Chapter Twelve
Suddenly it was Saturday morning, the day of the wedding.
Xander had assured Hattie several times that he’d be fine on his own, and as she finally left the house in her borrowed clothes (including a hatinator which had made Xander snort with laughter when she put her head around his bedroom door to say goodbye), she realised she had turned into Xander’s mother: over-anxious.
Though quite what could happen to him while he was lying in bed she wasn’t sure.
But when she arrived at Fiona’s house, any thoughts about her nephew faded. Sheila opened the door to her. ‘Thank goodness you’re here, Hattie. Come in.’
Fiona was in what was obviously her parents’ bedroom. Her hair was in heated rollers and a make-up artist was applying concealer under her eyes. She looked as if she’d been crying.
‘Hello, everyone!’ said Hattie, not sure of her role, but deciding to think of herself as a cross between a bridesmaid and a wedding planner.
She felt glad she hadn’t actually had to plan anything, although keeping people’s spirits up looked as if it was going to be a tough challenge.
‘Are we all excited? Fiona? You must be longing to get into your dress!’
Too late, Hattie spotted Sheila shaking her head, indicating that Hattie shouldn’t have mentioned the wedding dress.
‘Not really,’ said Fiona. ‘I haven’t eaten all week but I still weigh the same as I did last week.’
‘But you’ll look amazing in it!’ said Hattie.
‘You looked really lovely in it at your last fitting,’ said Sheila.
‘It’s really hard to lose weight if you haven’t much to lose,’ said the make-up artist. ‘I’m Pippa, by the way.’ She extended a hand to Hattie.
‘I don’t know what Lance is going to say,’ said Fiona. ‘He could call off the wedding again.’
‘He’s not going to see you coming up the aisle on your father’s arm and think: She’s too fat, I won’t do it,’ said Hattie, hoping some straight talking would help.
‘He might,’ said Fiona, barely audible.
‘Well, if he does,’ said Sheila bracingly, ‘we’ll have the party anyway. It’ll be fun!’
There was a silence when everyone in the room, even Pippa, seemed to give the impression that they felt a party without a wedding would be more fun than with one.
‘Glass of Prosecco, anyone?’ said Sheila.
‘Actually, I’d love a cup of tea!’ said Hattie. ‘I feel I should keep my wits about me.’
‘Why?’ asked Fiona. ‘Have a glass of Prosecco if you want one!’
‘I’m a sort of bridesmaid,’ said Hattie. ‘I might need to sew up your skirt, or send out for fish and chips. Anything!’ She laughed in a lighthearted way that didn’t convince anyone.
‘I think some Prosecco would be a good idea,’ said Pippa. ‘I’m nearly finished here – I’ll have to touch up later anyway. We can have a glass and then I’ll do Fiona’s hair. After that we can put on the dress and see just how beautiful you are!’
Sheila found a bottle and some glasses and then handed the bottle to Hattie to open. ‘Sorry,’ said Sheila. ‘I’ve never been able to open bottles of fizzy wine.’
Hattie poured the wine, longing for a cup of tea even more now. Then there was a knock on the door.
‘Photographer?’ said a smiling woman. ‘A couple of candid shots?’ Her smile froze slightly as she looked around.
‘You’ll have a glass of fizz with us?’ said Pippa. ‘I think a few bubbles would make us all feel – weddingy!’ She smiled.
Pippa was doing her best to keep everyone cheerful. The photographer took some shots of Fiona with her heated rollers although it was obvious – to Hattie, at least – that she was not looking the radiant bride everyone expected her to be.
Sheila disappeared to make Hattie’s tea and Pippa passed around glasses.
Hattie didn’t think that Prosecco was going to help Fiona but it probably wouldn’t hurt either.
She might need a little Dutch courage if she was to be persuaded to call off the wedding herself.
Hattie checked her watch: not long until Nick’s plan could swing into action; she hoped they’d got it right.
Everything seemed to be taking so long! And the little bridesmaids hadn’t arrived with their mothers yet.
‘All right,’ said the photographer. ‘Mum’s back! Hair and make-up look amazing – time for the dress!’
She clicked away as the dress was removed from its cover and Fiona slipped off her dressing gown.
‘Let’s have a shot of the bride’s mum doing up those lovely pearl buttons on the back.’
Sheila did her best but after a couple of moments she gave up. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve got a bit of arthritis in my thumb. Hattie, you do the buttons up for me. Pretend to be me.’
Hattie obliged, and kept her face out of shot as the buttons were done up.
‘What about a shot with the bride and her dad? That can be very sweet. Proud father and beautiful bride…’ suggested Pippa.
Sheila shook her head. ‘Not now. I’m afraid Malcolm has got “father of the bride” nerves so he’s busy pacing downstairs.’
‘What’s he worrying about, Mum?’ said Fiona, now buttoned into her dress, her arms covered in delicate lace.
‘He says he doesn’t want you to be late, but it’s not really about that. I happen to know he’s been thinking about your wedding since the day you were born,’ said Sheila. ‘He may have stressed himself out a little.’
Fiona was clearly taken aback. ‘I don’t want to be late either,’ she said eventually. ‘Lance specifically said he didn’t want to be waiting like a lemon for me to turn up.’
Hattie looked away. She was certain she wasn’t the only woman in the room wondering how a bridegroom could talk like that to his bride.
Malcolm insisted on his daughter having a good swig of brandy from his hip flask before they got into the wedding car, to ‘settle her nerves’.
He seemed to have quite a long pull himself before he apparently felt his own nerves were settled.
‘That’ll put hairs on our chests!’ he said as he helped Fiona in.
Fiona managed a weak smile and Sheila arranged her train.
‘We’ll be right behind you, darling,’ said Sheila and then the door was closed.
‘Do you mind giving me a lift to the church?’ Sheila said to Hattie, having disappeared into the house for a few minutes. ‘I lent my car to Camille and Malcolm’s obviously got the keys to his car in his pocket. He doesn’t really like me driving it so taking them with him is a habit.’
‘No problem,’ said Hattie. ‘Let’s hope they give us time to get to the church before they do.’
Sheila nodded. ‘I’d like to make sure her dress is hanging right before she goes into the church.’
‘And that the bridesmaids all have their headdresses the same way up. There was a moment there with the mums all arguing about it. And the bride should definitely arrive last,’ said Hattie firmly.
‘That’ll be difficult with Malcolm in charge,’ said Sheila. ‘He hates being a second late and is very nervous. I happen to know that brandy isn’t the first drink he’s had this morning.’
‘Is there any reason why he’s so nervous, do you think? He’s happy about the wedding?’ While she really didn’t want to mention it, she wanted to give Sheila an opportunity to talk about her feelings if she wanted to.
‘Of course he is. He thinks Lance is amazing. “The son he never had” and all that. I think he just doesn’t like being part of something where he isn’t in control.’
Hattie nodded, but couldn’t find much to say in response. She sent up a silent prayer for Nick’s plan to work; it was clearly Fiona’s only hope now.
‘It looks like we’ve beaten the bride to it!’ said Hattie, finding space for her car a little way away from the church gate.
‘That’s good! We can recover from the morning and then sort Fiona out when she arrives.’ Sheila paused. ‘I suppose I ought to say hello to Lance first.’
‘Do you and Lance get on OK?’ asked Hattie, although she had seen them together a couple of times.
‘He’s not my favourite person, to be honest, but he’s apparently the love of Fifi’s life. He may soften up as the years go by. Malcolm is quite like him. I’ve learnt to manage him. Fiona will have to do the same with Lance.’ And with that she took off towards the church.
The space looked beautiful, thought Hattie as they entered. Lance’s choice of florist might have caused a lot of local ill feeling but she had to admit they’d done a wonderful job.
The pews were full and Lance and his best man were in their places, Lance looking around impatiently. Most grooms would be nervous, thought Hattie, but not Lance.
It was odd to be at a wedding where you knew hardly anyone, she thought, searching the seats for someone she recognised. She spotted Camille and her husband. They could give Sheila a lift to the reception venue if Hattie got the call she was hoping for.
Hattie followed Sheila back out to the church porch where she was anxiously awaiting her daughter. ‘Where can they be?’ she said, when she saw Hattie.
‘The wedding isn’t due to start for another five minutes, and although no one wanted Fiona to be late, she might decide to go round the block, have a few minutes to get herself focused.’
‘I wish her luck with that, if it’s her plan,’ said Sheila.
‘If Malcolm has anything to do with it, she’ll be here and marched down the aisle before the cat can lick her ear.
’ She paused. ‘Sorry, that’s something my father used to say.
I can’t help thinking about him just now.
He was never keen on Malcolm but I insisted on marrying him. ’
‘Do you regret it?’ asked Hattie tentatively.
Sheila didn’t reply for a few seconds. ‘He gave me Fiona and she’s worth everything. I couldn’t love her more.’
The vicar approached, a friendly woman of about Hattie’s age. ‘Sheila? Do you want to take your seat?’ She looked at Hattie, obviously wondering who she was.
‘This is Hattie,’ said Sheila. ‘She’s my – my best woman.’