7. Chapter 7
The hotel function room was a huge, vaulted space with beamed ceilings and pairs of French windows along one side that led straight out into the gardens. The doors were flung wide to let in any breeze that raised itself to temper the heat of the late summer day. Along one wall ran a long table covered in crustless sandwiches, mini pizzas, tiny quiches, glazed ham and chutneys. A sweaty-looking boy of about seventeen with train track braces fidgeted behind the table, shifting his weight from foot to foot and avoiding eye contact.
He was doing his best to answer guests’ questions as people pointed and asked things like, Is that gluten-free? Or I can’t have dairy. I’ll be in the loo all night. Does that have dairy?
The boy blushed often and regularly dove back into the kitchen—to get answers or just to hide behind the swing doors to escape people’s dietary needs.
A bored-looking teenage waitress drifted past, balancing a tray of miniature burgers with tiny skewers down the middle, texting with her free hand and murmuring, burger? in the vague direction of groups of people.
Large circular tables filled the room, each surrounded by chairs with billowing lilac bows on the back. Pale purple-coloured helium balloons bounced along the ceiling and were fixed to every hook, curtain rail, pillar and beam with lilac ribbons twisted into curls. Drapes of lilac satin framed the doors, and huge centre-pieces of lilac, pink and white flowers filled every table. Clusters of guests stood around chatting in bright summer clothes.
Over the general melee and babble came squeals of, Darlings, you made it! as some new couple or family entered the room. Or You would not believe the traffic, as some harassed driver entered, straight from the car park, dragging cases and kids behind them. Or a discussion about the weather. My God, the heat, people gasped as they flapped at their faces with hands or napkins before someone else chimed in, But much better for the happy day than rain.
The occasional pop of champagne corks punctuated the chatter.
‘Wow,’ Jack said as they took in the decorations. ‘That’s a lot of lilac.’
Lucy leaned in and whispered, ‘Erm, don’t let the bride hear you say that. I think you’ll find that’s lavender.’
‘Ah,’ Jack said, squinting at the sea of coloured balloons, ribbons, and pinned pelmets, ‘That makes it okay then.’
Lucy giggled, and they moved into the room.
‘Get used to it. I think we’re spending most of the next three days surrounded by it.’
Jack mock gagged and clutched at Lucy’s arm.
‘Oi!’ She giggled. ‘Just because you’re a misery when it comes to weddings, doesn’t mean everyone else needs to be.’
She waved her hand, encompassing the room and the acres of lavender ribbon.
‘This is a celebration of their love, and if Sophie…’ then under her breath, she added, ‘and my mum want lavender, that’s what they get.’
Jack murmured, ‘My eyeballs will never recover.’
A tall man with dark floppy hair came bounding over and trapped Lucy in a bear hug. Lucy, arms pinned to her sides, feet drifting off the floor, tried to reach around and pat him on the back in reciprocation.
‘Ollie!’ Lucy squeaked from somewhere in the man’s armpit. ‘Put me down!’
This, Jack realised, was one-half of the reason they were all gathered there for the weekend. Clad in a light summer suit and a navy T-shirt, Ollie seemed to have so far escaped the general lavendering that had gone on.
‘I am so glad you’re here,’ Ollie said into the top of Lucy’s head, still holding onto her.
‘Me too,’ Lucy wheezed out as she wriggled free.
Ollie was beaming ear to ear. Lucy, now free of the enthusiastic embrace, hair slightly mussed, held him by the arms and grinned back at him.
‘Look at you, Ol. You look great. So well and so happy.’
Ollie, in hyperactive wedding mode, grabbed her and hugged her again.
‘I am so happy, Lucy,’ he said. ‘This is going to be the best weekend, I know it. I can’t wait,’ he started welling up, ‘to see Sophie walk down the aisle to me.’
He grabbed a glass of champagne from the bored waitress who was now on drinks service and took a huge gulp.
‘Steady,’ Lucy laughed, ‘or you won’t remember any of it!’
Ollie glanced over at Jack and nudged Lucy in the ribs.
‘So, are you going to introduce me?’ And then, in a stage whisper that could be heard in the kitchens, added, ‘Mum says this might be it, and you’re next!’
He waggled his eyebrows at her.
It occurred to Jack that it was a good thing he was a fake boyfriend; any proper boyfriend might wonder about the wisdom of accompanying Lucy right now.
‘Yes, of course.’
Lucy reached out her hand to take Jack’s and almost started back when he slid his arm about her waist and pulled her in close. She stiffened at the unexpected touch, then he felt her soften and relax into him.
‘This is Jack, my—’ She cleared her throat, and Jack squeezed her side. ‘My boyfriend.’
Ollie enveloped them both in a giant hug that squashed Lucy’s face between them. Extricating herself, she gasped, ‘Crikey, Ol!’
‘Just so happy for you both.’
Ollie took Jack’s hand and pumped it up and down, then drew himself up to his full height, eye to eye with Jack, and said, ‘My sister is amazing. You look after her.’
Jack understood his earnestness and intent and didn’t laugh at the tough little brother act. He kept hold of Ollie’s hand as he replied.
‘I’ve known Lucy for five years now. She is truly one of the kindest, funniest, most creative people I have ever met,’ he said. ‘Not to mention beautiful. I know I am a lucky man.’
Jack looked past Ollie and met Lucy’s gaze, his expression serious, not a trace of mockery playing about his mouth.
Lucy’s face flushed pink, and she fiddled with a giant lavender chair-bow.
Ollie squeezed Jack one more time.
‘Well, good, that’s all right then!’
He looped his arms between each of theirs.
‘You can use our wedding to get inspiration for your own.’ He winked. ‘When it gets to that.’
‘Good idea,’ Jack nodded. ‘What do you call this colour you’ve chosen?’
Lucy glared at him, and he swallowed down a laugh as Ollie led them over to where his bride-to-be was sitting.
‘Sophie,’ Ollie called as they approached. ‘Look who’s here!’
Sophie, dressed in an off-shoulder empire line lavender coloured dress, jumped up and skated around the table to greet them. As tanned and lithe as Ollie, she grinned broadly as she came up to them.
‘Lucy!’
Sophie wrapped slender arms around Lucy and hugged her with rather more gentleness than Ollie had.
‘Or should I say sister?’ She grinned. ‘Since it’s almost official now.’
‘And you must be Jack.’ Sophie was embracing him, folding him into the lavender. ‘We’re practically family now, too.’
She pulled back and turned her full-beam smile on him before planting a kiss on his cheek.
It was impossible not to like Sophie, Jack decided. She was part human and part Labrador puppy. She had the rare gift of centering her attention on you in such a way that you felt like you were the only person in the room.
‘So?’ Sophie asked, clasping her hands and gesturing for everyone to sit. ‘Do tell! How did you two get together?’
She waved down the passing waitress, grabbed four glasses of bubbly and passed them out, then perched on Ollie’s knee, eyes fixed on Lucy and Jack.
‘I want to hear allll the details.’
As Jack opened his mouth to speak, Lucy beat him to it.
‘Oh, no, this weekend is all about you guys!’ She waved her glass about. ‘Tell us about how all the planning has gone. Are you happy with how it all turned out?’
A lavender-coloured balloon was losing its helium and drifted slowly down behind Ollie and Sophie to land on a tray of chutneys.
‘Actually,’ Ollie said, ‘we didn’t get too involved in the end. The mums did most of this.’ He gestured to the room and the decorations. ‘We’d have been happy with something more low-key—’
‘Yes,’ Sophie interjected, ‘but when the mums got together, it sort of kept growing and growing. It’s lovely. We love that they get on so well and have enjoyed planning all this. They’ve been so generous in every way.’
‘Couple of compromises,’ Ollie said, wrinkling his nose. ‘Not a massive fan of lilac—’
‘Shh, lavender,’ Sophie whispered, looking over her shoulder lest either of the mothers be in earshot. Sophie’s mother was by the buffet table, admonishing the shy serving boy who looked like he was trying to dissolve into the wall behind him. Valerie was at the entrance, noisily air kissing Lucy’s Aunt Paula, who was making a hot and heavy entrance, puffing about the late summer heat and holding a tiny battery-powered fan in front of her damp, florid face.
‘But it was the only colour scheme they could agree on.’
‘I like it,’ Jack lied. ‘Really pretty and colourful.’
Beside him, Lucy nodded slightly too enthusiastically in agreement. ‘Yes, it’s lovely. There’s so…. much of it.’
Ollie burst out laughing, nodded and grinned. ‘They’ve been thorough!’ Sophie smiled and hid her laughter behind Ollie’s shoulder.
‘Now don’t go thinking you can distract me,’ Sophie admonished Lucy. ‘I’m not letting you escape us until you tell us how you got together.’
Lucy opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Sophie added, ‘And don’t try to palm us off with some summary, like we realised we wanted to be more than just friends.’
She leaned forward, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
‘We want details.’
Ollie held up a hand.
‘Some details, but keep it clean.’ To Sophie, he said, ‘She’s my sister, after all.’
Jack looked at Lucy, unsure who was going to start. They’d finally agreed on their simple story about going out with friends one evening, then staying behind when everyone left. One more drink turned into three, then they’d kissed. Okay, so it wasn’t much more than the skimpy story Sophie had already dismissed, but Jack was sure they could flesh out some details. Like the name of the bar they were at. Or maybe what they were drinking. Then he mentally shrugged. Sod the boring we just had one more drink story. It was time to have some fun. Give the people what they want.
‘It was the night before Christmas,’ he began.
Sophie squealed and clapped her hands.
‘I knew it. This is going to be sooo romantic.’