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...Lilith's attendants appeared to be her groom’s younger sisters, Niamh (22), and Sinéad (15). The latter departed from the traditional bridesmaids’ attire and sported a pair of Doc Marten’s boots and dyed bright blue hair with her strapless lace dress...
“Er, I think you’ll find that’s 'aquamarine’, not just ‘blue’ thank you very much,” came the disembodied voice from under the table. “And also it looks fucking amazing.”
...The groom was accompanied by Lilith’s close friend Nathaniel Carlin, and the unusual choice of ‘Almost an Angel’ bad boy singer Gabriel James, who had...
Gabriel cleared his throat. “...Who had a delightful chat with Ms Bresson over tea and biscuits several years ago,” he read, then had to stop until the laughter quietened down.
...It also seemed that the bride and groom had also gone for a quirky choice of ringbearers, with Mr Strachan’s infant nephew spotted carrying a lace pillow, and Gabriel James leading a small, scruffy mongrel on a lead with a pouch hanging from its collar...
I scooped Sceolan up from where he was scavenging for crumbs and kissed his nose. “You’re not a scruffy mongrel,” I assured him.
“Well, he is really,” said Lilith. “But he’s our scruffy mongrel, and also an exceedingly good boy.”
“And that’s about it.” Gabriel passed the phone back to Henry. “There are a few shit photos with taken with a telephoto lens, but they obviously couldn’t get much more thanks to that impressive security cordon Lilith’s local mates pulled off. Hopefully they’ll back off now.”
“And if they don’t, Sinéad and I will just hunt them down one by one in the morning,” Lilith said.
“Too fucking right,” Sinéad added, emerging from the den with Sol on her right hip and a kitten in her left hand. “Any Champagne left?”
As conversations started up again, fuelled by happiness, friendship and wine, I turned to my wife. “Shall we go?” I asked. “Looks like everyone is happy enough here for a while.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” She took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s.”
*****
Lilith
Finn and I walked hand in blissful hand through Santa Marita’s streets, and as we rounded a corner I glanced up at him. He was suddenly bathed in the golden evening sunlight, still dressed in his wedding attire of sand-brown linen trousers and a white linen collarless shirt, and had never looked more beautiful, or more content. I pulled him to a halt.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Not a single thing,” I said, and stood on my tiptoes to kiss him. “It’s just very difficult to snog and walk at the same time. Especially in a posh frock.”
“Fair play,” Finn said, and kissed me back before we set off once more.
“How’s the chest bearing up?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Eh, a bit sore. But ‘different’ sore, in a good way, if that makes sense?”
“Absolutely,” I said. Whilst he was in hospital Finn had been offered a skin graft to cover the brand inflicted on that nightmarish night in Ireland, but sick of operations and sick of pain, he’d turned it down. Instead he’d waited until the day before our wedding to face his dread of needles and had Feargal tattoo over the scar. Now a perfect little sprig of Lily of the Valley flowers bloomed over the mark that the late Michael Albermarle had thought would mar Finn’s flesh forever.
We neared the town square and passed a hive of activity. Later that evening there would be a gig at Benedicta’s with food and an open bar and, for one night only, music by Gabriel James supported by Feargal Kendrick and Bugger’s Muddle. Call-Me-Ed and Davey – apparently brothers separated at birth, judging by their instant friendship – were already there helping to erect gazebos, arrange seating and string lights around the trees.
Finally we arrived at the Plaza del Cristo, where the centuries-old church of Santa María Magdalena stood in the dappled shade of the plane trees.
Finn paused. “You still don’t have to do this you know.”
“I know that, dickhead,” I said. “If I had to, then I wouldn’t.” I picked up the heavy satin hem of my dress and looped it over my arm so I could walk up the steps to the heavy main door of the church. “Mind you, you did make things a little tricky in that regard when you took a literal bullet for me, Strachan. Do you have any idea how many favours, paybacks and units of karma that’s worth?”
He laughed. “Well, when you put it like that...”
I kissed him again, just because I could. “Seriously though, I love you and I know what this means to you. And besides, Father Baroja’s a friend, and I’ll keep my fingers crossed at all the holy bits. Now get a move on Strachan; he’ll be waiting for us.”
*****
My husband and I stood with our heads bowed in the cool, incense-scented church whilst Father Baroja blessed our marriage. The words themselves might mean nothing to me, but the look of joy and peace on Finn’s face as the final prayers were said meant everything.
We were home.
