Chapter 20
20
Coming out from under the wedding awning, Lucie found herself a little awkwardly on her own in the beautiful garden that was now rapidly filling up with some people she knew vaguely and didn’t really want to get to know better, other people she knew well but didn’t much want to see, and then there was this reunion with someone who’d last known her when she was twenty-four and a different person altogether. It was all making her quake with nerves.
A waiter passed and offered her a glass of champagne. She took two, mumbling something about ‘Best get one for my friend’ and drank the first one down in three swallows. OK, that helped with the nerves a little. She parked the empty glass and began to walk around with the intention of saying a breezy hello to her in-laws and their children. Just ‘hello’ and move on, she thought. Meet and greet, short and sweet.
‘Hi… hello, how are you?’ She smiled, nodded and aimed to just keep on walking past the Marshal family – brother-in-law, Jason, and his wife, Deva’s mother, Melissa and Miles’s prickly mother, Betty.
But Miles’s mother looked up sharply at the sound of Lucie’s voice and then gave Lucie a penetrating once over. Lucie found her eyes meeting Betty’s and there was no mistaking the harsh glare she directed at Lucie before turning her back and carrying on talking to her oldest son.
Not very friendly, Lucie thought to herself. That woman had never liked her. And now, she no doubt didn’t like Jacasta either and somehow wanted to blame everything that had happened with Miles’s business and Miles’s marriage on Lucie. And why am I here? And why am I wearing this old dress ? No doubt she was absolutely dying to ask Lucie these things, but instead she had decided to snub her – the ultimate insult.
And now Deva’s mother, Melissa, in full feathered hat and peachy dress with sparkles, was approaching to greet her. After they’d said their hellos, she wanted to know all the details about the journey, the breakdown, and convey to Lucie just how worried she’d been.
‘How did Deva cope with everything? Was he really OK?’ she asked. ‘He can struggle so much when his schedule changes. He can go into complete meltdown mode, or just totally shut down. I’m sure he’s been absolutely wrung out by all this.’
Lucie took a breath, sipped from her glass and wondered how much Deva would tell his mum about the detour to the Place Vend?me, the visit to the Chanel shop, singing to the sunset in a lace dress and perhaps, perhaps , opening his heart to a new version of himself.
And if he did tell her about it, would Melissa encourage him to be that version? Or would she squish it down, like she’d tried to extinguish his talent for singing, and make him conform to his parents’ version of himself? With that thought, Lucie suddenly realised how important aunties and uncles could be to give young people another trusted perspective, a different view of themselves, and the support to challenge their parents even when there was a clash.
Up till now, she had to admit, she hadn’t been a very good auntie. Too focused on her own family, her work and not giving enough of her time to the young people who might still enjoy some of her time and her input. Really Must Do Better, she thought to herself.
She realised Melissa was still waiting for her to reply.
‘You know, I understand. I did worry about how Deva was going to take it all too,’ Lucie sympathised, ‘but you know, we all got along really well. And if anything, I think he quite enjoyed the chaotic bits. They seemed to give him… well, I think “inspiration” might be the word.’
Melissa raised her eyebrows and gave a ‘huh’ kind of sound. And then Lucie was re-introduced to Deva’s older sisters, who were all smiley, beautifully dressed and much older and more sophisticated than she remembered, twinkling with gold earrings, necklaces, rings, nose studs, and glossy with the application of eyeshadow, powders, creams and shiny lipsticks.
‘Oh, you’re all looking so fabulous,’ Lucie told them. ‘Your dresses and the colours are gorgeous. I only decided at the very last minute to come to the wedding, so this silver-and-black number was the only thing I had to hand. I know it’s not really wedding-y,’ she explained, wanting at least one member of Miles’s family to hopefully report this back to his mother, as well as Jason and Jason’s snooty wife – she in the lemon-yellow perfect wedding guest dress and matching Princess Catherine-worthy hat.
And now here was Zoe at her side.
‘Such a lovely ceremony, wasn’t it?’ Zoe said, a big smile on her face. ‘I thought you might want some moral support when you go and congratulate the happy couple?’
Lucie gave her daughter a grateful look.
‘That’s very good of you to think of me,’ she said, knowing that having Zoe by her side would make it better. ‘You’re an absolute morale boost, when you’re not snarking at me, obvs.’
‘Ha,’ Zoe replied, but with a smile.
‘And you look amazing,’ Lucie added. ‘You should only wear pink from now on. Do you have pink scrubs?’
Zoe laughed and, taking her mum’s arm in hers, she led her through the throng towards the queue for Miles and Jacasta.
And as they walked, Lucie couldn’t help herself from looking about, just wondering where… Oh, big jump of the heart, there he was, Clark. And his two blonde women. Just as she passed, just as she was about to look away, he happened to look up, spot her, catch her eye and… She couldn’t exactly tell, but was that a look of astonishment? She smiled at him, of course, but couldn’t stop to wonder, because now the queue for Miles and Jacasta had moved on and within a few moments, she was giving the man she’d lived with for twenty-five years a hug and congratulating him on his marriage.
‘Thank you, Lucie,’ he said simply, before turning his attention to Zoe, who got a bear hug over the top of her bump. And now Lucie was face-to-face with Jacasta, meeting her for the very first time on her wedding day… to Lucie’s former husband. For a moment, both appeared to be at a loss for words.
‘Hi, Jacasta, I’m Lucie. Congratulations,’ Lucie said with as much warmth and generosity as she could, and she extended her arms so they could have a little hug. ‘It’s lovely to meet you. What a gorgeous ceremony in a beautiful venue. I hope you’ll both be very happy.’
It seemed to take Jacasta a few moments to react. It wasn’t until she had looked at Lucie properly and then spotted Zoe beside her that she seemed to realise just who she was.
‘Oh my gosh! Hello, Lucie,’ Jacasta began with a big smile. ‘Lovely to meet you. Come here!’ And she held out her arms and brought Lucie in for a second, longer hug.
‘You’re part of the family,’ Jacasta added. ‘I hope we can get along great, and I love your dress.’
That was very generous of her and a nice sentiment. Easier for her to say though; she was coming to them all fresh – not dealing with twenty-five years of past history. Nevertheless, it was right to be positive today – on the wedding day.
‘Oh, your dress is definitely nicer,’ Lucie replied. ‘I love it, and agreed, let’s try to be good friends.’
‘Thank you for coming.’ Jacasta smiled again, then turned to Zoe with an excited ‘Look at you! Not long to go!’ and Lucie found herself moving down the line, shaking hands now with the wedding girls and then with a couple nearer her own age who turned out to be Jacasta’s mother and father. ‘Hello, I’m Lucie, Zoe’s mum,’ she said, deciding that was a bit more subtle than ‘Miles’s first wife’.
But both couldn’t seem to stop their eyebrows shooting up their foreheads at those words. And she couldn’t help feeling a little buzz at that. Yes , she thought, I remember when I used to make people’s eyebrows raise a lot more. And I liked it .
Then she was at the end of the line, with her greetings all over. She took a sip of champagne and stepped out onto the lawn with a vague idea of going to a quiet corner of the garden to calm her thoughts for a few moments and find some shade from the fierce afternoon sun.
Eyes a little dazzled, she didn’t see until she was only a few feet away that she was walking straight into the path of two blonde women… and the man who still, after all this time, seemed to be able to make her heart leap.
His head was turned in her direction. A smile was splitting his lean and handsome face. He didn’t even look so very different. No, he looked pretty like himself, just a time-has-passed version. His hair was grey, not brown, and the lines on his face had deepened. But he was still tall and slim. He had been into a sport, she remembered – football? No, possibly tennis… He looked as if he was still playing regularly.
She was smiling back, her heart in her mouth.
‘Lucie?’ He was stepping towards her. ‘It’s you, of course it’s you! It’s me, Clark. Remember me? I had no idea you were going to be here.’
‘Clark!’ she exclaimed, a smile across her face.
‘It was a last-minute decision to come, believe me,’ she added. ‘I drove my daughter down, because of the train strikes. And agreed, it is a surprise to be here and even more of a surprise to see you.’
He was holding out his arms to her, a huge smile across his face. Did he want to hug? Were they going to hug?
Yes… they were.
He briefly put his arms around her and, for a moment, she felt the strong, safe warmth of that hug, got a hint of lime, grapefruit, mossy greenness, and then she was released.
‘It’s amazing to see you,’ he said, continuing to look right into her face. ‘You look fabulous – as you should on your ex’s wedding day.’ His smile broadened. ‘Can it really have been twenty-plus years since I’ve last seen you?’
‘Must be twenty-eight,’ she said, not quite sure which of her emotions was going to take charge – the rush of nervy excitement, the burst of sharp sadness that she hadn’t seen him for so long, or the shy awkwardness enveloping her that almost made her want to run and hide in the powder room, or really anywhere.
‘So this’ – he turned to the blondes to introduce her – ‘this is Lucie, who used to work with me, a long time ago now when we were both fabulous young people in our twenties.’
‘Hello,’ Lucie said to them both in turn. Both were very pretty, slim and glamorously dressed. One in her late twenties/early thirties; his daughter, perhaps? The other woman was older, glamorous, hard to put an age to her. Must be his second wife/significant other, was Lucie’s guess.
‘This is Sienna, my daughter and this…’ – he turned to gesture to the other woman – ‘…wife, Dita.’
‘Hello, lovely to meet you both.’ Lucie shook their hands and tried to somehow deal with the sense of disappointment washing over her. For a few minutes there, she had allowed herself to wonder, just wonder, about what it might be like if he were free. Could they possibly have re-connected? Started to get to know one another again? Have rekindled something from the swirl of feelings that had surrounded them when they were young?
But here was Dita, who looked just so together and totally the kind of woman she could imagine him with.
And she hadn’t seen him since she was in her twenties and hadn’t even allowed herself to think about him, so what on earth was going on in her head? She was being completely ridiculous.
‘Aunt Lucie!’ Here was Deva at her side. ‘I’ve been looking for you!’ he exclaimed.
Yes, it was lovely to see Deva, and she had to tell him about his performance and give him her thoughts about how to throw it all out there with the next big number coming up after dinner. But did he have to appear at this exact second? Because politely, Clark and the blondes drew back and began to talk to someone else to give her and her nephew some space. When she would so loved to have talked to Clark and found out how he was and everything that was going on with him.
‘Oh my word.’ Deva stepped back to admire her outfit. ‘Now, I know this isn’t Chanel, but it’s beautiful and it feels like a bit of a homage to the Chanel 1997 collection, which featured a throwback “flapper” dress. It looks amazing on you,’ he added, gently reaching out to touch the fabric. ‘Silk, heat treated to give it that ribbing. It’s gorgeous.’
‘Well, you would know. You’re the one who spirited it out of my boxes and into your suitcase,’ she reminded him.
‘Yeah… you’re not too angry about that, I hope. It wasn’t stealing, it was borrowing.’
‘It’s fine, and I know. My things are in the safe hands of a true connoisseur. And you’re back in your suit now…’ she added gently.
Deva gave a nod but didn’t say anything else about that.
‘The Sinatra song sounded really good,’ she began.
Deva looked at her, really met her eye, and seemed to be asking for her absolutely honest opinion. ‘But?’ he asked. ‘Because I know there is a but…’
‘Well, only because I know you want me to be honest, and you probably know what I’m going to say anyway,’ she prompted.
‘I didn’t really bring out my best for that one, did I?’ He looked crestfallen.
‘Hey, don’t be hard on yourself,’ she soothed. ‘The Deva that sang into the sunset, fully lost, heart and soul pouring into every note – that’s the one we want to hear. But I know that must be so hard to do when you’re tense and everyone’s looking at you and there’s all this weight of expectation.’
‘Yeah,’ he agreed, ‘but I’ve no idea how to recreate those perfect conditions in my head so that I can blast it out the way I should.’
‘Plus’ – her voice dropped – ‘I never liked that Sinatra song much. Bit twee, bit trite. Doesn’t punch at the gut.’
‘Agreed.’ He smiled.
‘You’ll be amazing doing The Bangles later, I know you will. You love that music, so just go for it. Release the real Deva. Be yourself, Deevs,’ she added, realising it was the first time she’d ever shortened his name.
‘Really?’ he asked, eyebrows raised.
‘Yeah – go for it. You do you. Give it full throttle.’
‘ Gie it laldie ,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Glaswegian for what you said. Thanks, Aunt Lucie.’ And he reached over to give her a small, slightly awkward hug.
‘Sorry… I’m not good at this. Not a hugger,’ he added.
‘Ah, hugs are not so bad, when you mean them. So, shoot the lights out. Go full Deva,’ she added.
A grin split across his face and his shoulders seemed to drop as some of the afternoon’s pent-up tension began to leave him.
‘I will,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’ And with that, he turned away and she suddenly wondered if she’d said the right thing. She’d meant the singing, right? Give the singing full throttle.
But Deva seemed so happy, so lit up, that now she was wondering if maybe he had something else in mind and she had inadvertently given him encouragement, permission even, to do something extraordinary.
This was a guy, after all, who had sat on top of a horse statue on Bastille Day and urged the drunken hoards ‘ Aux armes, citoyens! ’
Permission to do something extraordinary… Maybe that was something she needed to give herself. She was just about ready to do her own equivalent of standing on the hilltop and blasting out The Bangles in a lace dress.