‘And … you’ll be here for me, right?’
Saif nodded. ‘Any time,’ he said. ‘But please, please get the support of your family. I can’t do a thing without them, you know that.’
He couldn’t understand the need for secrecy when more than anything, surely, you needed love and support around you. Pretending everything was fine wasn’t going to make this go away.
Colton grimaced. ‘Soon,’ he said. ‘Let me just get through my wedding day.’
Chapter Sixty-two
The wedding day dawned pale and clear. Flora never found out if Colton had used the cloudbuster or not, but it couldn’t have been more perfect. The ceremony was being held in the back garden of the Rock, its green lawn trimmed within an inch of its life. There was a marquee, but it looked like people were going to be able to spend the entire day outside. An orchestra was playing.
Flora was wearing the green dress Joel had bought her in New York and almost all of the work had been done: Isla and Iona were busying themselves and, to her amazement, Jan and Charlie’s group of boys were making themselves incredibly useful fetching and carrying.
As well as the Mure spread, there were lobsters in tanks and a special sushi chef flown in from LA, an edible flower salad and a green juice cocktail bar Colton had insisted on and presumably everybody else was simply going to ignore. There was a cascade of macaroons and an ice sculpture – but nothing, Flora thought, looked quite as lovely as the long board of Fintan’s magnificent cheeses, laid out with fresh green grapes, Flora’s best oatcakes, Mrs Laird’s bread, local apples and imported white peaches amid chilled pitchers of rosé. It looked like a painting.
Innes and Hamish were both the best men for Fintan. Innes was in charge of the stag night, which had ended with fourteen young farmers jumping off the end of the dock at midnight, thirteen young farmers landing in the water and one young farmer landing on a fishing sloop and breaking his wrist. Saif, who had been invited but was trying to save up his babysitting, tried not to be too disapproving when woken by loud singing outside his window at four o’clock in the morning and instructed to get his plastering kit out.
Innes was also in charge of the transport, the rings, the bridesmaid, the speeches and making sure everyone had the right tartan on. Hamish was just to stand there and look handsome in the photographs, Flora said, patting him on the hand. Colton didn’t want a best man; he said he already had the best one. Flora had mentioned to Joel how odd she found this, but he had been completely uninterested; he didn’t seem to care to hear about the wedding at all. Flora wondered if he was secretly prejudiced, although she hadn’t noticed anything like that about him at all, but in the business of the day had put it to the back of her mind.
The MacKenzies were of course getting dressed at the farmhouse and Flora went up to fetch them.
She stopped at the farmhouse door, looking in at the scene. Innes was straightening their father’s bow tie. Hamish was trying to smooth down the bit of hair that wouldn’t ever smooth down, and already looking hot and uncomfortable in his tight collar. Fintan was putting on just the tiniest bit of mascara. Agot was standing in a great heap of tulle and flowers and bounced up.
‘ATTI FLOWA!’
Flora smiled and the boys turned to her, and with the sunlight behind her, suddenly she looked so like the one person missing from the room, and they all knew it. And she stepped forward and they all gathered in a group hug.
Hamish wanted to drive his sports car down, but of course they wouldn’t all fit. Instead, on such a glorious day, Flora swapped out her shoes, and they decided to walk, arm in arm – Agot and Flora in the middle, Fintan and her father at their sides, Innes and Hamish making up the ends – and everyone who saw them marching straight through the centre of Mure, the four kilts swishing, waved and honked and sent good wishes and followed them as they walked the full length of the Endless, up to the Rock. The church bells pealed them on their way, and Fintan was nervous and giggly and they told old stories and made old jokes that only siblings could ever understand. They talked about their mum, and it wasn’t until they drew near the Rock, which already was full of cars and people milling about, that Fintan’s nerves really kicked in.
Flora took him aside, as she had to just check on the food one last time.
‘Amazing,’ she said. ‘You look gorgeous.’
Fintan shook his head. ‘You know,’ he said, his voice cracking slightly. ‘When Mum was sick … it felt like I’d never be happy again.’
‘I know,’ said Flora. ‘Now, give me a hug before you ruin your mascara.’
Innes, hand in hand with Agot, saw Eilidh, Agot’s mother, waiting by the gate. She smiled nervously. Agot pulled Innes over and took her mother’s hand in her free one, joining them.
She looked good, thought Innes. Really good, in fact. He smiled, and she smiled back, and he asked her if she would like to sit together and she said she would. Lorna, passing by, also smiled when she saw them and resolved to corner Eilidh and drone on about how wonderful her school was. Just in case.
Hamish darted after one of the new seasonal barmaids he’d had his eye on to ask if she liked sports cars.
And old Eck, ramrod straight, walked out into the sunny garden behind Agot, who was making a very careful and serious job of throwing rose petals out along the red carpet, and in front of all his friends and neighbours, walked his youngest son down the aisle.
Chapter Sixty-three
Flora looked closely at Colton standing at the altar. He didn’t look terribly well; he must have real wedding nerves. Which was strange. Since he’d met Fintan, he hadn’t seemed remotely in any doubt about it. Well, she’d never got married and probably never would. She glanced at Joel standing beside her. Oddly, he looked furious, his hands gripping the chair in front of him tightly. She squeezed his hand, but he didn’t respond, so she concentrated on watching the service and lustily joining in the ‘Hebridean Wedding Song’ as Joel squinted at the incomprehensible words on the hymn sheet.
Finally, the vicar joined Fintan and Colton’s hands together and produced the long white cords for purity; pink for love; blue for faith for the handfast.
‘Will you love and honour and respect one another?’ she asked.
‘We will,’ Colton and Fintan replied.
‘And so the binding is made,’ she said, tying the first cord.
‘Will you protect and comfort one another?’
‘We will.’
‘And so the binding is made.’
‘Will you share each other’s pain and seek to ease it?’
‘We will.’
‘And so the binding is made.’
‘And will you share each other’s joy and laughter, every day of your lives?’
‘We will.’
‘And so the binding is made.’
And they kissed, and the congregation erupted, and a full pipe band (Colton had insisted, much to Fintan’s eye-rolling) suddenly appeared from the depths of the grounds and led the grooms, followed by everyone in the wedding party, back down the aisle to a rousing march, and Mure’s first ever gay marriage (‘that you’ve heard about,’ Fintan had sniffed whenever it came up) was ready to be properly celebrated.