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‘Oooh, Regina went with the expensive paper. So fancy,’ she says, looking around the church.
Fancy doesn’t even begin to cover it, this feels almost regal. The church inside is exquisite: dark wood pews, chequered floor, stone carvings and arches set below windows that let all that winter light filter in. Christmas trees decked in gold and red flank the altar and arrangements of amaryllis and trailing festive foliage, candles in storm lanterns and bright red Chinese lanterns take up every inch of space. I’ve never pictured my own wedding – it always feels like a long way away – but even then I don’t think all this grandeur and attention would sit well with me.
‘Can I offer to show you to a seat?’ I ask the elderly lady but a young woman rushes in behind her. ‘Po Po, I told you to walk carefully, it’s slippery outside. I paid for the taxi and suddenly you were gone.’ I’ll assume they’re related and watch as she threads an arm through hers. She looks at me and smiles. You see, this girl got it right. She didn’t WhatsApp a mate and ask her if she had any red clothes. She’s gone for midi length with sleeves and a bit of detail. Quite mortifyingly, Frank is convinced I am wearing exactly the same dress as eight other girls here today, so my coat and scarf stay firmly attached to me. I have no idea what I’m going to do later. I can’t wear my coat all day. ‘You’re Maggie,’ the girl says.
I don’t know if that’s my cue to tell her about my cat. I look at her face, trying to recall her from the many family photos that Frank showed me. She’s sweet, a flower hairclip sweeping her fringe back from her face. ‘I am. I’m sorry. Lots of new faces today. You are…’
‘I’m Norah. I’m a family friend of the bride. There’s been a lot of talk about you. It’s good to put a face to the name.’ I try not to act too shocked as she leans into me. ‘One aunty had a bet going that you didn’t exist.’
‘What?’ I say, trying to laugh it off.
‘They thought Frank had got your photo off the internet.’
‘Well then, I hope that aunty lost big bucks. Can I offer you an order of service today?’ I say, trying to change the subject and not land myself in too much hot water.
‘Yes, please. Where is Frank? I’d like to say hello,’ she tells me.
I point towards the front of the church where he’s doing as Leo suggested and walking another elderly woman to her seat. It’s literally all he’s done since coming here. He’s put in a buttonhole, met relatives at the door, most of whom still refer to him as Francis and tell him he looks so grown up and tall now. Some even ask for his actual height which I nowknow is five foot ten. They speak to him in short bursts about what’s he up to and why he isn’t married yet and that’s when I usually step forward to reveal myself and help Frank face all that judgement. Norah turns and looks delighted to see him at the front of the church, and I smile to see her run up to him and hug him. He’s Frank so he doesn’t quite know what to do with the contact but there’s a light in his eyes that makes me think he’s happy to see her too.
‘Margaret?’ a voice suddenly says behind me. No one calls me that. Mainly because that’s not my name. I turn tentatively, clutching on to my orders of service. The woman who stands before me is a vision in cherry red, a bright striking three-quarter length coat with a pillbox hat and matching shoes and purse. She stops for a moment to look me up and down as we stand at the back of the church, next to a charity box and the dim light of a metal frame of half-lit candles. Frank’s famous mother, Regina.
‘Mrs San, it’s lovely to finally meet you,’ I say calmly. However this woman makes me feel anything but. I’ve never even met her but I feel her eyes piercing into my very soul. It’s very humourless, like you don’t have time to blink, let alone think. I think I understand a microgram of what Frank has to endure.
‘You may call me Regina,’ she says, with a hand to the air like a religious leader.
‘Then please call me Maggie. My name isn’t Margaret,’ I say, knowing instantly I shouldn’t have corrected her. I can sense what she’s thinking. It’s not your wedding. I’ll call you what I want. I feel my mouth going intensely dry. ‘In that my grandmother was Margaret and I’m named after her but my parents kept me as Maggie so people wouldn’t get confused.’
‘Oh, is she the Icelandic grandmother?’ she asks me.
Shit. ‘No, that’s the other one,’ whose fake name I can’tquite remember. ‘Who lives in Reykjavik.’ And that is all I know about Iceland except for Vikings and volcanoes.
Regina nods her head at me. ‘Dear, why are you handing out orders of service? Is Francis shirking his responsibilities?’ she says, looking out into the congregation for him. Her eyes fall on him still chatting to his friend, Norah. ‘Where on earth did he get that coat?’
Maybe now’s not the time to tell her the kind lady in the café opposite found it in lost property. ‘It’s fine. We had a steady flow of guests and I offered to help for a while. Doesn’t the coat look nice?’ I ask her.
‘It’s preferable to what he was wearing before,’ she says dismissively. She waves at someone behind me, mouthing out words and offering to catch up with that person later while I stand there in front of her. There is something extremely well-groomed about her from the hair to her complexion. She also smells extraordinary; it’s Chanel No 5 for sure, which matches the handbag. ‘Well, it is lovely to meet you. It’s a shame Frank thought he had to hide you from us. It would have been nice to have got to know you before today,’ she says, chastisement in her tones. Well, that’s because I’ve only officially been Frank’s girlfriend for about an hour.
‘I do apologise. I think he didn’t want to take the limelight away from Adele’s special day. But it’s an honour to be here, it really is. The church looks amazing and might I say, you also look lovely. You must be very proud.’
‘Of course. Adele deserves only the very best.’
She may as well have said she has a favourite child. I smile. I don’t think I like her very much but with the day as it is, hopefully I won’t have to come into contact with her too much.
‘MA!’ a voice sounds from behind me and I turn to see Frank scampering towards us, looking quite flustered that he wasn’t there to make this introduction.
‘Francis, you have the guests giving out the orders of service? What is this?’
She makes it sound like I’m either not worthy or that I’m doing a rubbish job.
‘I was helping Aunty Suzette to her seat and then I was catching up with Norah…’ he explains.
She scowls to hear his explanations. ‘Where did you get that coat?’
‘I…um…’ he hesitates, still flustered.
‘It was a gift from me,’ I intervene. ‘For Christmas. It’s proper wool.’
She gives a slight nod of the head and picks a bit of fluff off the lapels, straightening his buttonhole. I only ever hear about their relationship but even from this brief altercation, I get it. Frank only lived at home until about eighteen months ago but his mother is there a lot of the time, keeping an eye out, cooking his food, holding his hand. Some would say that’s born out of love, others would say control. I guess I only worry about whether that makes Frank happy or not.
