It's a Vet's Life: (46 page)

She’s brought the dress and all the accessories, and umbrellas in case it should snow, or rain, for the photographs. She’s also brought the three children and their clothes. I hope she’s remembered to bring her own.

To think I didn’t want her anywhere near my wedding at the beginning. As it’s turned out, I couldn’t have done without her.

‘Thank you, Sophia,’ I say.

‘It’s nothing. It’s good to be needed.’ She sorts through the pageboy outfits – they are very simple, trousers, waistcoat and tie and a sweater if they need
one
. ‘Come on, Sebastian. You have to wear the tie – Daddy will be wearing one.’ She makes sure Seb is dressing himself before returning to me.

‘There’s a present here from Emma.’ She hands me a tiny bag. I open it up.

‘It’s a blue garter,’ I say, laughing. ‘Izzy and Shannon bought me one too.’

‘You’d better put them both on, before I help you into the dress. And then I have something borrowed for you … My fox fur. I’ve watched how you covet it.’

‘Er no, Sophia. You’ve got it wrong—’ I begin.

Sophia’s eyes sparkle with amusement, and I realise, with relief, that she’s joking. She has her reflective moments, but she’s becoming quite the merry widow.

‘If you could accept a loan from me, I have a ring – it was my mother’s and I wore it on my wedding day. Don’t worry, it’s very discreet. I’ll show it to you.’ She takes a small box from her handbag and opens it in front of me. Inside, glitters a simple gold ring set with three rubies.

I remove it carefully and slip it onto my right hand.

‘It’s lovely, Sophia,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’

To my surprise, Sophia kisses my cheek. ‘I hope you and Alexander will be as happy as Fox-Gifford and I were. Happier, in fact,’ she goes on, with a wry smile.

At last we are ready, or as ready as we ever will be, and I prepare to leave the practice as a single woman for the very last time. Sophia and the boys take the first turn in the car, a cream Bentley decorated with white ribbons. Lucie and I take the second trip, agreeing on the way that the journey which should have been from the Manor to the church is way too short. I know I’m running late now, but I need time to collect myself. It’s
all
been too much of a rush, and I’m ridiculously nervous.

The driver drops us at the gate of the churchyard. Lucie fetches my bouquet and her posy from where Bridget has left the flowers in the porch of the church, while I straighten the dress and tweak the veil.

‘How do I look?’ I say, taking a step back.

‘Very pretty, Maz.’

‘So do you, Lucie.’ The evergreen leaves, roses and berries in her headdress and posy complement her scarlet dress. For warmth, she wears a fluffy bolero cardigan. She hands the bouquet, a cascade of evergreen and red roses, back to me, and we walk along the path together, between the gravestones inscribed with the history of the families of Talyton St George. The sky above us is dark with cloud, as if it might snow at any minute, but I don’t care about the weather. I can’t wait to get inside the church.

Sophia is waiting inside the porch with the boys. Frances and Lenny are here too.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt on your big day,’ Frances says, looking flustered, ‘but I have to know what the news is about Emma. I’ve heard she’s in hospital.’

‘She’s a little fragile,’ I say, happy to put Frances out of her misery, ‘but she’s going to be fine.’

‘And the twins?’

‘They’re doing well too. Ben texted me to give me an update. They’re very small, but not unexpectedly so.’

‘Thank goodness.’ Frances touches her throat.

‘They’ve called them Lydia and Elena. They look like Emma.’

‘I should think so. They’d be funny little mites if they took after their dad,’ Frances says fondly.

‘Well, neither of them have all that much hair yet,’ I say, with a smile.

‘Frances, we mustn’t keep the groom waiting any longer,’ Lenny says, taking her hand. ‘All the best, Maz.’

‘Thank you.’

The church is packed – even the extra seats set up at the back are occupied. There are arrangements of Christmas foliage and flowers, holly with scarlet berries, ivy, lilies and roses along the nave and at the altar. I notice, too, that there are lots of hats.

The organist strikes up the wedding march. It’s a hurried version, more of a run than a march, but I’m tempted to speed down the aisle anyway, because I’m so late. Lucie, to my right, keeps me to a snail’s pace as she imagines befits the occasion. Sebastian walks along in front, breaking into a trot at the end when he sees his daddy.

‘Daddy, she’s here – your runaway bride,’ he calls, at which there is a ripple of laughter from the congregation. ‘You thought she wasn’t coming.’

George, holding on to my left hand, stops to smile at one of the mums and tots from Toddler Group halfway along, and I realise that I’m going to miss Emma being here in more ways than one.

Luckily, Sophia and Lynsey rescue me, collecting up the three children and taking them aside.

‘Thanks,’ I whisper, before stepping aside for a moment to greet my mother and brother with a hug. Fifi, who is standing beside her, looks more like the mother-of-the-bride than the mother-of-the-bride does. My mother is wearing a black mini-dress with a tight-fitting red jacket that reminds me of the gear a biker would wear. I’m pleased to see her, though.
I’m
glad she could make it, in spite of the bad weather.

‘You look wonderful,’ she says quietly. ‘I’m so relieved you turned up – I thought you were going to miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime.’ I can’t help wondering if she’s about to embarrass me in front of everyone – she’s always been good at that. I frown as she goes on, ‘One day, you’ll be lady of the manor. Think of that, Amanda. You’ve done very well for yourself. I’m so proud of you.’

‘I’ll catch up with you later, Mum.’ I kiss her on the cheek and make my way to where Alex is waiting for me, his eyes apparently fixed on the angels in the stained-glass window in the wall beyond the altar and choir stalls.

‘Alex?’ I say quietly. ‘I made it.’

He turns and the world seems to stand still. I lift my veil – against protocol perhaps – but I find I prefer not to look at my bridegroom through a haze of tulle. Alex looks me up and down, before gazing into my eyes and mouthing, ‘Maz, you are beautiful …’

‘So are you,’ I murmur. Dressed in a suit and tie, Alex looks more handsome than ever.

‘I love you.’ He takes my hand and leads me to the altar where the vicar is waiting. Stewart moves up behind us.

I think I can hear the words, ‘unconventional’ and ‘not in my day’, being uttered among the assembled crowd, our friends and family, but I’m glad I chose not to be given away.

The vicar welcomes us and introduces the wedding service, before making the declaration, ‘First, I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry …’

‘Did he say “awfully”?’ I hear Lucie pipe up.

‘Sh, darling,’ says Sophia.

‘Hurry up and get married, Daddy,’ Seb joins in. ‘I’m hungry.’

‘Where my Iss–?’ says George, apparently missing his toy tractor.

‘Decorum, children,’ Sophia says. ‘One more squeak out of any of you, I’ll take you outside and you will miss it.’

‘Thank you,’ the vicar says kindly. ‘Can I go on now and get these people married before Christmas Eve, before Santa starts out on his rounds?’

‘Yes,’ Seb says, ‘otherwise we won’t have any presents.’

I glance behind me to find three children with Sophia, mouths firmly shut.

The vicar completes the first part of the declaration, and in spite of the fact that I know there is no impediment to our marriage, I hold my breath until the vicar continues.

‘Alexander Abelard Fox-Gifford, will you take Amanda Harwood to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?’

There’s a long pause. Lucie, caught up in the excitement of the day, can’t help herself. ‘Say yes, Daddy,’ she calls out. ‘You have to say yes, right now.’

‘All right, Lucie.’ Alex turns back to me, and gives me a small, apologetic smile.

‘As long as you both shall live …’ the vicar repeats to help him out.

‘I will,’ Alex says, his voice gruff with emotion.

When it’s my turn, I can hardly speak. ‘I will …’

After the collect and sermon, we sing a hymn, ‘All Creatures Great and Small’. I glance at Alex as he sings
out
loud and clear, and wonder if he is remembering how we sang the same hymn at his father’s funeral. It’s one of the reasons we chose it for our wedding – as well as the obvious link to us being vets, and the fact that we were confident that the organist could play it – to honour Old Fox-Gifford’s memory.

‘Is it finished now?’ Seb says, as the final chords fade away.

‘Sh!’ says Sophia. ‘They have to say their vows and Daddy must give Maz the ring.’

Alex and I repeat our vows after the vicar.

‘I, Maz, take you, Alex, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer …’ My chest aches with joy.

‘The ring,’ the vicar says. ‘Stewart, you do have the ring?’

I’m aware that Stewart is patting the pockets of his suit.

‘You haven’t lost it?’ Alex says worriedly.

‘Course not,’ Stewart smiles. He places the ring on the vicar’s prayer book. The vicar says a few words, then passes the ring to Alex.

‘Maz,’ he whispers. ‘Your hand. The other one.’

I hold out my left hand, and Alex slides the ring partway onto my finger.

‘Maz, I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage. With my body I honour you, all that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you.’ Alex slides the ring the rest of the way, and my eyes fill with tears.

I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, not in front of everyone, but it’s too late. I can’t hold back.

‘Oh, Maz,’ Alex says, anxiety behind his smile. ‘Don’t cry. I thought I was making you happy.’

‘You are. You do …’ I am the happiest person in the universe.

‘A tissue for the bride.’ Lucie darts between us. ‘It’s from Humpy.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, embarrassed. ‘That’s very kind.’

‘Are you all right to continue, Maz?’ the vicar asks.

I nod as I wipe my eyes. Alex takes the mascara-smudged tissue from me and sticks it in Stewart’s pocket.

The vicar addresses the congregation, finishing with, ‘I therefore proclaim them to be husband and wife. Alex, you may kiss the bride.’

Alex leans towards me.

‘They’re gonna k—’

‘Sh, Sebastian.’

Alex wraps his arms around me and presses his lips to mine, at which the congregation erupts into applause. It’s a chaste kiss with the promise of more to come …

When Alex and I step outside the church some time later, hand in hand, and having signed the register, I assume that there are rose petals swirling down from the dark sky. The assembled crowd are clapping again, though, not throwing confetti.

‘It’s snow,’ someone shouts.

‘It’s a white wedding, after all,’ Stewart says drily.

‘Hey, stop casting aspersions on my lovely wife,’ Alex teases.

‘Thank you for upholding my honour, my husband,’ I smile. It’s going to take a while to get used to calling him that. My husband. My darling husband. I glance towards our son who is copying Seb, trying to catch the snowflakes in his mouth.

The snowflakes gleam in George’s hair.

‘’No,’ he says, pointing at it.

‘No,’ says Lucie. ‘It’s snow.’

‘No!’ George yells. ‘It ‘no.’

‘Can we make a snowman?’ says Seb.

‘Not yet. Faster, faster, faster,’ Lucie shouts up at the clouds.

‘Sh, Lucie,’ says Sophia.

‘Do you think Granpa’s watching us?’ she says.

Sophia touches Lucie’s shoulder. ‘He’ll be up there, keeping us company on Maz and your daddy’s special day.’

‘It was very sad when he died,’ says Lucie.

‘He was not a well man,’ Sophia says. ‘I told him he’d go before I did.’ Though sad, she appears to find a sense of satisfaction in being right – unsurprisingly perhaps, when Old Fox-Gifford never let her have that opportunity when he was alive.

‘Daddy,’ Lucie says, changing the subject, ‘did you know, by the way, you still have the labels on the bottom of your shoes?’

Stewart bows his head, shoulders quivering. It was him, I know it. Alex’s shoes are an old pair, polished up to look brand new. Stewart must have added the labels for a prank. I’m dreading the best man’s speech – in the nicest possible way.

‘I hate to wreck the schedule,’ Stewart says, as the photographer appears with his camera, ‘but these good people are going to get wet and cold, waiting here for hundreds of photos. I suggest we do them all, apart from the ones of the bride and groom and close family, at the reception. Is that all right with you, Maz?’