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Authors: Elizabeth Noble

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“know the part, even though she isn’t with us anymore, that she played in getting the pair of you here today. She thought he was perfect for you, you know. I remember what she said about you, Andy, the first time we met you. We were washing up, after Sunday lunch, I think, and watching the two of you in the garden, and Lisa was laughing at something you had said. Barbara said you were what Lisa needed. She said you were the sort of bloke who’d make her laugh and understand her cry. I said that she was ridiculous, of course. No offense, Andy. But we’d only just met
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you. Turns out I agree with her. I think she knew you so well because the two of you were so much alike. And so if I’m right, Andy, mate, and Lisa turns out to be like her mum, my beautiful wife, then you’re in for a magical, enchanted, marvelously happy roller coaster of a life together.

So let’s drink to that.”

He held aloft the glass of wine.

“To a magical, enchanted, marvelously happy life together. To Lisa and Andy.”

Everyone stood and repeated, “To Lisa and Andy!”

Andy was funny, and warm, both together. He couldn’t keep his hands off his bride and kept squeezing her shoulder as he spoke.

She would lay her head against his hand, gazing up at him as he spoke. His best man was funnier, not so warm, and had brought visual aids docu-menting the checkered history the two of them had shared since primary school. He told a hilarious joke involving keys and women planted in the audience that might have got lesser men into hot water, but in his hands had the whole marquee falling about. And then the music started.

“Nice one, Dad” was Hannah’s verdict. She was the first of her sisters to get to him, planting a quick kiss on his cheek on her way to the dance floor, determined to show off the dress to best effect. “Not too sad, not too sentimental. Just right. You did good.”

He blew her retreating frame a kiss. “Thanks, kid.”

Amanda threw him a double thumbs-up. She was already dancing with Ed, auburn hair flying. Mark watched Ed kiss Amanda, openmouthed. Heard Hannah, swinging past them with Vince, entreaty them to “get a room!”

Jennifer came up to the table. Stephen veered off to the left, off to the bar, it seemed. She hugged him.

“I loved the speech, Mark,” she said, smiling directly at him. “Mum would have loved it, too, and I know Lisa did. You made her cry. You made us both cry.”

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“Thanks, Jen.”

“You’ve been a brilliant stepfather,” she suddenly said. “I feel like an idiot when I think of how I didn’t appreciate it, when I should have. You loved my mum, and, even when you two had Hannah, you never ever once made us feel like we weren’t important to you. Never once.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

“Just wanted you to know. And you’ll be the greatest granddad.” She laid her cheek against his, very briefly, and then walked toward Stephen.

Mark caught her hand as she passed and squeezed it tightly.

“Do you remember our wedding day? ” Stephen asked her.

“Of course I do. Every wonderful second of it. Don’t you?”

“God, no—not every second! I couldn’t tell you what my mother was wearing, or what we ate or what color the flowers were. I don’t even remember what time we got married. I’m a man; we just don’t have the right software for that sort of thing.”

“But you remember some of it. Tell me you remember some of it!”

They were dancing—the music was slower now.

“I remember the bride. She was bloody gorgeous. She came down that aisle with a smile wider than I’d ever seen. I think she was wearing white.”

Jennifer pinched him on the forearm. “Off-white. Ivory, really. It’s in Mum’s attic somewhere—shall I get it out later, remind you?”

“Wouldn’t do that—don’t think it would fit, and I don’t want you getting all depressed about this middle-age spread.” He moved the hand he had placed in the small of her back around to the front, stroking her baby belly gently.

“Watch it!” She laughed.

“Oh, I’m watching it, darling. I’m watching it.”

They went off then on their own, just the four of them.

The speeches were over, and the band had started. The improbable
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dance couplings of old and young, friend and stranger—only found at weddings—had begun taking to the floor. As prearranged, and with unspoken agreement, they had scooped up their flowing dresses, jammed themselves into Jennifer’s car, grateful for her enforced sobriety, and driven the short distance to the field. There were a thousand things to talk about, a hundred things to say. But they were almost silent.

Not sad silent, Hannah thought. She liked being here, with her sisters. She liked belonging to them, being a part of this.

It was almost dusky by the time they arrived, but still warm—like a Mediterranean evening. The sun was setting behind the trees.

Barbara’s maple sapling was thriving: strong and healthy. Soon, they’d plant daffodil bulbs all around the base. Wildflowers were growing everywhere now; evening primrose saluted the sunset among the asters, rose mallow, and scarlet flax. As she did every time she came here, Amanda thought about how right her mum had been, choosing this. No granite headstone, or “walkway of rememberance” at the crematorium could be so much like her. A small, brass plaque, no matter what it said, could never summon her up, bring her somehow once again to life, the way that this place did. This tree, with its sweet sap, would grow stronger, thicker, and taller, its roots thriving in the good soil. It would be here forever—or at least for as long as she could imagine. Its leaves would be always moving, catching the light, and rustling in the breezes. In the autumns, they would flash auburn. It was a good place; it was a good tree.

Jennifer was imagining a round pink baby, legs braceleted with pudge, lying on a rug, shaded by branches, fascinated by the play of the light through the leaves. She took a deep, deep breath and held it for a moment, stanching the tears that, just for a moment, threatened. This wasn’t a day for tears.

Lisa looked down at the bouquet in her hands. She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again, realizing that there was no need. It wasn’t that there was nothing to say. Or that it had all already been said.

It was just that they all knew already.

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She untied the wide ivory grosgrain ribbon that had tied the stems, and the flowers fell softly into her hand. She handed a few to each of her three sisters. Then the four of them bent down in turn, each placing the red, pink, and orange gerberas they held on the earth, under the tree.

They laid them in a circle around the simple white stick bearing their mother’s initials, and stood again, eyes downcast for a few minutes, each in their own world with their mother, just for a moment.

Then Amanda held out her hands to Jennifer and Hannah. Hannah grabbed on to Lisa. Together, holding hands and swinging their arms, they walked slowly back to the car.

“Right. Come on, you lot.”

“Enough of this maudlin stuff.”

“She’d be ever so cross.”

“She’d
be
at the party.”

“Drinking champagne!”

“Dancing!”

“Flirting with Ed! Who does look, by the way, totally flirt-worthy.”

“I’ve ruined these heels! Look at them. How can it be muddy? It hasn’t rained for weeks.”

“Stop moaning. It’s not like you paid for them yourself. You can take them off when we get back. They’re no good for dancing, anyway.”

“You dancing?”

“You asking?”

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank the following people for their hard work, fierce advocacy, and great support throughout the writing and publication of this novel: Sarah Burningham, Alison Callahan, Laurie Chittenden, Lisa Gallagher, Tavia Kowalchuk, Jonathan Lloyd, and Emma Parry. Thanks also are due to the many, many other people at Curtis Brown, Fletcher Parry, and HarperCollins who have worked on the book: I am grateful to everyone.

I want my family to know how very much they all inspire, move, and delight me. This is because of all of you, for all of you, and impossible without all of you.

About the Author

ELIZABETH NOBLE
is the author of the internationally bestselling novels
The Reading Group, The Friendship Test
, and
Alphabet Weekends
. She lives with her husband and their two daughters in New York City.

www.elizabethnoblebooks.com

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

A l s o b y

E l i z a b e t h N o b l e

The Reading Group

The Fr iendship Test

Alphabet Weekends

Credits

Jacket design by Laura Klynstra

Jacket photograph by Michael Weschler/Botanica/Jupiterimages
Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

by Elizabeth Noble. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Adobe Acrobat eBook Reader March 2008

ISBN 978-0-06-164476-4

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