From Notting Hill with Love...Actually (9 page)

“Didn’t you know it was fancy dress costumes?” I hissed in Sean’s ear. “I feel a right fool dressed like this now.”

“It’s worse than just fancy dress,” Sean whispered back, a smile beginning to spread across his face.

“What do you mean worse? How could this get any worse than us being at a fancy dress wedding in normal clothes?”

Just then the huge wooden doors at the back of the church burst open, and everyone stood up as the first bars of the bridal march began.

That sounds familiar, I thought as the notes began to register in my ears.

Then it hit me what the music was, and why Sean was now standing next to me grinning like a fool—as the John Williams theme from
Star
Wars
echoed around the church, and Rachel, dressed as Princess Leia—bagel hair and all—shimmered toward us in a long white dress.

I looked at Sean. His eyes shone in amusement.

“It can’t be, can it?” I asked, wanting to giggle. “It’s not a
Star
Wars
–themed wedding?”

“Look at Uncle Jonathan,” Sean hissed, barely able to speak for laughing now.

The man walking Rachel down the aisle was dressed in what looked like a monk’s habit—a long brown hooded tunic, knotted at the waist with rope.

“I think he’s Obi-Wan Kenobi!” Sean squeaked, his hand covering his mouth to try and conceal his mirth from the approaching Jedi Knight.

Following Princess Leia and Obi-Wan were the bridesmaids, two of them dressed as Ewoks, and the other, an older girl, as Queen Padmé from the later
Star
Wars
films.

We watched in amazement as the bridal procession passed us. Sean craned his head around the end of the pew to get a better view down the aisle.

“Who is the groom dressed as?” I asked, unable to see clearly through the people in front of me, one of whom had come as Jar-Jar Binks and was wearing extremely tall headgear.

“I think he’s Han Solo,” Sean said, whispering. “Oh my God, guess who the best man is?”

I tried to look through the sea of costumes and caught a glimpse of something gold shimmering up ahead. “Not C-3PO, surely?”

“It surely is.” Sean leaned his head back toward mine. “Shouldn’t it really be Chewbacca, though, wasn’t he Han’s best mate?”

I smiled at Sean. “I thought you didn’t know anything about movies?”

“Maybe some I do. Anyway, everyone knows
Star
Wars
.”

“I guess.”

“I suppose we can let them off the Chewbacca thing. After all, who’s going to be daft enough to dress up as him? The suit would be stifling inside.”

I nodded in agreement. “I can’t believe this, Sean. I’ve been to loads of weddings, but never anything like this before. I mean, what’s next—the vicar dressed as Darth Vader?”

Sean took another look. “How did you guess?”

“What? You’re kidding, let me see.” I leaned across Sean to take a peek. And indeed, up ahead conducting the ceremony was Darth Vader himself, in a long black cloak and full head mask.

I grinned, then realized I was still lying over Sean’s lap, so I hurriedly pulled myself up again.

“Sorry,” I whispered in embarrassment.

“No worries,” Sean said, and our eyes held each other’s again for the briefest of moments. Then we noticed that the rest of the congregation was standing, and it was time for the first hymn. Well it wasn’t actually a hymn, we all sang “Super Trouper” by Abba. (Except it was written “Super ‘Storm’ Trooper” on the Order of Service.)

The
Star Wars
theme continued throughout the ceremony. The rings were brought out on a silver cushion carried by a full-size remote controlled R2-D2. Then it was Yoda’s turn to give us a reading, based on his own philosophies and teachings. The part of Yoda was played by one of Sean’s cousins—he crouched down behind the pulpit with his hand stuffed inside a children’s puppet of the wise Jedi.

The
piece
de
resistance
of the whole ceremony, though, came during the signing of the registers, when we were treated to a reenactment of a classic fight scene from one of the films. Obviously Darth Vader was a little too busy just now signing paperwork to be fighting Luke Skywalker, so Darth Maul took his place in the battle of the light sabers—in full red and black makeup.

When the battle of good against evil had been won and the registers had been signed, the happy couple walked back down the aisle through an archway of millennium stormtroopers, each holding a light sabre above their head.

“Well, that was certainly different,” I commented, as we emerged into the cold February air once more.

“Different is certainly
one
of the words I’d use to describe it, yes,” Sean said, squinting into the bright winter sun. He pulled a pair of silver sunglasses from his pocket and the Brad Pitt
Ocean’s Eleven
look was now complete. I swallowed hard.

I looked around at the guests emerging from the church behind us to try and take my mind off it. “Oh my God, Sean,” I said, spying a rather large woman standing not far away. “Look at all the trouble that woman has gone to—she’s well padded up under that dress. What a sense of humor, eh? Jabba the Hutt does M&S! Brilliant!”

“That’s Great-aunt Evie,” Sean said, looking to where I was pointing. “And I’m afraid to say she’s not actually in fancy dress.”

“Oops. Sorry.” My face flushed the color of my dress once more. I turned in the other direction. “Oh look, Sean, there
is
a Chewbacca here—and he’s waving at you.”

Sean turned around as Chewbacca and his escort—a female Jedi knight—began to walk toward us.

“That looks like Diana under that hood…” Sean said, peering at them. “Oh no, that means Chewbacca must be…”

“Sean, how are you?” Diana asked as they reached us.

“Good, thanks, Diana.” Sean kissed her on the cheek. “And yourself?”

“Wonderful, darling.”

“Hello, Dad,” Sean said, looking up at Chewbacca.

Chewbacca removed his head. “How’d you know it was me?”

“I should have known, this is right up your street, isn’t it, all this movie stuff?”

“Fantastic idea! It’s certainly livened up the occasion.” Sean’s father turned to me. “You must be the Scarlett Ursula was telling me all about?”

“Sorry,” Sean apologized. “Dad, this is indeed Scarlett. Scarlett, this is my father, Alfie, and my stepmother, Diana.”

“Fantastic to meet you.” Sean’s father reached out his large paw and shook my hand vigorously.

I turned toward Diana. Underneath the hood was a tall, elegant woman, with long, silver hair tied up loosely on top of her head. She had electric-blue eyes, with which she studied me intently.

“Lovely to meet you, Scarlett,” she said, holding out her hand.

“And you, Diana,” I said, shaking it.

I knew at that moment she wasn’t my mother: Sean had been right once again. I don’t know how I knew; it was just a feeling—well, a lack of feeling really. I was certain if Diana had been my mother I’d definitely have felt something…anything, when our hands touched.

We spent the rest of the wedding celebrations with Alfie and Diana.

They were a lovely couple. Alfie was a large, jolly man, full of mischief and laughter—he reminded me very much of Gareth from
Four
Weddings
and
a
Funeral
. Diana was his calming influence—she was elegant and serene, but very approachable and friendly. Honor Blackman with a touch of Helen Mirren were my favored choices for Sean’s stepmother.

“You must take after your mother,” I said to Sean, as we sat watching Alfie spin Diana around the dance floor at great speed. It seemed it was not only in looks that Alfie resembled Simon Callow’s
Four
Weddings
character. He’d been dancing with great exuberance for most of the evening; no female was safe once he selected his next dance partner—even me. I had been chosen by Alfie to strut my stuff with him to Robbie Williams’s “Let Me Entertain You.” Which, considering it was one of my favorite songs, I didn’t mind too much. But Alfie’s rendition of the song was something I didn’t think I’d ever forget.

“Why do you say that?” Sean asked, turning to me.

“Your dad—he’s just so spontaneous and full of life.”

“And I’m boring, is that what you’re saying?”

“No,” I said, quickly trying to backtrack. “You’re just…more laid back—there’s nothing wrong with that. Ursula must take after your dad, and you, your mum.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Mum and I always understood each other better.”

“Do you see each other much?”

“Mum died two years ago.”

“Oh, Sean.” I was shocked by his revelation. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea—I just assumed your parents had divorced.”

“They did, and then Mum went to live in Wales with another man. Her illness came on quite suddenly—but she died without too much pain, so we were grateful for that.”

Sean looked so sad as he reflected on his mother’s death that I desperately wanted to put my hand over his to comfort him. But I didn’t feel it was my place to.

“She was happy, though,” Sean continued. “Before she died. She remarried, and her second husband, David, was nothing like Dad. He was a very quiet chap, calm and conventional, good at his job. Ursula thought he was boring, but Mum was happy with him, so we were happy for her.”

“Davids often are,” I said, not meaning to think aloud.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh sorry, nothing really. Please, continue about your mother.”

“No, go on,” Sean insisted. “I don’t want to dampen the mood of this happy occasion. What did you mean, about Davids?”

I stalled for time by finishing off the last of my drink. Then I swirled the remaining ice around in the bottom of the glass. Did I really want to start a conversation about David and myself with Sean? But after what he’d told me about his mother I didn’t want to seem insensitive. “David is my fiancé’s name,” I said eventually, putting my empty glass down on the table. “And it’s just…he’s quite conventional too.”

“You mean boring?” Sean grinned.

“No, not boring. He knows what he likes, that’s all.”

“What does he do for a living?”

I looked at Sean—I knew what was coming before I even spoke.

“His family owns a chain of cinemas.”

Sean threw back his head and laughed. “Scarlett, you really are something else. Is that why you’re marrying him, so you can get free cinema admission for the rest of your life?”

“No.” And there was me trying not to be insensitive.

“I’m sorry,” Sean said, trying to straighten his face. “I shouldn’t have laughed. But you’ve got to see the funny side.”

“I suppose it may be mildly amusing. But that’s not why I’m with him.”

“Why are you then? Wait,” Sean said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Is he Brad Pitt’s long-lost twin by any chance?”

“What my David is or does is none of your business.” I was getting cross with Sean now, mother or no mother. Why did he always have to find something about me to ridicule?

“Right, so he’s not great looking. He’s boring…and you’re
not
marrying him to get free movies forever, so that only leaves…his money.”

I glared at Sean.

“Oh, Red, you’re not, are you? I never thought you would be so mercenary.”

Sean was joking, but he was getting a bit too close to the truth for comfort, and I didn’t like it.

“Don’t be silly—of course I wouldn’t marry someone for their money. I love him. There, isn’t that enough?”

Sean looked as if he didn’t believe me. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much. However, I’ll trust you—you don’t look the gold-digger type.”

“Thanks,” I said sarcastically.

Alfie and Diana returned to the table.

“So,” Alfie asked, panting heavily after a vigorous rendition of Ricky Martin’s “Livin’ la Vida Loca.” “How are you two getting on?” He looked between the two of us. “More drinks?”

“Yes please, Alfie,” I said, holding up my empty glass. “That would be great.”

“My round,” Sean said, standing up. “I think Scarlett has had enough of my witty repartee for now. Haven’t you, Red?”

I chose not to respond and looked out at the dance floor.

Sean just grinned. “Right then, same again for everyone, is it? Good, then I shall return forthwith!”

Sean strode over to the bar, leaving me sitting with Alfîe and Diana.

“Oh dear,” Diana said with concern. “He hasn’t been teasing you, has he? He’s a devil for winding people up.”

“No, it’s fine.” I smiled at Diana. “Nothing I can’t handle anyway.” Perhaps Sean wasn’t as different from Alfie as I’d automatically assumed earlier on. His sense of humor was just a little more subtle.

“So, Scarlett,” Alfie said. “Ursula has told us all about how you love the movies.”

“Yes, that’s right,” I said, turning to him.

“But your family don’t understand you? She said your father isn’t keen on the cinema, but that your mother loved it just like you.”

I froze on hearing my mother mentioned. I’d spent so many years not talking about her that it now seemed very odd for a relative stranger to want to start discussing her with me.

“Alfie,” Diana said softly. “Maybe Scarlett doesn’t want to talk about her.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said. “I don’t mind. Really.”

I told them what I knew of my mother and her love of the movies. While I was doing this Sean returned with the drinks. Then for some unknown reason—as I never usually talked about it to anyone—I told them about her leaving when I was only a baby.

“Oh my dear, how awful for you,” Diana said sympathetically. “But your father sounds a fine chap from what you’ve told us.”

“Yeah, Dad is great. I never missed out on anything when I was growing up. Well, I didn’t feel like I did anyway.”

“What was your mother’s name?” Alfie asked.

“Rosemary. But I think she called herself Rosie a lot of the time.”

Alfie screwed his forehead up. “Diana, do you remember that barmaid who used to work for us? She was mad about the cinema too. You used to go out together and see films occasionally when I was working in the bar and couldn’t go with you. Wasn’t
her
name Rosie?”

Diana thought for a moment. “Yes, I think you’re right, it was. But, Alfie, you’re talking ten, maybe twelve years ago now.”

“What did she look like?” I asked eagerly. It couldn’t be her, surely—there must be thousands of Rosies who liked the cinema.

Diana thought again. “Er, she had lightish-colored hair, I seem to remember, although I think she may have dyed it. But it definitely wasn’t black like yours, Scarlett. And if I remember rightly, light eyes too—blue, maybe green?”

“I may get my hair from my father. But his eyes are brown, so…”

We began to discuss excitedly the possibility that this woman could be my mother.

Sean, who had been sitting quietly at the table until this point, interrupted us. “I hate to be the voice of doom among all this hope. But don’t you think you might be getting a little carried away here?”

We all stopped talking and stared at him.

He glanced between the three of us, and his gaze rested on Diana. “You said you hadn’t seen this woman for some time. Perhaps your memory might be a little clouded.”

Diana considered Sean for a moment, her blue eyes blinking slowly. “Are you saying as I approach old age, Sean, that my mind is starting to go?” she inquired politely.

“No, not at all, Diana,” Sean said hurriedly, his cheeks flushing a little. “I’m just saying the chances of it actually being her are millions to one.” Sean took a quick gulp of his drink, and his voice slowed to its usual calm collected pace again. “Quite simply you are all possibly letting your shared tendencies to romanticize things, as if they were on celluloid, shroud your better judgment.”

“Ah, my son—the voice of reason,” Alfie said, leaning back in his chair and surveying Sean. “
That
is your mother talking.”

“It’s nothing to do with Mum. I’m just being sensible. These are the facts: this all happened a decade ago; you’ve not seen the woman since and you have no idea where she is now. How is this helping Scarlett, by getting her hopes up that you may have met her mother many years ago? It’s not as if you know where she is now, is it?”

I was in two minds as to how I felt about Sean at that very moment. I was mad at him for quashing our ideas with his common sense. But I was touched that he was worried about me getting hurt by all this talk of my mother.

“London,” Diana said. “The last I knew of her, she went down to London to work. She met a chap up here who offered her a job in one of the upmarket boutiques on Bond Street. Rosie was always well dressed—she took care of herself, and people noticed.”

“You don’t remember which one, do you?” I asked hopefully.

Diana thought hard. “No, I’m so sorry, Scarlett, I don’t. But this is years ago, it doesn’t mean she’d still be there now.”

“And even if she was,” Sean said, “it doesn’t mean this woman is actually Scarlett’s mother. We have no proof.”

I opened up my bag, and pulled out the battered photo. “I know this is old,” I said, unfolding it carefully. “But did the Rosie you know look anything like the woman in this photo?”

Diana took the photo gently from me, and she and Alfie both reached for their spectacle cases.

It was Alfie who took his eyes from the photo first. He removed his glasses and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Scarlett, it’s difficult to tell—I can’t say I remember her all that well. Women change their appearance so much from week to week, let alone over several years. I really couldn’t say for sure.”

“It’s OK, Alfie. It was worth a try.” I tried not to look too disappointed.

Diana passed me back the photo and removed her glasses slowly. Then she placed her hand gently over mine before she spoke.

“It’s her, Scarlett. It’s Rosie.”

It was as if Diana was handing me a piece of the jigsaw I’d never been able to complete.

I’d told Sean I believed everything happened for a reason. What if my reason for coming to Notting Hill was more than just to prove my family wrong about the movies? What if the reason I’d come here was to get the chance to find the final piece of my jigsaw, the something that was missing from my life—the chance to find my mother again?