Chapter 11
‘It’s T minus seven,’ Amelie said. ‘We need to leave in, like, ninety seconds.’
She was standing in the centre of the bridal suite. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head, a few artful tendrils arranged around her face and shoulders. Her slender arms were encased in lace so perfectly fitting it looked like it had been painted on by a henna artist working in white. Her skin was glowing with make-up and, I suppose, happiness. The full satin skirt of her dress fell in sculpted folds from her small waist all the way to the tips of her pearl-embroidered shoes.
She looked like an angel and sounded like a sergeant-major. I was overwhelmed with love for her.
‘Hold on,’ Nush said. ‘Let me blot your lipstick one more time.’
‘Lucy, are you sure you remember which way to give your sister the bouquet?’ Mum fretted. ‘We don’t want the back of it showing.’
‘Do you need another squirt of deodorant?’ asked Miranda. ‘You were sweating like a horse earlier. Sorry, but you were.’
‘I feel more like a dog being gussied up for Crufts,’ grumbled Amelie. ‘Come on, people. We need to make a move. Now.’
‘Let me check your bag one more time,’ urged Bryony. ‘Tissues. Lipstick. Perfume miniature. Tampons.’
‘Vape?’ asked Amelie.
‘You can’t vape on your wedding day!’ Mum protested.
‘She can do whatever she likes,’ I said. ‘Including being late. Remember? That’s what you’ve been saying for the past week. It’s a bride’s privilege to be late on her wedding day.’
‘At the rate you lot are going, Zack will have got fed up, gone back on the apps and found someone else to marry before I get to the damn altar.’ Amelie did a final pirouette in front of the cheval mirror, her veil drifting behind her. ‘If you lot don’t get cracking, I’m going to go down on my own.’
She strode to the door and flung it open, and we all followed: Nush, Miranda, Bryony and I in our rose-gold satin shifts (Mum was right, they did look a bit beige), and Mum behind us in olive satin with a massive hat that only just fitted into the lift. The air was heavy with the smell of air freshener, our clashing perfumes, and the roses in our bouquets. My shoes were pinching my feet and I felt sick with nerves.
Dad was waiting for us outside the function room. When he saw us he took the hankie out of his breast pocket, blew his nose, then tucked it back again, making sure the folds were in the same place.
‘Good girls,’ he said. ‘You look very nice.’
Mum reached out and brushed Amelie’s cheek with her finger, like she was a priceless china doll about to be displayed on Antiques Roadshow. ‘Good luck, sweetie. You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.’
Amelie hugged her, leaving a lipstick smear on Mum’s cheek that would be joined by dozens of others and show later in all the photos. ‘Love you, Mum. See you on the other side.’
She took Dad’s arm, we all lined up behind her, the Arctic Monkeys’ I Wanna Be Yours began to play and we entered the function room, moving sedately through the banks of flowers towards Zack, waiting patiently next to his best man at the end.
I can’t remember much about the wedding ceremony. I suppose they’re all much the same, aren’t they, while also being unique. Each time, two people say words that have been chosen for them, whether by the church or the state or a Google search. Each time, someone they love nervously does the reading they’ve chosen. Each time, the couple make promises to each other that they profoundly believe in the moment, and some of them will keep and some of them won’t.
It was a beautiful wedding, everyone said afterwards. But all weddings are beautiful, aren’t they?
After I’d got my reading over, I found my concentration drifting. My eyes wandered to the rose garden outside the window, the lilac feathers on Zack’s mother’s hat, the beads of perspiration on the back of Nush’s neck. I breathed in the smells of flowers, the foundation the make-up artist had caked on my face, and the promise of the wedding breakfast drifting from somewhere else in the hotel. I listened to the celebrant’s cheerful but serious voice, the strains of Bach played by the string quartet while Zack and Amelie signed the register, the faint hum of traffic when the door to the street outside was opened, which vanished as soon as it was closed again.
And then it was over. My sister and Zack were married. They turned to face us, alight with smiles, and walked back the way they’d come, almost running this time, Zack holding Amelie’s hand and her bouquet aloft. Everyone crowded out into the rose garden. Petals and rice were thrown. The string quartet set up and started playing again, waiters circulated with trays of champagne flutes and canapés and the photographer and videographer moved through the crowd, occasionally issuing instructions but mostly aiming for the informal reportage shots my sister had ordered.
Everyone chatted and laughed and ate and drank. Zack strode around glad-handing the guests, looking like he’d been made king of the world. Amelie’s friends and their boyfriends stood in a huddle, making sure they were closest to the door the booze and food were coming out of. Someone snuck behind an oak tree and lit a fag – I could smell the acrid smoke drifting above the scent of rose petals.
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. My duties were over, for the time being. At some point that evening, I’d need to slip a lace garter onto my sister’s thigh for her to remove and throw to the assembled single men, but that was hours away. I checked my bag – the garter was safely there. I checked my phone – I had no new messages.
All at once, I felt lonely. I’d never wanted a wedding of my own – not since I’d graduated from playing with Barbies and moved on to Nintendo when I was about nine, anyway. I didn’t want a boyfriend, still less a husband. But I couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to have someone choose you, above all the other people in the world, to be with forever. I imagined the glimmer of desire I’d felt for Ross, magnified by thousands so it was like a steady, burning flame. And then I remembered what hurt and heartbreak felt like, and imagined that magnified by thousands too, should it all go wrong.
I went in search of my sister. She didn’t seem to be mingling with the crowd or being congratulated by our uncle and aunt or in the gaggle of her laughing friends. I asked the photographer if he’d seen her, and he said no, but if I found her she was to come out straight away, because they wanted to get the formal shots done before it started to rain. I wondered if she’d gone to the loo, but I’d been under strict instructions to accompany her if she did, to make sure she didn’t wee on her dress.
But I tried the toilets anyway, and I found her there. Actually, they weren’t so much toilets – although of course they fulfilled that mundane function too – but more a kind of posh powder room, with little brocade armchairs, bowls of potpourri and flattering foxed glass on the mirrors. Amelie was perched in one of the armchairs, her phone in her hand.
‘Hey,’ I said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. It’s just, no one seemed to want to talk to me.’
‘What? What do you mean?’
She giggled. ‘It’s like, I’m the bride and they don’t want to monopolise me. They think I must have more important people to talk to than them. So I was standing on my own for ages and it was really cringe, and I didn’t want to drink any more because I’m already a bit shitfaced. And Mum’s confiscated my vape. So I came in here to sit down for a bit.’
I sat next to her. ‘Do you need a wee?’
She shook her head. ‘I went already. You could check my dress isn’t all pissy, though.’
She stood up and twirled, and I inspected her skirt. ‘You’re all good.’
She moved over to the mirror and did something to her lipstick, then adjusted one of the tendrils of hair, which was sticking to her neck.
‘Do you think Zack’s happy?’ she asked.
‘He looks over the moon to me. Like he’s won the lottery. Absolutely made up.’
She nodded. ‘That’s good.’
‘We should go and find him. He’ll think you’ve done a runner.’
‘I nearly did. Before we walked in, I was so scared I legit almost called it all off. But Dad was gripping on to my arm like I was under arrest, so I couldn’t.’
‘Just as well. Mum would’ve died of shame and Zack would have been heartbroken.’
‘I know. But, you know, I could be in an Uber right now, on my way to Heathrow to go and live on a desert island somewhere.’
I realised she really was a bit drunk. ‘You’d hate living on a desert island. Come on, we should go back. And you should have a glass of water.’
‘I’ll only need to wee again.’
‘I’ll help you next time. We’ll have a code word.’
‘The purple crane flies at daybreak?’ she suggested.
I laughed. ‘Got it.’
Then she reached over and gripped my hand. Her fingers were ice cold and clammy. ‘Lucy, I need to tell you something.’
‘Of course. So long as it’s not that you want me to come and live with you on your desert island, because?—‘
‘No, it’s not that. It’s?—‘
But then the door opened and a gaggle of women – partners of friends of Zack’s, I guessed – entered, and Amelie was showered with kisses and compliments and congratulations, and as soon as she could extricate herself we went back out and found Zack and the photographer, just as the first drops of rain began to fall.
It was late in the evening before I found myself alone with my sister again. The photographs had been taken, the wedding breakfast consumed, the speeches made (‘Zack got GenBot 2.0 to write his, you know,’ Nush whispered to me as the guests laughed politely at his tired jokes), the cake cut, the first dance danced and the bouquet and garter thrown (there was a bit of a scrum for the bouquet, but Bryony won).
Now, it was almost ten thirty. Some of the Zack’s friends were settling in for a good old session, buying bottles of champagne and spirits and testing the bartender’s cocktail-making skills. Amelie’s mates were on the dance floor, their shoes kicked off, throwing shapes and laughing. Mum was deep in conversation with Zack’s parents. Dad, who for some reason I’ve never understood hates weddings, was sipping coffee, his chin dropping lower and lower towards his bow tie. Amelie and Zack were standing together by the open door to the rose garden, holding hands.
The rain had stopped but a fresh breeze was blowing into the room, dispelling the smell of food, flowers and perfume. People were beginning to leave, saying their goodbyes to our parents, Zack’s parents or the bride and groom, whoever was closest. I was wondering whether I could slip away too, or whether I should make a token effort to join the group of dancers for a few minutes first.
Then Amelie leaned up and kissed Zack on the cheek before dropping his hand and turning back to the room. She glanced around, a slightly glassy smile on her face, before her eyes lit on me and she hurried over.
‘Come upstairs with me,’ she said. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘But what about Zack? I can’t gatecrash your wedding night, you weirdo. And it’s not like you need a chaperone or anything.’
‘Don’t be mad! Zack’s coming up in a bit. I told him I was going to take my make-up off and get ready for bed. He’s waiting for the big reveal of my wedding negligee.’
It was the first I’d heard of this and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I asked anyway. ‘Wedding negligee?’
‘Snoopy T-shirt,’ she said. ‘The boning on this basque is digging in something chronic and the lace is itching my armpits and if I don’t get into something comfortable soon I’m going to claw my own skin off. Let’s go.’
She grabbed a bottle of champagne from the bar and led me to the lift, and a few moments later had beeped us into the bridal suite with her key card.
Housekeeping had clearly been in and done their thing. The bed was turned down, the lights dimmed and the curtains drawn. There were chocolates on the pillows and fresh fluffy robes hung on hooks in the bathroom. On top of the snow-white duvet, red rose petals had been scattered in the shape of a heart.
‘Quick, get rid of those,’ Amelie ordered.
‘What? Why? Aren’t they romantic?’
‘I think so, but Zack will think they’re tacky. Just do it, Luce, please. We haven’t got much time.’
I scooped up the rose petals and chucked them down the loo – a mistake, as it turned out, because several of them refused to flush and floated on the surface of the water like splats of blood. Then, while Amelie stood in front of the mirror yanking pins and grips out of her hair, I carefully undid all the tiny buttons down the back of her dress, one after another.
‘Isn’t this Zack’s job?’ I asked, kneeling on the floor with her bum by my face while I wrestled with the little loops of satin that encased each miniature pearl.
‘He’s even more cack-handed than you. He’d snap a button off for sure. Ah, that’s better.’
Amelie pulled a brush through her hair and scraped it up with a scrunchie, then stepped out of the dress and sat on the edge of the bath, easing off her shoes, unhooking her suspenders and reaching behind her to release the clasps on her basque.
I hung the dress up, back in its protective sleeve, while she rummaged in her bag for her Snoopy T-shirt.
‘Want to open the fizz?’ she asked. ‘I’ll make a start at getting this slap off.’
Through the open bathroom door, I could see her peeling off her false eyelashes and wiping oil-soaked cotton pads over her face. They started off pristine white and ended up a muddy greyish-brown. By the time she’d finished, the bubbles were dying away in our glasses.
Amelie came back into the bedroom and sat on the bed, her legs crossed. I handed her a glass and joined her, watching as she took a huge gulp of champagne as if it was the first thing she’s drunk for hours.
‘God, I needed that,’ she said.
’So.’ I took a cautious sip from my own glass. ‘What’s this all about?’
‘I need to tell you something,’ she said. I felt a cold hollowness in my stomach: whatever it was, it couldn’t be good news. Surely if there was something wrong between her and Zack, she wouldn’t have gone ahead with marrying him?
But she went on, ‘It’s about Adam.’
‘Adam? What about Adam?’
‘Zack,’ she explained patiently, as if reminding me of something I’d known for years, ‘doesn’t know about Adam.’
‘Well, I mean, why would he know about Adam? We’ve only just started being Adam. And I guess Zack doesn’t read Max! – I mean, why would he? I bet he reads The Economist or something.’
‘He does, actually. I tried it once because I thought I’d be able to have an intelligent conversation with him about inflation and interest rates, but it lost me after the contents page.’
‘Anyway,’ To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t that interested in Zack’s reading habits, ‘what’s Zack got to do with Adam?’
‘The thing is,’ she said, crossing her legs and looking intently down at her French-manicured nails, ‘Zack doesn’t know about Adam, so he doesn’t know you’re Adam. And he doesn’t know I’ve been helping you.’
‘Okay. So tell him – or don’t tell him. I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.’
‘I can’t tell him. Adam’s meant to be a secret. Especially Adam being a woman is meant to be a secret.’
‘I know it is,’ I admitted, ‘although to be honest I’ve never understood why you thought it was such a big deal to keep it quiet. Why wouldn’t the guys who read Max! want to take advice about women from a women? Horse’s mouth, right? But Greg agreed it should only be shared among the core team though, so I just went along with it.’
She looked at me pityingly. ‘Luce, have you ever actually met a man? They don’t listen to their mothers, they don’t listen to their wives. Why the hell would they listen to you?’
I supposed this was a fair point. ‘Okay, fine. But still, there’s no reason for Zack not to know you’re helping me be Adam. He’s your husband, after all.’
Amelie twisted the gold band on her finger. ‘I suppose he is, now. And the thing is, you’re not meant to keep secrets in a marriage.’
‘So tell him. I don’t get it.’
‘Lucy, come on. Okay, I’ll explain like you’re five. Zack wouldn’t want me being involved in sorting out other men’s problems. He’d get jealous. He’d think I was focussing on them when I should be focussing on him. And anyway, I’ll need to spend time with Zack. I’m his wife. I’ll need to meet his work colleagues and his friends and sight-see with him and host dinner parties and stuff.’
‘Dinner parties? I thought you got married, not stepped into a time machine and travelled back to the nineteen fifties. Anyway, you can’t cook.’
‘Exactly. I’m going to have to learn. I won’t have time to do the Adam stuff on the side like we said.’
There was a definite awkwardness in her admission – like she was ashamed, almost, of what she’d said. I wasn’t Zack’s number one fan, but my sister loved him and he seemed to worship her. It was the first inkling I’d had that there might be – not even problems, but imperfections in their relationship. And that wasn’t a subject I wanted to explore – not on her wedding night of all nights.
‘So you’re saying I have to do it on my own?’
She nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. You’ve got this, Luce. You’ll be fine. And if you get stuck, you can ask one of those neck beards you work with to give you a hand.’
Thinking of Ross, I bristled. ‘They’re not neck beards.’
‘I bet they are. I bet they’re?—‘
I could tell she was trying to change the subject, and I wasn’t going to let her. ‘Am, I can’t do it without you. You know I can’t. I don’t understand men.’
Amelie sung the line from The Sound of Music about how I was totally unprepared to face a world of men.
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘So I can’t do it on my own. You have to help me.’
‘Luce, you’ve got to. You’re smart, you’ll manage it.’
‘But Amelie, I can’t. Seriously. Please don’t abandon me.’
‘Lucy, I forbid you to guilt-trip me on my wedding day. Don’t you care about the happiness of my marriage?’
Guilt-tripping was evidently allowed for one of us, but it wasn’t me. I was about to protest again, when I heard the click of the door unlatching. Zack walked in, his hair standing on end and his tie askew. He smelled of cigar smoke.
When he saw us he stopped dead on the threshold. ‘Am I interrupting something?’
‘Luce was just helping me undo my hair and get out of my dress,’ Amelie said.
‘I’m on my way now,’ I assured him, scrambling to my feet and putting my glass down on the coffee table. ‘I’ll leave you two to your wedding night. And congratulations.’
My brother-in-law and then my sister embraced me, gushing with thanks for the role I’d played in their big day. I said goodnight again and let myself out, and as I left I saw Zack pulling my sister close, kissing her passionately.
‘You’re irresistible in that top,’ I heard him say, as the door thunked closed behind me.
I stood by what I said. I didn’t understand men – not one tiny bit. And now, I was all on own with thousands upon thousands of them and their respective problems, without the secret weapon of my sister to help me.