Thirteen Weddings (8 page)

‘I remember,’ I say, nodding quickly now.

‘And do your best to get his reaction,’ she urges solemnly.

‘I will,’ I promise.

‘Just do your best,’ she says again, this time with a reassuring squeeze of my arm. I sense she’s as nervous about my abilities as I am.

The church is a mere three-minute walk from Suzie’s parents’ house along a pavement slick with dew. There was a frost when we arrived this morning, but it’s burning off now in
the late March sunshine. The blue sky is streaked with wispy white cloud. It’s been overcast and freezing this week. Could Suzie and Mike be the luckiest bride and groom on the planet? I
breathe in the crisp spring air and listen to the sound of birdsong coming from the nearby trees. I pass a tiny chocolate-box thatched cottage behind a low hedge lined with bright yellow daffodils
and impulsively start to click off some shots. This is such a pretty, picture-postcard old English village. I round the corner and the grey-slated church spire comes into view, gleaming in the
sunlight.

I move out of the light and into the shadow of the stone church, walking with trepidation along the winding asphalt path to the porch. I take a deep breath and try to calm my jitters.

Get it together, Bronte. Get it together. I stop on the path and close my eyes, bracing myself.

‘Hello!’ a cheerful voice says. My eyes shoot open and I see a well-groomed usher waiting in the porch, holding a stack of sheets.

‘Hi,’ I reply quickly.

‘Bride or groom?’ he asks brightly.

‘Photographer,’ I tell him and he smiles.

‘Great.’

I force myself to smile back as I pass by him into the church. It’s the first time I’ve been inside one for years – Polly and Grant got married in a register office. I inhale
the cold, damp air in short, sharp breaths. The musty smell is making me feel lightheaded. How can churches smell so similar, even when they’re oceans apart?

It’s okay. It’s okay. I look around. The church is vast and chilly, with a grey stone floor, cream limestone walls and enormous, arched, stained-glass windows.

There are already a dozen or so guests seated in the pews, talking quietly amongst themselves in hushed and reverent tones.

My dad used to say churches are like libraries. But he was wrong. They’re nothing alike. I like being in libraries.

Rachel has already met the vicar, but she asked me to introduce myself. I feel a surge of relief when I see that she’s a woman. She welcomes me warmly.

‘I’ll be staying down the back,’ I promise her, relaxing slightly. ‘I won’t get in your way.’

Rachel told me that vicars tend to like her because she doesn’t use a flash and disrupt the service, nor does she run all over the place like a lunatic. Because there are two of us, she
can remain static up by the pulpit.

The weight of responsibility helps me to focus. I can do this. I can.

The groom is not yet here so I get busy capturing the details. The camera sounds loud to my ears at first, and I wince with every click, but it gets easier after a few shots. I capture the
pretty flower arrangements – white daffodils, hyacinths and roses with acid green guelder-roses – suspended from the ends of the pews and the sunlight streaming in through the
stained-glass windows. I force myself into the chancel and snap some shots of the larger flower displays and the gleaming silver candlesticks on the altar table. My heart is in my throat as I
quickly click off a few shots of the organ with its polished golden pipes and all-too-familiar layers of black and cream-coloured keys. Then the groom arrives so I step down from the chancel into
the nave, exhaling the breath I didn’t realise I was holding.

Mike is in his mid-twenties like Suzie and Maria, and he’s tall and slim with short brown hair. Maria told me that Suzie met Mike at university and next week they’re setting off to
go travelling for a year. This wedding is also effectively their leaving party and our photographs will be a strong link to home for them over the next twelve months. It’s even more important
that we do them justice.

I focus my attention on Mike and get a lovely shot of him sharing a moment with his mum, which ends with her kissing him on his cheek and laughingly wiping away the lipstick mark. I sheepishly
step forward to introduce myself and wish him luck.

The church is filling up, but the hushed quality remains and when Suzie’s mother appears, I know that the bride must be on her way. I’ve set up Rachel’s monopod – a
tripod with one leg – out of view behind the pulpit, like she asked me to. She shoots with minimal but top-notch equipment. She explained that her 85 mm F1.2 – the Holy Grail of lenses
– lets in so much natural light that she doesn’t even need to use a flash until the first dance, and only then so she can freeze the action on the dance floor.

I take some shots of Suzie’s mother and then go to wait in the porch. I take a calming deep breath. This is okay. I’m doing okay.

After a few minutes, Rachel comes into view. Suzie, her father and her bridesmaid, who’s wearing a dusky-rose-coloured, vintage-style lace dress, have walked here from Suzie’s
parents’ house and I watch with a smile as Rachel snaps away without losing her footing as she moves backwards.

Suzie looks jaw-droppingly beautiful. Maria has curled her golden-blonde hair into perfectly wavy curls and left it down. A delicate lace, flapper-girl-style headpiece takes the place of a
traditional veil, with a large, white silk flower on the left-hand side. Her long, slim-fitting skirt is made of white lace, and as I noticed before, dozens of small lace flowers have been sewn all
over the strapless bodice.

Rachel turns and comes towards me over the wet grass.

‘Good luck!’ she whispers loudly. ‘Don’t forget to get his reaction!’ she stresses again as she hurries past me into the church.

‘I won’t,’ I promise, but she’s already gone.

I hold my camera up to my face and look through the view-finder as Suzie and her entourage come towards me. I snap away as I back into the church to the sound of the organ playing.

A cold flush washes over me. The music fills up my head and reverberates through my body and for a moment I feel like I’m going to faint.

I force myself to focus. Hurrying over to the other side of the church, I try to block out the haunting music as I look for Mike at the front. Rachel stressed to me that this is my most
important shot of the day. Once Suzie has entered the church, my one and only goal is to get Mike’s reaction to seeing his bride. Rachel says that this shot of the groom – and her own
corresponding shot taken from the front of the bride locking eyes with the man she’s about to commit to spending the rest of her life with – is the one many couples have said they
treasure the most. And now it’s up to me to get my half of it.

The organist starts to play the rousing strains of Wagner’s ‘The Bridal March’ and I steel myself to concentrate. I zoom in on Mike up at the front as he slowly turns around to
watch his bride come down the aisle. Then someone lifts an iPad over their head and completely obscures my vision. Shit! The bridesmaid passes by and I dart to my left to find an unobstructed view
of the groom. Out of the corner of my eye I see a white blur move past. I click away as Mike’s expression softens, his eyes fill with tears and I know that I’ve got it: I’ve done
my bit. Happiness bursts inside me.

I wouldn’t say I actually enjoy myself after that, but it does get easier and it helps that I have a job to do. I take some beautiful long shots of the bride and groom at the altar, framed
by the green and white flowers hanging from the end of every second pew. I stop cringing at the sound of my shutter, and zoom in to get the occasional candid shot of guests dabbing their eyes and a
couple of cheeky little children peering over their parents’ shoulders at me. Mostly I keep out of the way and let Rachel do her bit from the front.

All too soon, it’s my turn to take centre stage again. I need to get the bride and groom coming down the aisle as man and wife, and I feel like I can hear my heart pounding over the sound
of the ‘Wedding March’ as Mike and Suzie head happily in my direction, stopping to be congratulated by their friends and family as they go. Soon they’re past the last pew and I
snap away as I back out of the heavy wooden doors into glorious daylight and watch them swing shut. Then Suzie and Mike burst through and Mike punches the air, yelling, ‘YES!’

As he kisses her right in front of me, I try to contain my laughter and capture every joyous millisecond.

The other guests quickly follow, and then Rachel is with me.

‘Did you get it?’ she asks.

I assume she’s referring to the groom’s reaction and I nod happily, light-headed with blissful liberation. I did it. I got through it.

She laughs, misreading my reaction. ‘Did you have fun?’

‘Yes.’ Tears prick my eyes. In hindsight, I think I almost did.

She pats my arm. ‘I’m so pleased to hear it. But it’s not over yet,’ she reminds me with amusement.

The hard part is.

The reception is being held at a fancy pub just up the road, so I go on ahead while Rachel covers the shoot outside the church. There’s a buzz in the air as the excited,
friendly staff put the final touches to the table settings and fill tall flutes with champagne. I stand for a moment and look around, taking everything in. The pub has a shabby chic vintage feel to
it, with stripped floor-boards, open log fires, flocked wallpaper and paintings hanging from the walls. The tables are covered with white lace tablecloths and are centred with white and green
flower displays in rustic white and silver painted pots. One staff member is going around lighting tealights and putting them in silvery green glass candle holders dotted around the tables.
There’s a vintage birdcage on a table near the door for people to post wedding cards through, and beside it are three cakes on individual cut-glass cake stands. They vary in height and colour
and have thick ruffle-style piped icing in pink, pale yellow and white. Sprays of tiny white flowers adorn them.

The whole effect is stunning.

After I’ve taken enough shots of the inside details, I move outside to the garden where a twenty-metre white marquee has been erected on the grass. A small bar has been set up inside and a
member of staff is putting down a silver tray full of wine glasses brimming with a peachy-coloured cocktail. I could do with one of those. I take some photos, keeping my eye on the doors, until
finally I see the wedding party start to arrive.

The rest of the waiting staff have gathered in the marquee, and we all clap when Suzie and Mike come towards us. Suzie blushes adorably and takes two flutes of champagne.

‘Cheers!’ She and Mike chink glasses and she giggles while he smiles lovingly at her.

I continue taking candid camera shots while cocktails and canapés are served until I feel a tug on my arm. I look down to see Suzie’s gran’s watery blue eyes peering up at me
from under her purple hat.

‘Got any good ones?’ she asks.

‘Absolutely.’ I smile at her. ‘They’re gorgeous, aren’t they?’

She nods with satisfaction and I take a picture of her. She bats my arm away and I laugh. Rachel interrupts.

‘Time to do the group shots.’ She hands me a piece of paper with the various group shots requested by the bride and groom: his family, her family, wedding party, friends. It’s
my job to gather everyone together, which is tricky and tiring, but various friends and relatives help me hunt out the guests we need.

Afterwards we need to take Suzie and Mike for a private shoot – no hangers-on allowed. Rachel needs the bride and groom’s full attention and wants them to be as relaxed as possible
without a host of friends and family looking on. So we steal them away to the sunny green field behind the pub and shoot some atmospheric pictures of them walking hand in hand through the long
grass. They hug and kiss like pros without complaining. Job done.

‘We can have a break before the speeches,’ Rachel tells me, leading me inside the pub. The guests are getting seated ready for the wedding breakfast to start, and I flash a grin at
Maria as we pass by her table. She’s here as a guest now, sitting with a group of young people. I eye her glass of champagne with envy.

A moment later, we’re in a small office beside the kitchen and Rachel is putting a glass of fizz in my hand.

‘Really?’ I ask with surprise. I didn’t think we’d be allowed to drink on the job.

‘Of course. One’s not going to kill us. And you totally deserve this.’

‘Aw, thanks.’ We chink glasses and I take a sip, but her face is serious.

‘Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done without you today.’ She perches her bum against the desk.

‘You haven’t seen my pictures yet,’ I joke. ‘I hope they’re okay,’ I add nervously.

‘You’re welcome to come over to mine tomorrow and help me process them if you like?’

‘I’d love to!’ And I genuinely would. I’m dying to see the fruits of our labours. I thought I’d have to wait weeks, like the bride and groom.

A waitress appears at the door with two plates. ‘Hungry?’ she asks.

‘Starving,’ Rachel replies, moving from the desk so the waitress can put the plates down.

‘Enjoy,’ she says brightly. We call our thanks after her as she leaves the room.

I look down at the smoked salmon starter. It’s part of our contract that we get fed, but I wasn’t expecting wedding food.

‘Yum.’

The break is a welcome one, but it will be over far too quickly. I’ve had to be friendly and professional all day, and now I find I can’t stop yawning.

‘The speeches are next,’ Rachel says, giggling at me as I don’t even bother trying to stifle what must be about my twentieth yawn. ‘They should perk you up. This lot seem
like a good bunch, so I suspect their speeches will be half decent. I’ve heard some rubbish ones, I can tell you.’ I smile and she continues. ‘Then it’s cut-the-cake time
– a bit boring, but a box we need to tick – and after that, the first dance. You can let your hair down and have a few drinks with Maria once that’s over. I’ll cover the
last dance, and drive us home. It’s been a long day.’