The music crescendoed and Bridge sailed on, and Bridge’s train very much…didn’t. We’d been aware there was a lot of it, but between me and the bridesmaids we’d managed to kind of carry it as a bundle without getting a full sense of its terrifying magnificence.
Now, however, it was unfolding like a giant snake in an exploitative B
movie. And because we hadn’t had the foresight to stretch it back in a straight line from the door, it was also cornering really badly, meaning it was dragging heavily past the aisle and making aggressive moves at the guests. A hapless second cousin had to snatch her child out of its way.
At last, Bridge was at the altar and the bridesmaids were twenty-five feet away, wrangling a cascade of silk that had already swallowed three chairs.
“Dearly beloved,” began Judy in her loudest posh-person voice, which was pretty damn loud. “Oh, I say, that’s fun, isn’t it? I haven’t said that in years. We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of this woman, Bridget Dawn Welles, and this chap, Thomas No Middle Name Ballantyne. Then, once the party’s over, they’re going to go and do the legal bit at an actual registry office.”
I could hardly see because I was miles away, but Bridge seemed happy enough, despite the somewhat unorthodox delivery. And Tom had the same look of slightly dazed contentment that every bridegroom has had on his face since the beginning of time.
Judy, too, seemed to be having the time of her life. “Now, I’m meant to say something about marriage and how jolly seriously you’re supposed to take it. But, honestly, I’ve always thought it works best when it’s a bit of a laugh. My most successful by far was my fifth husband. We kept each other in stitches constantly. Then one evening we were out on his yacht and he laughed so hard, he fell overboard and was eaten by a shark. And, as I’ve told every man I’ve ever slept with, it doesn’t matter how you start or how you finish, it’s the bits in the middle that matter. All of which said, I hope this wedding will be a wonderful start to Tom and Bridget’s life together.”
She paused for about half a second. “Now. Vows.”
They’d written their own, of course, and they were terribly sweet and terribly sincere and—this probably makes me a horrible human being—I forgot them the moment I heard them. Then again, they weren’t supposed to be meaningful to me; they were supposed to be meaningful to Tom and Bridge. Oliver arrived about halfway through, got stuck in the entrance with the bridal party because of the mega-train and, being a far better person than me, took the whole situation impeccably and even seemed to find the vows genuinely moving.
After the vows came the rings, ably presented by Tom’s best-man-slash-brother Mike who, unlike the rest of the male guests, had chosen to rock a rose-gold suit and was kind of putting the rest of us to shame.
“And so,” concluded Judy, “by the power vested in me by absolutely no bugger, I declare you a legally nonbinding man and wife. You may kiss the bride if you want to be disgustingly American about the whole thing.”
To nobody’s surprise they did, in fact, want to be disgustingly American about the whole thing. I glanced sideways and saw Oliver wiping a tear from his eye, which was unfair because he wasn’t as close to Bridge as I was and had never slept with Tom. At least I assumed he hadn’t. And to my shock and happiness, my brain didn’t vanish down a rabbit hole of wondering who Oliver had slept with before we’d started dating, and instead agreed to carry on being genuinely happy for Tom and Bridge in a really straightforward way.
It was almost disorienting to have a positive feeling that didn’t dredge up a single insecurity or neurosis, but I suppose all the Tom-vanishing, church-burning, dress-losing chaos had worn that part of my psyche down. Which just left the part that liked Bridge and Tom and was glad they were married now.
The happy couple turned to face their guests and were about to make a joyful procession out of the walled garden when they ran into the train issue. It was taking up the entire aisle, had already made a good attempt at wrapping itself around Bridge’s legs as she turned, and was currently dragging through the crowd in quite an ominous way.
“If everyone could stand back,” I tried, “I think we’re going to have to…gather and swing. Bride’s family, please keep your heads down.”
It wasn’t the most dignified exit in the history of matrimony, especially because a small swarm of overenthusiastic page boys and flower girls insisted on showering us all with confetti while we tried to do the sartorial equivalent of turning an eighteen-wheel van in a residential street.