The First Last Kiss (29 page)

As the sun rises it lights up the Ibizan sky in glorious technicolour, ringing the few feathery plumes of clouds with gold so that they appear to be wearing celestial wedding bands. I sit down on a sandbank and fold my arms across my knees, smiling as I think of everything that lies ahead, the life I am going to embark on as Ryan’s wife.

I look across the beach and catch a glimpse of two windsurfers out just beyond the bay and I know without question that it is Carl and Ryan. It would be exactly Ryan’s wish to begin the day like this and I’d recognize the slant of his body as he leans away from the sail, the curve of his legs, his hold, anywhere. I’ve watched him so many times over the years, so many holidays already, and so many more yet to come. I smile and watch the brothers for a moment, feeling an illicit thrill at seeing my husband-to-be on our wedding day and am then struck by a prick of superstition. Is it bad luck? But surely it doesn’t count if they don’t see you?

I turn my head, just in case. I don’t want to jinx anything. I stand up and brush the sand off my jeans and pick up my trainers, but I can’t resist one last glimpse at them. It looks like they are sailing into the sun’s tail, trying to catch it as it ascends out of the ocean and into the sky – and it wouldn’t surprise me if Ryan managed it. I laugh, feeling my stomach twirl like a majorette’s baton and I scramble up the bank and back across to the hotel, suddenly desperate to get this wedding in motion.

‘Morning,’ Casey yawns and stretches as I come back into the room, clutching a tray of fruit and coffee.

‘Hey, sleepyhead, time to get up. I’m getting married today!’ I put the tray down and jump on the bed as Casey groans and tries to pull the sheet over her face.

‘God,’ she says bleakly, ‘if you’re this excited at’ – she glances at her watch – ‘6.22 a.m., you are going to be completely bloody unbearable by this afternoon!’

‘I’m
allowed
to be unbearable,’ I laugh. ‘I’m the
bride
remember!’

I hand her a mug of coffee and she pulls herself up and sips it slowly.

There is a knock at the door and Mia and Lydia burst in screaming. They’re both wearing pink Gap hoodies. I wish I had my camera, I never thought I’d see Mia looking so Essex.

‘You’re getting married! You’re getting married!’ they chant.

Jackie, my mum and Nanny Door follow them. Jackie’s wearing a pink satin dressing gown and has an eye mask on top of her head. Her make-up is already applied, or perhaps she hasn’t taken it off since last night. I know she, Dave, Ryan and Carl all went out for dinner with the boys somewhere in the Old Town. Nanny Door is already dressed although I do hope it’s not her wedding outfit as she appears to be wearing a pink velour tracksuit. My mum is wearing a flannel nightie, a pink cardi and an embarrassed smile. I get the impression that Jackie dragged her here, mainly because my mum would never willingly be seen in public in her nightie. I want to give her a hug but Jackie has dived on the bed and is trying to have a playful pillow fight with me. Every time I try to speak to Mum I get a mouthful of feather-filled cotton in my face.

‘Jack-Jackie, stop it, you’ll spill my coff—’ I give up. Lydia, Mia and Casey have now joined in but in the midst of the carnage I manage to slip off the bed and over to my mum. I pour her a coffee from the pot – black, just how she likes it, and I take her arm and we wander out onto the terrace.

She looks out at the spectacular view of the Mediterranean and it occurs to me I have never been on a holiday like this with her. So I know that my wedding, on a frivolous, sun-soaked party island is completely out of her comfort zone. But I’m really touched that even after her initial and obvious disappointment that we weren’t getting married in a church, she hasn’t criticized our choices, or tried to encroach on our day.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asks now, her pale, unmade-up lips curving into a gentle crescent.

‘Nervous, excited, I can’t wait to be married to him,’ I reply truthfully.

Mum nods and taps her short, carefully cut fingernails on the balcony rail. ‘Well, that’s all a mother could ask for,’ she says. I nod and smile. She pulls her cardigan around her, even though it isn’t cold and gazes out at the horizon. I know she’s feeling uncomfortable and exposed in her nightie. ‘Look, Molly, you should know by now that my view on love has always been very practical. My list of things that I wanted was the following . . . ’ She clears her throat and starts to reel them off like a shopping list. ‘Someone good and kind, loyal and trustworthy, financially secure and had the same beliefs as me.’ She looks up, her sharp grey eyes are watering slightly. This is what your father is and what love is for me. And it’s more than enough.’ She sniffs and dabs her eyes. ‘It’s this sea air.’ She looks at me again. ‘But some people want the passion, the one big romantic love.’ She gently raises her hand and touches my face. ‘And some people really deserve it. You have so much to give and you and Ryan are so good for one another. You really love him don’t you, Molly?’

‘I do,’ I say, as much a practice for my vows as a reassurance of my own beliefs. I repeat them because I like how they sound. ‘I do. It-it scares me sometimes how much I love him, Mum. I don’t want to ever lose him again.’ I’m startled to find I am crying.

‘Well, that’s just silliness,’ she admonishes, swiping her hand across my face to dismiss the tears, as if they were a class of unruly pupils. But there is a gentleness in her expression and her action. ‘I know he is a good man, but Molly, believe me when I say this, he isn’t perfect, no one is.’ She pauses, then. ‘The secret to a strong marriage, Molly, is to not lose yourself in it. We come into this life alone, and we leave it alone. The only true constant, is yourself . . . ’ Her sentence trails off and I know in her head she’s adding, ‘and God’ but she knows saying it out loud would wind me up.

‘That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, Mum,’ I say, shaking my head.

‘No, it isn’t, Molly,’ Mum says with a smile that I used to think was pious but I now think is simply conviction. ‘It just means that the only person your happily-ever-after is hinged on is you. Don’t put that pressure on Ryan, or your marriage. It’s the mistake so many people make.’

She leans in and kisses me on my cheek. It is quick and dry, as if she has forgotten how to do it. ‘Now,’ she claps her hands like she is calling a class for register. ‘We’d better get going, hadn’t we? We want you to look . . . ’ She stops, as if struggling to find a suitable word to describe her only daughter.

‘I think the word you’re looking for is
beautiful
,’ I say, linking my arm through hers and turning towards the balcony doors. Compliments have never come easily to Mum. I’d have hated being her pupil; if it was anything like being her daughter, you had to kill yourself to get a ‘V. Good’.

She brushes her hand gently over my hand and shakes her head as she looks at me. ‘You’re already beautiful, Molly. You always have been. And clever and creative and remarkably sensitive and wise. But today, you will be
radiantly
beautiful.’

Swiping away a tear I let her lead me back into the room.

Jackie, Nanny Door and the girls are all giggling conspiratorially in a corner. Casey has now got a pink hoodie on too and I raise my eyes, suddenly suspicious that something is going on. Jackie’s eyes light up as she spots us and she steps forward and hands me a little package. ‘An early wedding-day gift for you, darlin’! Open it, open it!’

Mum goes and stands over with them as I rip open the paper and pull out a beautiful white satin kimono. My initials, MC, are embroidered beautifully on the front. I love that they will stay the same even after I’m married. There isn’t much difference between Carter and Cooper, so I plan to change my name to Ryan’s. I’ve always said it’s something I’d never do and I don’t know what changed my mind. Maybe it’s because I know how important it is to Ryan. And because I like being part of the Cooper clan.

‘It’s beautiful!’ I gasp. And it is. It is clearly the highest-quality silk, it is cut beautifully and the initials are sewn on with what looks like Swarovski crystals.

‘Turn it over! Turn it over!’ squeals Jackie. I see my mother purse her lips, but something tells me it is because she is trying to disguise a smile, not disapproval. I twist my hands so I can see the back and ‘Mrs Cooper’ is sewn on in crystals too. I burst out laughing as I look back up and see that they have all turned round and are standing in a line with their backs facing me. Each of the things they’re wearing – even Mum’s pale-pink cardi – has been customized with different words. Jackie is standing at the far left of the line. Her silk dressing gown is just like mine, except it is cerise pink and says MILF on the back.

I put my hand over my mouth as I splutter out a laugh.

‘What does that acronym stand for?’ asks my mum innocently, leaning round so she can see from her far end of the line.

‘What’s an acronym?’ asks Lydia, wrinkling her nose.

‘It means the short version,’ I explain to Lydia as my mum mutters something about ‘the youth of today’ and ‘education going to pot’.

‘Um, well Trish, what it stands for is . . . “Mother-In-Law . . . Forever”?’ Jackie says, trying to keep a straight face as I continue to laugh.

Nanny Door is next. She winks at me over her shoulder as I read out the inscription on the back of her velour tracksuit top.

‘Nanny Door-in-Law!’ I laugh. ‘Brilliant!’

‘I thought of it meself,’ she says proudly. ‘It rhymes an’ everything!’

‘Mine says “BFF”,’ Casey says. And I smile at her.

‘Mine says “Brides
Laid
”,’ Mia says, and my mum tuts audibly. ‘Because I want everyone to know that I am single and available.’

Lydia uses both her index fingers to point at the back of her hoodie. Hers says ‘Super SIL’.

Finally, my mum’s cardi says MOB on the back. ‘This
acronym
,’ she says pointedly, ‘stands for “Mother of the Bride”.’

I laugh and pull mine over my shoulders and go and join them, pushing into the middle of the line and throwing my arms around them. Jackie and my mum throw their free arms around each other and we huddle together to create a circle, and I feel myself beginning to well up as we have a big group hug.

‘Thank you, everyone. I love it.’

‘I’m glad you do, darlin’,’ Jackie pipes up. ‘It was either that or that diamanté-studded vibrator, wasn’t it, Nanny Door?’ And we all fall about laughing.

Even my mum.

I’m sitting in front of my mirror as Lydia applies the last of my make-up.

Me, Mum, Dad and the bridesmaids had a lovely breakfast out on the hotel terrace and everyone has dispersed to their rooms to get ready. I’ve sent Mum off to deliver my present to Ryan – a watch engraved with our initials and a kiss – and Lydia is just putting the finishing touches to my make-up. Casey is getting ready in the bathroom. I’m going to slip my dress on any minute. The wedding is in just under an hour and the butterflies are flooding my stomach. I’ve had a text from Ryan this morning that was simply a screenful of kisses.

‘There!’ Lyd says as she puts the finishing touches to my face, a little shimmer on my cheeks and under my eyebrows and on the bow of my lips. ‘The perfect beach bride!’ I glance in the mirror and gasp. My tired, stressed face has been transformed with her magic touch so that my skin is golden and dewy, my once-heavy eyes are wide as saucers and the sea-green of my irises is complimented by the sandy sweep of shimmering eye shadow she’s applied to my lids. My eyelashes look inexplicably long and dark, separated a little with minimal mascara so that they look like they’re wet from the sea. My hair flows in loose, flowing waves from a centre parting, down to just past my chest, and the front section is pulled off my face by two little plaits (a detail I added especially for my mum) tied at the back of my head and then decorated with the flowers from my bouquet. It has been a long journey from my awkward, red-haired, black-clothed teen self to this. I twist my head and throw my hair over my shoulders so I can see it cascade down my back. Then I stand up and look at Lydia.

‘Are you ready to put it on, babes?’ she says with a smile. I nod and look over at my dress that is hanging from the wardrobe door. I walk over slowly, reverentially, and carefully take it down and lay it on the bed. Then I slip off my dressing gown and call out to Casey. She’s been in the bathroom for ages.

‘I’m putting it on now, Case!’ I call excitedly.

‘Be right there!’ she yells back. Then I hear the toilet flush but she doesn’t emerge.

‘Will you help me?’ I ask Lyd, desperate to have this beautiful gown on, unable to wait a moment longer.

‘Of course. Shouldn’t we have photos of this though? Shall I get the photographer in here?’

I shake my head at Lyd. I decided before the big day that I don’t want ‘before’ pictures. I want the day to begin when I step out in my dress, ready to marry Ryan.

Lydia holds out the white gown carefully, ready for me to step into. I glance at the bathroom again, but still no Casey. I hope she’s alright. I slip off my dressing gown. I don’t want today to be too much for her. Not after everything she’s been through recently.

‘Now, step right here,’ Lyd says.

I shiver as the light gossamer material of the ivory Grecian-style dress slides up over my body, and I close my eyes as Lyd secures it at the back.

‘Oh, Molly,’ she sighs and steps back. My hands are shaking uncontrollably and I take three big deep breaths before I open my eyes and look in the mirror. The dress is everything I dreamed it would be. Romantic, relaxed but beautifully bridal too. The Grecian style makes me feel like a goddess, I love how the gathered, rolled shoulder straps and floaty, feminine skirt allows me to get away with the plunging V-neck line. There are also two swathes of silk floating out from both of my shoulders instead of a train, and on my back, there’s a little bit of extra special detail, a little nod to my roots.

I hear the bathroom door open and I turn around.

‘Molly,’ Casey says, cupping her hands over her mouth. ‘You look beautiful!’