Part two.
After several failed attempts at conversation, my brother in law reads his book, Andrew extracts his laptop and I sit trying to avoid the germs from the coughing passenger in front of me. At last we are approaching Turin. It has been one and half-hours.
‘Ladies and Gentleman, boys and Girls this is the Captain speaking. We will be landing in Turin in just under 15 minutes. Just time to apply the make up and brush your teeth. The weather in Turin is hot. Enjoy your break and we in the cock pit hope the wedding cake has had an enjoyable flight and safely continues on its journey’
Ok, so he didn’t quite say that. We are the last off the plane and the cake is given such attention one would imagine we were carrying the crown jewels. Andrew’s sister meets us at the airport and immediately whisks mum and dad away with the precious cake. A deep sigh is heard by all and I feel the adrenalin rush drop from my body. David has hired a car because he is ultra organised and the four of us bundle in.
‘Oh I am so looking forward to this weekend’ gushes sister in law, ‘Spending time with you guys’
‘Oh,’ thinks I ‘I am so dreading spending time with you guys’ but say nothing.
We see the hotel in the distance but can’t seem to quite find the way in. Sister in law issues a great number of orders all of which seem to get us nowhere except round and round in the car park opposite.
‘Oh try turning left darling’ she advises again. By the time we reach the hotel she is not calling him Darling or honey anymore and we all silently retreat to our rooms.
The room is nice, not over the top luxury but comfortable. I unpack my skirt for the evening dinner. Hubby confidently phones down for the iron only to be told they don’t have one. I try not to look too smug as I slide out the travel iron.
‘Never mind, we have this.’ I say nonchalantly. He is impressed, hands me his shirt and plugs in the adaptor. Only it doesn’t work. Why it doesn’t work we do not know but the two holes do not match. Now, I know they should and you know they should but they don’t.
I go into massive panic mode. Not a pretty sight.
‘What will I do? The dress for the wedding and everything?’ I feel the tears starting and I am given the ‘don’t over react look’ which hovers on the ‘Is your period due’ statement.
‘I’ll ask my brother’
Oh no! You know how part of you wants him to have one that works so you don’t have to look like the creased hankie at a wedding, but the other half does not want him to be that well organised? I am torn.
‘Ok,’ I say meekly.
Guess what? His fit. I put my pride to one side and plug in the iron. A nice bright light comes on and I relax.
‘Do your shirt first, while I freshen up’
I am sure I did not use that phrase I mean, freshen up? What does that mean?
‘How long does it take to heat up’ he calls out 5 minutes later. I freeze on the spot.
The iron does not work. It is on but does not get hot.
‘How long since you last used this?’ he asks accusingly. Ok, a few years, but the red light is on.
‘But the light is on,’ I say stupidly. It is no good it does not work and they are banging on the door. Time to go for the family pizza dinner. I am wearing a creased black skirt and loose top and no make up. I feel like I am living up to my entire sister in law’s expectations. She looks cool in slacks and fashionable top. Hubby looks cool in crinkled shirt that somehow seems very fashionable. I feel old and frumpy.
The pizza place is nice, very Italian, set in a small village. I hear church bells and decide there and then I must make an effort to enjoy this. The dinner is going well until the wine arrives and hubby’s mum has this overwhelming urge (again) to tell the world that I don’t drink.
‘Poor Lynda, she cannot have any wine, it is such a shame.’
I go from inconspicuous to centre of attention. The room is suddenly silent and all eyes are on the spoilsport who does not drink. I feel the room closing in on me. The glass of water sitting in front of me seems somehow shameful.
‘I, I find it does not agree with me. Better to go without I think’ I stammer.
They all look disappointed. I imagine they were hoping I would say one drop and I would go straight into apoplectic shock. The moment passes and I fleetingly wonder if I brought my Valium. We take photos, toast the groom and make our way to sister in law’s house. Four go off to live it up in Turin and the rest of us; ten in total go back for tea. Sister in law dominates the conversation so I eventually shut up and daydream. Soon it will be tomorrow and the wedding.
Saturday: Up early and into town for breakfast. We are alone and it is pleasant. We talk of holidaying in Italy next year and I feel positive. My dress is fine and crinkle free.
We take our own photos and stroll with leisure, stopping for a croissant and coffee. Finally we head back to the hotel where I spend all of an hour deciding which shawl I should wear. Amazingly all goes well and I think I look quite nice. Hubby looks like the godfather and when we get down to reception he amazingly gets respectful glances from the Italian men. The sense of power is quite intoxicating but quickly wears off when my sister in law bounds into reception in a hugging dress that only a twenty year old would wear, but she looks great and I dwindle in an instant. Then, my moment is lost as she takes over, only to be taken over by Dave.
‘Right are we all ready? It’s a short walk so we should head off now’ he orders.
I hand our small camera to hubby. I do not want his brother to see it who is already aiming his Nikon at everything in sight and visions of Paparazzi begin to haunt me.
The wedding goes perfectly and is beautiful. We all have a bag of rice to throw and have strict instructions not to throw it until outside. Just when we all think it is over, there is Holy Communion. Everyone rushes forward, except us and my husband’s father who leans over and quips.
‘I thought we were getting a sit down meal not just a biscuit.’
Our stifled laugh gets a dirty look from my sister in law who is also horror stricken that we have not gone up. Well, Andrew is an atheist and I am a lapsed Jew, so it seems a touch inappropriate somehow. Finally we get outside and there are the photos and the usual hugging and kissing and then the flurry of who is going in what car with whom to the reception. I figure as I am near a church a bit of prayer would not go amiss. I pray like crazy that we do not go with my brother in law. God answers and off we go with some German guests. They are very nice and no one mentions the war, which I think very admiral.
No one mentions my lack of wine drinking, so during what must have been at least 10 courses, I actually had a glass or two. Inhibitions drop and I discuss Middle Eastern politics in depth and sister in law looks a touch lost. I worry constantly about the farm animals that are wandering around further back and in particular the crying goat, who someone said must be in pain and may give birth any minute. I cannot understand why I am the only one who seems to care. Then, cutting of the cake. This is the highlight for me. We had struggled to get this thing here in one piece and now they are going to cut it up. Will I be able to control my emotions?
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