crossed their way between the trees. Glass lanterns hung, suspended from branches, their candle flames reflected in the inky water of the river. All around her fireflies darted back and forth in the warm air as though they were part of the evening's decorations too.

Claire sipped her wine and marvelled at the complicated dance steps that the older local people seemed to know. She could see Oliver and Emily amongst a group of children at the river's edge, laughing and splashing their feet in the cool water as they tried, in their basic French, to join in with the children's conversations. They seemed almost luminous in their white clothes, bathed in the light of an enormous harvest moon that rose behind the wedding party, like a beautiful backdrop in a play.

Oliver and Emily were growing up so quickly. Claire felt a pang of sadness. She looked around for Ben; still her little boy. He was dancing in his typically exuberant style with an elderly lady. Her olive-skinned face revealed a bone structure that, even in old age, made her beautiful. She solemnly followed the steps of the dance, gracefully accommodating her partner's lack of stature and coordination.

Brian's son was there, dancing in a slightly embarrassed way on the edge of the dance floor, out of time to the music, with the glazed look of a man who had driven through the night and only just made it to his father's wedding on time. In his arms he jigged his daughter – the little girl that had been the baby that Brian had come to visit when Claire's mother had fatefully run him over. His wife sat on a nearby chair breastfeeding their second child, looking exhausted and hot. Claire thought she ought to offer her a glass of lemonade, but just as she was about to get up her mother appeared. Sitting down beside her, she took Claire's hand in hers and squeezed it.