Made in Heaven (56 page)

Now she found herself wondering what Maureen had meant to wear for the wedding. She would definitely have eclipsed me, Joss thought. She'd have made it her business to do that. Was she thinking about them now? Joss was prepared to bet that she was. And Gray, what was he doing at this minute? He was probably fast asleep.

Where was Bob? Zannah said he'd told her he'd be here at eight and he was always punctual. She wasn't worried about avoiding him. She was sure he would go out of his way not to speak to her if he could help it.
The hairdresser was coming at eight-thirty. The marquee looked quite different in the light of day. Joss had enjoyed watching it being put up last week, then filled with tables and chairs, cream linen and glass vases. She picked up her towel and went to see if the shower was free. With so many people in the house, you had to get into a bathroom whenever you could.

*

Zannah sat in an armchair and watched Pat, the make-up artist, who was about to start on Emily's face. ‘I do
not,
' her sister was saying, ‘want to look like something you'd find as a prize in a fairground, okay?'

‘Sssh,' Pat said. She was a chubby, cheerful young woman with a no-nonsense approach and she was wearing no make-up at all, as far as Zannah could see. ‘You chose me, didn't you, out of all the other make-up artists you could have picked? Just trust me, okay?'

Isis and Gemma were sitting on the bed, waiting for their turn. They were next and then Zannah would be the last to be transformed. The girls had been stunned into open-mouthed silence at the array of jars, bottles, tubes, brushes, tissues, combs, hair ornaments and cotton-wool spread out on the dressing-table. The bedroom in which she'd slept last night had become a theatrical dressing room. She was in her new dressing-gown, more of a
peignoir
, really, waiting to take her place on the chair. Then the hairdresser would do his stuff and at last, she'd be putting on the dress. It was hanging up, swathed in a sheet, and her shoes – satin, high-heeled, dyed to match the dress – were in the cupboard. They were comfortable, but Zannah wondered whether the comfort would last all the way from the house to the church and back. The weather was perfect, which was lucky. She'd been very upbeat about what they'd do if it was pelting down, but thank heavens she hadn't had to start arranging for cars at this unearthly hour of the morning. The beautiful handbag embroidered with a
pattern of tiny butterflies and dotted with pearls that Edie had given her, was
something old
and it contained the
something blue
, a handkerchief trimmed with lace that Val had produced last night. She'd be wearing Em's pearl earrings (
something borrowed
) and the
something new
was a set of flesh-coloured satin underwear that she hadn't been able to resist. Briefly, she thought of tonight: of what Cal would say when he saw it. She shivered with longing, and tried to erase the images that had suddenly appeared in her head. There was too much else to think about before the ceremony.

Someone was knocking at the door. Zannah went to open it and there was Alex.

‘Can I come in, ladies?'

‘Take a picture of us!' Isis called. ‘Take a picture of us getting our make-up on. I'm going to have blusher. And lipstick. Pat said I could.'

‘Sit down, Isis,' said Zannah. ‘Just let Alex do his thing, okay?'

Isis subsided on to the bed again. Alex stood near the window. As far as Zannah could see, he was pointing his camera straight at the messy dressing-table. Then at the shoes, and the dress, swathed in its white sheet.

*

Isis and Gemma stood in the doorway of the marquee. Charlotte had told them they could go and have a look, as long as they didn't get in anyone's way. Grandpa had come, just a few minutes ago, and he, Grandma and Charlotte were in the kitchen with Em. Mum was still upstairs, getting her hair done and putting on the wedding dress.

There were lots of people in the marquee, including Alex, who was walking about taking pictures of the flower arrangements, the glasses, the piles of plates and the cakestand. The cake wasn't on it yet, but the caterers had already started to bring out some of the food and put it on the tables, covered with thin cloths. Most
of it, Mum had explained, would be arranged while they were at the church, but Isis still hoped to see the cake before they left. It was supposed to be ready at ten o'clock.

Maya, the flower lady, beckoned the girls to where she was. Isis liked Maya. She was quite old, about as old as Grandma, but very pretty, with long red hair in a plait down her back. She was wearing an overall, like the ones they put on at school when they did painting.

‘Hello, Isis … and this must be Gemma. Well, don't you both look beautiful? Lovely.
Really
lovely. Your posies are in the larder, next to Zannah's bouquet. Have you seen them?'

Isis nodded. She was glad Maya had noticed how pretty they looked. When she had put on the bridesmaid's dress and gone to stand in front of the mirror, she had felt like jumping up and down for joy, only she didn't dare, because that might spoil it. The rosebuds on the sleeves, the ribbons and the swishy, silky sound of the skirt when she moved about made her feel so happy that she thought she'd burst. She knew she looked pretty, because Gemma did, too, and the two of them did a little dance together when they were dressed. They couldn't help it. They'd been sent to wait quietly downstairs till it was time to walk to church, but Charlotte had said it was okay to sneak into the marquee, for a bit, to see the flowers.

‘The tables look really, really pretty,' said Gemma. The vases were like little boxes made of shining clear glass. Each one was full of red and cream rosebuds and dark green leaves, like the ones in Mum's bouquet. Some people had started to lay the tables with silver knives, forks and spoons. A lady with a big basket was putting little bags of sweets next to each place. There were flowers hanging in enormous bunches from the roof of the tent and all round the walls, the same colour as the table flowers, but bigger, and Isis didn't know
what they were called but they were gorgeous. ‘I can see a butterfly,' she said to Maya. ‘Up there in the roof flowers.'

‘Lisianthus, those are called, and there's a few other things as well, but mainly it's foliage with lisianthus and roses. The butterflies were your mother's idea and a very good one. Look, here's one I've not put in yet … '

The butterfly was silver and Isis thought it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. ‘You can keep it,' said Maya. ‘I've got plenty more. Why don't you put it in with your roses? There's a little pin thing here, can you see? Just stick it among the flowers.'

‘Oh, yes,' said Isis. ‘I'd love that!'

‘And here's one for Gemma too.' Maya smiled. ‘I should have thought of that myself. Well done, girls. They're just the right finishing touch.'

*

So far, Emily thought, so good. Or maybe not. There'd been a sticky moment back there in the kitchen. Pa came in and sat down and almost as soon as he did, Ma had got up, rather pointedly, and gone to do something that was probably entirely unnecessary. She and Zannah had discussed it a bit last night and agreed that they must have had a row, or Pa wouldn't have spent the night in a hotel. He claimed that Cal needed moral support, but that was rubbish. Cal was fine, and anyway, Mattie was with him and supposed to be looking after him. They'd had their version of a stag night which wasn't a stag night at all, as far as Emily could see. They'd gone out together to a movie and had a meal, which they'd been doing regularly since they were twelve. When she'd asked Cal about stag nights, he'd smiled and said, ‘Can't bear them. As Jack Nicholson said in
Terms of Endearment
, “I'd rather stick needles in my eyes”.'

Now everyone was ready to set off for the church. They were lined up in the hall. Zannah would go first, once she came downstairs in the dress that everyone
couldn't wait to see. She'd gone into Zannah's room to help her but had come downstairs while her sister's hair was being done. Alex had finished taking pictures of her in the dressing gown she called a
peignoir
(Pretentious? Moi?) and now he was here in the hall, standing next to the grandfather clock, snapping at everything: the bridesmaids sitting together on the bottom step, peering at their posies; Charlotte, very smart in a coffee-coloured crêpe suit and a rose-pink hat, checking her lipstick in the mirror near the front door, Ma obviously miles away, thinking about something else, Pa adjusting his tie. He looked, Emily thought, very handsome. She went over to him. ‘You ready, young Em?' he asked. ‘You look a treat, I must say.'

‘Oh, this old thing!' Emily laughed. ‘Just something I had lying about in my cupboard! But I'm glad you like it. I thought I'd never find something to wear. This is not, as you know, my kind of occasion.'

‘Never mind, we're off in a couple of days to Egypt. Keep that in mind when the going gets tough.'

The dress Emily had found after much searching was a dull mauve and she'd fallen in love with it the minute she saw it and paid the exorbitant price without a second thought. Devoré velvet was possibly not completely suitable for a May wedding, but the dress was loose and floaty and the fabric fell in smooth lines from her shoulders to mid-calf and made her look like a princess. She'd borrowed Zannah's amethyst earrings – a swap for the pearl ones she'd lent her – and she'd even found a handbag in a slightly darker velvet, sewn with sequins in a flower pattern.

‘She's here … the bride … ' That was Alex, from his vantage point. Isis and Gemma jumped and ran to stand next to Ma. Zannah came downstairs and paused for a moment on the bottom step. Emily blinked. She hadn't expected this. She'd been to fittings, and to rehearsals, but this … this was amazing. Her sister was completely
beautiful. The dress was like something out of a fairy tale, every pearl catching the light; the cream lace draped exactly right, the headdress held by hair that had been swept up to reveal Zannah's long neck and radiant face.
Radiant
, for God's sake. You can't help it, Emily thought. When you try to describe it, you fall at once into clichés. The whole wedding thing was a thicket of clichés, but Zannah was glorious: the very best she'd ever, ever looked. Emily glanced at Ma and saw tears in her eyes. Pa went up to Zannah and kissed her cheek: gingerly, so as not to disturb the make-up. Pat was worth her weight in gold, Emily thought. No one would know that the bride was wearing anything other than lipstick but she knew better. There were layers and layers on both their faces: primer and foundation and concealer and powder and final spritz of Evian spray to fix the whole lot. Fantastic, Emily thought. I might go in for make-up more often in future.

Isis broke the spell and shattered the awed silence that had fallen. ‘Mum!' she shrieked. ‘Oh, Mum, you're so pretty! Is it time to go now?'

‘Yes,' said Zannah. ‘It's time.'

She took her place at the head of the line and Pa went to stand next to her. The bridesmaids walked behind them, carrying their posies carefully. Then came Ma and Em and Charlotte, walking together. Cal would be waiting in the church, where the guests were no doubt already in their seats. This was the moment. They were about to step on to the stage. The show's about to begin, Emily thought, feeling as though a movie camera was recording everything, as though she was part of a performance, which, of course, she was. It wouldn't have surprised her to find that music was playing outside, like a kind of overture, but no. Passers-by, and there were quite a few of them, waved and smiled. Alex must have left the house before them because there he was, next to a convenient tree. Emily stuck her tongue out at
him. She couldn't help it and, sure enough, he took a photo of her as she did it.

*

One of her better decisions, Maureen thought, when Adrian's dreams had melted away like snowflakes on a hotplate, was to insist that he didn't cancel the booking he'd made for himself and his bride to spend their wedding night at the Savoy. Once the dust had settled, she'd been on to the hotel with tears in her voice, explaining everything to the really lovely girl in Reservations, and here they were, after she'd altered the booking to two nights and two single rooms, sitting in the hotel dining room enjoying a heavenly late breakfast. Adrian looked better, to Maureen's eye, than he had for ages, but it was best to check.

‘You're not brooding today, darling, are you? Or fretting?' She broke off a piece of croissant and buttered it. Heavenly bliss!

‘No, I'm okay. I'm trying not to think of what's going on in Clapham, but most of the time I can do that, no problem.'

Maureen leaned forward. ‘I'll tell you what's going on down there! I've worked it out. Since I cancelled Genevieve, they'll have had to fall back on any old person who could manage to do a wedding at short notice and what they'll have is' – she ticked off the offending items on perfectly manicured fingers – ‘Vol-au-vents with pastry the consistency of Play-doh. Not properly heated up. Very little champagne. The rest of the wine at rock-bottom prices, probably from Tesco. Canapés that have stood around too long and got dried out. Terribly stodgy wedding cake. Maybe the columns that hold the tiers apart will collapse. Wouldn't that be a hoot? In any case, it's sure to be a cut-price, economy affair. You're lucky not to be associated with it.'

‘Yes, well … The dress'll be beautiful. And Zannah … I can't pretend I don't miss her.'

‘But not Isis.'

‘No, not Isis. Not really.'

‘And not that old jailbird, Charlotte.'

‘I liked Charlotte,' Adrian objected. ‘She was always very nice to me.'

‘Ah, that's just a front. When push comes to shove, I don't think you can trust someone who's been in jail, can you? I always felt I never knew where I was with her. Never knew what she was thinking.'