Chapter 3 #3
She laughed. ‘You’re crazy,’ but she got out, tightening her wrap around her.
The other cars parked behind them and everyone followed.
As they turned into the driveway Lydia saw a strip of red carpet laid down, its end tucked into the gravel, running from where they stood all the way to the front door.
She looked at Damien.
‘Dad came across it somewhere,’ he said, ‘probably some old hotel. He thought you might like it.’
Lydia turned and found Brendan and hugged him, and everyone paraded, laughing, to the door, where Damien lifted his bride into his arms and carried her over the threshold. He whisked her right through the hall, red carpet continuing, and didn’t release her until they reached the dining room.
The heat welcomed them as they entered. The fire was blazing behind a guard, and several heaters were positioned around the room.
The borrowed tables had been arranged in a T-shape and covered with thick white cloths that dropped to the floor, and decorated with swathes of ivy twined with gold tinsel.
In each of the three bay windows hurricane lamps, surrounded by more tinsel, held fat white candles.
There were strings of lights draped along the walls, and crossing the ceiling.
Tables at the side, manned by Damien’s colleagues, held covered dishes sitting on food warmers.
With the light almost gone outside, the room was transforming into something cosy and magical.
The chefs offered steaming glasses of mulled wine. The musicians were already playing in their corner, two men and a woman with a fiddle, a tin whistle and a concertina, and more instruments grouped beside them.
Greta’s carrot cake sat on another table, its sides wrapped in a silver band and with a little bride and groom on top. Andrew the butcher photographer, poised with his camera, started moving around as soon as they arrived. Not putting anyone into groups, content to capture them as they were.
It was perfect. It was Lydia’s day – their day – and so far it was completely perfect. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. ‘Isn’t this lovely?’ her mother said. ‘They’ve made it look really pretty,’ and Lydia squeezed her arm in wordless gratitude.
They took their seats. The food was eaten, the wine drunk, the fire topped up by Andrew, who stayed in the background with his camera. Had he eaten anything? Lydia slipped from her chair.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, but she was having none of it. She asked one of the chefs to fill him a plate, and directed him to the table at the side where the musicians were eating.
‘It’s my wedding day,’ she said. ‘I’m in charge. Thank you for stepping in and doing the photos.’ He lowered his camera and gave in.
The speeches – Tom, Damien, her father – were mercifully short, and laughter rang out in happy bursts. When her father resumed his seat she heard the introductory chords of their chosen first dance emerging from the wireless speakers Gareth had organised.
‘We’re on,’ Damien said, and led her to the floor.
They moved in perfect sync, drawing apart and coming together as if they’d been born knowing the steps, oblivious to the couples who joined them halfway through the song.
As the music faded, their feet stilled but they remained pressed close, rocking gently.
‘My love,’ her new husband whispered.
Soon after the start of the dancing, the villagers began arriving.
Lydia wondered if they’d been alerted by text that the time was right.
They brought unexpected wrapped gifts that they presented to Damien and Lydia, and bottles they opened, and musical instruments they brought to the corner where the other musicians sat.
The music swelled in volume, the floor filled with dancers, and the room grew so warm that heaters were switched off and wheeled away.
Susan appeared. ‘No getting away from me,’ she said. ‘The dress looks wonderful on you – I’m so happy its first outing was up the aisle. Marian says you’re only doing a short honeymoon.’
‘We’re heading to Connemara, just for the weekend.’
‘Oh, good – you’ll be back in time for my birthday hooley: I’ll hit thirty on January the third.’
‘I’d love it, thanks a million.’ December had been largely taken up with wedding preparations, but once they got back from honeymoon Lydia would be on a dual mission, to find a job and get to know people, and a party was the perfect way to start. ‘Where are you holding it?’
‘At home. I’m on the far side of the village, just half a mile out.’
‘Great. Looking forward to it.’
‘Tell Damien it’s women only – I had to put some limit on the numbers – so he can come and collect you.’
‘He’ll probably be working, so he could stop in on his way home, if that’s not too late. Around eleven?’
‘Not too late at all.’
Gareth materialised from the crowd. ‘Fair play,’ he said. ‘I can tell you now that I had my doubts about this venue, but you two pulled it off. If I ever get married, I’ll know where to come.’
To Lydia’s surprise, Greta also appeared. ‘You liked my cake?’ she asked, and Lydia told her that she had.
‘It’s all gone, that’s how popular it was, but Damien’s colleagues brought more – can I get you some?’
‘You cannot. I shall do it myself.’
Lydia watched her making her way through the crowd. There was a woman who knew her mind.
Both sets of in-laws left around the same time, while the celebrations were still in full swing.
Lydia walked her parents out to the hall, and they told her that for a wedding present they were giving her and Damien a proper honeymoon.
‘We’ll cover the cost, wherever you decide to go,’ her father said, ‘whenever the time is right.’
‘Thank you,’ she told them. ‘Damien will be thrilled.’ They were finally starting to believe in the future Lydia and Damien were mapping out, and it felt wonderful.
The celebrations continued. At some stage Tom sang a Christy Moore song, everyone joining in the chorus.
A medley of traditional tunes from the musicians led to an impromptu Irish dancing session, nobody having much idea of steps but delivering the performances with great gusto.
More singing, more dancing, until finally people ran out of energy and began to gather coats and instruments.
‘Don’t clean up,’ Marian ordered, blowing out candles. ‘We’ll come tomorrow.’
‘Brilliant night,’ Susan said. ‘You should get married more often.’
‘Well,’ Damien said, as they stood at the front door waving off the last departures, flakes of snow still drifting, not enough to cover the ground, ‘were you happy with that?’
‘Very. Come on,’ she said, shivering. ‘I need central heating – and more cake.’
The leftover food had already been packed neatly into foil containers. They stowed everything in the freezer before bringing tea and cake to bed.
She told him of her parents’ gift of a honeymoon. ‘Where will we go?’
He thought. ‘I’ve always wanted to see the Giant’s Causeway.’
She laughed. ‘Seriously? We could go anywhere in the world – and you choose to stay in Ireland?’
‘Why not? Why travel if what you want is right here?’
‘Let’s do both,’ she said. ‘Let’s start at the Giant’s Causeway and then fly off to somewhere exotic. I want to see the world with you.’
‘Where you lead, I’ll always follow,’ he promised.
And on that note they set cups and plates on the bedside locker and turned off the lights, and set about consummating their marriage.