Page 8 of London, Can You Wait?

Three

London, Saturday, November 4, 2017

A congregation of uninvited guests—a dozen teenage girls—loitered across from All Saints Church, a quaint Victorian building draped by mature trees in Hackney, East London. Fuelled by coffee and hormones, they giggled and fidgeted, ready to pounce. A pack of parka-cloaked paparazzi kept them company, yawning beneath their long-lensed cameras.

“Hey guys!” Alex zigzagged through a slow-moving parade of shiny SUVs on Livermere Road and caught up to her friends on the church’s doorstep. “Mark just texted!” she whispered to Lucy, Freddie, and Simon as she eyed the crowd across the street. “He’s landed. He’s on his way!”

“Lovely jubbly!” Freddie tossed his wavy fringe out of his eyes and hugged Alex. “I’ve all but forgotten what my bezzie mate looks like.”

“Bride or groom?” An usher foisted a cluster of wedding programs under their noses.

“We’re friends with both,” said Simon, his Canadian accent standing out. “The groom’s side, I guess—”

“No, bride. Definitely bride,” Alex interrupted. “Let’s sit on her side…just in case.” She looked past the usher and smiled at the clusters of tall glass vases that held burning white candles at the end of each pew. The amber glow danced along the wood floor, creating a romantic, fairy-tale setting.

The usher swept his hand towards the centre aisle of the Gothic church.

Freddie put on his glasses and glanced over the program. He hunched his shoulders, shrinking his six-foot frame to whisper in Alex’s ear. “It’s criminal! I mean, who doesn’t have bridesmaids?” The twenty-five-year-old barely paused to catch his breath, pulling Lucy into the conversation. “Do you reckon it’s some weird tradition…not being British? Weddings shouldn’t be messed with. Go full-on traditional or don’t bother.”

“Is that what you’re gonna do, you big girl?” teased Lucy.

“Steady on! I won’t become Mr. Desjardins anytime soon.” He raised his voice, ensuring that his fiancé could hear. “We can’t plan anything until Simon tells his parents he’s gay.”

Looking up from his program, Simon gave Alex a tight-lipped smile.

The four friends surveyed the left side of the church. Eager aunties wrapped in autumn hues sat beside fidgety uncles. Accents from around the United Kingdom and abroad echoed against the old walls, and the scent of hairspray and aftershave hung in the damp air.

“I think this is the best we can get and still sit together.” Freddie pointed at two back-to-back rows. “Four seats here, two seats there.”

“You guys take that row.” Lex nodded, glancing at her phone. “I’ll sit behind you, save a place for Mark.”

Simon scooted along the bench. “If he shows,” the thirty-five-year-old whispered to his fiancé. The old wooden pew groaned under their weight despite Simon’s yoga-toned physique and Freddie’s tall, waif-like figure.

“I bagsie the aisle.” Lucy sat down beside Freddie and slipped out of her cape, showing off the silk tiers of her aqua dress and a twisted silver bracelet cuff, a family heirloom from Jamaica.

Freddie looked over at Lucy and squinted. “What’s that?”

Lucy hunched her shoulders, looking at her program. Her dark curls tumbled over her neck. “What’s what?”

“You know. Stop hiding it. Move your hair.”

“It’s nothing.”

Freddie smiled wildly. “Oh, no, it’s definitely something.” He glanced up at Alex for support, but she was still in the aisle, texting.

Simon twisted around Freddie, desperate for a peek.

“It’s a burn from three days ago.” Lucy’s nose dove deeper into her program. “Never straighten your hair in a rush.”

“No, it’s not. I know a love bite when I see one, lady!” Freddie licked his lips. “Lucy Hardy, who did you shag—”

“Crap!” Alex brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Mark had to ditch his cab…traffic’s a nightmare. He’s walking here!” She ducked into the pew behind her friends and shrugged off her wool coat. Her hands smoothed the skirt of her tea-length plum dress.

Simon turned around. “Pretty dress, Lex.” The up-and-coming womenswear designer nodded his approval.

“Thanks!”

Freddie joined in with a grin. “I love the subtle sparkle, but the Lady of the Forest thing you’ve got going on is a bit too… Galadriel.”