Surprise Me

‘Come on, girls,’ I say when we’re all in place. ‘Let’s do it.’ And I push open the door to Willoughby House.

It looks phenomenal. There are flowers and greenery everywhere, cascading down the banisters and arranged in sprays. Guests are seated on gold chairs in rows, in the hall and through into the drawing room. Music begins and I process slowly between the chairs, up what is almost an aisle.

I can see lots of volunteers, watching with misty smiles, all wearing pastel hats. Dan’s parents are dressed up smartly and I beam at Sue. I had lunch with her a couple of weeks ago and apparently she and Neville have taken up ballroom dancing again. She seemed quite excited about it. Certainly they look a lot more relaxed today than they have for ages.

There’s Mary, looking gorgeous in a pale-aquamarine dress … Tilda, in a jewelled shawl … Toby and Michi … Mummy in a new pink suit, talking animatedly to Michi (probably selling her stacking rings). My heart catches as I see John, with his distinctive white, tufty hair, sitting on his own at the end of a row. He came. Even though Owen’s really not well these days, he still came.

Clarissa is standing to one side, capturing everything on video, and Robert is at the other side, recording from that angle. He meets my eye as I pass and nods. He’s a good guy, Robert.

And there, ahead of me, standing on a small carpeted platform, is Dan. He’s dressed in an elegant blue suit which brings out his eyes. His hair is glowing in the sunshine, filtered through the famous golden stained-glass window. And as he stands there proudly, watching me and the girls approach, he suddenly reminds me of a lion. A victorious lion. Happy and noble. Head of his pride.

(At least, joint head with me, obviously. I think that’s understood.)

The inspiration to use Willoughby House as a wedding venue came originally from me. Dan and I had decided to renew our vows and I was googling places, and they all promised elegant rooms, and reception space ‘steeped in history’ and I thought: Hang on, hang on, hang on …

Talk about monetizing Willoughby House. It’s made for weddings!

It took a bit of time for the licence to come through, but since then we’ve already had three weddings (all daughters of supporters), and there are more enquiries every day. It’s changed the whole nature of the house. We have constant influxes of flowers and visiting brides and all the hope and excitement that weddings bring. It’s fun. It makes it feel like a proper, living space again.

Not just that, the website is up and running! A proper, functioning website where you can book tickets and read about events and everything. (The online shop will come.) And it makes me feel joyful every time I log on, because it’s not like every other website, it’s us. We couldn’t afford 3-D spinning pictures or celebrity audio tours, but what we’ve got is beautiful line drawings on every page. There are drawings of the house and artefacts, and even a sketch of Mrs Kendrick on the History of the Family page. Every page is more charming than the last and it feels like the perfect alchemy of old and new. Just like Willoughby House. (And indeed, just like Mrs Kendrick, who has recently discovered texting and now sends Clarissa and me emojis pretty much on the hour.)

‘Welcome everybody.’ Mrs Kendrick steps forward and I stifle a giggle, because she’s gone and bought a robe. A kind of high-school-graduation robe, in deep purple, with trailing arms and a square neck.

I mean, actually, it quite suits her.

When it came to the question of who would be the officiant at our renewal, it occurred to us that this isn’t a legal ceremony, so anyone could do it. And actually, I couldn’t think of anyone I would rather have than Mrs Kendrick. She was very touched. Then she asked me about a hundred questions a day about it, until I wished I’d asked anyone else.

But now she’s standing, beaming around as though she owns the place – which of course she does – saying, ‘Today we are delighted to welcome Dan and Sylvie to this historic house, to renew their marriage vows. Which is an honourable estate, not to be undertaken lightly,’ she adds, making dramatic gestures with her capacious robe sleeves. ‘Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.’

OK … what? This all sounds very random. But she seems to be having a good time, swirling her robe sleeves, so what does it matter?

‘Now!’ she continues. ‘Sylvie and Dan have written their own vows, so I will pass you over to them.’ She steps to one side, and I turn to face Dan.

My Dan. He’s haloed in the golden light. His eyes are all crinkly and loving. And I thought I was on top of this, no problem … but suddenly I can’t speak.

As though sensing this, Dan draws breath, and I can tell he’s choked up, too. Why the hell did we decide to make emotional vows to each other in front of other people? Why did we think this was a good idea?

‘Sylvie,’ he says, his voice a little crackly. ‘Before I make my vows, I want to tell you one thing.’ He leans forward and whispers in my ear, ‘We’re going to St Lucia tomorrow, it’s all fixed up. All four of us. Familymoon. Surprise.’

What? What? I thought we were done with surprises. He was not supposed to do that. Although, oh my God, St Lucia! I blink a couple of times, then lean forward and whisper in his ear.

‘I’m not wearing any knickers. Surprise.’

Ha! His expression!

Dan seems temporarily to have forgotten about making his vows, so I’m about to launch in with my own set, when there’s a slight kerfuffle from the entrance hall. The next moment, Dr Bamford is making his way into the room. He waves at us cheerily and takes his place on a chair.

‘Surprise,’ I say to Dan. ‘I thought he ought to be here. He started this all off, after all.’

‘Good call.’ Dan nods, his eyes softening. ‘Good call.’

And then somehow we’ve said all our vows and not cried or tripped up, and everyone has applauded and we’re all on the champagne. Clarissa is playing jazz records on the old gramophone and some of the volunteers are dancing in a makeshift dancing space. I can see Robert talking intently to Mary – hmm, there’s an idea – and Dan’s parents are doing a rather flashy quickstep. Neville’s eyes are fixed on Sue’s, and the sight of them moving in perfect time with each other makes me blink. Then, as if she can sense me watching, Sue meets my eye and smiles over Neville’s shoulder and I wave back.

I catch Clarissa’s eye as she changes a record on the gramophone and give her a fond smile. Clarissa has been another revelation. Three months ago she stunned us by revealing she’d written a ghost story set in Willoughby House and recorded it as a podcast! Without telling anyone! She said she’d heard me suggesting it and it had stuck in her mind and had thought she’d ‘have a bash’. It’s up on the website now, and keeps being downloaded, and we all know that Clarissa will end up going into writing full time one day. She just doesn’t seem to know it herself, yet.

As I’m standing there with Dan, watching everyone, he leans over and murmurs, ‘Have you told Mrs Kendrick yet? Or Clarissa?’

I know what he means and shake my head. ‘Not the time,’ I say quietly. ‘After we get back.’

I’m so proud of everything we’ve achieved at Willoughby House. And I love the place more than ever now it has a new lease of life. But nothing changes if nothing changes. I saw that slogan on a T-shirt the other day, and it really resonated. I’ve changed. My horizons have shifted. And if I want to keep on growing and changing, I need to challenge myself.