Chapter Thirty-Two
Wary of crumpling her frock, Enya, in her jeans and a baggy linen T-shirt, carefully laid the pale-blue dress on the back seat, hoping to arrive with it crease free and to get changed just before the ceremony.
She jumped into the driver’s seat and adjusted the rear-view mirror, staring into it in the hope that Jonathan might be there on the back seat on this day of all days, knowing she would give anything for one more glimpse of him, if only to say goodbye...
He wasn’t.
What she did see, though, was the swish of the curtain in Jenny’s lounge, as if someone was watching out of it, quickly hiding when she made her appearance.
Still thankful for the gift of flowers, she wished her friend had waved, giving her the opportunity to wave back, to help smooth over the hurt.
The flowers really had been the loveliest touch.
Enya felt the rise of hope that if her friend had seen fit to send flowers, then maybe she was already slipping down the hate list. And that was good enough.
She pulled out of Mablethorpe Road and felt the tightening of emotion in her throat, her tears hovering near the surface that she managed to keep at bay, just. It had been a standard joke for years now, Maeve commenting how when Aiden and Holly got married, she wanted a seat in the front row, if not to be the maid of honour!
Jonathan used to roll his eyes and they had all made light of it.
The only question was the role Maeve would play, not whether Aiden and Holly would get married.
That was a given. It was true what she had said to Holly, that it was just how life worked, and you never knew what was around the corner.
Aiden’s wedding day without a fanfare on the street in which he had grown up, among the neighbours who had seen him take his first steps, parade in his first school uniform, join cubs, take his cycling proficiency, although the less said about that the better.
They’d watched him and Holly fall in love, waved him off to university and welcomed him home with the degree scroll in his clever mitts.
They had then stood at the side of a freshly dug grave on a hill with a westerly wind whistling over them and sung a soulful lament, as he had said goodbye to his dad, a man they all loved.
Today there was no bunting, no waving off, no guests in attendance, not that she expected such a thing under the circumstances.
But there were also no cards of congratulation, no texts, no smiles of support, nothing, and all because there was no Holly Hudson with her bouquet of lavender with the odd blue thistle and gypsophila.
And yet her memories of all of those milestones were still here, lurking in the cracks on the pavement and between the bricks of the cottages, proof that things might change but everything she held dear was still there, if you knew where to look.
If the last few weeks had taught her anything, it was that she couldn’t, as she had assumed, rely on the all-encircling arms of her community, and that their love and friendship, which she had felt in abundance every time she had arrived home, come rain or shine, for the last three decades, had, in fact, been conditional.
Another reminder that if she couldn’t rely on them then she absolutely had to put her hand firmly on the tiller and rely on herself.
She put the car into gear and put her foot down.
Iris had asked her to arrive early.
‘So we can have a celebratory glass of fizz and you can help me get ready and everything!’
Enya loved how the girl was excited to invite her, another act of inclusion that made all the difference, as it had to Holly on the day in the kitchen when Iris had shed her rather cool exterior and had shown the girl who would be mother to Aiden’s baby such warmth. Enya knew she’d never forget it.
‘Yes, good idea. Plus, you might need to talk down my nerves, Mum,’ Aiden had chimed in without the slightest hint of any concern, as if there were not a single doubt in his decision to marry this girl.
Frank was driving Angela and Enya’s parents.
They had been told to arrive a little before 2 p.m. as the ceremony was to take place at three, just enough time for them all to enjoy a glass of fizz, comment on the breathtaking view and for her sister, no doubt, to make a faux pas to ensure Enya would spend the rest of the day on tenterhooks.
She prayed her parents kept their squabbles to a bare minimum and that Dominic stayed out of sight.
The chances of the latter were, she knew, slim, but she could wish.
The wide electronic gates were already open and two oversized urns sat either side of the pillars.
They were generously filled to the point of overflowing, with white flowers, roses, dahlias, lilies of the valley and fist-sized hydrangeas.
They really were something; Enya’s first thought was to take a picture to show Jenny, but these were the last flowers in the world her old friend would be interested in.
‘You can do this,’ she whispered, reminding herself again that it would all be okay. Her son was, after all, inside this property. And it was his wedding day.
She drove slowly along the winding drive and arrived at the wide apron in front of Dominic’s office where Aiden had previously parked.
A young man in a neat white shirt, black trousers and taupe linen waistcoat made moves that left her wondering if he was indeed directing her to the parking area, or was practising for when he secured that job on an aircraft carrier and would be bringing a fighter jet in to land.
His expression was solemn as he bobbed, bent his knee, arms extended and fingers pointing.
She hoped he was doing it to make himself laugh, or even better to make his friends laugh in the retelling, otherwise he was going to be exhausted by the end of the day.
‘Thank you!’ She gestured and waved.
He responded with a salute.
Enya parked the car and made her way back towards the house with her dress over her arm and her beloved, rarely worn, pale-blue silk wedged espadrilles hooked on to her fingers, the ones she had saved from potential danger when she’d rescued them from a hurricane.
A touch she knew Jonathan would appreciate.
The outside space was unrecognisable as the place she had visited only a couple of weeks before.
There were walkways constructed out of iron arches, all decorated with more white flowers and miles and miles of festoon lights.
At the entrance to the walkways gathered youngsters in the same uniform as the parking steward and each sporting a cheery grin.
‘Do you know where you’re going?’ a smiley girl asked, making Enya immediately grateful for the small act of friendship. It helped ease her nerves.
‘I think to the house, I’m the groom’s mum.’
‘Oh, yes, hello! You can go around the side and through the front door, someone will meet you there. Have a lovely day!’
‘I will, and thank you.’ Enya smiled and set off towards the house. She took three steps, turned a corner, and came face to face with Dominic on the path. ‘Oh!’
‘Hi!’
They spoke quickly and at once each took a step backwards, both looking at the ground, over the shoulder of the other, skyward, anywhere and at anything, rather than looking each other directly in the face.
She felt self-conscious, awkward, and so very glad to be near him, which was as embarrassing as it was conflicting.
Standing taller, she pulled her shoulders back, found a neutral expression, while doing her best to smother the rocket of desire that exploded inside her.
There was no denying it, she really liked the person she was when she was in his company.
It felt like shedding skin, like rebirth, like being seventeen and stealing her sister’s fancy shoes. It was all of that and more.
‘I think they’re all in the, erm . . .’
‘How . . . how are . . .’
Again, they spoke in unison, neither giving the other a chance to respond, both with bodies turned in the direction they intended to head, as if unwilling to linger.
Exactly like that, as if there were fire at their heels, and to interact in even the smallest of ways might mean danger!
They rushed on, neither looking back, each desperate, it seemed, to be gone from the other, while her stomach and the flush to her cheeks told a very different story.
‘Shit!’ she whispered under her breath, far from enjoying the unease that now clung to her skin, wary of giving herself away on today of all days.
The grand and palatial house was a hive of activity.
Here too the cathedral-like ceiling had been artfully strung with festoon lights and everywhere she looked, displays of white flowers were crowded into glass vases, each giving off the most stunning scent.
More iron archways formed tunnels that led from the back of the house to the vast canopy of a marquee through which the view could be appreciated.
The marquee itself was home to white wrought-iron tables, bistro style, and informal seating with chairs for up to eight people.
The floral displays here were on another level.
Like something from a magazine, as huge orb-shaped displays hung from the ceiling.
There were at least four aproned florists, one on a stepladder, fussing, clipping, and tucking blooms into position.
The tables themselves held a single glass hurricane lamp with a pillar candle, and each seemed to sit inside a floral nest.
‘Here she is!’
Enya turned at the sound of Trish’s voice calling loudly.