Going Home (32 page)

‘Back to the house!’ Gibbo yelled, after this interlude was over.

It was Chin’s idea to walk back across the fields to Keeper House, and I’m sure it had seemed like a good idea at the planning stage. Surely one of the essential components of the Notting Hill Boho Relaxed Shabby Chic wedding must be the bridal party, followed by the guests, rambling in a delightfully relaxed way across a meadow to the family home for the reception.

In practice, though, it’s a dead silly idea. (1) Who, apart from Kate, wears shoes to a wedding that they can walk more than ten yards in? (2) Who is screaming? It’s the bride, getting delightful May mud and grass stains on her Alice Temperley dress. (3) What was that soft thud? Great-aunt Dahlia has got her walking-stick stuck in the ground and pitched herself head first into the ditch.

The whole wedding party started off through the churchyard, holding hands and looking all understated and lovely, laughing in a carefree way in case a photographer from
Country Living
should appear (to take some black-and-white shots, grainy and ethereal). But the path across the meadow
was still damp enough from the recent rain for heels to sink into the ground and long enough for shoes to start rubbing, and the sun was so hot that after about four minutes the whole party looked less like Kate Moss and her friends on a boho field trip than Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt – the tail end of the procession, when they were all exhausted.

‘Are you OK?’ Miles asked, as I strode along confidently, trying not to convey the agony of my lovely but treacherous shoes.

‘Fine, thanks.’

‘Really?’ Miles said, hands in his pockets.

Someone moaned.

I could see the house in the distance, a shimmering palace of promise containing my comfy flip-flops.

‘Go down…Moses…Way down in Egypt-land…Tell old Pharaoh…Let my people go…’ I sang to myself, trying to get some rhythm going.

‘What are you grumbling about?’ Miles said.

‘I’m not grumbling,’ I said. ‘I’m singing to take my mind off my blisters.’

‘Oh, good grief,’ Miles said. ‘Stop.’ He crouched to look at my foot. ‘Ouch,’ he said, when I showed him the raw red patch that clashed with my beautiful iridescent lilac nail polish. ‘Come on,’ he said, straightening. ‘Here you go.’

In a lightning quick movement, he hoicked me on to his back, jiggled me around until he was comfortable, and set off. I screamed with shock, then delight. He waved to those we passed, like a merry French farmer. It started a bit of a craze. Chin turned round, saw what was happening and started to laugh. Then she took off her shoes, waving people to walk past her, and went the rest of the way barefoot, laughing as she winced over the pebbly path.

As we reached the lane and the entrance to the house, the wedding car drew up. Out stepped Rosalie and Sophia Gunning.

‘Oh, sorry,’ I said, as Miles staggered beneath me. ‘We all walked – we should have told you we were setting off.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Rosalie, gazing at me as if I had two heads. ‘We got the car, honey.’ We were in the courtyard and Miles let me slide off his back. ‘You British,’ she added, and advanced towards a waiter proffering a tray of champagne, ‘you perplex me.’

Mike and Kate appeared through the gate. ‘Rosalie, darling, there you are,’ Mike said, going over to her. ‘I missed you. Where did you get to?’

‘Came in the car, darlin’,’ Rosalie said, handing him a glass and smiling mistily up at him. ‘I missed you too. Shall we go in?’

‘Good idea,’ Mike said, kissing the top of her head. ‘My job’s over so I can relax.’

‘What job?’ I said. ‘What have you done today?’

‘Well,’ Mike looked hurt, ‘the reading.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ I said. ‘It was very nice. Very nice indeed.’

‘Solomon knew what he was about, didn’t he? Marvellous stuff,’ Mike said. ‘“Behold, thou art fair, my love,”’ he declaimed to Rosalie. ‘ “Thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from Mount Gilead.”’

‘Thanks a lot,’ Rosalie said, stroking hers. ‘Lizzy, see you later. Good luck for the speech, honey.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, turning to Miles. He handed me my bag. ‘Thanks for the ride,’ I said, as Jess limped through the gate, followed by the bride and groom. Chin stopped to put her shoes on, and Sophia Gunning stepped in, with David at her side, their heads together, deep in conversation. Then Bill from the Neptune appeared, helping Aunt Dahlia, with Mum, Dad and the rest of the motley crew.

‘Good luck with the speech, Elizabeth,’ Bill bellowed.

‘What?’ Miles said, releasing me. ‘That’s the…What speech?’

‘What?’ I said dreamily, watching David disappear through the gate, glass in hand.

Chin had reached the gate to the garden, but she heard this and turned round. She tripped back to me. ‘Oh, Lizzy, darling, I forgot to ask you. We only decided last night.’

‘What?’ I said, a cold, clammy fear clamping my stomach.

‘It’s
not
a big deal.’

As these words always presage something that
is
a big deal, I gritted my teeth.

‘I don’t want Mike to make a speech. Obviously.’ Chin laughed, girlishly.

‘Obviously!’ I agreed.

‘And John’s done enough. Besides, you know him – he’ll happily blather on to us for half an hour at Christmas but getting up in front of a marquee full of people…he hates that sort of thing. But we all thought you’d be perfect. It doesn’t have to be that long, I don’t want any formal shit or toasts or any of that. Just a few…words. About me, Gibbo, life. What love is, what it means, why we’re all here, you know. No big deal.’

‘What?’ I said, in a strangled tone.

‘Is that OK?’ Chin asked solicitously, making to leave.

‘No!’ I croaked. ‘Chin, please. Please don’t make me.’

‘But you’re the only person. Your dad can’t.’

‘I’m his daughter!’ I cried. ‘Who do you think he passed it on to? Get Tom to do it!’

‘No,’ said Chin, stubbornly. ‘I want you. Come on. I meant to ask you ages ago, but I couldn’t. Because of the hen night. I knew you hated me. And I was so busy…you know. Because of saving the house.’

Foreseeing that the excuse of Saving the House was going to come up again and again over the years with monotonous regularity, I sighed. She had a point – and I owed her. We all did.

‘What love is, what it means, and why we’re all here. And about you and Gibbo,’ I said weakly.

‘Yep!’ Chin touched the arm of an arriving guest. ‘Hi, see you in there!’

‘But, Chin,’ I said, ‘
Aristotle
and – people like that couldn’t work that stuff out. What makes you think—’

‘Great. You’re on after Gibbo,’ said Chin, cutting off any further discussion by walking off.

I must remember that, it is an excellent tactic.

No matter that the sun was shining, Mike was back in the bosom of the family, the house was ours again and it was Chin’s wedding day. The making of the speech hung over me throughout the reception, as if I was one of those cartoon characters who walks about with a small grey raincloud above their head. We stood in and outside the marquee for drinks as the sun beat down. People around me laughed, and I shot them looks of loathing that they could be so carefree.

As I was muttering to myself and pacing around the outside of the marquee, trying out jokes like ‘Funny thing. Opal Fruits are now called Starburst. What’s that all about?’ and then banging my head quietly against a pole. Tom appeared.

‘Tom,’ I said urgently, gripping his arm. ‘Please help me, I’ve got to make a speech and I don’t know what to say.’

‘
You
?’ Tom said, looking outraged.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You were an usher. Help me. I don’t have time for this. What shall I say?’

‘God, you poor thing,’ said Tom solicitously. ‘I can’t imagine anything worse.’

‘Thanks a bundle,’ I said. ‘How are you, anyway?’

‘Good,’ said Tom.

‘See anyone you like the look of?’

‘Don’t try and pimp me out, Lizzy. I’m not a carton of milk that’s about to go off, you know.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m just asking, that’s all. Pulling at weddings used to be my speciality. I wanted to pass my gift on to you.’

‘Yes,’ said Tom. ‘I remember your 2001 season with particular fondness. You were on fire that year. Five weddings – and was it three or four pulls?’

‘Four,’ I said, with pride. ‘That was the summer of the Good Haircut, though.’

‘I remember it well,’ said Tom. ‘Isn’t that why we had to go on holiday to Cyprus the following year, to find where that hairdresser had gone back to?’

‘We found him, though, didn’t we?’ I said. ‘It was worth it. Lovely Pavlos. He was gorgeous.’

‘He was,’ said Tom.

‘I think he was gay, you know,’ I said subtly.

‘He was,’ said Tom. ‘Oh, look, here’s Miles, your stalker boyfriend.’

‘Shut up,’ I said. ‘Don’t change the subject. Very quickly, you and Pavlos? Seriously? Right under my nose!’

‘I’m saying nothing,’ said Tom, looking pleased with himself. ‘And it wasn’t right under your nose. All I will say is, I left knowing the Greek for “Meet me where they keep the mops in five minutes.”’

‘Hello, you two,’ said Miles, gliding over and putting his arm round me. ‘Tom, are you being perverted again?’

‘Pretty much all the time, yes,’ said Tom, coolly. ‘And now I’m off to get another drink.’

‘Oh, don’t go,’ I said. ‘You’re supposed to be helping me with the speech.’

‘You’ll be fine, Lizzy,’ Tom said. ‘Just talk about why you think they’re a great couple. All that kind of thing. What love is all about, blah blah. It’s true in their case,’ he added, flicking a speck off his jacket, ‘so it won’t sound fake.’

‘Is Tom OK?’ Miles asked, as he wandered off to chat to the group next to us, which included Sophia Gunning and David. I’d thought David was on the other side of the lawn – not that I’d been looking out for him.

‘He’s been rather off with me lately. Since you and I started going out, actually. Have you talked to him about it?’ Miles went on.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I know what you mean, though. Hold my glass – my strap’s rubbing again.’

‘I’ll have a chat with him later,’ said Miles.

I saw David glance at us, then turn away.

‘God, I wish I could take this bloody jacket off.’ Miles groaned. ‘It’s so hot. Look, I don’t want him to think…well, you know…’

‘I know what?’ I said. I straightened up and took my glass back.

‘That…Well, that this is just a fling. That it’s not something we’re taking seriously. We are. He should know that. People should understand that.’ He put his hand on the back of my neck and kissed me.

I suddenly thought of Jaden, as if he was from a past life, or a character in a film I’d seen ages ago. Without warning, I found myself remembering what he’d said to me in March on the steps of the V&A; it seemed so long ago.
Take it seriously.
He’d told me to take the LA job seriously, and it struck me, like a bolt from the bright blue May sky, that what he’d really been saying was, Take your own life seriously. Have more faith in yourself. And even though Jaden was so unlike me, so easy for me to mock, there was something good and comforting about him. Why did all
this
feel
so unreal, then? Was it the day itself, or was it more than that? Uncertainty bloomed inside me, then spasmed as I remembered the speech. ‘Shit, Miles,’ I said, promising myself I’d think about it later when I had it straight in my head. ‘The speech. I’ve got to sort out what I’m going to say.’

A
ting
from the marquee made me swivel round. Miles put his hand on my back. Dad was tapping a glass nervously with a fork. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, would you take your seats, please?’

I sent Miles in and hung back, waiting for Tom. He came over, with Sophia Gunning and David following.

‘OK, Lizzy?’ Tom said. ‘Thought about what you’re going to say yet?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Say what?’ David asked.

‘I’ve got to make a speech,’ I said, as Miles reappeared by my side.

‘Seriously?’ said Sophia Gunning, as if she wanted to ask for her money back.

David looked amused. ‘You?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ I snapped.

‘But you hate making speeches,’ David said.

‘I’m aware of that,’ I said, doom settling in my guts.

‘She’ll be great,’ said Miles, proprietorially. ‘Don’t worry, Lizzy. Tell them about Gibbo proposing to Chin while she was cleaning her teeth.’

‘Quote from the order of service,’ said David. ‘Just pick a bit of one of the readings and read it out again in an authoritative voice. It works a charm. They’ll think you’re being symbolic, Lizzy. They’ll love it.’

‘I’ve lost mine,’ I said.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘Have mine. In case you dry up.’

‘Or draw on your own experiences,’ said Tom, evilly.

The Eliot brothers glanced at each other, then at me. A
silence fell as a waiter poured champagne into our glasses and we scanned the table plan.

‘Where are we?’ Miles said. ‘Here – come on. See you later, guys.’

‘Good luck, Lizzy,’ said David.

I turned to look at him. ‘Draw on your own experiences,’ he said. ‘Tom’s right.’

And he walked off.

The wedding breakfast passed for me in an agony of apprehension, the raincloud still perched above my head. The thought of food made me feel sick. It was Chin’s wedding, though, so there was no salmon, smoked or poached, or chicken or new potatoes: this was Wedding Variation Number Four, Notting Hill Boho Relaxed Shabby Chic wedding, remember. There was a Moroccan mezze-style starter on huge platters, then organic bangers from the farm up the road with mash, lots of it. I perked up: surely there is no nicer dinner than bangers and mash. In fact I had quite recovered from (a) being annoyed with Miles (b) being annoyed with David and (c) the looming speech, when scarcely was the last morsel of potato in my mouth than the plates were whipped away, the glasses were refilled, and people were listening to Gibbo explain confusedly why he fell in love with Chin and what today meant to him. I’m sure it was all lovely, but I don’t remember any of it. Then Bozzer told lots of stories about Gibbo, including the time he fell asleep in a wheelie-bin, the time he got mistaken for a homeless person, and the time he went to the loo and tried to get past a stranger in the bar. He stood face to face with the man for about three minutes, saying, ‘Ahm, excuse me, mate?’ before it occurred to him that he was talking and gesticulating to a reflection of himself in a mirror. How we all laughed. Some of us laughed louder than others – this
was the famous incident that had taken place at Gibbo’s Friends and soon-to be Relatives Wish Him
Bon Voyage
evening, otherwise known as the world’s most spurious stag night.

‘And now,’ Gibbo said, waving in a friendly manner at me, as if he wasn’t just about to throw me to the lions, ‘please welcome Lizzy, Chin’s niece, who’d like to say a few words.’

I stood up. Someone handed me the microphone and I looked around the marquee. Two hundred faces, silent, watching me expectantly, the waiters standing against the wall, like ballboys at Wimbledon, their hands behind their backs. Through the open side of the marquee, Keeper House looked friendly and welcoming in the early-evening sun.

I took a deep breath and looked at Chin. ‘Hello, everyone,’ I began. I thought suddenly of my friend James, who had started his best man’s speech at a smart London wedding by yelling, ‘Hellooooo, Mayfair!’ and this put me off a bit.

‘Hello, everyone,’ I said again. I didn’t know how to go on. What did I want to tell Chin and Gibbo? I felt a wave of suppressed British panic from my audience. Oh, no, she’s nervous. Oh, no, she’s insane. She’s going to try to persuade us to become Jehovah’s Witnesses. ‘I really won’t go on for very long,’ I said carefully. People smiled. I was encouraged, and ploughed on. ‘Because I don’t think there’s very much to say.’

Chin looked at me dangerously from under her fringe.

‘Er…’ I said, ‘not much to say – because I think I speak for everyone here today when I say that we’re all hugely happy to be celebrating with you.’

There was some nodding. OK, I was on the right lines. I cleared my throat.

‘Chin and Gibbo…’ There they were, on the top table, holding hands, looking so pleased and so right together that
my nerves left me and I knew exactly what I wanted to say. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I don’t know about any of the rest of you, but I knew Chin and Gibbo were right when I first saw them together. It’s obvious to anyone with a blind bit of sense.’

Someone laughed, but I ignored them.

‘We spend all our lives looking for love, looking for the right person, and so often we get it wrong, and our hearts are broken, or we get it wrong and don’t realize till it’s almost too late.’

I looked round the marquee for the face in the crowd that I was really saying this to. ‘And I bet when all of you were getting ready this morning, none of you were thinking, Good God, what are they doing, this is a terrible mistake. I bet all of you were thinking, Well this is going to be a brilliant day, and I can’t wait to see those two get married. Because they belong together.’

My legs were shaking, so I stood on one and put the other knee on a chair, like a stork.

‘I want to say something else, too. Today is a great day for our family. Chin is lots of things. She’s an amazing aunt, a wonderful sister, a great friend, and her family has always loved her and been so proud of everything she does. But never more so than today, and she knows why. I think being with Gibbo helped her, though, so much. So I want to thank him on behalf of my family, and his wife, for letting us be here today with them. It’s been a strange year for us in lots of ways, but it’s all OK now. And what I said before, about making mistakes, well, we do. All of us. And that’s what makes us human.’

My gaze roamed around the marquee, was looking for Mike, but found myself staring straight into David’s eyes. I knew with a white-hot certainty that he was looking only at me, thinking only about us, that he was trying to tell me something. Suddenly I didn’t care how many people were
there, what I said, if I was nervous. I just wanted him to know. To talk to him, no matter if it was in front of all these people. I stood stock still for a few seconds, until a murmur of discomfort reached me, and I came to with a start. ‘I – I can’t remember what I wanted to say,’ I whispered to myself, under my breath, staring at David. I stumbled on. ‘We – we are here for them…so…we should raise—’ I looked back at him once more. He picked up something from his neighbour’s plate and held it up. An order of service.

My fingers flew to the table, I picked up the thick card and cleared my throat authoritatively. ‘I’m reminded of one of the readings we heard today,’ I said. David nodded encouragingly. I opened the page. ‘“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.’”

A couple of people gave me an approving nod. He was still smiling, in the way that I loved. Only at me. ‘“It is an ever fixed mark,”’ I read, and saw I’d missed out a few lines, but it was probably for the best. I paused. Then I said, as if it was obvious, ‘Um – well. There we go. That says all that needs to be said, doesn’t it?’

Most people nodded, and the more pseudo-intellectual among the crowd did deep head-bobbing and lip-pursing, though I’m sure they’d had no idea what I was talking about – as, indeed, neither did I.

‘So,’ I concluded, ‘if you’d like to stand up, will you all please join me in raising your glasses to the happy couple, and wish them a wonderful marriage and a happy life together. To Mr and Mrs Gibson.’

Everyone stood up. The sound of chairs scraping filled the tent like a hurricane. ‘Mr and Mrs Gibson,’ came the booming response, and then there was applause.

Chin blew me a kiss. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed.

I didn’t look anywhere else. With a sigh of relief I drained my glass.

I clutched the table and sat down. Instantly my right leg started to shake. The stunning girl next to Miles poured him another drink and tapped his shoulder to indicate it was there. Miles smiled at her, then turned to me. ‘That was fantastic, darling. Are you all right?’ he whispered, putting his hand on mine surreptitiously.

My teeth were chattering. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Have a glass of champagne,’ he said solicitously.

‘Thanks,’ I said, grabbed it and took a gulp. Great Aunt Dahlia appeared behind me as Miles turned to Jacquetta and asked her about her career as an underwear designer.

‘Well done, dear girl,’ Aunt Dahlia said, slapping me heartily on the back. ‘Wonderful speech. Unusual to hear from you, but a break in tradition is always welcome when it’s done with such grace and poise.’ She banged her stick on the ground for emphasis.

‘Thank you, Aunt Dahlia,’ I said, chuffed.

‘Poise,’ Tom scoffed from my other side, pouring another glass of wine. ‘I don’t call bursting into tears and wiping your nose on the back of your hand poise.’