ONE

      Now

      I stirred my rum and Coke with one perfectly manicured finger and took a large gulp. I hadn’t smoked since my teens, but I’d have pushed a vicar through a stained-glass window for just a couple of puffs.

      ‘You alright, love?’ Dad sat opposite me, nursing his own rum. I blinked at him.

      ‘Besides the obvious?’ I said, gesturing with my glass at my outfit, our location.

      ‘We’ve got plenty of time, Zoe. Have a drink. Take a deep breath. Decide what you want to do.’

      That was what I needed to hear, ever since this morning, when I’d woken up in my old bedroom. Or when I was booking marquees. Or when Jack first asked me.

      I sighed and stared out of the window. ‘Did you and Mum never fancy this?’

      Dad shifted in his chair a little. ‘Did it ever bother you and your sisters that we weren’t married?’

      ‘No! God, no. It was quite cool, actually. But I’m just wondering, now … Why did you two never fancy it?’ I turned my engagement ring round and round on my finger, gold band … sapphire stone … gold band … sapphire stone …

      ‘Things were different. And it just didn’t suit us, back then. But we weren’t who you and Jack are.’

      ‘That’s what I’m worried about.’

      ‘The thing is, love … sometimes you just have to do what you think is right.’ He took a sip. ‘Even if it might seem like the hardest thing in the world.’

      I looked at Dad’s pale, smiling face, then knocked back the rest of my drink, stood up, and pushed my veil forwards over my face. ‘Let’s do this, Dad. Let’s get me down that aisle.’

      We stepped out of the Queen’s Head into the cold, thin January sunlight, where the wedding car was waiting for us, driver Al in the front with a Daily Express and a bag of salt and vinegar. As he saw us coming out, he started up the engine; Dad tucked me into the back seat, passing me the second-hand Chanel clutch he and Mum had surprised me with last night, as if it were a vaguely radioactive but very precious baby, then sat down beside me, trying not to crumple my outfit.

      ‘Fifteen minutes, Al,’ Dad said. ‘Do you think we can make it?’

      ‘Nooo problem,’ Al shouted over his shoulder, revving the engine and sweeping out into the traffic.

      Fortunately, having huge wedding ribbons on your car seems to make other drivers a touch more charitable – there’s no way we’d have made it in time otherwise – and we got to the register office to find Jack outside at the front, pacing with nerves at my delay, alongside his best man, Iffy, and my maid of honour, my oldest friend, Liz. My sisters were outside too: Esther watching Jack’s pacing with crossed arms and Ava standing with her arms around Kat, who was painting her nails, both of them huddled together in a tiny splash of winter sun, breath hanging in the air. The rest of the wedding party waited inside as the wedding before ours began filing out. As the car drew to a halt, Jack bounded over, reaching in to help me out of the car before it had even come to a full stop.

      As soon as I saw him, I thought, Yeah. This’ll be ok. I watched Dad climb out behind me and give me a thumbs up, and thought again, harder, This will be ok. I’m sure it will.

      Then Jack took my hand and smiled at me, and we headed inside.

      ‘You may kiss the bride!’

      There was a moment’s silence while we leant into each other, then my sisters started whooping as one, and as we kissed the whole register office applauded, and it felt alright for a moment. We pulled away and Jack looked like he was glowing, happiness pouring out of his freckles, and I thought, I wonder if I look like that?

      Then the registrar said a few more things, the music started up and we were back down the aisle, out into the sunshine and then … then we didn’t know where we were supposed to go. The car wasn’t there – Al wasn’t due back for a good while yet. He was probably sitting back in the pub he’d picked me and Dad up from, enjoying a quiet drink before the happy couple spilt prosecco all over the back of his car. We milled about for a while, doubling back on ourselves to watch everyone trooping out, then we had to walk back in and out again so the photographer could get some shots of everyone throwing confetti at us on the stone steps.

      My shoes hurt and my eyes felt heavy from the fake eyelashes I’d let myself be talked into, despite my choice of natural hair, plain white jumpsuit and simple faux fur. I was happy enough at this precise moment – all these people! Jack’s face! – but I’d wanted us to just keep on walking when we got outside, just hit the road, no looking back until we’d had some time to talk about all of this. I squeezed Jack’s hand and he squeezed back.

      ‘Happy?’ he said.

      ‘I was about to ask you the same thing.’

      We smiled at each other, but neither of us answered.

      The