Chapter Thirty-Seven Time of My Life
The hour of the wedding finally arrives and I’m nervous as I help Charlie adjust his bow tie. I’m his best woman today and couldn’t be more thrilled. There are no speeches so my only official duty is to get Charlie there on time and try to keep him busy for the day. The happy couple decided on an evening event so that it would feel like a party from the outset, and that’s a great idea but it could have resulted in Charlie and me spending all day fretting about things that could go wrong. Anticipating this, I booked us into a day spa for a relaxing massage and facial. We still spent the day fretting but thanks to some medicinal mud we don’t have the wrinkles to show for it.
I researched the 1950s theme and quickly realised that the fashion was knockout so I’ve fully embraced it. I absolutely love my dress, which has an hourglass outline and Bardot neckline. I’ve also got the long black gloves, small clutch and killer stilettos to complete the look and feel like a sexy Audrey Hepburn. I might not be able to walk in a couple of hours but for now even I feel good. Charlie is in a vintage tuxedo which doesn’t look too different from modern versions except for the small bow tie and lapels but he is radiant. I stand back and look at him affectionately; the slimline cut of his suit works perfectly and he seems to shine from the top of his immaculately coiffured head to the tip of obsessively polished shoes.
‘You look fabulous,’ I tell him.
Dad comes to pick us up and hands Charlie a small box. Charlie opens it and he looks up at Dad with delight in his eyes.
‘They’re gorgeous,’ he says of the mother-of-pearl cufflinks.
‘They’re genuine 1950s and they’re our gift to you,’ says Dad. ‘So you have your something old.’
Charlie hugs Dad and we hurriedly change the ones he’s wearing. We’re heading out of the door when Charlie suddenly says, ‘Wait, I don’t have anything borrowed.’
His ‘blue’ is the lovely thistle buttonhole, his new is his entire outfit, Dad has just provided the old, so I’m with him on this — he has to have something borrowed.
‘Got it,’ shouts Patty from the other room. She rushes in with a watch box. I’m stunned as I know what’s in it.
‘This was Nigel’s,’ she says, holding back the emotion. ‘You never knew him but I’m sure you would have loved him, and besides which, you’ve certainly looked after his missus these past few years.’
It’s the watch she gave Nigel for their wedding, a simple gold face and black leather strap. It’s perfect. Charlie picks it up and gently caresses it. It has an understated elegance not often seen in modern-day timepieces. It doesn’t count steps.
‘Oh, Patty, are you sure?’ asks Charlie as a tiny tear appears in Patty’s eye.
She nods and pats her eyes gently.
‘Just don’t go skinny-dipping in it and have it back by midnight. Now hurry up before you ruin my mascara.’
Charlie puts the watch on then gives Patty a peck on the cheek, being careful not to disturb her make-up. The four of us hug then Patty heads out to the waiting car with Mum and Michael while Charlie and I get into a ridiculously huge Cadillac with Dad. It feels so over the top but I’m loving this and I think our car might just explode with the excitement radiating from us.
The guys still haven’t revealed the theme for today and it’s no clearer when we pull up to the venue they’ve chosen — Marianne’s dance studio. I recall her saying that they held parties and weddings here but wonder why the guys have chosen it.
‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ I say to Charlie.
We meet up with Charlie’s parents outside and I leave him in their care while I head into the ceremony room with my family and Michael. I honestly didn’t know what to expect — after all, we’ve been given a dress code and there’s a drag artist officiating — but this room is amazing, with fairy lights twinkling all around the perimeter, a four-piece band in the corner playing melodic versions of songs I remember Mum listening to on the radio and a stage at the far end with a simple wedding canopy at the centre. There’s a red-carpet aisle which winds its way to the side stage stairs and chairs arranged in a semi-circle facing it. There are no sides to choose — the families are together.
We take a seat in the second row as I don’t want to miss any of this. When everyone is seated there’s a buzz unlike any other wedding I’ve been to where it seems to go deathly quiet. I guess that’s the church effect. Then suddenly, there’s a hush and I look around for what is happening and see why the room has stopped breathing — Jackie Kennedy Onassis is walking onto the stage. Obviously not a reincarnation but Poppy O’Cherry channelling that most famous of style icons, complete with bouffant auburn hair, cherry-red shift dress, pearl set and pillbox hat. They stand with their gloved hands in front of them and music starts up at the back of the room. It’s a musical version of a 1950s tune and I do know it from somewhere but without the lyrics I can’t quite place it.
‘What’s this song from?’ I whisper to Michael but he shrugs.
On my other side, Patty smiles and tells me I’ll work it out soon enough.
‘You know, don’t you?’ I ask, slightly miffed.
She raises her finger to her lips and tells me to shush.
We all stand as the guys walk down the aisle and onto the stage together. I can see that they’re both a bit nervous and Charlie is practically clinging onto his very-soon-to-be husband. Poppy clears their throat and begins the ceremony completing all the official parts simply and without fuss. Incredibly for a six-foot-tall Jackie Kennedy, they manage to fade into the background and not outshine the grooms.
‘And now,’ says Poppy, addressing us, ‘Peter and Charlie have written their vows to each other.’
The guys angle slightly so they’re facing each other but also the congregation (or audience — I don’t know what we are outside of a church). Charlie begins with words that I’ve never heard but have seen practised. Many an hour he’s spent reading them over and over then closing his eyes and seeing if he remembers them — I’ve watched his lips move for days now. Again, those words are familiar and one or two hang like clues waiting to be revealed.
‘. . . waiting for so long . . .’
‘. . . take each other’s hand . . .’
There are a few giggles as some people finally get it and Patty asks me if I know the theme yet. I’m livid with myself but cannot grasp it.
Peter’s vows seal it.
‘When I first saw you, you were dressed in a tattered old wedding dress just to entertain your friends and I was scared. Not because you were pretending to be a ghost, but I was scared of walking out of that room and never feeling again the way I felt right then.’
It’s my favourite line.
‘Dirty Dancing,’ I whisper to Patty and she nods.
‘I declare you husband and husband,’ says Poppy from the stage. ‘You may now seal it with a kiss.’
The room stands and cheers as the guys embrace; we converge on them with confetti and party poppers as they walk down the stage staircase while around us the event staff move all the chairs to the side and waiters dressed in holiday camp blazers arrive with champagne (in coupes!) and canapés. I rush to congratulate the boys.
‘I love the theme,’ I tell them. ‘Although technically it was supposed to be 1963, not the fifties.’
‘I knew you’d know,’ Peter says, smiling.
‘I couldn’t say 1960s or everyone would come in horrible hippy clothes,’ said Charlie. ‘And everyone wore fifties fashion in the movie.’
I admit they did and manage to give them one kiss each before they’re swamped by everyone else.
I stand back and bathe in their reflected love. Michael approaches with champagne and I hold that glass as elegantly as I can. The golden champagne glistens off the crystal-like fairy dust. I’m back in that Disney movie and everything is perfect.
‘May I just say,’ Michael begins, ‘that you look absolutely ravishing tonight. Stunning, incredible, beautiful...’
I kiss him on the cheek, then thank him. Mum and Dad are with Poppy so I pull Michael over to find out what they’re saying.
‘Have you ever thought of running for prime minister?’ Mum is asking, and of all the things I imagined she might be discussing, this was not one of them.
‘Do you think I’d get elected?’ asks Poppy, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow towards me.
‘Well, I was just thinking we’d get the best of both worlds,’ Mum says. ‘If you have to deal with tough nuts you can channel Margaret Thatcher, and if it’s a cosy chat people need then you could probably don a sweater and pipe for Harold Wilson. Then when you’re visiting the US president you could wear this — they wouldn’t be able to resist you.’
‘You’ve got a point there,’ says Poppy, ‘but I’m not sure about the old man get-up. There haven’t been any truly stylish male prime ministers, have there?’
‘You could be the first,’ Mum continues. ‘I’d vote for you.’
And with that she walks off, leaving us all bemused.
‘You have a lovely family,’ says Poppy. ‘They’re all slightly crazy.’
‘But that’s the best sort, isn’t it?’ adds Michael and we all raise a glass to that.
I watch Michael as he makes Poppy laugh with stories about his own family and I marvel at how well he’s fitting in. I shouldn’t be making comparisons but I can’t help it, and I know that David would not have enjoyed today. Some guests approach and ask Poppy for a selfie so we leave them to it.
The music changes from jive tunes to a slow dance and the band starts playing one of my favourites from the movie — ‘She’s Like the Wind’.
‘Oh, I love this,’ I tell Michael, pulling him into the centre of the floor. ‘And Patrick Swayze, but you’ll do for now.’
He smiles and says he’s very thankful for that. He pulls me close and we sway together for three blissful minutes. Although the room is full of lively chatter, a quiet stillness descends over me and I realise it’s contentment. I don’t know what will happen next for Michael and me but in this moment, surrounded by my family and friends in all their glory, I am completely happy.
Over by the band there’s movement and as our song finishes I see Patty standing with them behind a microphone.
‘Okay, everyone, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for,’ she shouts with a huge smile on her face. ‘Please clear the dance floor.’
We all move to one side and the intro to that song starts up; I am delirious with excitement. Patty starts to sing the words that were in Charlie’s vow. A spotlight beams into the centre of the stage, where Marianne stands. She’s joined by Felipe and together they do the mambo moves from the final scene of Dirty Dancing. Their footwork is spectacular, rocking forwards and back with little toe kicks, and the way they hold their upper bodies is so strong and defined. Felipe’s muscular arms are accentuated even more by the lighting.
‘I’ll have him sent to my room gift-wrapped,’ says Poppy from behind me.
‘Join the queue,’ I reply.
It gets to the part of the song where Felipe jumps off the stage and dances down the aisle then turns back to the stage followed by the whole dance school. Now Peter is up front with him and he’s changed into a Patrick Swayze style tight black T-shirt and he looks buff. He has evidently been rehearsing, as he does all the right moves and reaches the stage, where Charlie now stands with Marianne. He saunters down the steps to Peter and they twirl together for the finale.
Patty tells everyone to get up and we don’t need much encouragement. In moments, we’re a frenzy of all dance techniques and none. Felipe and Marianne move between the guests, leading them through some moves and making everyone feel like a superstar. The chorus reaches its crescendo and the room links arms, forming a circle around the happy couple, bellowing out the lyrics, and like everyone else, I truly am having the time of my life.