The Wedding

Sarah woke with a start and checked the date on her phone. Nerves and excitement coursed through her body, vying for attention. Her first thought was for Mike. How was he feeling? Voices drifted up the stairs, the words indistinct but the noise familiar. Her mother’s fast, high-pitched instructions and her father’s low monosyllabic responses. The doorbell rang and light footsteps tapped along the hall. The front door swung open with a squeak, almost directly below her. More voices, low, but with an urgency about them.

Sarah lay in her childhood bed, knowing she would soon have to join the activity downstairs. Five more minutes, she promised herself. Initially, she had assumed she would leave from their own house, but Mike was staying at the venue and she couldn’t imagine waking up on her own, so she had spent the night with her parents.

The dress she had chosen hung on the back of the bedroom door. Not a typical wedding dress. She wasn’t really a typical bride, if there was such a thing. For a start, she’d known Mike for almost three decades. Childhood sweethearts who had drifted apart, then found each other again as adults, both with some life experience behind them. I wonder what would have happened if we had stayed together; she mused. Maybe they had needed those years apart to make them into the couple they became, filing their rough edges so they became the perfect fit.

The sun edged into the room. The curtains never had fit properly, but it looked to be a nice day. Not that it really mattered, they would be inside for the service and the reception. There might be photos in the gardens, though, if possible.

Time to get up.

She paused to stroke the soft, silky lilac fabric. Mike’s favourite colour, and, ever practical, something she could wear again.

As she walked into the kitchen, her mum was pouring steaming mugs of tea from her favourite teapot. Sarah took one and walked over to the sink to add some cold water from the tap. 

Looking out of the kitchen window, the reflection of her mum’s face hovered over her right shoulder. Her eyes were red and swollen.

‘Don’t cry,’ said Sarah.

‘I’m not crying. It’s the steam off the tea getting in my eyes.’

‘Ok.’

‘Where’s that brother of yours? He went off to get the flowers ages ago.’

‘He’ll have popped into the pub for a quick half and got chatting, you know what he’s like.’

‘Today of all days, I hope he hasn’t got them with him, but if he hasn’t, I hope he remembers the florist closes at 12. Brian,’ she raised her voice to reach the living room, ‘ring Jack and see where he’s got to?’

‘Will do.’

‘We’ve plenty of time,’ said Sarah. ‘They won’t let us in if we’re too early, anyway.’

‘Yes, you’re right, of course, yes,’ Sarah’s mum tailed off.

‘Annie, Jack says he’ll be back in ten minutes. He’s just leaving the florist now.’

‘Right, good, now Sarah, do you want a hand with your hair or anything?’

‘No, I’ll be fine.’

‘Did you go and say hello to Aunt Mary and Aunt Edie?’

‘Not yet. I’ll wait until I’m dressed and ready.’

‘Ok, whatever you prefer, it’s your day after all.’

Sarah noted the slight hint of disapproval, but decided to ignore it. It was her day, hers and Mike’s.

Sarah showered quickly, aware of the lack of facilities compared to her own house. The bathroom had barely changed since she left home all those years ago. Her parents were not ones to spend money unnecessarily, and as long as it served its purpose, an avocado bath was as good as any other. The wall-mounted shower had been the subject of great discussion, but what an improvement compared to the rubber attachment that pushed onto the taps. One side would invariably spring off just as you began to shampoo your hair, dousing you in either boiling hot or freezing cold water, while you scrabbled to turn the tap off through soapy eyes.

Back in her bedroom she heard the front door open once more along with cries of,

‘Is that you, Jack? Have you got the flowers? Don’t put them down there, for goodness sake, they’ll be on the floor in no time.’

Sarah smiled to herself. Another thing ticked off the list. She and Mike had talked about it for so long, their plans changing as new trends and options appeared. Should they go abroad? Hire a stately home? Have a festival celebration in a field? They could never decide, so it remained a future possibility. It didn’t seem that important. They’d both been there before, after all.

Then suddenly it became really important, and she wanted to be Mike’s wife more than anything.

She dried and dressed her hair with tiny flowers in the same shade of lilac as her dress. 

‘Mike will be getting ready now too,’ she thought.

Her mum’s voice floated up the stairs.

‘The cars will be here in a minute. Are you ready yet?’

‘Two minutes,’ Sarah replied as she slipped her dress on, then applied lipstick, mascara and a tiny smudge of blusher. She didn’t suit a lot of make-up, never had, and she wanted to look like herself, the face that Mike knew and loved.

‘Bride coming through,’ she sang as she opened the living room door. The aunties stood in synch, smiling while dabbing at their eyes.

‘Oh, what a beautiful bride, lovely dress, just right,’ sniffed Mary.

‘You look smashing, love, just smashing,’ added Edie, as she gripped Sarah in a tight hug. 

Annie bustled in holding the box of flowers as carefully as a newborn baby. 

‘Oh my,’ her eyes reddened again, ‘what a picture. Brian, have you seen your daughter?’

Her dad appeared at the door, smiled, and nodded.

‘You’ll do for me,’ he hesitated, not usually one for big speeches and grand gestures,

‘I’ll be a proud man to walk beside you today.’

‘Oh dad, don’t, my mascara will run.’ 

‘That’s the cars now. Right, Mary, Edie and Jack, you’re all in with me, and Brian and Sarah will go in the second car.’ Annie was back in organising mode. ‘And don’t forget your buttonhole and bouquet. We’ve all got ours, haven’t we?’

They swept out in a chorus of ‘yes’s’ while Annie nipped into the kitchen to check she’d unplugged the iron.

Brian held his arm out.

‘Ready?’

‘Ready.’

A few neighbours stood on the pavement to watch the small procession. Sarah waved and smiled at the familiar faces, accepting congratulations, and even a small round of applause as she settled into the back seat of the car. 

It was a short drive to the venue, and they were soon pulling up outside. Another small gathering of smiling faces waited to welcome her. Some of them had been very involved in the plans for the big day. 

A tall, dark-haired woman stepped forward, the celebrant.

‘Hello Sarah, you look gorgeous. Everything is ready. Shall we get started?’

‘Yes, ok. Mum, you all go ahead and we’ll follow on.’ 

She took her dad’s arm and squeezed it. ‘Time to go.’

The music gradually got louder as they turned a corner and entered the room where the ceremony would take place. The hospice had done a wonderful job with the decorations.

Mike was there. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. He stood and turned to watch her walk towards him, a broad grin on his face. He was so handsome in his suit. As she drew level with him, he reached out his hand. She took it in hers and held it as tight as she dared. It felt frail and delicate and trembled slightly. Sarah blocked out the IV stand with its bag of life-prolonging drugs and the tubes that carried the precious liquid into his veins. He was still, and would always be, her big, strong, beautiful boy, man, and now husband for however long they had left together.