Chapter Sixteen
Sophie and Harry were married. Their kiss was one of the most romantic things Imogen had ever seen, and she was unable to stay dry-eyed, despite having only known the couple for a few weeks. She wiped surreptitiously under her eyes and Fiona handed her a tissue.
‘There you go. It was magical, wasn’t it?’
‘I know they said they were keeping it low key, but it was like a Christmas fairy tale. The venue, Winnie, their vows – oh my God.’ She watched as May and Dexter went up to congratulate their friends, the reverberations of applause and cheers reaching up to the ceiling.
‘And you’re OK, are you?’ Fiona asked.
‘Me? Oh, I’m fine. This is a perfect wedding.’ Her smile was watery, but she didn’t want everyone who knew her circumstances – which was probably the whole village by now – to walk on eggshells around her. ‘Do we need to help clear the chairs away?’
‘Let’s do it, regardless of whether we’re expected to.’
Everyone pitched in, moving the chairs to the edges of the room, while the band set up on the low stage now the ceremony was done.
There was an instrument swap, and a couple of electric guitars and an amp were brought out.
Several young men and women in white shirts and black waistcoats, all with pale blue corsages in their buttonholes, brought out trestle tables covered in silver tablecloths, then laid out platters of food.
There were sausage rolls and scotch eggs, chicken goujons and mini portions of fish and chips, bowls of colourful salads with roasted peppers and tomatoes, and crab shells filled with crab meat mixed with a mayonnaise that had a fragrant, citrus smell.
Corks popped and glasses of fizz were handed out.
Imogen spotted the cake, a beautiful white tower that shimmered gently, like snow when it catches the sunlight, silver-blue sugar roses nestled on each layer. It looked straight out of the pages of a wedding magazine.
She hovered, wanting to speak to Sophie and Harry before she dug into the food, but there was a queue, so she accepted a glass of champagne and waited, watching Jazz and Lucy play with Artichoke, one of them having smuggled in a cuddly parrot that squeaked every time the puppy clamped her jaws on it.
Soon Clifton and Poppet were there too, and Darkness and Terror stood, sentry-like, perhaps wondering if they would get a turn.
There was a tall blonde woman ahead of Imogen in the queue, and she was trying to work out why she seemed familiar, when Harry wrapped her in a hug and said, ‘Thanks for coming, little sis.’ She had the same straight nose as Harry, the same eyes, and a sternness that Imogen thought would soften when she smiled. Sophie embraced her, calling her Daisy.
Eventually, Imogen made it to the front of the line and Sophie hugged her. ‘You were brilliant. Thank you so much.’
‘You were brilliant,’ Imogen said. ‘You’re married.
Congratulations! It was such a lovely ceremony, and you look beautiful. I love your dress.’
‘I didn’t want white, and we thought about the time of year and went with blues. Navy and pale, a little bit wintry.’
‘It’s perfect, like you’ve frosted your wedding. Where does that come from?’
‘How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days?’ Sophie suggested.
‘Their frosting was diamonds,’ Harry said, waiting until Sophie had released Imogen and then pulling her into a hug. ‘I had no idea you were doing a reading.’ His tie was slightly askew, and he looked a lot more relaxed than he had done before Sophie emerged. ‘It was wonderful. Are you an actor?’
‘I’ve dabbled, but I don’t want to talk about that now. I want to talk about your extensive knowledge of romcoms.’
Harry rolled his eyes. ‘We have film nights whenever it’s rainy or we’re knackered. May lives here—’
‘Though she’s insisting on moving out now we’re married,’ Sophie said.
‘So it’s been Sophie and May against me,’ Harry finished. ‘I barely ever get to watch a gruesome war film.’
Sophie slapped his arm. ‘You hate gruesome war films, husband.’
Harry looked at his bride, and they shared a moment of glee-filled incredulity that was too intimate for Imogen to watch. ‘I don’t want to hog you. Congratulations again. Do you need champagne?’
‘May’s getting us some,’ Sophie said. ‘Relax, Imogen. Let your hair down.’
‘I will.’
She left them to it, making a beeline for the buffet, twisting her way through clusters of guests and feeling slightly out of place now the formal part was over.
She was about to get a plate when she saw Dexter in the corner of the room.
He was leaning on the wall below a large, stormy seascape, his arms folded over his chest as if he was casually observing the scene, but Imogen had never seen his jaw so tense.
She abandoned her quest for food and went over to him, tiptoeing in her silk shoes as she got close.
Dexter’s gaze flicked to hers, and he gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Hey. Enjoying the party?’
‘I am,’ she said gently. ‘I saw your cake. It’s beautiful, Dexter.’
‘It came out a lot better than I expected. Hopefully it won’t collapse when they cut into it.’
‘It won’t. Are you enjoying the party?’
‘Yeah, of course. I just needed …’ he trailed off, and Imogen realized that weddings would be a lot harder for him than they were for her. She scanned the room, saw Lucy with Birdie at the table of mini pastries and profiterole towers. Pudding first, which wasn’t a bad way to go.
‘Do you want to escape for a bit?’ she asked him. ‘Lucy’s being looked after by my gran, and—’
‘Yes,’ Dexter said. ‘I would really like that.’
‘Great.’ She held out her hand, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way her pulse was fluttering in her wrist.
Dexter put his warm hand in hers, and she tugged him away from the wall.
They wove through the guests, their hands linked at their sides, and as their feet met the polished floorboards of the hall, Imogen decided this was a much better way to escape a wedding: when nobody would miss you, when you did it with the man of your dreams, instead of running from him.
That thought was so shocking and unhelpful that she gulped in a breath that turned into a cough.
‘OK?’ Dexter asked.
‘Fine,’ she spluttered, and he squeezed her hand.
They reached the threshold, the large double doors closed against the cold, and pushed them open.
The sun was still out, no clouds in sight, and Imogen was mesmerized by the view.
The gently rolling grass, slightly dulled in winter, the trees on either side a mix of evergreen and deciduous, leading her gaze towards the deep, gunmetalgrey of the sea.
She knew if she was closer she would see the other colours in the water, the blues, greens and purples, flecks of gold.
‘OK?’ Dexter asked again.
‘What? Yes. Sorry. It’s just so beautiful.’
‘It’s a good spot.’
‘Are you all right?’
Dexter opened his mouth to reply, and what came out was a loud ‘Baaaaaaaaaah.’
They looked down, and found Felix staring up at them, in his purple jumper with the red heart on the side.
‘How did you get out here?’ Dexter glanced behind him, as if to check he’d closed the doors. He had.
‘Your puppy friend is inside,’ Imogen told Felix. ‘You could go and play with her unless … do you think Harry and Sophie want him out here?’
‘Their prized, spoiled goat baby, shut outside at their wedding?’ Dexter laughed. ‘Not a chance.’
‘So what then?’
Felix baaed and skittered to the right.
‘You want to show us something?’ Imogen asked.
The goat trotted a few steps away from them, then came back.
Imogen and Dexter exchanged a look, and he shrugged. ‘It looks like we’re following Felix.’
Imogen went to follow the goat, and Dexter caught her hand again, lacing his fingers through hers. She looked at the side of his face, but he was determinedly facing forward. Something warmed inside her chest, and they walked across the gravel, their linked hands swinging between them.
Gravel turned to grass and the goat trotted on, looking back occasionally with a bleat that might have been a ‘hurry up’ or a ‘thank God you’re still following’, and Dexter and Imogen stayed behind him.
‘Your shoes,’ Dexter said, once they’d reached the treeline and were weaving between oaks and ashes, a couple of yews that must have been hundreds of years old.
‘I don’t mind.’ It wasn’t the first time they’d got muddy, after all.
‘Are they your wedding shoes?’ he asked quietly.
‘It was either these, some neon-pink flip-flops or my new walking boots.’
Dexter laughed. ‘I’m sad you didn’t go for the flip-flops. Where should you be wearing them? Mauritius, wasn’t it?’
‘Hey, I only got slightly confused. Mauritius and Mistingham sound pretty similar.’
‘Mistingham has a lot more going for it, though. The sea roughly at freezing point, some sand but also a lot of jagged stones, rain squalls when you least expect them. It’s been in The Times’s top ten beaches list for years.’
Imogen laughed and nudged his shoulder. ‘I know you love Harry and Sophie, and that you’re happy for them, but I’m guessing today has been hard, too?’
Dexter tightened his grip on her hand. ‘Yes, it has, and it snuck up on me. I thought about it logically, from the moment Harry and Sophie announced their engagement, and decided I was OK with it; that Lucy was happy and these are two of my best friends and … a whole heap of things that meant I’d be fine.
But when Winnie said they were married, and they kissed, I just—’
‘You thought of you and Rae,’ Imogen said quietly.
Dexter nodded. He pulled her around an ancient oak tree, and Imogen ran her palm along the rough bark as they passed.
‘What was your wedding like?’ she asked.