“We’re never talking about this again.”
“I don’t know why you’re being so uptight about it.” I sigh, keeping my eyes on the ceiling and Cordelia’s train off the floor. “I’ve done this a million times. Every bride needs help peeing in her dress. Think about brides with those really big skirts, how do you think they pee? And you’re lucky to have this big bathroom. Imagine being in a portaloo and attempting it. It takes a lot of skill.”
“Stop talking,” Cordelia snaps. “You’re giving me stage fright.”
I clam up and wait patiently for the tinkle.
“Do you remember our chat in the loos at the engagement party?” I ask her, when she’s started going. “I was in the cubicle and you came bursting in.”
“Oh, yeah. I was so angry that you hadn’t quit already.”
“You made me stop mid-pee.”
“Seriously?”
“You gave me such a fright, the pee literally stopped.”
“I had no idea I had so much power.” I hear her tear off the loo paper.
“All done,” she announces, standing up and flushing, then gliding over to the bathroom mirror while I sort out her train. “So, how do they do it, then?”
“Do what?”
“Brides in big skirts,” she says, washing her hands.
“You can approach the loo frontway on, so your back is to the cubicle door if you get me. It’s more of a straddle,” I inform her, opening and holding out my clutch, which has all her makeup inside. “Or there’s an extremely neat trick with those big blue Ikea bags.”
“You’re joking,” she says, selecting her eyeliner from my bag.
“You cut a large hole in the bottom of the bag and step into it, pulling it up by the handles. The bag neatly contains the skirt, lifting it off the floor.”
“You’re telling me that brides are supposed to bring an Ikea bag to the wedding?”
“No, I make sure there’s a prepared one stowed away in the loo.”
“That’s so…smart.”
“I know.”
She finishes reapplying her makeup and I snap the clutch shut, holding open the door for her to lead the way back downstairs to the reception.
“What did you think of the food?” she asks, taking my hand for balance on the stairs because the banister is covered with opulent flowers entwined all the way round.
“Potentially the most delicious meal I’ve ever eaten.”
“And do you think everyone liked the speeches?”
“They were brilliant! Went down a storm. All of them were the perfect balance of funny and emotional. Yours was obviously the best, but don’t tell the others. I loved the story about Jonathan’s pants in Tuscany. And I got a bit emotional when you thanked me.”
“Of course you did. Your tear ducts are very overactive.”
“Are you happy with everything?”
She smiles at me. “I’ve never been happier.”
And I believe her. All day she’s been radiant and relaxed, andno one could possibly watch her and Jonathan and believe they shouldn’t be together. I always look out for the almost unnoticeable, seemingly insignificant moments on a wedding day—the way Jonathan’s fingertips lightly brushed hers when the vicar was welcoming the congregation; how he proudly held out his hand to help her down the steps for some photos in the grounds of Dashwell; her giving him a kiss on the cheek before they went into the wedding breakfast together when she thought no one was looking, then gently wiping the lipstick off his skin.
Cordelia told me that she feels closer than ever to him, now that he knows about everything that happened. They’d talked about it for hours. His insistence that she must have been very brave to overcome that when she was just a teenager is making her start to believe it, too.
