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It’s completely ridiculous of course, picking Eastertime to get married in, but woe betide anyone to tell Graham and Amanda that. Even in their own small village, the choice to do a wedding on Easter Saturday had seemed absolutely mad and it had taken Graham and Amanda and even Iris to persuade the old vicar to agree to it.
‘Uncle Miles,’ Graham says, picking at his cerulean tie with vague disinterest, ‘has promised the girls the full Hollywood experience. If I don’t get twice-daily updates on how much junk food you’ve fed the girls and how many stuffed toys you’ve bought them, I’ll be suing you for emotional distress.’
From their position at the front of the church, in front of the altar, Iris watches over her shoulder at the last few guests making their way into the church, shifting from one foot to another to alleviate the ache in her feet from her high heels. ‘You don’t have a lawyer.’
‘I’ll do it myself,’ Graham laments. ‘Emotional distress and being a bad sister. It’ll be a landslide decision.’
It had been Miles’ idea to be fair. Ever since that first New Year’s Eve, Sophie and Olivia have treated Miles like the mildly eccentric but beloved uncle from a children’s classic film, entertaining his stories, his propensity for singing at all hours of the day and night, and the fact that he cannot help them with any homework, bar music, whatsoever, with grace and magnanimity. In turn, he sends them gifts every chance he gets, steals them away for ice cream and arcades whenever he’s in England, and has probably named them in his will by now.
When Graham and Amanda had announced the date - Easter??? Iris had texted Graham straight after the joint announcement phone call - talk amongst the four had quickly turned to the girls and the honeymoon after their next dinner double date at a Surrey eatery. Iris had immediately volunteered to keep them at home in the cottage, ready to turn her bed into some kind of sleepaway tent for the girls and invent many games for them all to play, usually involving enough confetti to stun a horse.
Miles, though, had struck gold. ‘Why not give them a vacation back in LA? A holiday of their own?’
The others had stared at him, as Miles had launched into his pitch. ‘They’ve never been to America and yes, I know ideally that would be an experience with all six of you, this is a perfect opportunity for them to see LA without the pressure of, you know, seeing where your dad’s new wife lives.’
‘And you could use my place,’ Amanda says thoughtfully, spooning parmesan onto her pasta. She’d held onto her American home as she and Graham balanced things out. Iris herself had been a houseguest multiple times in the interim, giving her and Amanda the chance to bond more as future sisters-in-law, and allowing Amanda to find a new best friend in Arthur.
‘And they could have the full Miles Dumont Experience,’ Miles chimed in, beaming. Iris stares at him, both agog and utterly in love with him.
‘For two whole weeks?’ Graham had asked. ‘It’s… well, it’s a lot. I’m their father and it’s a lot.’
‘Pshaw,’ Miles said, pouring himself another glass of wine. ‘No sweat, they love me, I love them. You have full house insurance right?’ This last comment was directed at Amanda who shrugged, tilting her glass at Miles so he could top up her own glass. ‘Excellent.’
The talk had then moved on, as it was wont to do, but the looming spectre - loving spectre, Iris knew, but still looming - of the wedding meant that Graham and Amanda were heading to the airport at the same time as Iris and Miles and the girls, the newly-wed Simpkins-Woods pair heading to Thailand for two weeks of islands and surf.
Iris wasn’t looking forward to watching Graham say goodbye to his girls. That didn’t mean, however, she was compelled to be disloyal to Miles.
‘He’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, the girls will have a wonderful time,’ Iris says, turning so she can straighten out Graham’s tie from where he’s harassed it out of place. She’s acting as his best woman, in a dress the same shade of blue as his tie, and fortunately not some garish candy colour more suitable for the Easter season. She’d look like she was advertising chocolate eggs, not supporting her brother through his second wedding.
‘They like him better than me,’ Graham complains. ‘Betrayed by an American.’
‘Who I am in love with and who your wife adores,’ Iris adds, trying to negotiate.
‘Betrayed by two Americans,’ Graham says, knocking his head into Iris’ shoulder like they used to when they were kids, sitting on the stone wall that had encircled their family home, talking about everything and nothing, bottles of ice-cold lemonade in their hands, watching the sun dip below the horizon in ridges of orange and yellow and pink across the fields.
‘You’re getting married,’ Iris chides him, smiling. ‘To an American this time no less.’
‘If they come back with accents,’ Graham says, ‘I will definitely sue.’
‘I don’t think they can develop different accents in two weeks,’ Iris says. It doesn’t mean she won’t scheme with Miles and the girls though, just to see the expression on Graham’s face.
‘If anyone can do it, Uncle Miles can,’ Graham says, affection colouring his good-natured grumbling. ‘They’ll be losing the ‘u’ out of words and calling everything sick before the first week’s out.’
‘It’s okay that you’re going to miss them,’ Iris says softly. ‘You’ve done a brilliant job raising them after… well, after.’
Graham nods. Iris continues, because she’s afraid one of them is going to start crying and this is before the ceremony and Iris isn’t sure there’s a waterproof mascara strong enough to stop her once she gets really going. ‘You’re going to have a wonderful day today, and a wonderful honeymoon with the woman you love. Your girls are going to have an amazing holiday with their Uncle Miles and their stunning, gorgeous, incredible Auntie Iris.’
‘And come back with their own accents,’ Graham says, teasing.
‘I can’t guarantee that,’ Iris says, smiling. Behind her she can see Miles, acting as a cross between an usher, a man of honour, and a compere for the event, judging by peoples’ wide smiles, waving dramatically at her.
He mouths Ready! and Iris beams, turning back to Graham.
‘I hope you have a nice day too, incidentally,’ Graham says as the organ begins playing.
‘I will do,’ Iris says pleasantly. ‘Once I’m out of these fucking shoes.’
Graham laughs, a loud bark of laughter that seems almost blasphemous but old Reverend Douglas doesn’t have time for a reproachful word, because the music is rising and everyone is getting to their feet. Leading the procession, Sophie and Olivia appear in their own azure dresses, tossing petals with unbridled glee, beaming with happiness.
Iris can see the rest of the day stretching out in front of her - teary vows and speeches and cake and dancing under the lights in the trees, Miles and the girls in her arms. She can even see their holiday, see the girls utterly enchanting Arthur, see how full her life is now and how much she wants to say yes to Miles whenever he asks her. Miles, who fills her life with warmth and sunshine and laughter, steady golden sunshine in a life she’d thought condemned to grey clouds and stormy skies.
Amanda, on the arm of Miles, makes her down the aisle, a radiant vision in white, her face aglow. Iris meets Miles’ eyes and smiles, as full of love as she’s ever been, as the wedding finally begins.