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  I watched as Miss Bloomfield and Mr Flower said their vows, promising to love each other until death did them part. Then Mr Flower put a thin gold band on Miss Bloomfield’s tiny finger, and gave her a kiss, while everyone in the congregation sighed happily. Well, Julie sniffed.

  Then Dad and I followed Miss Bloomfield – no, Mr and Mrs Flower! – into the vestry where they signed the register, and then we came out to a fresh burst of organ music. Mr and Mrs Flower walked back down the aisle together, her arm tucked in his, and I followed again, smiling back at everyone. There were more lovely comments, louder this time, and I was so delighted it was hard to carry on walking slowly and regally. I wanted to skip, to run, to dance, to twirl round and round until my raspberry-pink skirts whirled like a spinning top.

  Then we were outside in the church garden. There wasn’t an official photographer, but everyone whipped out their mobile phones and took photos of Mr and Mrs Flower. They asked me to be in the photos too, and Mrs Flower made Dad come and pose as well. ‘Seeing as you’re family!’ she said, with a little wink.

  Julie tried to get into a lot of the photos – ‘because I’m the matron of honour’, she kept saying, though she was nothing of the sort.

  Then we crossed the road to the White Lion pub and went to their back room, where they’d laid out plates of sandwiches and sausage rolls and little pizza triangles.

  ‘Oh Lord, I forgot the cake!’ said Mrs Flower.

  ‘Give me your keys and I’ll go back for it,’ said Dad.

  Mr Flower protested, saying he’d nip back himself, but Dad insisted.

  ‘He’s a lovely man, your dad,’ said Mrs Flower.

  ‘Well, he takes after his “aunty”,’ said Mr Flower, and they both chuckled. ‘Happy, Iris?’ he added.

  ‘Very,’ she said.

  ‘No regrets?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Let’s hope we’ve had our first and last little tiff,’ said Mr Flower.

  Mrs Flower nodded, and blew him a kiss.

  ‘Oh my, look at the lovebirds,’ said Julie. She cooed over my dress some more, stroking the silk and holding up the skirts to admire the petticoat. I twitched away from her, scared she was going to lift the skirts higher to see my matching knickers.

  Mr Flower was busy buying everyone drinks. He put aside a pint of beer for Dad and bought me a fizzy lemonade.

  ‘Here you are, dearie. You’re the prettiest little bridesmaid I’ve ever seen. You’ve really made our day. Well done, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Now, come and sit with Iris and me and let’s tuck into all that food.’

  ‘Grab us a couple of those serviettes, please, Albert. Tilly and I don’t want to spoil our dresses,’ said Mrs Flower.

  I ate very carefully even so, leaning right over my plate and holding my lemonade glass with both hands. Dad sat with us too when he came back with the cake. It seemed too splendid to cut.

  ‘You must save the little marzipan figures at least!’ I said, so Mrs Flower wrapped them up in another paper napkin and tucked them into her handbag. I imagined the little marzipan Flowers smiling at each other secretly in the dark depths of her bag while the real Flowers smiled at the table. I saw they were eating one-handed, so they could still hold each other’s hand under the cloth.

  The cake looked even more delicious inside, a fluffy sponge with three layers of cream and jam. Mrs Flower cut it up carefully, arranged the slices on a big serving plate, and then asked me to take it round to everyone.

  ‘We’ll keep you a big slice with lots of icing and a marzipan flower,’ she said, putting it on a little plate for me.

  I carried the big plate of cake around, offering it to everyone.

  ‘Aren’t you a helpful little girl?’

  ‘Such a little sweetheart.’

  ‘Lovely manners – and so helpful!’

  It was fantastic being treated as if I were wonderful when all I was doing was passing round a plate of cake. I liked being with all these old people. And they all liked me. It was so easy to make friends.

  Then the landlady of the pub brought out trays of sparkling wine. ‘Let’s have a toast to the bride and groom, ladies and gents!’ she shouted.

  Everyone raised their wine glasses and I held up my lemonade and we all repeated ‘The bride and groom!’ and drank to them.

  ‘Speech, speech, speech!’ Julie cried.

  ‘No, no, Julie, we don’t want any speeches whatsoever,’ said Mrs Flower in a sudden fluster. ‘You know I go all to pieces if I have to do any public speaking.’

  ‘Then you mustn’t make a speech, my dear, because I want you to stay deliciously all in one piece,’ said Mr Flower gallantly. ‘There’s only going to be one speech, and I’m the one going to make it. Don’t worry, folks. It’s going to be very short and sweet.’

  He stood up and cleared his throat. ‘I’d like to tell you all something. This is the happiest day of my life!’

  Everyone went Aaaah! Mrs Flower gave him a little nudge, blushing.

  ‘I’m so lucky. I was happy enough pottering away like an old codger, but when Iris came into my life I could scarcely believe my luck. And I still can’t! Doesn’t she look a picture in her lovely bridal outfit! And I’ll tell you who else looks a picture too – our little bridesmaid, Tilly. Stand up, Tilly dear, and give us all a little twirl.’

  It was my turn to blush as I gave the briefest flick of a twirl.

  ‘Your being here is like the icing on the cake for Iris and me. So we’d like to give you a little present.’ Mr Flower fumbled in his pocket and brought out a small box. He held it out to me, smiling. ‘Here’s to Tilly, the prettiest, pinkest bridesmaid ever!’

  Everyone toasted me this time, as I opened the box. There was a necklace inside, a little chain with a delicate silver charm in the shape of a flower.

  ‘It’s a flower, see, to remind you of us Flowers,’ said Mr Flower.

  Mrs Flower did up the clasp for me and I thanked them both fervently and held the little charm tight in my hand, stroking it for luck. I was struck dumb with happiness.

  Dad was usually very quiet in company too, but he chatted away to Mr and Mrs Flower, asking them all about their honeymoon plans, and talking about his own holidays in the Isle of Wight when he was a little boy.

  ‘Is the Isle of Wight a really nice place?’ I whispered.

  ‘Yes, it’s got lovely beaches, and I liked going round Osborne House where Queen Victoria lived,’ said Dad. ‘I remember there was a wonderful playhouse for the royal children in the gardens. You’d like that.’

  ‘Could we go there one day? Maybe for a holiday?’ I asked.

  We hadn’t had a proper holiday since Mum went. Well, we’d tried going to EuroDisney a few months after she left, just for three days. It didn’t really work. It was too loud and bright and cheerful, and everyone was in families. Dad and I felt quieter and sadder and lonelier than ever.

  We could still feel quiet and sad and lonely sometimes – but it would be peaceful paddling in the sea and making a sandcastle and seeing the special Osborne playhouse.

  ‘Yes, we’ll go there. In the summer holidays. Deal!’ said Dad, and he held out his hand. I gave him a high five.

  ‘Oh goodness, I wish people wouldn’t do that silly high-five thing,’ said Julie. ‘It’s so American. Why can’t you shake hands properly? I always tried hard to teach my children manners.’

  I was very, very glad I wasn’t Julie’s child.

  ‘Don’t you agree with me, Iris?’ said Julie.

  ‘It’s a bit late in the day for me to start having children,’ said Mrs Flower. ‘But Albert and I are discussing getting a little dog when we get back from our honeymoon. And we’ll do our best to train him to do little tricks, but we won’t really care if he shakes his paw or does a high five, just so long as he’s happy.’

  Julie sniffed. Mrs Flower laughed and said something quietly to Mr Flower that set him chuckling. Julie sniffed again.

  ‘I hope she’s not making a