The Winter Wedding (2 page)

When winter came and the nights drew in, we’d hole up and spend our evenings on the sofa. Come Christmas, I’d start the baking, and she’d put up our family Advent calendar,
filling it with small wooden decorations that we placed on the tree. We’d happily count the days until we went back home to Mum and Dad’s.

When we had graduated, in our early twenties, we’d stayed on in the flat. I was doing bar work at the weekends, Lila spending the weekdays auditioning for dance roles, and me scouring the
job ads for anything related to set design. Then, well, just anything at all. Unlike Lila, I’d never once lost sleep figuring out the meaning of life, though. Because I knew where it was
– there in the silvered memories of the nights we spent together or with our friends, the ones where we laughed so hard our sides hurt.

I was never going to win any prizes for long-term relationships, but I was OK with that. I’d had a few boyfriends, and we’d had fun, but we’d never made it past the six-month
mark. Our connections had fizzled out or slipped into friendship. When they’d ended, I’d always felt sort of relieved that I could return to normal life, stop trying to make something
work that wasn’t really sticking. I guess at the back of my mind there was always Sam – always the question of whether we might stand a chance as more than just friends. And no one else
really seemed to match up to him.

And however dates went, I always had Lila and the flat to come back to. Lila’s passion for ballet dancing was as strong as ever, and over the years I’d done what I could to help her
keep the faith. She was talented – we both knew that – and she’d had some great parts over the years, but she’d also had a lot of auditions that hadn’t led to
anything. As she’d waited for her big break, she’d worked as a PA at a city bank during the day, which she did for the money, and at a canalside bar two evenings a week, which she
enjoyed more. It was at that bar that she first met Ollie. I was there that night, whiling away the evening over a Pimm’s and lemonade.

I’d seen him right away – walking into the bar with a couple of friends, tall and dark, with black-framed glasses, a slightly intense expression and a wonky smile. He was everything
Lila didn’t normally go for – she had a penchant for traditionally handsome, self-involved actors. I was usually the shoulder to cry on at the end of the night. I caught my
sister’s eye and nodded in Ollie’s direction, so that she’d be sure to be the one to take his drinks order.

Before long, the two of them were flirting – and by the end of the night he’d asked for her number. They went on a few dates. Then, gradually, he started appearing with increasing
frequency at our flat, joining us for mid-week dinners and weekend tea and cake stops. I didn’t mind, in fact I liked it – Lila’s exes had generally left her wrung-out and
tearful, and here was a man who brought out the laughter and lightness in her. It had been at our twenty-seventh birthday party that I realised he was something serious. He’d helped Lila pour
drinks, his gaze following my sister around the room with something approaching puppy-dog adoration, even as he pretended to listen to what his friends were saying. And Lila – I saw her
looking back once or twice too. I guess that was when I started to realise for the first time that I was going to have to share my sister.

That summer Ollie had become a permanent fixture at our flat, and Lila was happier than I’d ever seen her. She looked so right by his side, his arm draped around her shoulder. Ollie was a
lovely guy. And he adored her. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Ollie. Apart from that I knew right away he was The One. The one who would take Lila away from me for good.

At our flat we’d laughed, partied and lounged on the sofa watching films for close to a decade. But now, at twenty-nice – it was only me here. Lila had moved on, and moved out.

This was it – Lila and Hazel, Hazel and Lila had become . . . Lila and Ollie. Everything had started to change.

Spring sunshine dappled the miniature set I was working on at my desk at home. I squinted against the light and pasted a tiny strip of wallpaper up onto the back wall of the
living room – the final piece of the scene in place. A miniature mantelpiece and gilt mirror that I’d found on eBay were positioned just to the side of it, with an intricately
embroidered Persian rug the size of a small envelope on the floor below. The room had kept me occupied for weeks now and it was finally finished. It had been something to do, since Lila moved out
and in with Ollie.

From my box of figurines, I extracted a man – in a little white shirt, and jeans, his wooden feet protruding from the bottom of the trousers – and his counterpart, a woman in a sweet
blue tea dress, her dark brown hair in bunches and a smile fixed in place. I put them next to one another on the sofa, and placed a hardback book I’d made myself – no larger than a
postage stamp – in her hands, and a miniscule wine glass in his. They would be talking about their day at work, I imagined, and later they’d retreat upstairs, to the room I’d
prepared for them – a bed laid with fresh white linen and a window draped with dark green curtains. The picture frames on the way up the stairs told the story of their lives together. One day
I’d find someone to write the story that went with the set. But until that day came, I just liked to look at the little world I’d created and well, I guess enjoy that scrap of control
that I felt I had – an imaginary place where everything went according to plan.

I didn’t let anyone look at my sets. Not even Sam. In fact – especially not Sam. He’d heard about them once, when we were teenagers, from Lila.

‘You’re still playing with dolls’ houses?’ he’d said, laughing. ‘I thought you were a tomboy – I mean that’s what I liked about you. But I guess
you’re girlier than I thought.’ I’d glared at Lila and wanted the ground to open up and absorb me into it.

Because sharing your dream with someone – letting them have a glimpse of the person you really were – I had a feeling it was supposed to feel different from how that did.

On Monday morning the weekend sun had faded away and left a damp day with a hint of drizzle, the kind that suggests that the spring you glimpsed might never come back. I put on
my cycle helmet and rode into work. East London’s roads were the same traffic-clogged arteries as always, but I’d learned which backstreets to use to avoid the lorries and the cars, and
where you could still, sometimes, hear the bird-song. I never listened to my iPod on the ride, I preferred to focus on what was around me – I don’t scare easily, but it seems like a
sensible way to, you know, stay alive. Anyway, it was an easy enough decision today as the last time I saw her, I’d picked up Lila’s iPod instead of my own, which meant ballet, jazz and
classical rather than the music that I usually listened to.

I pulled up outside the Twenty-One offices, in a quiet backstreet in Clerkenwell, and chained my bike up there. I’d been in the job a couple of years now. The TV production company was
small but growing fast, producing some of the country’s leading costume dramas. The office was always buzzing with the excitement of imminent filming – and I helped out with whatever
needed doing in the art department, from sourcing props to making last-minute changes to the sets.

I hadn’t got the job right away, despite being twenty-seven. I’d started out two years ago as an intern, and after a couple of months my savings had been down to the final penny.
Catching a glimpse of a B-list celebrity, or sharing a joke with some of the staff might have brightened my day but it certainly wasn’t paying the bills. I knew I couldn’t stay without
getting paid. Thankfully the stars aligned and that was when the opening arose for an Art Department Assistant. A junior role – but a job all the same.

OK, so Emma wasn’t always the easiest boss to work for – but she had my back. That’s what she always said. And day to day, I loved the work, sourcing props, furniture and
accessories that would bring each set perfectly to life. I had sort of hoped I’d be promoted by now, but Emma had assured me that a newly created Set Designer role had been earmarked for me.
They’d be announcing my promotion any day now, she’d promised. I was kind of relying on it – financially, it was the only way I’d be able to stay on at the flat without
replacing Lila.

Josh, the assistant director of some of the company’s key shows, braked, coming to a stop next to me.

‘Morning,’ he said brightly. He took off his helmet and ran a hand roughly over his dark hair, which had gone a little flat. He was wearing a green and blue checked lumberjack shirt
over a white t-shirt, light against his olive skin. ‘You’re in early.’

‘Yes. Felt like getting a head start on the day today.’

He locked his bike up next to mine. Josh and I rarely worked together directly, but he often found a reason to stop by my desk for a chat or to drop off a cup of tea, and he was one of the
colleagues I got on best with.

‘Good weekend?’ he asked.

‘Not bad,’ I said, trying not to think about how lonely the flat had begun to feel. ‘How about yours?’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘It was our anniversary – Sarah and I met four years ago yesterday.’

‘Congratulations. What did you do to celebrate?’

‘Dinner, a film.’

When Josh spoke about his girlfriend, his whole face lit up. It didn’t matter whether he was talking about her views on the new exhibition at the Tate Gallery, or the meatballs
they’d had at IKEA. She sounded dynamic, fun and carefree, and seemed to charm everyone she met. It was kind of weird, really, that I’d never met her, given that Josh and I had become
quite close. But a lot of people choose to keep work and life separate, I reasoned.

‘Did she get that new job?’

‘At the private gallery?’ Josh said. ‘Yes. She’s got a short contract there. She says she doesn’t know where she’ll be in the summer.’

‘Right,’ I said. We went inside the building, and took the steps up to the office at a leisurely pace, both savouring these final few moments before the onslaught of emails and
demands started. ‘Where are you planning on being this summer? You’re not going to jet off somewhere sunny when filming for
Christmas at the Manor
is due to start, are
you?’

Our latest project was a popular drama series that ran all year – with one of our most generous budgets for costumes and sets. I’d been longing to work on it, and my boss Emma, while
seeming reluctant at first, had finally relented. It would be my first solo project, designing and sourcing props, making the Christmas special really sparkle. She knew she owed me one. I’d
covered for a lot of her very long lunches, and these days each morning seemed to begin with a hangover for her, and a coffee shop errand for me. Josh handled the actors, while I would be managing
the backdrops, the scenes where he and the cast brought arguments, kisses, and shared intimacies to life.

I liked working with Josh. He was easy to talk things through with, laidback, and had a genuine creative vision that was rare, even in our industry. Plus he made me laugh. Which goes a long way,
when it’s midnight, and you’re both still in the office getting something together for an early start filming.

Josh smiled warmly. ‘Don’t worry. We’re not going anywhere soon. Sarah’s desperate to get away, but with our schedule here it’ll be a long weekend rather than the
long-haul trip she’s been dreaming of.’

‘Phew. So Sarah wants to do another big trip?’

‘Sarah always wants to do a big trip,’ he said wearily, but kindly. That was love, I guess – you didn’t always have to agree, but you always tried to make each other
happy. ‘But I’m not going to throw in this job to lie on a beach, however tempting the idea might sometimes be.’

‘Well, that’s good. For us at least.’

We walked into the office – a large warehouse-style space with more break-out areas and coffee machines than actual desks, and I sat down in my usual spot.

Emma came over to my desk, and leaned over the divider. Her long dark brown curls were loose, and she had bright red lipstick on, which distracted a little from the dark circles under her
eyes.

‘Hazel, I’ve got to run to a meeting in a minute, but I just wanted to check you have everything sorted for the shoot on Friday. Did you manage to source the Arts and Crafts chairs
we talked about?’

‘Yes, that’s all sorted,’ I said. ‘The furniture’s due to arrive at the house on Friday, so there’ll be time for me to set everything up before we
shoot.’

‘Great. And the hair stuff?’

‘The vintage hair decorations? Yes, I have those here in the office.’

‘OK,’ Emma said. ‘I knew it would be in safe hands with you.’

‘Anything else you need?’

‘Yes,’ she said, pointing to her in-tray. ‘That lot. I’m going to square with you, Hazel.’ She said it in that conspiratorial way that made it seem as if she was
letting me into the fold, that I was privileged really, to be allowed to help her out. I was one of only two people in the office who knew that she was going through a messy divorce.

‘I feel like death this morning, and we’ve got the Americans coming over this afternoon. I’m pretty much obliged to start drinking at lunchtime again today, and that means
I’ll have to have a massage this morning or I won’t be able to face it. It’s as simple as that.’

I hesitated. Her divorce was nearly final now, so presumably the end was in sight for this kind of demand.

‘This is the last time I ask you to cover for me,’ Emma begged, rubbing the skin on her brow. ‘I swear, Hazel.’

‘OK,’ I said, reluctantly. ‘I’ll do it this last time.’

Everything would be OK once I was promoted – I’d have a salary I could just about live on, and, as importantly, the creative freedom to fulfil my vision for the sets. All I had to do
was wait.

Josh and I sat at his desk and worked through the designs for
Christmas at the Manor
. ‘I know just the place to get the costumes done,’ I said.
‘There’s a fantastic dressmaker just off Columbia Road.’

‘Great.’ Josh said, looking over my designs. ‘I really like what you’ve done here with the living room. The chandelier and chaise longue are perfect.’