Page 2 of How We Loved

“What are you doing?” I asked as I clambered onto the bed where he was staring at the ceiling.

“Thinking how wonderful life is.”

“Well, that’s lovely to hear.”

Ben turned his cornflower blues onto me, his gaze bright. “It really is.”

“You’re in a frightfully good mood.”

Pulling me down next to him, he kissed the top of my head, and I snuggled into his side. “Maybe we should live in the country.”

“Maybe.” The idea wasn’t all too bad to me. “Isn’t that what rockstars do, have sprawling country pads that helicopters try and take photos of?”

Ben stiffened a little bit, then breathed out, his arms holding me, relaxing slightly. “I don’t know where you get some of your ideas from.”

I chuckled and snuggled closer. “Magazines mainly.”

“Figured.”

“You love me for it though, right?”

Another kiss on my hair answered my question. “More than you’ll ever know.”

I was happy with this, although Ben and his music career has been the one blip on the horizon of our happiness since he came back in June. Since he came back and found me significantly ‘with child,’ a child he thought I’d lost due to newspaper lies and general miscommunication, he’s been pretty anti doing anything to do with his career. After talking to Big Baz at the shop and Tristan and Mer, I’ve decided to leave it and not make a thing. We all know I love to make a thing; even I know that now about myself, but on this subject, I’m determined to remain calm and supportive. I have to.

This is Ben, the love of my life.

Baz has assured me that it’s the splinter of leaving his best friends in his band Sound Box that has left him with this apathy towards music that rolls off him in waves, but my argument is that Ben is still ridiculously famous whether he wants to be or not. Since he played the solo set at The Isle of Wight festival and showcased his individual style, his star has soared. The thing is, Ben is now effectively in hiding, which is just making things worse. We can’t go to Asda now without photos being taken. The whole world has just realized the single fact I have always known. Ben is the single most epic person to ever have walked the earth. Thing is, everyone knows it now, apart from Ben. Anyway, I’ve resolved to talk to him about it once I’ve gone back to uni in a week’s time, and things are settling into our new normal together. The normal where he is a rockstar, I’m a heavily pregnant university student, and we are about to have a baby that we haven’t planned or prepped for.

Oh God.

Anyway, we’ve got time. Back to the wedding. The Friday continued chilled and relaxed. Mum and Dad arrived, and we managed to have a relatively calm family dinner, Tristan’s last as a single man. Mum only managed one put-down to me, which was, “Darling, did you have to bloom quite so early? I don’t think that bridesmaid dress is going to do up.”

It did. So, hah!

Yesterday morning, the day of the wedding itself, Beth and Jayne arrived, and we headed over to the farmhouse to get ready with Meredith. Our bridesmaid dresses were all emerald green and worked perfectly with the flame-haired bride in her slinky ivory dress. It was all very understated. Meredith had natural hair with just a few flowers woven into the red strands. I declined the efforts of the professional makeup artist who came to do our faces. No one could blame me; I’d last had my makeup done when I was twelve for Aunty Julie’s daughter Sarah’s wedding, and despite my early years, she managed to make me look like a transvestite clown. So I did my makeup. And honestly, when you have a bump as big as mine entering the room about two seconds before the rest of you, it really doesn’t matter how much makeup you have on. Eyes are all in one place and one place only.

Just as we were getting ready to leave in the cars to take us to the village church, I turned to Meredith. “Are you one hundred percent sure? He really is a total arse?”

She laughed, then leaned in and hugged me. “Totally sure.”

“Excellent, I guess we’d better get you married then.”

So we did. And it was beautiful. I cried, but then so did more of the congregation and Meredith and Tristan. Tristan because Meredith’s dad had his farmer’s shotgun slung on a strap over his shoulder and said, “Don’t mess this up,” as he handed her over. Oh, okay, only joking, but it would have been funny though.

So they got married, in the church that smelled of history and lily of the valley. Then we all trudged back to the farm, where an enormous marquee had been set up, and we all sat down for sausages and mash, which is what Meredith wanted for her dream wedding.

Everyone danced, Ben sang them a full set, part of his wedding gift (I screamed and clapped, his craziest fan), and everyone got utterly drunk. Apart from me, of course. I had a bit of an unfortunate incident. Before the sausages and mash, the wedding guests had been served a gorgeous French onion soup. Gorgeous, but it had a rather unfortunate effect on my stomach. Basically, I had the farts. Badly.

Thankfully, it didn’t kick in badly until everyone was sitting around drunk or standing on the dancefloor, still thinking they were dancing, but really just stood like statues. Funny thing, I thought I’d have some serious FOMO being the only one not drinking, but actually, it makes for some highly entertaining viewing being the only one sober, especially when armed with a camera phone.

Before everything unraveled, Ben and I danced, slow and steady, balance isn’t on my side these days. His arms held me tight, my head resting on his shoulder, well, as close as I could get to it with the baby bump in the way.

He was watching Meredith and Tristan sway together. “You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he sighed though.

“Uh-huh.”