Page 129 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
I looked at the boxer shorts and then I looked at David.
And suddenly everything that had been a jumbled mess in my head up until now became crystal clear.
What Dad had said to me in the lounge.
What Mum had said on the phone.
It all made sense now.
Dad had been through so much to raise me on his own. He’d made so many sacrifices for me, and now it was my turn to repay him.
Mum had spent too many miserable years all alone, just because she chased some wild, romantic dream that didn’t exist with the wrong type of man. I didn’t want to end up like that.
Now it was my turn to do the right thing. Dad said I’d knowwhat to do when the time came, and now this must be the time. He was wrong about one thing, though; itwassomething to do with the movies that was helping me make my choice.
“Well, if Mark was good enough for Bridget,” I whispered quietly into the darkness.
Thirty-Eight
Vivaldi could be heard filtering from the church as Maddie made the final adjustments to my train and Dad held out his arm to me.
That’s funny, I thought, as we entered the church and began to walk down the aisle. I don’t remember my dress having a train when I was fitted for it.
In fact, I’m sure this wasn’t the dress I’d chosen with Oscar and Ursula for my big day at all. This dress was averyfitted gown in raw ivory silk. I could hardly breathe as I tried to waddle down the aisle with a smile fixed rigidly to my face.
But I couldn’t stop to complain because my father was whisking me toward the altar at such a speed that I could hardly feel my feet on the ground below—was he that desperate to get rid of me?
We arrived in front of the vicar, who looked suspiciously like Rowan Atkinson, and Dad passed my hand quickly to David. At least that part was right.
The vicar rushed through the preliminaries swiftly, and it was soon time for the first hymn. I looked about me for a hymn sheet, but there didn’t seem to be one.
“What are you looking for?” David hissed at me. “Surely you of all people should know the words to this one?”
A band appeared out of nowhere among the congregation and part of me wanted to shout, “Hey, that’s just like inLoveActually!” But then I remembered I wasn’t counting movie scenes anymore—so I just stood and silently listened as they began to play the first few bars of…no, it couldn’t be, could it?
But it was—and then suddenly up in the pulpit there he was, wearing the biggest pair of feathery white wings I’d ever seen: Robbie Williams, and he was singing “Angels.”
I wanted to rub my eyes—but I daren’t in case my mascara smudged. Robbie Williams—at my wedding—singing “Angels”? This couldn’t be happening. I looked around at everyone, but they all seemed completely unmoved by the whole thing, as if Robbie Williams singing at a wedding was just an everyday occurrence. I decided to ignore them and enjoy it; after all, thiswasRobbie. But when “Angels” quickly turned into “Let Me Entertain You,” and then “Rock DJ,” the romantic ambience was soon lost.
Robbie finished singing and disappeared back down into the pulpit as quickly as he’d appeared. I began to applaud loudly but was the only one who did. Embarrassed, I quickly hid my hands behind my bouquet.
What was wrong with these people?
The vicar resumed the service and soon came to the part about anyone having any reasons why David and I shouldn’t get married. I secretly hoped I might hear Sean’s voice floating across the church pews toward me. But sadly I heard nothing, only a deathly silence.
Then there was a polite cough at the back of the church, and all heads swiveled round to look at the offender.
“Does somebody have something to say?” the vicar asked, seeming worried. I looked at him closely—he looked even more like Rowan Atkinson now than he had done at the start of the service.
“Yes, I have a reason,” I heard a familiar voice call from the back of the church.
“Please, stand up,” the vicar requested, squinting into the distance.
I nearly dropped my bouquet when Hugh Grant stood up. What the hell was he doing here?
“You have an objection, sir?” the vicar inquired.
“Yes,” Hugh said in his clipped English voice. “I do.”
