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“Has anyone seen the bride?” She calls, scanning all of our faces. No one in the wedding party says anything, and she sighs. “Jesus Christ, every bloody time. Right. We’ll start off with the groom’s side, then. Can all of the groomsmen get in front of the flowers, please. Groom and best man in the centre. Where are the father and mother?”
Rob stiffens.
I clear my throat. “They’re not in attendance.”
She grumbles under her breath, as if our dead mother and prick father are incredibly inconvenient for her.
“I thought of inviting him,” Rob mutters, as all of his groomsmen shuffle into position around us. “Figured he wouldn’t come.”
“He’d have ruined the whole wedding,” I say. “Picked everything apart. Criticised you and Amy. He’d think all of this was stupid.” Our dad has no idea what love is. He hated anything romantic. Weddings were his idea of Hell.
He nods. “Yeah.” We’re silent for a moment as the photographer takes some test shots, scowling at her camera. “Seriously, though,” he says quietly. “I’m happy that you found Layla. She sounds sweet.” He glances across at me. “And just for the record — she likes you back.”
My heart stammers in my chest. I try to keep my face straight. “How could you…”
He snorts. “Don’t you read your tweets? Every one of your listeners can hear it. The girl’s falling for you. And the other two as well, I think.” He turns to me, his eyes serious. “Let her know. Don’t do that thing where you try to make everyone else happy, but ignore what you want. You deserve to find someone.”
I don’t know what to say.
In front of us, the photographer sighs, setting her camera down. “For God’s sake. Could the best man kindly remove the lipstick from his neck?” She calls out, her voice dripping with irritation.
I turn to glare at Rob, who’s bent over laughing. “You prick.”
“I thought you were experimenting with a new look!”
Someone offers me a tissue, and I wipe the makeup off my skin. I can still smell Layla on my fingers.
Today is going to be a long day.
***
SIXTY
***
LUKE
“And little Jimmy finally passed his first swimming badge,” Amy’s aunt tells me, rolling her eyes. “Ten metres. Only took him two years. The child is deathly afraid of water.”
“That’s great, Mrs Smith,” I tell her, trying to pull away. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just—”
She waves me off. “Oh, don’t call me that. We’re all family here. Be a good boy and top up my drink, will you?”
I smile and take her glass, turning to the drinks table and swapping it out with a fresh flute of champagne. It’s been over half an hour since Amy’s aunt cornered me, and she’s been chatting my ear off ever since, bringing me up to speed on all the latest family gossip. I’m not sure if she actually remembers I’m not her nephew-in-law anymore, or if she legitimately doesn’t care and just wants someone to talk to. I hand her the new drink, then try for the fifth time to excuse myself.
“If you don’t mind, I need to find my date. She’s disappeared somewhere.”
She waves me off, eyeing up one of the waiters, and I make a quick escape, stepping away and scanning the hall.
It’s so odd to be here again. Everywhere I look, memories ping up in my mind. The venue clearly hasn’t updated its decorations in the last fifteen years. The cream vases of silk roses are the same. The swathes of gauze hanging from the ceilings. The rows of white chairs decorated with pink ribbons.
Even the wedding guests are the same. Everyone is over a decade older, but all of Amy’s family and friends are here. Most of the unmarried adults now have kids. The babies are moving into secondary school. There’s a vaguely familiar-looking teenager hanging around on her phone by the chocolate fountain, ignoring everyone, and I frown, trying to remember where I’ve seen her before. As I watch, she glances up at me, her eyes flickering, and recognition shocks through me.
It’s Lavender, my ex-niece. I remember her as a chubby little four-year-old, watching TV cuddled up against me, or holding my hand as I walked her home from school. She loved me, because I was the only adult who’d sit down and have tea parties with her stuffed animals. And I loved her, too. To pieces. I’d never been an uncle before.
I haven’t seen her in over ten years now.
The wedding hall suddenly flickers around me, déjà-vu rolling over me like a wave. For half a second, I’m an excited twenty-four-year-old on his wedding day, absolutely brimming over with happiness. Then the image fades, and I’m left standing alone in the crowd of celebrating people, laughing and dancing and chatting. Lavender looks at me awkwardly for a few seconds, then blushes and drops her eyes back to her phone.
