I stood behind the closed doors of the ceremony room, my arm entwined with that of my step-father, and wondered if Izzy would be brave enough to walk down the aisle alone as we had planned. I tried to picture Carl waiting for me at the end. There was a quiet mumble of conversation around me and moments later we heard the music start up. I hoped our guests were smiling and listened closely for any ripples of laughter.

There was a short pause before the next song started and the large doors were opened. Jesse darted through them quickly and careered down the aisle, blissfully unaware of the significance of the moment. Izzy made a start towards the door before thinking better of it and retreating in search of my sister’s hand. They entered the room together, and my other two bridesmaids followed behind. They all looked so beautiful. My companion and I slowly edged closer to the doorway. I could see our guests, their cameras and phones poised in anticipation of my entrance. We walked towards them, too quickly at first. I saw Carl. He was smiling.

‘Oh I LOVE that film’ I said, nodding fiercely with agreement. ‘Patricia Arquette isn’t it? She’s amazing as Alabama’. Every conversation I had with the good looking chef was charged with a certain energy. Not just deep attraction, but the overwhelming need to appear effortlessly cool and totally disinterested. Almost every movement I made was self-conscious and calculated, so great was my desire for him to like me. My mind wandered though, and I reached for the napkin sat atop the garish PVC tablecloth and begun doodling with a biro usually reserved for noting down orders while our conversation continued. ‘You’re so cool, you’re so cool’ I wrote absent mindedly as I repeated Alabama’s famous line from the movie. Years later the chef would stand in front of the friends and family gathered at our wedding and tell them this was the moment he fell in love with me.  

I was dreading the first dance. We’d practised something that could pass as a romantic shuffle in the kitchen at home, but the whole thing seemed far more daunting as we made our way to the centre of the vast ballroom. The lights had been dimmed but I could sense what felt like a thousand pairs of eyes fixed upon us. The music began slowly and quietly at first, but the gentle strumming of a single acoustic guitar was soon accompanied by the steady crescendo of the drums and bass. As we moved the rest of the room seemed to melt away until it was just the two of us drifting awkwardly around the dance floor. I forgot we were being watched. It felt perfect there in my husband’s arms.    

Carl’s room was tiny. He paid less rent than any of his student housemates, and it wasn’t difficult to see why. The narrow single bed was wedged between the wall and a pine wardrobe. The small square of carpet that was left exposed was usually buried under clothes and CDs which meant it was sometimes easier just to dive straight for the bed as you came through the door, rather than attempt to step carefully across the floor. There was a small window above the bed. I learnt out of it carefully as I lit my cigarette, using my free hand to protect the flame of my lighter from the cold breeze. It was 1, maybe 2 am, and Carl had gone back downstairs to carry on with his work. He preferred to work at night, felt more creative then or something. He’d left the CD playing for me and I listened to the Placebo cover of an old Pixies track as I stared out at the night sky. I wrapped the duvet round me for warmth and wished Carl would come back to bed and fall asleep with me.

Loveaudrey xxx

Photography Copyright (c) 2012 Eliza Claire

‘Music is love in search of a word’ ~ Sidney Lanier {1842-1881}, American musician and poet.