Dumped, Actually(75)
‘Leonard!’ Mum shrieks. ‘That’s awful!’
Dad wraps his arms around her. ‘I know. But you love me anyway, don’t you?’ He leans in and starts to kiss her theatrically on the neck.
This is my father ninety-seven per cent of the time. A man unafraid to tell a bad joke – and openly show his love for his wife.
Mum giggles and pushes him away. ‘Stop it! We have to get on!’
Dad rolls his eyes. ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Vicar Simpkins has one foot in the grave. I’d like to get these vows renewed before he plants the other one in there too.’ Dad grabs me by one arm. ‘Come on, son! We have to hurry before this vow renewal turns into a funeral!’
I allow my father to drag me along the hallway, through the kitchen and out into the largest garden I’ve ever been in.
It’s the reason my parents bought this house in the first place. They fell in love with it almost as quickly as they fell in love with each other. Encircling the house, the garden is getting on for an acre in size, and is landscaped to within an inch of its life. A large circular grass lawn is ringed by exquisitely maintained flowerbeds, containing rose bushes, lavender, chrysanthemums, the legendary geraniums – and a whole heap of other plants I don’t know the name of. They’re very colourful and pretty in the sun, though, that’s one thing I’m sure about.
At the rear of the garden, they’ve allowed Mother Nature to have free rein, and there are some gorgeous wildflowers back there, nestling among the trees, through which you can see the sea beyond. I built many a fort and treehouse down there. There’s still some evidence of their existence if you look hard enough, and don’t mind poking around the undergrowth for old planks of wood and a few rusty nails.
Today, a gazebo has been set up at the back of the lawn. In front of this are several rows of chairs, each one of them occupied by Mum and Dad’s friends. I also see my Aunt Jean and Uncle Harry – who I will probably have to speak to at some point, whether I like it or not. Jean is Mum’s sister, and has been jealous of her for sixty years. Any conversation I have with them usually consists of her telling me how much they enjoy spending all the money they have. I could tell them that this wouldn’t make Mum or Dad jealous in the slightest, given that they’ve never cared one jot about being rich. Jean’s never realised that she’s jealous of Mum just because Mum is happy. I fear if she did, it might kill her.
My own anxieties are confirmed when I see that I am indeed the only person here without a partner. I will have to sit next to an empty seat throughout the ceremony.
Speaking of which, I’d better get my arse parked on that seat, because that vicar really does look like he’s about to die and fall over into the begonias.
I sit down in the chair in the back row as Mum and Dad step under the gazebo together. I try very hard to concentrate on them, and not the empty chair beside me.
The vicar, who has a very strong and clear voice for such a frail man, opens proceedings with a little speech. It’s the usual ‘we are gathered here today’ gumph that we’ve all seen and heard a thousand times. Even Mum and Dad look a little impatient. Neither of them are religious, but they are of a generation who value the customs of the land – even if those customs go on a little too long and sound quite dry.
Eventually, the vicar reaches the end of his spiel, and we get to the important bit.
Mum and Dad told me they were creating their own vows for today, and you’re about to get a good insight into how I have the skills to be a writer.
It’s Mum who starts. And I want you to bear in mind that none of this is written down anywhere.
‘Leonard . . . I cannot imagine a life without you. These forty years have been everything I hoped they’d be when I first said my vows at our wedding. You are kind. You are gracious. You are constant.’ A few of the ladies in front of me are already reaching for their tissues. ‘You are my rock. My guiding star. My life is only filled with light because you shine next to me.’ Jesus. I’m starting to fill up now. ‘I have been by your side for forty years, and I will be there for all the years to come, and beyond. I love you, my Leonard. I love you with all of my heart.’
I wipe the tears away with my hand and begin to wish I’d brought a handkerchief with me.
Now it’s Dad’s turn – and, if anything, he’s even more eloquent than Mum.
‘Dear Daphne. I tried to come up with the right words to tell you how much I love you. But they would not come. Because there are no words to express how I feel about you. Not even God himself could utter them, because my love for you goes beyond even Him.’ Where Mum goes for the simple sentiment, Dad goes more for the theatrical. ‘Without you I would be an ocean without land, a voice without a soul, a plant without soil.’ Oh. That’s very nice. Getting a mention of gardening in. That’ll please Mum.
Sure enough, I can see her starting to cry now too.
‘I would renew my vow of love to you every day like this, if I could,’ Dad continues. ‘But I would struggle to find the words every day. So instead, I will show you how much I love you by my actions, by doing everything I can to make you feel safe, loved and happy in the rest of our lives together.’
Oh Christ.
He said all that from his heart. Not a cue card in sight.
For a moment, I feel my breath being taken away. The scale of it all makes me light-headed. How much love can there be between these two people, that they can speak like that so easily, so openly, so from the heart?