Here's Looking at You (41 page)

She grabbed the handset and opened her mail.

Anna feared her sister might be a whirling dervish on her wedding day, and well, a little unbearable. But as the day dawned, Aggy became regally serene and calm. It was as if now that all her plans had come to fruition, she could now simply ride it, like a noblewoman in a sedan chair. At a late breakfasting hour, she sat sipping a peach bellini in the B&B’s largest bedroom, while the hairdresser threaded small pearls on fine wire into her up-do and her dress hung against a large rosewood wardrobe, their mother having done an inch-by-inch inspection to make sure its splendour was unsullied by horny-handed airport staff. When satisfied, she then took over the ‘unbearable’ duties, clucking, fretting, fussing and shrieking all morning long.

By midday, Anna couldn’t stand it any longer and said something chiding-yet-mild about the importance of keeping Aggy on an even keel so she didn’t get over-wound. Her mother replied: ‘But this might be the only time I’m ever a mother of the bride!’

Anna said it was a good job she wasn’t all that bothered about getting wed or that
might
be construed as hurtful, but Judy had already moved on to bleating about some other aspect of the arrangements.

The bridesmaid was into her full costume in well under an hour, hair and make-up finished, an outsize white silk rose affixed to the side of her head, peacefully reading a book about medieval Italy.

‘Aureliana, how can you read a book on your sister’s wedding day?!’ her mother wailed.

‘She’s only having her hair done. I won’t be reading it during the ceremony.’

Her mother tutted in horror. Anna padded over to the window, with its deep sill, and opened the latch. The scenery beyond was majestic – they were so high up that low-hanging cloud wreathed the hills in frothy, smoky wisps. The air was full of the scent of soil and vegetation, the warmth of the weak, wintery sun heating the earth.

Being among her family and friends, surrounded by loved ones, was the best thing for Anna’s spirit. When Aggy had finished being froufed, as Anna hoped her father had practised calling it, she stood up, one hand on her skirts. A lace-edged veil spilled down her back.

‘Well?’ Aggy said.

‘Astonishing!’ Anna said, surprising herself as a tear rolled down her face. Her little sister, who she used to fight over the TV remote with in Superted pyjamas, was now a vision of black glossy hair and snowy tulle.

Their mother sank to the bed in her spring green Phase Eight shift dress and had to be handed the full packet of Kleenex scented tissues while she whimpered. She left them, reluctantly, with Anna offering gentle encouragement that the guests needed her more than they did, now that Aggy was in her finery.

‘So. Ready to get married?’ Anna said, once they were alone.

Aggy’s false-eyelashed eyes widened. ‘Shit. I’m getting married!’

‘You are,’ Anna said. ‘To Chris. I love him almost as much as you do. You did good, Aggy.’

‘Oh, Anna!’ Aggy said, putting her arms round her. ‘You’re the best sister. There’s someone out there for you who’s going to love you as much as we all do. I know there is. I
promise
you. And this will be you one day.’

‘That would be nice, but I honestly don’t need him. And I’m going to enjoy your wedding just as much as I would mine. Probably more. I have everyone I need here. You know I’ve always needed you the most. More than anyone.’

‘Oh … that’s so lovely …’ Aggy’s face crumpled. ‘Sometimes I think about how I nearly … we nearly lost you …’

‘No! Don’t think that! Oh, Aggy …’

They whimpered at each other with heavily panda-ed eyes and realised the potential make-up catastrophe that was coming their way.

‘No crying!’ Anna barked, hoarse with emotion. ‘Mum will kill us if our mascara runs!’

‘Woah woah woah,’ Aggy and Anna had to dance a Zulu dance in small circles trying to get the tears to stall, flapping their hands at their faces.

‘Think of something un-emotional!’ Anna urged her. ‘Hang on, drink! Throw it past the lipstick.’ She pushed the dregs of a bellini into Aggy’s hand and swigged the remainder of her mother’s.

‘Better? Under control?’ Anna said.

Aggy nodded.

‘Let’s go, before we well up again.’

Clasping tightly-packed bouquets of white roses, the sisters walked from the B&B to the building for the civil ceremony, Aggy holding her gown an inch from the ground, with Anna following close behind her. They made stately, elegant progress due to the height of their heels and the steepness of the narrow, stone-flagged streets that wound between the washed-out vanilla colours of the villas. Everyone who saw them stopped, clapped and occasionally wolf-whistled as they passed.

Elderly Italian villagers stood in doorways calling, ‘Bella! Bella!’ When they said ‘thank you’, a man on a rickety bicycle shouted, in accented English, ‘Marry me! Marry me!’ to more laughter and applause.

Aggy wouldn’t have had this in London, Anna thought. It felt so much more special than sitting in a white Rolls in traffic. The town was spontaneously coming to a standstill for them, and had the special, peculiar charm that only unplanned elements can bring. Anna felt as if she was in a film, or a very high-budget advert for Mastercard.

‘This is the best wedding ever,’ Anna said over her shoulder, ‘and it hasn’t even started yet.’

It had only just turned from morning to afternoon. Anna loved the freshness of the air up here, you could smell the chestnut trees that covered the mountains beyond. It was autumnally brisk but not cold, and out of season, the town was peaceful. No expensive hotel could compete with this sort of beauty – terracotta tiles, geranium-filled window boxes, the dusty lemons, corals and greys of the paintwork, the shutters painted a deep grass-green. In the distance, a vista of rolling hills could be seen, filled with clusters of cypress tree spindles.

‘You definitely know the way?’ Anna said, to the back of her sister’s head.

‘Oh yeah. I checked it like a hundred times,’ Aggy said.

‘Good. We don’t want to arrive with our phones out, looking at Google Maps. Are you nervous?’

‘I was before I got in my dress. But now I don’t want to waste a moment not enjoying being in my dress.’

As they reached the top of the incline, their father stood waiting for them.

‘
Mie bellissime figlie!’

He kissed Anna on the cheek and held out the crook of his arm for Aggy. They all beamed at each other, saying nothing, sharing this small moment before a big moment.

‘Veil down?’ Anna said, gesturing at it.

‘Oh yeah. Dad, can you …?’ Aggy turned.

Their father obliged with fumbling hands and Anna suddenly felt choked. It was weird how you didn’t think you were into things like proper white weddings, then on the day you had your heart split apart by it. She wanted to burst into the room and tell everyone she loved them, although they would probably spot the influence of a bellini.

Anna took a deep breath as the shuttered doors were opened and she stepped into the room. She paced herself walking the aisle, holding the bouquet in front of her. Behind her, the wedding march struck up and she could hear the ripple of reaction as Aggy followed.

The registrar at the Palazzo Comunale wore a sash in the colours of the il Tricolore flag and Chris looked endearingly nervous and unusually brushed up and neat in his cravat and tails.

He winked at Anna. She was so glad Aggy was marrying someone who truly loved her.

The service went smoothly, and everyone politely tittered at Aggy’s vows and possibly found humour where none was quite intended. While Chris’s were about the things he truly loved about Aggy: her concern for other people, her sweet nature, and the way she always bounced back tirelessly from adversity. There were some knowing smiles at that. And then, a kiss, applause, and Anna’s sister was a wife; one with a husband that Anna was very pleased to have as a brother.

The mothers dabbed their eyes while the painter-decorators and Hornsey contingent whooped and wolf-whistled. People had always praised Anna as a good influence on Aggy, the properly grown-up elder sister who took care of her. But at that moment, Anna thought how well her sister took care of her. Anna needed someone around with Aggy’s joie de vivre and jump-in-feet-first attitude to life. Someone who’d once literally yanked her right back into the land of the living.

Outside the ceremony, a loud cheer went up as they threw handfuls of rose petals at the happy couple. And they were happy, they really were. Anna had seen her younger sister overexcited too many times to count, but this was the glow of real lasting contentment.

They streamed back down through the streets and piled into the bus which would take them to the restaurant where the reception was to be held, half an hour’s drive away.

The restaurant, Da Serena, was a vast, barn-like space, run by generations of a local family. The rows of tables were set with paper tablecloths, pots of breadsticks and platters of bruschetta. Anna was wearing a tube slip under her dress that looked and felt like it had been designed by the aeronautics industry, and hoped she was going to be able to do the many courses justice.

At one end of the room there was a stage where a band was setting up. The room was so cavernous there’d be no need for ‘turning it around’ between day and night. For the umpteenth time, Anna thought how much nicer the atmosphere was than a crucifyingly expensive venue with rules, regulations and fiddly food.

As they took their places for the meal, Anna realised she was sitting opposite a raffishly gorgeous Italian man with a kind of curly mop top. He looked as if he should be draped across a Vespa on the cover of
GQ Italia.

‘Aureliana?’ he said, in that beautiful accent. ‘Primo.’

Oh good grief, yes, Primo. She’d forgotten about him.
Thanks Aggy, even at your wedding breakfast, I’m on a blind date.
No wonder she was so vehement there was a man in the pipeline for Anna. That said, getting off with a stupendous Tuscan architect tonight wasn’t the worst way to deal with her existential pain. Plus, he was eyeing her the way a stray dog looks at a chop.

In some situations Anna might’ve minded, but right now she’d take the boost. She fluttered her not-all-natural eyelashes and as the meal got underway, happily accepted regular refills of vino rosso.

Primo had very good English, but conversation felt stilted all the same.

‘You work very hard?’ he said, over the prosciutto and salami.

‘I suppose I work quite hard. But I love it,’ Anna said to Primo.

‘You are so beautiful,’ Primo said, in a sudden lurch in topic, as if he was remarking on the weather.

‘Wow thanks. You can stay,’ Anna said, feeling distinctly more British than Italian in the face of a compliment. He held her gaze and she heard a line of Michelle’s come back to her:
you can see the moment it dawns on them that they’re going to get it.
It had dawned on Anna and she thought: should I? On the one hand, it would be making meaningless fun, not love. On the other. Rrrrrr, Primo.

After more food than Anna thought it was possible to eat in one sitting, and speeches, they were all ushered towards the stage for what Anna assumed would be the first dance.

The band struck up and Aggy appeared, holding a microphone. She launched into a stately a cappella version of a song that Anna didn’t instantly recognise.

‘Shakira, “Underneath Your Clothes”,’ Michelle helpfully supplied.

‘Oh no. A song about your man with his kit off?’ Anna whispered back. ‘Only my sister …’

‘Bold choice,’ Michelle said. ‘The oldies seem to be coping with the frisson though.’

Anna looked towards her parents and the Barking contingent. They were all looking vaguely baffled, apart from her mother, who was swaying with a look of intense pride. The Italian family seemed similarly nonplussed but generally positive.

At the other side of the stage, Chris walked on with a microphone and started singing over Aggy. The tempo sped up and her song segued into Cee Lo Green’s ‘Forget You’.
The lyrics about money and needing to be rich to be with Aggy were amusingly appropriate, if a little near the knuckle.

They could both hold a tune, more or less. But more importantly, Anna thought, it must surely end soon.

Oh, no. Marianne led a gang of PR girls onto the stage behind Aggy and they started singing ‘You Know I’m No Good’.

Anna turned to Michelle.

‘Infidelity now. What next? “The Drugs Don’t Work”?’

Michelle was shoulder-dancing: ‘The tune works quite well though.’

Anna looked across the room and her mum and Aunty Carol were bopping about doing mum-dancing to the words ‘
carpet burn
’.

Chris’s brother and best man Dave and the ushers piled onto the stage behind him and ‘You Know I’m No Good’ became Rod Stewart’s ‘Do Ya Think I’m Sexy’
in a back-and-forth
West Side Story
gang sing-a-thon.