So I agreed to his timescale. We set the date for 28 January, Patrick’s birthday. I knew it would make him happy.
‘I’m not a church kind of person,’ Patrick said.
‘It’s fine. I don’t mind having a registry office marriage,’ I said. I did the full church wedding with Adam and am almost relieved not to have to do it again. ‘But let’s have a party afterwards. I would like to meet your friends and family.’
‘Oh, Lydia,’ he moaned, grasping my hands. ‘I don’t like parties. And I don’t want to share you with lots of people. Let’s make this intimate and special, just for us. There’s nothing worse than having to be on best behaviour for people you hardly know. But most importantly, it probably isn’t appropriate. The last time you will have seen all of your friends and family would have been at Adam’s funeral.’
He didn’t need to say any more. I agreed to keep the celebration small. Tiny, in fact. When I asked him to invite his sister and her family, he shook his head sadly. ‘She’s too sick, Lydia. Of course you will meet her, but not whilst she’s immunosuppressed. It’s too dangerous for her.’
‘In which case, I won’t ask Bea either,’ I said, on the one hand relieved that I wouldn’t have to face up to her disapproval, but on the other hand, wondering how I will explain it to my sister.
I tried so hard to get Mia onside. I took her out for a gourmet pizza and tried to explain why it was so important to me to be married to Patrick. I promised her I would never forget Adam, and that Patrick wouldn’t replace him. But Mia dismissed my pleas, answering me in monosyllables or just saying, ‘Whatever.’ In the end, I gave up and neither of us mentioned the wedding again.
I found myself a cream woolen jacket and skirt and some white faux fur of such a high quality it looked real. A dressmaker in town added it to the collar and cuffs, and when I put the outfit on, I feel like Anna Karenina.
So here we are, the morning of my second wedding, a cold, grey January Wednesday. Last night, I had a vivid dream. Patrick and I were floating down the aisle of a cathedral, hand in hand, jubilant about our imminent nuptials. We stood there in front of the vicar, and when it came to the line where the vicar said, If any of you has a reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace, Adam appeared, fire coming out of his eyes, spitting splinters of glass. ‘She is already married to me! This man is an imposter!’ he screamed. I awoke, my heart thumping, my body slick with sweat. Afterwards, I tossed and turned and couldn’t get back to sleep.
The kids have been allowed to take the day off school, so I let them sleep. I spend a long time putting my make-up on, trying to cover up the dark rings under my eyes. At 9.30 a.m., I wake them.
‘I’m sorry, Mum, but I’m not coming.’ Mia sits in her bed, clutching her arms around her bent knees.
‘But–’
‘Don’t make me. If you want to marry that man, then what can I do? Nothing. But you can’t make me come to the wedding. Please, Mum, I don’t want you to be angry.’
I slump onto the end of her bed. ‘I’m not angry, Mia. Just disappointed. I hope that eventually you’ll come to love Patrick, not as a father, but as a friend.’
Whilst Mia isn’t embracing my union with Patrick, she is at least vaguely civil around him. I have no idea what he said or how he changed her mind, but whatever it was, it worked.
She harrumphs, then swings her legs out of bed. ‘Going to the bathroom now,’ she says. It’s my hint to leave the room.
‘I’m not having you stay here by yourself all day,’ I say to her retreating back.
‘I’m going into school,’ she replies. ‘Can you order me a taxi?’
By 10.30 a.m., I am ready and so is Oliver, who has agreed to attend. Cassie arrives, holding a large posy of white flowers, which she gives to me. ‘Let’s get this show on the road,’ she says, planting a kiss on my cheek.
A car hoots outside. I wonder if Patrick has organised a car for me as a surprise, so I dash to the door to look. But it’s the local taxi firm, a car to take Mia to school.
‘Good luck, Mum,’ she says as she heaves her school bag onto her back and dashes out of the house.
I try not to let her absence affect my happiness, but what mother doesn’t want their daughter at one of the most important occasions of her life? Cassie gives my forearm a quick squeeze. ‘Come on, hop into my car and let’s go to the registry office.’
Park House is an imposing Georgian building with a red-brick exterior and white columns, built on the edge of a park in the centre of Horsham. The last time I was here was to register Adam’s death. It feels like yesterday. Cassie locks the car and starts striding towards the entrance. She has made an effort today, wearing a smart, tailored dress nothing like her normal attire.
‘Hey, aren’t you coming?’ she asks when she notices that I’m still hovering by the car. And then I see Patrick. He is standing by the door, pacing backwards and forwards, a red rose in his buttonhole. When he looks up and notices me, his face lights up. I feel ridiculous now for doubting myself. I smile back and stride towards him.
We get married in the Chairman’s Room, a small room with white panels on the walls and doors, large windows that look out onto the park, and pinkish chairs. The officiant’s table is in front of an unused fireplace. It looks much like the drawing room of a stately home.
The registrar is a woman in her sixties who does her best not to look surprised that we are only a party of five. Cassie is my witness, and a man whom I haven’t met before, called Graham, is Patrick’s witness. The service is quick, and before I know it, Patrick and I are man and wife. Afterwards, we walk hand in hand to the restaurant where I had the date with Rory. Cassie walks with her arm flung around Oliver’s shoulders. He would never let me do that.
I don’t warm to Graham. He doesn’t say much, answering questions in monosyllables and seeming disappointingly aloof. I don’t understand why Patrick describes him as his best friend, and I wonder if they have had a falling-out in the last day or so.
‘How well do you know Sandra?’ I ask Graham as we’re finishing off our desserts.
‘Sandra?’
I frown. ‘Patrick’s sister.’
‘Oh yeah, her. Not very well.’
‘You used to, didn’t you, mate?’ Patrick says.
‘Yes, but I haven’t seen her in years, have I? Doubt I’d recognise her these days. What’s she up to, anyway?’
‘I told you. She’s got cancer.’ Patrick scowls at Graham. The dynamic between the two of them is weird, and I can’t put my finger on it.
Shortly after coffee, Graham stands up. ‘Sorry I’ve got to break up the party. Congratulations again to you both.’ He holds up his empty champagne glass.
‘I’ll see you out,’ Patrick says. He follows Graham as he walks to the door. I have my back to them, but Cassie frowns as she watches them talk together.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘Nothing,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Nothing.’
And then it’s time for us to leave; time for Patrick and me to go to the fancy hotel that he has booked. Cassie throws her arms around me and squeezes me hard. ‘Have a wonderful wedding night,’ she says. ‘And don’t worry about Mia and Oliver. We’ll have fun tonight, won’t we?’ She nudges Oliver, who throws a weak smile.