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By Root 1462 0

four different flavored layers—that sort of thing. Turned out, when it counted, she wasn’t at all. They’d left it too late, of course, to find a hotel that could take them. The nicest places around almost sniggered at her when she mentioned her date and suggested that if it were that date two years hence it still might pose a problem. (“Christ,” Lisa had exclaimed to Andy, “who the hell are all these terrifying people who know what they want two years before they do it?” His retort, of course, was that he had known what he wanted two years before he was finally going to get to do it. That earned him rolling eyes and a playful punch on the arm.) It was Mark who suggested the garden. Initially Lisa hadn’t been sure—it was so much work for him. And maybe a little weird and folksy? But the more she’d thought about it, the more appropriate it seemed. Simple was exactly the way it ought to be. Because, hadn’t she learned, love was simple. Pure and good and wonderful, and all of those other things, of course. But, above all, love was simple. Just like Mum said it was.

And this morning, in the calm before the storm, circling the marquee, open-sided and flooded with warm sunshine, in curlers and a cotton robe, Lisa was more than glad. The notoriously unreliable summer weather was as it had been twelve months ago—perfect—only now, that felt right and not like an affront. She stopped in front of her chair, running a pink manicured fingernail along her new name, in calligraphy, on the place card, a shy smile crossing her face.

Mum always said someone should get married in this garden. She would have, she said, if it had existed. She and Mark had married in a register office, in front of only a dozen or so witnesses, and had lunch at the pub. Lisa knew she and Jennifer had made it awkward, sucked some of the joy out of it, and she was sorry. Now it was Mum’s turn to take away some of hers—not deliberately, of course—she could never have done that. By not being here. At least they were in her garden. Jennifer had been coming out here a lot lately, working in the garden. She said it made her feel closer to Mum. Lisa felt a sudden, strong surge of joy that Mum was going to be here today.

EVERYONE HAD CONGREGATED AT THE HOUSE THE NIGHT BEFORE. Amanda and Ed had arrived at about six, exhilarated by some complicated tale of a missed connection and a canceled flight and the possibility, up until twelve hours earlier, that they might not make it back for the wedding. (“We were petrified—I said Jennifer would kill us!!”) Amanda was glowing so much that both the bride-to-be and the expectant mum felt the smallest flicker of envy. Deeply tanned, as slim as only a restricted budget can make you (“Blimey,” Lisa had exclaimed, “I hope your dress fits”), and lit from within by something new that both her sisters recognized as pure happiness—and probably, Lisa whispered to Jen, quite a lot of acrobatic unmarried sex; she looked fantastic.

“Don’t knock married sex until you’ve tried it, you!” Jennifer had nudged Lisa in the ribs. In return, Lisa had rubbed Jennifer’s belly. “Works, anyway, right?!”

They had eaten lasagna and drunk Prosecco and stayed up too late, despite Lisa’s halfhearted protestations that she needed some beauty sleep, and Andy’s vociferous declarations that she didn’t require a wink.

Mark had stopped at the top of the stairs at some point, looking down at them all: Jennifer and Stephen, Amanda and Ed, Lisa and Andy, Hannah—ecstatic to have her exams behind her, and a long empty summer ahead of her—and Cee Cee, and felt his throat constrict, and his heart ache with longing for her, for Barbara. She would have loved this so. She might have stood here beside him and squeezed his hand and said something about having got some things right after all, or about how lucky they were, and they would have had a moment, the two of them, of shared happiness, the kind of moment he would never have with her again, but which he could, standing here now, have for her. This year, without her, had seen her daughters cross bridges and build them,