If—
By S. Faith, © 2013
Words: 53,952 (in 10 chapters and an epilogue)
Rating: M / R
Summary, Credits, Warning, etc.: See Chapter 1.
Epilogue still to come. :)
Chapter 10: The Closing of the Year
Monday, 27 December
9st 13 (am whale or similar); calories: 2700 (Thing 1 and Thing 2 require lots); circumference of waist: 43 inches (full-blown stomach explosion; non-gastrointestinal sort, obvs.); weeks of pregnancy: 21 (more than halfway there)
9.15 am. Impossible to sleep with bowling ball lodged against bladder and jitters re: oncoming wedding. Is but a few short days away! Have never been more grateful for Mark Darcy taking care of all loose ends. Though looks as harried and exhausted as I feel.
V. glad to have chosen dress with expandable front, in manner of Regency gown like Lizzy Bennet might have worn. Am going to look like the woman in that famous Dutch wedding portrait, except with giant ivory silk protrusion instead of green velvet.
9.25 am. Jitters are not a result of second thoughts, because have no doubts in mind whatsoever. Jitters that will unexpectedly put on another stone by Friday, and will have to waddle down aisle. Or be wheeled in pushcart.
10.10 am. Has been wonderful, though, living here in Holland Park wedding cake house. Have already done up a room for babies, wonderful bright (but gender-neutral) colours. Arguments (or rather discussions) about what sex of baby were all rendered moot when subsequent scans revealed one is boy, one is girl.
Do not mean to suggest best part of living in house is house itself. Has been v. challenging but love v. much living with Mark, even if he is utterly mad at times. Mark wanted to record daily temperature / blood pressure and other health-related things once he learned it was twins. Told him it was mental to do so. He countered that it was no less mental than obsessive calorie counts and recording of weight, etc. Has not in fact insisted on pursuing obsession with vital statistics, though do wonder how he know about calorie counting, etc. (V. confident he does not read diary.)
10.25 am. Have asked Mark re: calorie-counting knowledge. He looked to me with strange 'you're barmy' look on face. "Tom told me."
Should probably not mention that first thought was psychic thought vibes.
2 pm. Feel like every night this week is party of some sort (excepting Thursday, as intend to sleep entire day and lounge well into Friday until last possible moment). Tonight is hen party with girls (though is v. tragic that cannot get properly plastered at own hen night), tomorrow dinner to welcome Tom's Carl to London (he has taken job here for US government as of first of year—perfect solution!) with Sharon, Simon, Jude and Richard. Wednesday, my parents and Mark's will be coming up to stay with us for wedding and dinner reception/New Year party, so big dinner planned for that night.
Tonight will also be Mark's stag night. Can only imagine it will involve him, Giles, Nigel, Jeremy, Richard… Simon?... sitting in gentlemen's club, puffing on cigars and sipping brandy.
(Unknown what true status is of Simon and Sharon. Thought it was all on, then she had a date with some young whippersnapper last weekend. Might have even been mad Bradley.)
4.30 pm. Ugh. Have put on dress picked out over weekend for purpose of hen night, but feel like am wearing festive marquee or similar. Mark assures that it looks v. flattering—ugh, hate thinking of what 'flattering' really means when midsection resembles Michelin Man's—and that look beautiful, glowing, radiant, etc.
Have no choice but to take at word.
11.45 pm. Completely wrecked. Night was good fun, though. Shaz directed us to nightclub (sparkling water and lemon for me), handing bunny ears to wear (and self an additional paste tiara). Music v. loud, but then stopped; handsome male stripper with gloriously toned and muscular body came in to dance for our party (think that tiara was to signal to stripper that am bride). V. good show, rousing and riling. Great sense of rhythm, moving in perfect time with music. Thought Shaz might actually have been drooling. Tom as well (because of course Tom is one of the girls).
(Mark must never know about hot young whippersnapper Rob the stripper as would wound his manhood or similar.)
11.50 pm. Though hot young whippersnapper Rob did not have much going on between ears. Detracted from sexiness. Still. Suppose is nice for change of pace. Not every man can be rocky-smart genius or lecture at length about the government in—
GAH!
Later. Was Mark Darcy, wanting to know what I was still doing up. "You need your rest." Honestly, as if feeble or similar. After pause, he smirked, looking me up and down, then added, "Was going to say 'you need your beauty sleep' but… er…"
Guess he really did fancy self in that dress. Quite a passionate romp. Now though Mark is fast asleep and am rendered strangely insomniac. To consider everything that's happened this year… even just everything that has happened since end of July!... is incredible. Am v. lucky girl (though would not pass up chance to kick Kipling in the backside for his contribution to the previous comedy of errors—except he's dead).
Tuesday, 28 December
10st (Gah. GAH!); calories: 2500 (can't scale back too much); circumference of waist: 43 inches (had better hold steady); days until wedding: 3 (!)
12.15 pm. As we had breakfast, asked Mark how his night had gone for his stag party. "Oh, it was very nice," he said.
"What did you do?" I asked.
Long pause, then got somewhat dodgy answer: "Not much. Went out for a drink."
Sensed was not getting whole truth. "And…?" I prompted sternly.
"And…" He cleared his throat. "The club to which they brought me… well. Had young women taking off most of their clothes and dancing."
Mouth dropped open. Never would have thought the likes of Giles and Nigel would do this! "What?!"
"It was awful," he said, and was clear he really thought so; immediately regretted accusatory tone. "Jeremy's idea." Unsurprising. "I didn't know where to look so I stared into my cocktail most of the time until we left." Felt v. bad that Mark did not enjoy his night. Also felt guilty that had enjoyed mine v. much. Then, in obvious desperate ploy to change subject, he asked, "What about you?"
Doom.
"Great!" I said in wildly disproportionate tone of delight. "We had a great time."
"And what did you do?"
Déjà vu moment. Determined not to be caught in same manner as Mark. Answered directly and confidently. "Went to a nightclub for some dancing with ridiculous bunny girl ears and I had a tiara though it was sort of a bummer that I couldn't have a drink but I had fun anyway."
"Ah," he said. Caught him smirking. "You're such a little liar, Bridget."
Heart raced. Was not possible he could have been told. Was he in fact psychic? "Don't know what you're talking about," I said huffily. "I am not lying. We did do all of those things."
"Okay, a liar whose lie is by omission, then," he said.
"Why on earth would you think that?"
"Because you spoke in one great long sentence without a single pause to breathe."
Resignation washed over self. Was true. Had sort of succumbed to verbal diarrhoea. Was afraid to say anything more for fear of increased self-incrimination, so instead took in great breath and just told the truth. "Fine. Sharon hired a stripper and he showed up at the club."
He didn't look surprised at all. "I thought she might have done. And…?"
"And…" I floundered. "I didn't have the benefit of a cocktail to stare at."
At this he laughed. "Darling," he said, reaching to cover my hand with his. "It's all right if you had a good time. At the end of the day, you're marrying me, aren't you?"
Should have realised he would handle it as mature adult—though getting engaged, finding out your fiancée is expecting your child (well, children) and cohabitating with her probably helped to build up his reassurance. Has done mine, come to think. Though was not sure would have been okay with it if he'd enjoyed young, lithe women dancing, as presently feel the size of hippo.
Time to go and find something nice and dressy in v. limited dressy pregnancy wardrobe, for dinner with Tom and Carl and other friends. Tom is cooking! Teased me, promising not to make blue soup. Bloody Tom. Glad he is so happy and that things are working out for him.
8.45 pm. Home a bit early. Such a fun night, but was really tired, so Mark insisted we come home. After Christmas (despite being v. low-key), the fourth anniversary of Hintlesham Hall shagging, then all of this wedding stuff, next week will seem so dull in comparison. Well, except will be on honeymoon, but that too will be rather low-key.
Confirmed that Sharon and Simon have split up, though came together to the dinner, and still quite genial and friendly. Whatever happened was v. amicable. Still not v. clear to me at all what's going on, and have not had time to really properly pry and ask.
Can barely hold pen now, so should head to bed. Looking forward to sleeping—now that have sprouted discernable bump (one that is most definitely pregnant tummy and not just extra weight), Mark has taken to cradling it most protectively with hand when we're spooned for sleep. Funnily, has not had any effect on desire to have sex.
Wednesday, 29 December
10st (feel as if am holding back crumbling dam with single finger); calories: 2600 (bloody Mum); circumference of waist: 43 inches (so far); days until wedding: 2
8.30 am. Couldn't sleep any longer because went to bed so early, so came down and had some tea and a croissant. Am slightly nervous about impending invasion by the parental units. Hope it will all be fine, but am afraid will devolve into a Mum/Una-style sieve/stir-the-gravy scenario between Mum and Elaine Darcy. Not sure our combined parents have ever shared quarters before. Is fairly large house, though, so should be all right.
10 am. Mum and Dad have arrived. Have forgotten how calming a presence my dad can be. Think he was wiping tear from eye when first laid eyes on me. Not like he hadn't seen me since before belly was obvious, but had worn big loose jumper on Christmas, and today, a much snugger shirt.
"My little moppet, look at you," he said as he gave me a great big hug. "So glad everything's worked out as it has."
Smiled and hugged him tight. "Me too," I said softly.
Got them all settled in in their room, and they are presently gawking about in the nursery. Frankly am a bit astonished my mother isn't pitching a fit about the idea of being a granny, despite wanting me, begging me, to have a baby.
12 noon. Good God. Spoke too soon; think the sight of the nursery really drove it home that she will soon be a grandmother. My mother is insisting that she not be called Granny or Gran.
"It's ageing, darling," she said to me post-nursery visit. "You're only as old as you feel, and if your little ones are calling me 'Granny'"—This she said with a visible shudder!—"then I'm going to feel perfectly ancient."
"What would you prefer they call you?" I asked, humouring her.
"Pam," she said, lifting her chin defiantly. Saw my father roll his eyes. "I'm a person in my own right, and I shouldn't be defined by my relations to others."
"Mum, that is silly," I said. "I can't have the children calling you 'Pam'—I don't even call you that."
"Maybe you should."
No, I thought; She is losing her mind.
Just then, though, my dad saved the day. "They'll just call you 'Loony', anyway. May as well just go with that."
3 pm. Mark's parents are now here. Feel as if some balance of sanity has been restored. So lovely to see such a happy appraisal from the Darcys in just their expressions alone.
Having a little lie down mostly to escape incessant chatter in kitchen, where Mum and Elaine have taken the reins of dinner and are getting the roast and potatoes into oven. Dad and Malcolm are watching the football, along with Mark, who has brought out beer and crisps. So basically, traditional gender roles being well enforced on the premises. (Actually am not sure would trust any meal prepared by Mark's dad, to be honest. Not sure he has ever cooked for himself a day in his life.)
6.30 pm. Woke about 4.25 pm when felt bed moving. Was Mark sitting down beside me to see if was okay. Guess I slept longer than intended. Told him was fine, asked how the match was. Didn't answer. Instead crawled in beside me to spoon up to me.
"Needed a bit of respite from the cacophony," he said, "and could think of no better place."
So now have just woken again to knock on door to inform that dinner was within the hour. Need to go wrangle hair and otherwise make self presentable. Hope can sleep well tonight.
Friday, 31 December
10st 1 (good thing dress v. forgiving, unlike Kipling's minute); calories: 2800 (can indulge on wedding day, surely); circumference of waist: 43½ inches (babies trying to steal spotlight); days until wedding: 0 (!)
5.30 am. Nerves in state of frenzy. Trying to meditate (well, at least to have meditative thoughts) to calm self. Did not want to wake Mark so am in kitchen with cup of tea.
Yesterday was v. g. Relaxing. Mark took me to couple's spa day for utter pampering: manicure, pedicure, massage (special care due to pregnancy). Thank goodness muscles do not feel noodly or otherwise in pain today. Had previously declined offer for haircut as all friends discouraged messing with hair in any way too close to wedding day as no time for recovery should something go wrong. Also remembered Paolo incident all too well.
7 am. V. nice. Elaine Darcy came down a bit ago to go out into back to have a cigarette, was surprised to find self in kitchen. Instead she made tea, too, and sat with me, big smile on face. Realised we had not really had private time, one on one, since Mark and I had got back together.
"I hope you know how very pleased we are that you and Mark worked things out," she said, not waiting for subject's introduction. Then, in slightly more whispered tones, "I encouraged him to let you know how he felt. I think that's why he wrote the note—you know, he's never felt comfortable talking about emotional things."
Was astonished. Elaine had known the whole time that he'd written that note, and… realised she must have thought I'd rejected him. And she still liked me! So I told her about the mistakenly swapped note for "If" poem. She smiled, put her arm around me and gave me a little squeeze of a hug, then muttered with a chuckle, "Bloody Kipling."
Could not help but laugh too. With babies on board and a wedding in the extremely near future, was easy to laugh now.
8.30 am. Mark came down shortly after wrote that, when he'd woken to find me gone. "Everything all right?" he asked, hugging me as I sat at the breakfast nook, kissing top of head in affectionate manner. Told him was quite all right, gestured to where his mum was smoking her trademark Sobranie. He chuckled. "At least one of the women in my life has dropped that habit."
The plan for the day is to get hair styled, makeup done and get dressed, by 2 pm in order to get to church by 4 pm (leaving with plenty of time to spare due to unforeseen circumstances as well as insane London traffic). Wedding party is v. much like musical chairs from Jude's own wedding: Shazzer, Jude and Tom as bridesmaids, and Richard, Simon and Giles for groomsmen. (Tom is not a 'maid' as such, and was in San Francisco (with Carl!) and thus not at Jude's wedding, but wanted to include him in mine v. much.) Constance was beside herself with glee at thought of being flower-girl and ring-bearer (Magda's boys still too young to be trusted with rings). Mum was a bit put off that did not ask Jamie and Becca to be in wedding party, but the groomsmen are groom's decision and Mark and Jamie barely know each other. As for Becca, have never been overly fond of her, and secretly suspect Becca thinks am the antichrist for not being vegan.
Caterers are to come to house while we are at the church, in order to set up for reception / party in the style of Turkey Curry Buffet. Think Mum is less than pleased to not have a more traditional reception, but reminded her that the house served more than adequately for Malcolm and Elaine's Ruby Wedding party. "Besides," I said. "I'll be able to go straight up to bed as soon as I'm tired." That seemed to mollify her.
Reception to start at 7.30 pm with dinner at 8 pm. Have asked Mark about music but he has only smiled in response, so is quite the mystery. Hope it is not stiff, stodgy quartet or similar. Surely Mark knows self well enough by now.
1.10 pm. Feeling a bit overwhelmed. Now have hair all done up in twist with curls and pearl combs, and picture-perfect makeup. Friends seem on verge of tears (Mark banished and forbidden to see me after Mum caught us embracing in kitchen). Feel like fairy princess. Leaving dress for last minute, as will surely spill something on it if put it on too soon.
1.55 pm. Dress on. Ivory silk (as previously mentioned) and a bit of lace. Not as much lace or as poufy as Mum would've liked. Is really more like something Elizabeth Bennet might've worn to a ball in the BBC Pride and Prejudice. Is now a tiny bit snug at waistline, but nothing to be done about it. Looks gorgeous. Empire-style waist perfect, and really shows off enhanced bosom.
Shoes are low, low kitten heels—cannot do flats as Mark will tower over me, but centre of gravity all wrong with bigger belly, so might fall over with higher heels.
Necklace on, pearl drop earrings in place. Tom has veil.
Time to go.
6.05 pm. Am married. MARRIED!
Am now back at home for a little nap before guests beginning to arrive. (Being pregnant is v. convenient excuse for resting whenever one feels like it.)
Ceremony started promptly at four, which laid to rest all fears (and/or bets) that would be late to own wedding. Coming down aisle with Dad was similar to having life flashing before eyes, with relatives and family friends (i.e. Geoffrey's smirky, ogling face) lining the aisles as we passed them by.
Then saw Mark seeing me in dress and veil for first time. Swore he was going to cry right there, which was quite something given his considerable capacity for reserve. Soft expression, misty eyes, lines tensing in jaw, fighting for control of emotion. Then he drew back veil… and the rest is all quite a blur until were proclaimed husband and wife and we processed out. (Honestly, though, had passing thought that Daniel Cleaver might burst into church in manner of Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate and declare undying love, not that would have run off with him, obviously, but still glad did not happen.)
Not too crowded, but then again, we did not have v. large invite list (Mark's brother Peter could not come, which was v. sad as have not really met him, but he sent his regrets with a surprisingly amusing and touching video message on disc, and a v. lovely present for the two of us: gorgeous silver frame engraved with our names and the date). Thought Jamie and his girlfriend had not managed to make it to ceremony, but Mum told me later that they'd come in late. They'd apparently hit traffic coming down from Manchester (do not know why they didn't come down last night). Haven't asked about their staying over post-reception, but will steel myself for possibility.
One small snafu at ceremony: Constance, with whom we had entrusted the rings, decided at last moment to refuse to hand them over. "If you're a married mummy," she declared, "then you won't play with me anymore." Found out afterwards that she had asked Magda about my stomach (had not seen her since it had really popped out), wanting to know if had eaten football or similar, then had explained that no, there were babies in there and that I was going to be a mum come the spring.
Crouched down as best as could and explained that one of the babies was a girl, and we could all play together—and would she like that? Big beaming smile, then she nodded enthusiastically. Smiled turned quickly to look of scepticism along with pointed stare at my belly. "There's more than one baby in there?"
"Yes," I said, fully aware that the ceremony was at an awkward standstill.
"How?" she asked. Round of polite laughter.
"They're very small," said Mark from above her as if booming (though patient) voice of God. She looked up at him with big, round eyes, muttered an "Oh," placed rings in Mark's outstretched hand, then went over to where Shaz was beckoning her.
Afterwards, took photos at church—cannot wait to see the one with Mum, Dad, Elaine, Malcolm, and Mark and me—then some more out in the back garden (though is v. cold outdoors). Was v. touched—Jamie came to the house just before came upstairs, while was still all done up in bridal gown, shoes, veil and all, and we posed for a picture together. (God only knows where Becca went to.) Was expecting usual humorous jab, tease or similar but instead, he looked v. emotional, and gave me a proper tight hug and kiss on cheek.
"You all right?" I asked quietly into his ear.
"Me? Just fine," he said; his voice really had picked up the Manchester lilt. "Just a bit much, seeing my baby sister in bridal attire with babies of her own on the way."
Now am (temporarily) divested of wedding dress in order to have a v. brief lie-down. Hope do not get hair all wonky or smudge makeup too badly.
Saturday, 1 January
10st 1 (not bad given yesterday's debauching); calories: 2500 (comfort to babies); circumference of waist: 43½ inches (surely will explode like dying star any time now); days since was singleton: 1 (hurrah!)
10.30 am. Long, luxurious lie-in in own comfortable bed after possibly best day—and night—of life.
Woke at about 7 pm from nap. Since would be only day in life intended on wearing wedding dress, had decided to wear it to reception too. Most brides do, and dress is not so enormous (in manner of Disney Cinderella) that it would knock over lamps or disturb the catering spread.
First face saw once downstairs was Mark. Husband. HUSBAND! He smiled and reached out his hand to me, then pulled me into a hug. "Have a nice nap?"
"Not bad." Pause. "Do I look all right? Don't have lines on my face from wrinkles on the pillow or anything, do I?"
He chuckled. "No, you look radiant. Come, have a look at your reception."
Took me into dining room. Could not believe eyes. It was all decked out for party, with festive snowflake/winter motif as well as sparkly white hearts. Catering spread—rather, beginnings of catering spread, as were still setting up—was outstanding. Realised was v. hungry, once the delicious smell of turkey curry hit nose.
Wondered if had started to drool or similar, because Mark chuckled and said, "Want a little plate?"
"Yes," I said—then felt face flush as realised had sounded v. desperate.
Brought me a plate of food and a kitchen towel to keep me from getting curry on dress. Was really magnificent. Shall be spoiled for all future Turkey Curry Buffets at Una's.
After partaking, Mark took the plate. As got to feet, heard the unmistakeable sound of stringed instruments tuning up. Heart dropped to my feet. A string quartet! The tune was vaguely familiar, possibly Mozart.
Heard Mark chuckle again as if reading mind. "Give them a chance, darling," he said.
"But…"
"None of that," he interrupted. "Trust your husband."
As guests began to arrive, the quartet changed tunes. Listened in disbelief when realised the tune was something much more familiar (though a bit slowed down, tempo-wise), then started to chuckle. "Is that… 'Like a Prayer'?
"I believe that it is, yes," said Mark coolly before smiling. "Told you to trust me."
Reception/party was not too terribly big, consisting of families and family friends, and of course our friends. Included a few colleagues too: Perpetua from old job, Grant, Patchouli, and Taylor, who works with us permanently now and has become more than just acquaintance, though obviously not part of Urban Family. (Also obviously, Rebecca was not invited as she is no longer friend, though would love to be fly on wall when she hears have married Mark and am bearing his children. Is v. wrong, though, to think such uncharitable, gloating thoughts.) Mark's colleagues also came, including Giles, Nigel, Louise Barton-Foster and the hoorah who looked like Prince Andrew (whose name have again forgotten). Was shocked to see them there and so friendly. Mark confided to me after our chat that they never disliked me, as had previously feared: "No, darling. They didn't agree with you, but they admired the courage of your convictions in an unfriendly environment." Sort of like a lamb amongst lions, I said—at which Mark laughed. "But they're very glad that I'm happy. They can see that you make me happy."
Found Jamie early on to ask where Becca had got off to. Had not seen her all day. He seemed sheepish and explained that the two of them had had a row after she had caught him eating a great big plate of turkey curry—and enjoying it with too much relish for her liking. "But you're not vegan, are you?" I asked.
"Well, no," he said. "But I don't think I've actually had a bite of meat in five years, because we don't keep anything animal-related in the house and…" He sighed. "It just smelled so good, you know? And it's not fair—she doesn't compromise at all on it. You have to have compromise, right?"
"Yes," I said, suddenly feeling like wise married lady. Felt sad for him because while she annoys the piss out of me, they have seemed happy all this time. "I hope you can work it out."
After a brief resting period (some of the food was left out for people to graze on) things were set up for the dancing. Had first dance with Mark. While we danced there was total silence in room apart from music, which was a bit odd, then applause as song ended. Afterwards, had father-daughter dance with my dad, who was red-eyed and stoic as if he hadn't been quietly weeping into a handkerchief (poor Dad), but clearly happy. During this, Mark danced with his mum. Finally, danced with Malcolm while Mark danced with Mum—she looked v. pleased. Portugal finally all forgotten.
Had hoped to avoid some wedding traditions, but didn't, like clanging the glassware for a kiss (Mark turned pink every time) and the dreaded garter removal (Mark turned red, nearly refused and came v. close to murdering Jeremy, who suggested it). But it was all in good taste and lots of fun, and eventually even Mark was laughing.
Did cutting of cake, etc. etc. Caterer wrapped up topmost layer for storage in freezer. Decided needed a bit of a break and offered to take it to kitchen myself. As approached kitchen, heard tittering, and found Jamie and Becca sitting on the floor under the breakfast nook, drinking wine and eating turkey curry. Both of them!
"It's probably going to make me sick," she said, "but my doctor's been on my case to start eating a little animal protein again. I guess I can make a few compromises… but no leather."
Jamie shook his head. "Nope, no leather, boss."
She giggled and leaned over to kiss him and suddenly, for the first time since he'd started seeing her, felt warm feelings towards her.
As dancing progressed to the stringed-up tunes of the 80s (more Madonna, and Duran Duran / Culture Club / Wham! / etc.) and alcohol imbibed (none for me, obviously), topic of discussion turned, oddly enough, to possible names for the babies. We have had our own discussions about names, as yet not very fruitful, but no one believed us when we said we really hadn't picked any. And everyone begged us to tell them if they'd guessed the right names. At this rate, will name them after the people who pester us about it the least.
At about 10.30 pm, Elaine Darcy came over to us looking quite perplexed. "One of the caterers came to me to say this had just come." It was a fancy gift box, rectangular in shape, long and covered in shiny silver paper and a big bow. Was also a bit heavier than expected.
"What on earth is it?" I asked. Admit I thought of fancy wrap job on bullet on which name had been engraved.
"Only one way to find out, said Mark, who took it and carried it over to the table, garnering a little audience as he did so. He tugged on the bow, lifted the lid, and—
Inside was enormous bottle of champagne—honest to goodness champagne, v. expensive and v. old vintage Dom Perignon. Gasped when saw it.
"There's a card," said Mark. It was addressed to both of us. He gestured I should open it. Inside, it said:
Bridge & Darce—
Had the pleasure today of witnessing an event that I thought surely would be the paradox signalling the end the world. But the world did not end; here we are, nearly the new year, and after such miraculous happenings I thought I'd offer an olive branch (or at the very least, fermented grapes) to send my sincere congratulations on your marriage and your babies-to-be. Perhaps save it for the summer to celebrate the birth?
Warm regards
Daniel Cleaver
Ps. Gorgeous as ever, Bridge, though skirt's far too long.
(Briefly wondered how Daniel possibly could have known about twins—wiretapping, theft of medical records or similar—but realised he probably just heard people talking in the church. Though—how had he known of wedding? Perpetua? Yes, probably.)
Handed the note to Mark, waited for steam to come from ears at thought that Daniel was in the church and commenting on skirt… but said steam did not happen. In fact, he did not seem angry at all. Actually think I saw him smiling. Turned to me as if (again) reading my mind. "Why should I be upset?" he asked quietly. "You're my wife, and if you think about it, if not for him, you might not have been." He then kissed me and tucked the card into his pocket.
"Who's it from?" asked the hoorah.
"My brother," Mark said, not missing a beat. "Sorry, though; we're saving it for another special occasion, so that my darling wife can enjoy it too."
My darling wife. Loved the sound of it!
We had a dance to something slow and lovely—might have been something by Billy Joel, not entirely sure—then we (and by this mean the girls and me—Mark went off to talk to someone) danced again, this time to an impressive rendition of "Safety Dance", when the fatigue of the day hit me all at once. Took a seat on the sofa (reserved for me, perks of being bride, and pregnant to boot), and was brought all manner of treats.
"So Bridge," asked Shaz, "you can tell us the names, you know."
"Shazzie," I said, "we really haven't picked any. I promise." Explained how we were having differences of opinion—traditional English names vs. something a bit more daring—and that they would be the first to know when we did. "Apart from my mum and such." Occurred to me that still had not got the full story on Simon, so pressed for details.
She looked a bit shy, and spoke quietly, though there was no chance of being overheard. "We decided to break it off and just be friends. Neither of us know exactly what we want, though we know we love one another. Who knows what the future will bring?"
Thought back to three or so years of pure friendship with the man am now married to. Had v. certain feeling at that moment that everything would work out for them, that they would come out the other end stronger partners than ever before, and maybe even married, too, or at least solidly committed.
"Don't you smug-married-smirk at me," she hissed, though when I looked up she was smiling. Think she knew very well what was on my mind.
At about 11 pm party favours for ringing in the new year were trotted out, as was coffee and tea, champagne for toasting, and cut up wedding cake for dessert. Must have dozed off for a bit because next thing it was five 'til the hour. At stroke of midnight, had little tiny sip of champagne and kiss from brand new husband. After that, people began to sense things were winding down, started gathering up coats, etc. Parents stayed up in order to tend to them; Mark took me upstairs to officially consummate the marriage before we both collapsed from exhaustion. Is surely stuck with me now.
Oh! Time for brunch.
3.30 pm. Have now said our goodbyes to parents and Jamie and Becca, who gave me great hug! Was quite shocked. Have now come up for a bit of a rest; expecting Mark shortly so that we can pack. We are not heading out on honeymoon until tomorrow morning, but are taking lots of time to prepare. Can see that Mark is v. g. influence on me already—alone, I would have left packing until last possible moment.
We gave honeymoon location a lot of thought. Would probably be last holiday-type thing we would have in a while, especially on our own. Would have been nice to go back to Provence, but doctor has advised no flying because of twin situation and to be on safe side. Plus, is dead of winter, so beach not likely to be as fun (or so am telling self). In the end, decided that since we would likely spend most of time alone in room in bed, it didn't matter precisely where was going. Therefore have decided only to take a suite at a nearby historic mansion-turned-hotel and lounge in utter, decadent luxury for two weeks.
Sunday, 2 January
10st 3 (ah, there it is); calories: 2400 (continued tug-of-war with needy babies); circumference of waist: 43¾ inches (not a surprise); days since was singleton: 2 (still v. weird to be 'Mrs Darcy'); cost of honeymoon suite, per night: same as flat (approx.)
11.20 am. Lady Astor Suite, Cliveden House, mere left turn from Heathrow. Have just been shown to room—no, suite—no, actually, not 'suite' either. Is more like 'entire floor' or 'wing'. Is enormous. Could get lost in here!
Mark asked if was happy. Am not sure how could be otherwise; perhaps gobsmacked silence sent wrong message. "I love it," I said, staring with wide eyes at the portrait on the wall. "I'm just afraid we may have to sign over one of the children to pay for it."
He laughed out loud—gorgeous, spontaneous, unfettered laughter—and put his arms around me, snuggling into hair. Felt warm breath on ear, waited with anticipation for wooing words or kiss. Instead, he said, "Bloody Kipling."