Then we invited Mary Holland round to have lunch and help plan the herb garden. (Partly to show her – and each other – that there are no hard feelings or misunderstandings left.) It was great, because John looked over the fence from next door and started joining in the discussion. So then he came over, too. And we ended up with this rather high-powered gardening forum, all to discuss a tiny herb bed.
Since then, Mary’s been back to visit us a few times – she gets on well with Tilda, too. (‘I can see why you were worried,’ Tilda breathed in my ear, about five seconds after meeting her.) Meanwhile, Dan has taken to popping over to see John and talking about his work (whilst quietly making sure the fridge is full) and I do feel as though our existence has opened up a bit. We’re doing a bit less watching our past life on DVDs. A bit more building our own present life.
The girls can even have their own bedrooms now that Dan won’t need the study. (Except of course they don’t want their own bedrooms and wept when we mentioned it and Tessa wailed, ‘But I will miss Anna!’, clinging to her as though we’d suggested Anna go and sleep in the gulag.)
The car is waiting in the road, and as I shut the front door, I have a flashback to our wedding. Daddy leading me out of the house. Me looking like a Disney princess. Like so many things, it seems a lifetime ago. A different me. Today, there’s no one to lead me and the girls out of the house. There’s no one to ‘give me away’. I’m not a thing to be handed over, I’m a person. And I want to commit to another person. And that’s the end of it.
Quite nice to be in a posh car, though. As we glide along, the girls wave at passers-by, and I redo my lip gloss several times and run over what I’m going to say. Then, before I feel quite ready, we’re pulling up in front of Willoughby House. And even though I know this isn’t my actual wedding and I’m not a bride, and it’s really not a big deal … I still feel a whoosh of sudden nerves.
The driver opens the door and I emerge as elegantly as I can, and passers-by stop to point and take pictures, especially when Anna gets out in her Gruffalo costume, holding her bouquet. We’ve all got winter bouquets of eucalyptus wound round with ivy, which Mary dropped round this morning, together with a buttonhole for Dan. All from the St Philip’s Garden. She gave me a massive hug, and said, ‘I’m so, so pleased for you,’ and I could tell she genuinely meant it.
‘Come on, girls,’ I say when we’re all in place. ‘Let’s do it.’ And I push open the door to Willoughby House.
It looks phenomenal. There are flowers and greenery everywhere, cascading down the banisters and arranged in sprays. Guests are seated on gold chairs in rows, in the hall and through into the drawing room. Music begins and I process slowly between the chairs, up what is almost an aisle.
I can see lots of volunteers, watching with misty smiles, all wearing pastel hats. Dan’s parents are dressed up smartly and I beam at Sue. I had lunch with her a couple of weeks ago and apparently she and Neville have taken up ballroom dancing again. She seemed quite excited about it. Certainly they look a lot more relaxed today than they have for ages.
There’s Mary, looking gorgeous in a pale-aquamarine dress … Tilda, in a jewelled shawl … Toby and Michi … Mummy in a new pink suit, talking animatedly to Michi (probably selling her stacking rings). My heart catches as I see John, with his distinctive white, tufty hair, sitting on his own at the end of a row. He came. Even though Owen’s really not well these days, he still came.
Clarissa is standing to one side, capturing everything on video, and Robert is at the other side, recording from that angle. He meets my eye as I pass and nods. He’s a good guy, Robert.
And there, ahead of me, standing on a small carpeted platform, is Dan. He’s dressed in an elegant blue suit which brings out his eyes. His hair is glowing in the sunshine, filtered through the famous golden stained-glass window. And as he stands there proudly, watching me and the girls approach, he suddenly reminds me of a lion. A victorious lion. Happy and noble. Head of his pride.
(At least, joint head with me, obviously. I think that’s understood.)
The inspiration to use Willoughby House as a wedding venue came originally from me. Dan and I had decided to renew our vows and I was googling places, and they all promised elegant rooms, and reception space ‘steeped in history’ and I thought: Hang on, hang on, hang on …
Talk about monetizing Willoughby House. It’s made for weddings!
It took a bit of time for the licence to come through, but since then we’ve already had three weddings (all daughters of supporters), and there are more enquiries every day. It’s changed the whole nature of the house. We have constant influxes of flowers and visiting brides and all the hope and excitement that weddings bring. It’s fun. It makes it feel like a proper, living space again.
Not just that, the website is up and running! A proper, functioning website where you can book tickets and read about events and everything. (The online shop will come.) And it makes me feel joyful every time I log on, because it’s not like every other website, it’s us. We couldn’t afford 3-D spinning pictures or celebrity audio tours, but what we’ve got is beautiful line drawings on every page. There are drawings of the house and artefacts, and even a sketch of Mrs Kendrick on the History of the Family page. Every page is more charming than the last and it feels like the perfect alchemy of old and new. Just like Willoughby House. (And indeed, just like Mrs Kendrick, who has recently discovered texting and now sends Clarissa and me emojis pretty much on the hour.)
‘Welcome everybody.’ Mrs Kendrick steps forward and I stifle a giggle, because she’s gone and bought a robe. A kind of high-school-graduation robe, in deep purple, with trailing arms and a square neck.
I mean, actually, it quite suits her.
When it came to the question of who would be the officiant at our renewal, it occurred to us that this isn’t a legal ceremony, so anyone could do it. And actually, I couldn’t think of anyone I would rather have than Mrs Kendrick. She was very touched. Then she asked me about a hundred questions a day about it, until I wished I’d asked anyone else.
But now she’s standing, beaming around as though she owns the place – which of course she does – saying, ‘Today we are delighted to welcome Dan and Sylvie to this historic house, to renew their marriage vows. Which is an honourable estate, not to be undertaken lightly,’ she adds, making dramatic gestures with her capacious robe sleeves. ‘Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.’
OK … what? This all sounds very random. But she seems to be having a good time, swirling her robe sleeves, so what does it matter?
‘Now!’ she continues. ‘Sylvie and Dan have written their own vows, so I will pass you over to them.’ She steps to one side, and I turn to face Dan.
My Dan. He’s haloed in the golden light. His eyes are all crinkly and loving. And I thought I was on top of this, no problem … but suddenly I can’t speak.
As though sensing this, Dan draws breath, and I can tell he’s choked up, too. Why the hell did we decide to make emotional vows to each other in front of other people? Why did we think this was a good idea?
‘Sylvie,’ he says, his voice a little crackly. ‘Before I make my vows, I want to tell you one thing.’ He leans forward and whispers in my ear, ‘We’re going to St Lucia tomorrow, it’s all fixed up. All four of us. Familymoon. Surprise.’