It was as if, if they talked about it enough, one day Lizette and Brett would wake up married. They’d be able to say, ‘well that’s a relief,’ and move on.

Then Lizette broke her leg. To ease the boredom of recuperation she started planning a wedding.

Four months later they said their long awaited vows and felt so fantastic they wished they’d done it twenty years earlier. In the front row, watching her daughter with a mixture of pride and astonishment, Iris beamed. She looked younger than she had in years and so full of energy she even made a little speech at the reception, which had everyone rocking with laughter, though she wasn’t exactly sure why. Perhaps it was the champagne.

‘Don’t overdo it Mum,’ said Lizette.

‘Why not,’ she said. ‘I might be dead in a week. I’ve waited twenty-five years. Why shouldn’t I celebrate?’

Brett intervened. ‘Care for a dance, Mum?’

‘Brett!’ Lizette watched her new husband and elderly mother swirl onto the dance floor.

A month later Iris’s heart gave out. The wedding they’d taken so long to organise took on a new importance. ‘And I thought it was just about us,’ said Lizette.

‘Shows how much we know.’ Brett pulled into the chapel car park and killed the engine.

2011—Richard Holt / small stories about love (smallstoriesaboutlove.wordpress.com)

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