Chapter 47
FORTY-SEVEN
Rita watched as the guests took their seats alongside the Singing Tree, perched atop High Meadow where the land tumbled away into sheer cliffs.
From here, the sea stretched, endless and silver, catching the morning sun in a hundred sparkling fragments.
A soft summer breeze drifted over the meadow, warm enough to lightly tan bare arms but cool enough to feel refreshing.
A lone seagull wheeled lazily against the clear blue, its cawing echoing over the cliffs, as if giving its approval of the sweet union to come.
With the day so clear, the view was especially incredible today, where the buzzing of insects mixed with the incessant chatter of the waiting guests.
The wildflower pails lined the aisle in riotous colours, complemented by flickering tea lights in glass lanterns, whilst the two pedestals either side of the lectern brimmed with fragrant sweet peas and freesias, filling the air with a scent, heady and delicate.
Annie leaned towards Sennen. ‘Where’s the celebrant?’
Before she could answer, there was the unmistakable sound of hooves.
And all of a sudden, there was Hilda galloping into view, clinging for dear life to the back of the equestrian on Lucky Star, before dismounting with surprising confidence, considering her injury.
Taking off her helmet, she straightened her shift dress, walked calmly to the front of the aisle, and smiled sweetly at Michael and the congregation.
‘Hell on a bicycle?’ Rita hissed to Kelly.
‘No, on a horse.’ Kelly tried to keep her laughter down. ‘The celebrant had an accident,’ she was whispering now. ‘Hilda said she’s got it covered.’
Rita’s stomach flipped. Oh God… surely this wasn’t something else from Hilda’s repertoire of life experience she had kept from her? A celebrant!
Hilda cleared her throat as a gentle trill floated from the harp, the first notes soft and trembling. Then the musician’s clear, sweet voice began to sing, ‘So This Is Love…’ from Cinderella.
As Annie slowly walked down the aisle, handsome Giovanni by her side, Rita felt a shiver run down her spine.
Everything, the Singing Tree, the cliffs, the sun glinting on the waves, the light playing across Annie’s meringue of a dress, was exactly as it should be.
She looked to Sennen and blew her a kiss.
She couldn’t have felt more proud of what her daughter had achieved in such a brief time, not only with her business, and also without her father being around.
With Annie in situ next to Michael, Hilda began to speak. Rita and Sennen, who had positioned themselves behind the other guests with Jago and Kelly, braced themselves. Thom had stayed back to help the others in the barn.
‘I suppose you weren’t expecting a celebrant of my age,’ she began, eyes twinkling. ‘But experience generally trumps beauty… and for those of you throwing worried looks at me, I trained for this many years ago. I thought if Robbie Williams can do it, then so can I.’
Kelly was rattling with laughter. Jago cosied in next to Rita, kissed her hand and whispered, ‘Happy birthday, beautiful lady.’
She snuggled into him. ‘Hold on to your hats with what she’s going to say next,’ she whispered back. Hilda spoke, eyes twinkling as she leaned on the lectern, her good arm flung out like she was conducting an invisible orchestra.
‘Love,’ she began, ‘is a gift. A bit like a pint of proper ale, sometimes you have to wait for it to settle, sometimes you spill it all over the carpet, and sometimes it turns up when you’re not even thirsty.
’ The congregation laughed. She let her gaze sweep across the guests, then stopped at Annie and Michael, both of them clearly enjoying this impromptu performance.
‘Choosing joy is deliberate. You don’t stumble into it like a lost tourist. You put one foot in front of the other, look for it, maybe trip a bit, and then it shows up, cheeky as a seabird, and then poops on your head for good measure. But it’s worth it. Always worth it.’
Laughter ensued. A quiet sigh from Hilda, hidden in the breeze.
‘I kidded myself I’d found love later in life’ – she wobbled slightly – ‘but it wasn’t to be.
And do you know what? That’s just life.’ Hilda cleared her throat.
‘But this isn’t about me; this is about the wonderful Annie and her Prince Charming, here. ’
Rita felt a flicker of sadness for her. Life had thrown massive things at Hilda and she’d refused to duck. For a heartbeat, she seemed almost… fragile.
Beside her, Jago’s fingers found Rita’s and squeezed, warm and certain.
Up ahead, Annie beamed at her groom as though the rest of the world had politely stepped aside. Two steady voices answered. ‘I do.’
Applause burst like confetti into the salt-thick air. Someone whooped. Hilda dabbed her eyes with unnecessary flamboyance. Rita leaned slightly into Jago. Choosing joy, she thought, wasn’t about grand declarations. It was this. Standing still. Holding on.
And as the bride and groom kissed beneath a sky wide enough to hold all of it – love, loss, laughter and second chances – Rita allowed herself, just for a moment, to believe that joy might be choosing her back.