One Day Before I Do
The air outside the church felt fresh and clean compared to the musty, stale air within.
‘Well, I thought this wedding might be batshit crazy, but I didn’t think there would be actual bat shit,’ Clara said, as she and Audrey climbed into the front of Clara’s Škoda Karoq. ‘I love that Josh was straight in there ready to dispose of the body like CSI Batman. He thrives in a crisis, doesn’t he?’
‘What are these?’ Audrey asked, looking back at the two bouquets of wild flowers currently strapped into the children’s car seats.
‘I bought them for you. Roses might be the official flowers decreed by Vivien, but I know you liked the wild flowers too, so I thought I’d cover all bases and get you these for your bridal suite.’
Audrey felt a sting behind her eyes as the rising tide of relief at having Clara there threatened to spill out. She blinked away the feeling and leant her head across the car, resting it on her friend’s shoulder.
‘Clara, that is so sweet of you, thank you.’
‘Are we waiting for the others, or shall we head straight to the pub?’
‘Let’s go. Josh is going to pick up his sister from the station, and the rest have enough cars between them.’ She paused. ‘I’ve missed you today.’
‘I know, I’m sorry, I had to park the kids with Mum, and she had a doctor’s appointment this morning, and then I had to drive via Clapham to collect the wedding plate that everyone is going to sign. But I’m here now, child-free, and entirely yours.’
‘Hallelujah,’ Audrey sang.
Clara let out one of her uninhibited laughs that reached every limb. Her short black bob was pinned back with kirby grips, and she wore only a dab of nude lip gloss on an otherwise make-up free face. She had faultless skin and intelligent eyes, looks she’d inherited from her Chinese mother and Spanish father. But it was not just her looks which made her stand out, it was the way she held herself, the way she moved. Every gesture was larger than it needed to be – if she waved at you, she waved with her whole arm, not just a hand. If she smiled, it was a fully committed grin. Even watching her drive, there was an overblown quality to the movement of her hands on the wheel, the shift of her gaze to the rear-view mirror, it was all larger than it needed to be. Since Clara had given birth to the twins, Audrey had noticed a new, slightly frazzled quality to her friend, a jumpiness, a tiredness around the eyes that would not be fixed by a single good night’s sleep. But in essence she was the same girl who had befriended Audrey, aged nine, in the school canteen when they both reached for the last chocolate eclair.
‘So, how’s the Monster of the Bride?’ asked Clara.
‘In her element, directing her first production,’ said Audrey.
‘This must be a novelty for her. A wedding where she’s not actually marrying anyone.’ Clara gave Audrey a sly grin. ‘Can we play Vivien Wedding Bingo? We’ll drink a shot every time she mentions one of her own weddings.’
‘No, we’d be under the table before the “I dos”. How was it, leaving the girls? Is Jay going to cope without you?’
‘He’ll be fine, he has my mum to help. I’m here for you, no distractions. I don’t want to be one of those shitty bridesmaids who spends the whole day checking in on their kids. Do you remember Katie Evans at mine?’
‘She was the worst,’ said Audrey, smiling.
‘I think she had her Bluetooth baby monitor on for half the service.’
Audrey looked out of the car window and up at the grey, cloudy sky.
‘Evenings are so light in June. Maybe we should have gone for a Christmas wedding, the stars would be out by now.’
‘And miss out on the perfect venue, with extensive grounds and onsite accommodation?’ Clara asked, impersonating Vivien’s clipped voice. They both smiled. ‘What is it you always say to me? The stars are always there, even if you can’t see them.’
‘Did I tell you Josh bought me a new telescope as a wedding present?’
‘Oh my God, I love him. He knows you so well.’
Just as Audrey was beginning to feel herself relax in the warmth of Clara’s company, her phone pinged, and she reached into her bag to check it. It was an email, a generic newsletter from a London art gallery, but the headline jumped out at her. ‘Benedict Van Vuuren, one of the greatest sculptors of our age’. It was a press release for a retrospective exhibition of his work. His name alone was enough to make Audrey bristle. Every cell of her body felt tense. She hadn’t thought about him for months, and now his name jumped into her inbox the night before her wedding. She gave an involuntary shiver.
‘Is that Jay?’ Clara asked. ‘I told him I was driving most of the afternoon, so if there was an emergency, he should call you. Oh God, what’s wrong, what’s happened? Did one of them choke on a grape?’
Audrey shook her head, closing the newsletter, trying to keep her hands from shaking. If she started talking about Benedict, it would give him a presence at her wedding that he didn’t deserve, take up head space she couldn’t afford.
‘It’s nothing, it’s fine, just a boring email.’
She thrust the phone back into her bag. Her arms started to itch, faint red hives appearing on the delicate underside of her forearms. She tried to scratch them, but the thick gel polish on her nails rendered them blunt and ineffective.
‘Did you feel nervous, before your wedding?’ she asked instead.