“Hot whiskey,” I say gratefully. “Thanks.” I take a few sips and close my eyes as the warmth spreads through my body. If only it could get down to my feet, which, to be honest, are completely freezing.
“Bridesmaid!” cries Suze suddenly. “Where’s Bex? We need you for a photograph!”
My eyes open.
“Here,” I shout, slipping the sheepskin coat off my shoulders. “Luke, hold my drink—”
I hurry through the melee and join Suze and Tarquin. And it’s funny, but now that all these people are looking at me, I don’t feel cold anymore. I smile my most radiant smile, and hold my flowers nicely, and link arms with Suze when the photographer tells me to, and, in between shots, wave at Mum and Dad, who have pushed their way to the front of the crowd.
“We’ll head back to the house soon,” says Mrs. Gearing, coming up to kiss Suze. “People are getting chilly. You can finish the pictures there.”
“OK,” says Suze. “But let’s just take some of me and Bex together.”
“Good idea!” says Tarquin at once, and heads off in obvious relief to talk to his father, who looks exactly like Tarquin but forty years older. The photographer takes a few shots of me and Suze beaming at each other, then pauses to reload his camera. Suze accepts a glass of whiskey from a waiter and I reach surreptitiously behind me to see how much of my dress has unraveled.
“Bex, listen,” comes a voice in my ear. I look round, and Suze is gazing at me earnestly. She’s so close I can see each individual speck of glitter in her eyeshadow. “I need to ask you something. You don’t really want to wait ten years before you get married, do you?”
“Well… no,” I admit. “Not really.”
“And you do think Luke’s the one? Just… honestly. Between ourselves.”
There’s a long pause. Behind me I can hear someone saying, “Of course, our house is fairly modern. I think it was built in 1853—”
“Yes,” I say eventually, feeling a deep pink rising through my cheeks. “Yes. I think he is.”
Suze looks at me searchingly for a few moments longer — then abruptly seems to come to a decision. “Right!” she says, putting down her whiskey. “I’m going to throw my bouquet.”
“What?” I stare at her in bewilderment. “Suze, don’t be stupid. You can’t throw your bouquet yet!”
“Yes I can! I can throw it when I like.”
“You ought to throw it when you leave for your honeymoon!”
“I don’t care,” says Suze obstinately. “I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to throw it now.”
“But you’re supposed to do it at the end!”
“Who’s the bride? You or me? If I wait till the end it won’t be any fun! Now, stand over there.” She points with an imperious hand to a small mound of snowy grass. “And put your flowers down. You’ll never catch it if you’re holding things! Tarkie?” She raises her voice. “I’m going to throw my bouquet now, OK?”
“OK!” Tarquin calls back cheerfully. “Good idea.”
“Go on, Bex!”
“Honestly! I don’t even want to catch it!” I say, slightly grumpily.
But I suppose I am the only bridesmaid — so I put my flowers down on the grass, and go and stand on the mound as instructed.
“I want a picture of this,” Suze is saying to the photographer. “And where’s Luke?”
The slightly weird thing is, no one else is coming with me. Everyone else has melted away. Suddenly I notice that Tarquin and his best man are going around murmuring in people’s ears, and gradually all the guests are turning to me with bright, expectant faces.
“Ready, Bex?” calls Suze.
“Wait!” I cry. “You haven’t got enough people! There should be lots of us, all standing together…”
I feel so stupid, up here on my own. Honestly, Suze is doing this all wrong. Hasn’t she been to any weddings?
“Wait, Suze!” I cry again, but it’s too late.
“Catch, Bex!” she yells. “Caaatch!”
The bouquet comes looping high through the air, and I have to jump slightly to catch it. It’s bigger and heavier than I expected, and for a moment I just stare dazedly at it, half secretly delighted and half completely furious with Suze.
And then my eyes focus. And I see the little envelope. To Becky.
An envelope addressed to me in Suze’s bouquet?
I look up bewilderedly at Suze, and with a shining face she nods toward the envelope.