Pippa broke then, burying her face against her mum’s shoulder. Caroline stroked her hair slowly, lovingly.
Caroline whispered, ‘Remember all those things.’
‘I promise.’
Caroline passed away peacefully on a rainy afternoon in early autumn, with Pippa beside her, holding her hand and listening to the faint ticking of the old carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Just before she slipped away, Caroline whispered, ‘Never wait for the perfect time. Just live. Always do what’s in your heart.’
Pippa couldn’t help but think about those conversations right now. Couldn’t help but hear her mum’s voice in her ear telling her not to settle– not in life, and especially not in love.
‘I know. I’ll miss her today,’ Pippa replied, fiddling with the watch on her wrist.
As the car door opened, the rain found its way in immediately. George helped his daughter out of the car, and she stood and stared at the hotel. It was big, grey and more than a bit meh. Not ugly, exactly, but definitely more ‘conference on carpet adhesives’ than ‘dream wedding extravaganza’. Still, she was here now and there were ribbons on the railings. Rob was probably already sweating in his rented waistcoat standing at the makeshift altar. No going back. Probably.
She took her dad’s arm and they walked through the automatic doors into the foyer. A woman with a clipboard beamed at Pippa like she was signing for a parcel, then waved them towards the function room.
Rose had already arrived. She’d left in the car before them and was waiting outside the room. She gave Pippa a hug. ‘You ready?’
‘I think so.’
The woman with the clipboard caught the organist’s attention and gave him a thumbs-up before slipping into one of the chairs at the back of the room.
Then, it started. The first bars of ‘Clocks’ by Coldplay.
Pippa’s whole face lit up. This was it. Her song. Nottheirsong. Not Rob’s choice.Hers. She might not be getting married under a grand old clock tower, but she was walking in to Coldplay; that had been non-negotiable.
Her dad laughed beside her. ‘Only you! Honestly, what a brilliant choice.’
Inside, people turned. There was a pause, then someone, probably her cousin Josh, started singing along.
A ripple of laughter followed. A few others joined in. Someone clapped. Someone else mimicked playing the piano with their hands. It was probably totally inappropriate, and it was definitely completely unserious, but Pippa loved it. She stood a little taller, took a breath, then smiled like she meant it, even as her mum’s words whirled around her mind in a loop.
If you marry someone, he should worship everything about you.
The music swelled (in a slightly wobbly, organ-like way), and in she went, into the cranberry-carpeted chaos of a wedding that she still wasn’t even sure she could go through with. Her heart was pounding, and then she saw it: a photograph of her mum that had been placed on a table near the altar, allowing Caroline to watch over the proceedings.
Rows of faces were looking at Pippa, the expressions hopeful, the smiles beaming, her nearest and dearest completely oblivious to the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.
There were lots ofoohsandaahsas they glanced over her dress, and she smiled at her Auntie Elsie (who preferred dogs to humans), who had told her bluntly only last night, ‘If you have even an ounce of doubt, don’t do it. Run. Seriously. Everyone will forgive you… eventually.’
She had been joking, of course, and Pippa had laughed it off. But as her shoes clicked softly down the aisle, each step syncing perfectly with the beat of the song, she counted the rhythm of her nerves, just as she always did. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four…
There, at the end of the aisle, stood Rob. Her fiancé– her almost-husband. Their eyes met and he smiled politely before rolling his eyes. It was barely perceptible. A flicker. A blink-and-miss-it-eye-roll at the music choice. She knew that look. She’d seen it when she’d tried to explain escapements and pendulums, when she’d dragged him to horology conventions, when she’d once stayed up until three a.m. reassembling a French carriage clock on the dining table.
This song?his expression said.Really?
Something inside her snapped like a spring wound too tight.
The rain through the window blurred and the song echoed in her head along with her mum’s words.
Time. Her old companion, her constant. Her joy.
She was about to give it to someone who didn’t understand any of it.
Pippa looked down at the gift her father had just given her: the pocket watch she’d pinned on her dress. It didn’t tick. Time was standing still.
‘Do you take…’
She didn’t.
