The big day

Pin It

On the morning of our wedding day, we woke up wrapped around each other – but that was the last peaceful moment of the day. Of the whole week, as it turned out…

Because of the mix up over my birth certificate, the date had been changed and we had no idea who would turn up. All the same there was plenty to do, so we had our breakfast in Hall and then rushed over to Hope Street to start cooking.

Back in those dim and distant days my repertoire consisted of scrambled eggs and Vesta packet meals – but my lovely Auntie Minnie had given us a big Good Housekeeping cookery book for an engagement present. And fortunately our good friend Annie knew her way around the kitchen.

The table was groaning. Annie had cooked a ham the previous day. We roasted  four deformed chickens. They were a bargain from Liverpool market – they all had limbs missing but we sliced them up and no one knew (until now).  Annie made sausage rolls and quiches.  I made potted beef and chicken liver pate.  Lots of bread and salad and that was it for us. Ryan’s mother brought some of her wonderful sponge cake and fruit flans…  Andrea’s mother had provided a traditional wedding cake.

While we were cooking the rest of our friends decorated the house. There was music and laughter, and it was lots of fun.

Then Ryan’s mother arrived, and his father – who I met for the first time. He, poor man, was in a state of shock – he wasn’t comfortable with Ryan’s mother’s driving and had clung to the seat the whole way…

Ryan’s mother immediately took over the kitchen and I was banished to go and get ready.

I retreated to the bathroom and soaking under the bubbles I heard my family arrive. I could hear my stepmother and my gran, and my brothers – but grandad had stayed at home. That was the moment it really hit me that Dad wouldn’t be there, and that I’d been running around like crazy, studying and taking exams and preparing for my wedding all to avoid thinking about the fact that he was gone.

So when Mum burst into the bathroom to get me sorted out, I was crying.

I suppose that was what started her off – but she didn’t once ask why I was crying, or think of the obvious reason. Clearly I must be crying because I didn’t want to get married.

“You don’t have to marry him if you don’t want to,” she said. “Come home with me and I’ll look after you. You can transfer to Manchester University, they have a good Law department.”

She’d still not given up on that – I’d spent the last year happily studying English Language and Literature after changing course from Law.  She’d fought it, even to the extent of ringing my tutor and my professor and insisting that I should not be allowed to change course without her permission.  That hadn’t worked, and now I was having visions of being bundled up back home and never allowed to leave…or at least not until I was a lawyer.

She didn’t approve of Ryan at all. His mother was ill and had MS, and he had suffered from depression, and she forecasted a life of misery for me, having to look after them. Pretty ironic in the circumstances…

At least that brought me out of my crying fit and my eyes only slightly red…  Before long I was getting dressed and submitting to being poked and prodded, until she was half satisfied with how I looked. It was her moment to cry when she saw the dress my lovely friend Angela had made for me…crying that I wouldn’t be getting married in our chapel in a long white dress made by her, and probably to a groom of her choosing too…

As a final touch she took some hairpins and stabbed them into my head with flowers attached.  Not very me – at that point I was so tempted to get straight back into my jeans, but Andrea came in and ran off with them. At the last minute I climbed into the shoes I’d borrowed from Jane (no, not that one!), and discovered the basic stupidity of that when I reached the top step. I put them back on when I was safely at the front door.

I said a quick hello to my brothers, who were standing in the hallway eating chips and arguing with Ryan’s mother – who had stolen a chip on her way past them.

Ryan was whisked off with his mum and dad, which must have been slightly surreal for him – I don’t think they’d ever spent that much time together since he was six months old. My family all went off in their cars and I was left with Ryan’s grandma. Which was fine until we got lost on the way to the Registry Office.  By the time we got there, we were so late I began to suspect a conspiracy, but the Registrar was lovely and soon the ceremony was under way, and Ryan and I were making our vows.

The urge to giggle was never far away though – my gran and my mum started crying. And I don’t mean the usual wedding kind of tears, but really loud bawling and sniffing.

But that was soon over – I don’t remember anything about the vows at all (my usual defence ) – just the soundtrack has stayed with me.

Back to Hope Street for the party, and that was when the fun started. I was still hurt that my Grandad hadn’t come, but everyone else did – including one lady in a pink hat who I still can’t identify.  My auntie and my cousins came, and some of my school friends. My great Auntie Hilda came too – and now I know that was a real sacrifice for her, as we were married on a Wednesday afternoon. Ryan’s Polish auntie came and her daughter Anita too. Plus lots of our friends from University.

The food quickly disappeared and lots of the drink – mostly cheap plonk and Pomagne, all of it donated by various of our friends. I disappeared upstairs with Ryan to switch from my contact lenses to my specs, which took an unaccountably long time.

And then it was time for the speeches. By that time my gran had at least stopped crying, but my mum had gone from guest to guest telling everyone she could find that I was an ungrateful daughter who wouldn’t do as I was told about anything, and especially how upset my dad would have been for me to be getting married without their blessing. I guess she was also feeling guilty that she hadn’t contributed anything to the wedding, because she told Ryan’s mum and grandma that she’d given me a substantial amount of money as a wedding present. Unfortunately for many years they believed that I had a secret bank account of my own that I was keeping from Ryan… When Grandma finally asked me about it I was so astonished that she didn’t have any doubts about me afterwards.

Of course, all this had more or less passed over my head at the time. Ryan was getting increasingly angry and I was so worried when he took his turn to speak, because I could tell he was angry (that’s not just the usual redeye ) but I had no idea what about – hence the look of sheer terror on my face here…

But he was good, in spite of the provocation.

David, our lovely best man, made everyone laugh, including me. We were all very fortunate that he didn’t answer the door to anyone in Annie’s pink see through nightie.

Ryan’s halo slipped a little as we were leaving. He was quite vehement about the rice that was thrown, and clearly managed to throw enough of it back. Then he couldn’t resist teasing a pretty and devout friend of ours, asking her what she thought of sex after marriage. She, bless her, answered him in all innocence- completely oblivious that he was propositioning her a mere hour after marrying me. Just as well I saw the funny side – or the marriage would have lasted about as long as everyone predicted…

Finally we were thrown out, and sent off to the Lakes for our wedding night, to Andrea’s family’s cottage in Ambleside.

The wedding night. Now that was a big disappointment…

Ann

About Ann Godridge
Ann Godridge has just completed her first crime novel, The Mermaid's Shroud, and has started work on the sequel. Her story the Tree of Knowledge was shortlisted for the Asham Award. She writes about writing and sometimes about textile arts at her blogStraw into Gold. You can find out more about her here - About Ann G.
View all posts by Ann Godridge →