Four Weddings And A White Christmas. Jenny Oliver
terrifying partner and my sweet, wailing baby,’ Wilf said, then before Holly could reply he leant round so he could give her a big kiss without disturbing the baby, and with one eye open said, ‘Ooh here’s the bride.’
Harry saw the dressmaker, Hannah, first. Saw her slip into a seat at the back, a second before Annie entered. He watched her fidget with her hands in her lap and then sit on them. He quite enjoyed seeing her nervousness, her apprehension. It was interesting. Far more interesting than all the beaming smiles around him.
Given the dress he’d seen at the café, he’d assumed Hannah would be wearing something equally way-out. Have layers of bizarre jewellery and some odd diaphanous Aztec number on. But she was wearing navy. Really simple except for a luminous-yellow belt. Flat shoes. Hair up. Red lipstick. Almost disguised bags under her eyes. She looked like her Christmas had been as stressful as his own. And surprisingly attractive.
But then the bride came in and he stopped looking at Hannah. The whole crowd seemed to inhale collectively. It was like before their eyes Annie had transformed from stressed café-owner to Hollywood movie star. To supermodel. To eye-wateringly ravishing beauty. Harry had been intending to cast a glance back at the groom to see him wince at the weird hot-pink dress, but since he’d last seen it the dress had been refined, shaped, pressed, little organza sleeves had been added and darker beads and crystals to dim down the crazy pink. Green and blue peacock feather embroidery snaked around the bodice and, just below the waist, gave way to soft cream silk and then, almost like a shredded workhouse dress, underneath the silk were ruffles like feathers that frilled to the ground. She looked amazing. Her cropped blonde hair was all slicked and cool, and her make-up made her eyes all big like a Pixar character, but it was the dress. The dress made her like the very best it was possible for her to ever be and more so. Harry was gob-smacked.
When he could tear his eyes away he looked back at Hannah who was still staring nervously, clasping her hands tight, her eyes squinted as if she couldn’t quite look and her mouth tense. As if she could sense someone watching her she turned his way and when her eye caught his, Harry found himself nodding, then, quite bizarrely, in a gesture he’d never before done in his life, he gave her a thumbs up.
She frowned and he spent the rest of the service wondering what had come over him.
***
The gardens of the folly had been decorated with strings of white bunting and fairy lights that were now dripping in the rain. Blobs splashing down onto evergreen leaves and into puddles on the paved path. A ferry was waiting to take the guests the short hop over to Cherry Pie Island for the reception at The Dandelion Café. Harry held his umbrella over Holly and baby Willow while Wilf chatted to one of the guests.
‘Wilf just doesn’t really get it, does he?’ Holly said, holding Willow tight against her as she stepped onto the boat and picked up a glass of champagne a waiter was holding on a tray. ‘I mean. That’s what he actually thinks, isn’t it? He actually just thinks people get married because of tradition.’
Harry shrugged. He was slightly distracted looking for the dress designer. He wanted to somehow smooth over the thumbs up incident. To make it quite clear he wasn’t a thumbs up kinda guy, but he had absolutely no way of knowing quite how to get that across.
‘What do you think? Harry?’ Holly nudged him with her arm to get his attention.
‘Yeah, he does. I know. But you do have a kid so…’
‘So?’ Holly tipped her head to one side and looked at him with a sigh. ‘That doesn’t mean we should automatically marry. If we’re not getting married for the right reasons then probably better for Willow that we’re not married. You were the one saying it was ridiculous.’
‘Oh yeah, I think the whole notion of marriage is completely insane. Why you’d want to lock yourself into a relationship is beyond me.’ Harry saw a drip of rain land on Holly’s arm and moved the brolly so she was completely covered. ‘The automatic response has to be to want to escape. It stands to reason. It’s suffocating.’
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