Epilogue
Against all odds, this is a story that ends with a wedding, if not with a woman running around on the street in her underwear in pursuit of Colin Firth.
No, here we find Clemence fully clothed, her hair in soft curls, her shoes a bit pinching, but her dress a vintage fairy-tale dream, all the tulle you could ever imagine.
Clemence has never felt more like a ballerina, and she’s tempted to twirl to prove it, to have her skirt encircling her like a cloud, but she doesn’t.
She has to be serious now, because Charles is nervous, his bow tie crooked, and it’s mere seconds before it’s their turn to link arms and begin their walk down the aisle.
She lays a finger on his chin to steady him, smiling up at his face.
“It’s going to be fine,” she says, fixing the bow tie one more time, and securing the pin on his boutonniere.
“You look fantastic,” she says. A soft pink rose to match his tie, and her dress, and they hear the song on the organ change—their signal to enter the sanctuary and make their way to the altar.
And everybody is there, the pews are filled.
Even Crampton has come, looking uncomfortable as ever, but this is important.
And Clemence’s parents, and Grace and Prudence, but not Sandro, who’s stayed at home with the kids, save for new baby, currently guzzling at her mother’s breast, just a few weeks old and already a fifteen-pounder.
Clemence is smiling as she takes in the scene, people she knows from the church, and from around the neighbourhood: Mila from the boulangerie, Peter from the payday loan place, and even agoraphobic Doug from downstairs, who’s come out of his room, who said he wouldn’t miss this for the world, even though—from the look on his face—it’s also agonizing.
At the end of the aisle, Reverend Michelle is waiting, beaming.
She says that weddings are the whole reason she got into this business in the first place, and she doesn’t get to perform nearly enough of them.
Not even just because weddings fill the church like nothing else does, and Clemence is taking in the scene as she makes her way past the pews, imagining what the church would have been like once upon a time back when it was full like this always.
Toby is sitting at the end of the first row, and he’s left room for her to squeeze in beside him.
He’s smiling at her, looking less scruffy than usual, because he’s just had his hair cut, and they delivered a hot shave while he was there, which means his face hasn’t a single nick, and he’s wearing his new suit, the one that fits so much better than anything Clemence has seen him in.
There’s even colour in his cheeks, or maybe the summer heat is getting to him.
He’s the only one who’s looking at her now, because everyone else has turned to watch the bride and groom, walking arm and arm, Mrs. Yeung and Tom the handyman, who have found their happily ever after.
“My friends,” Reverend Michelle begins, “we are gathered here today …”