Celebrity Bride (26 page)

'I love you,' says Rufus, taking my face in his hands, but I'm beyond replying. The drama of the last few weeks has caught up with me and I collapse backwards and the whole world disappears.

'Kelly, Kelly. Are you OK?'

I look up and see the shimmering, vague and drifting faces of Frank, Lawrence, Mandy and Sophie, and is that Detective Barnes? Holy fuck, I hope not. There's Rufus. Oh my God, oh my . . .

'Come on, Kelly, sit up. Come on.'

I look up this time and it's just the girls, trying to manoeuvre me from lying to sitting for no good reason.

'What are you doing?' I ask.

'We're trying to give you water,' they say. Oh, OK. Perhaps they had a reason then.

'I don't want water, I want the sweet tea that Lawrence made,' I say. 'It's in Frank's flask.'

'OK,' says Mandy. 'I'll go and get some.'

'I'm so pleased,' says Sophie when we're left on our own for a minute. 'I'm so happy for you. You and Rufus are getting married after all. Yey! It's gonna be the best Christmas ever.'

'Where's Rufus now?' I ask, as Mandy comes back with the flask.

'The guys all went to wait in the Rose Garden until you were OK. We didn't want you to faint again. He didn't want to go but we made him. Shall I get him?'

'Thanks,' I say, and watch how she scampers off, leaving me sitting on the floor sipping sweet tea with Mandy.

It seems like seconds later that Rufus is there, striding towards me and beaming with joy.

'I'll leave you two alone,' says Mandy, standing up and backing off towards the roses.

Rufus and I walk back into the Rose Garden hand in hand, me still feeling a little queasy and leaning heavily into him at every step, him walking slowly so as to balance my weight on his hip as he moves. Both of us are so shot through with happiness that we can barely speak.

'Let's get married soon,' I whisper.

'Straight away,' he agrees.

We arrive in the garden and everyone stares. I think they're too worried about making a fuss – forming a tunnel or cheering madly – in case I collapse again. They just look and smile warmly. Frank is sitting on the bench with no inscription, looking at me with such incredible warmth and pride that I feel like bursting into tears.
No
, I mustn't, not now.
No
more drama, Kelly. Control yourself.

'I'd like to make an announcement,' says Rufus, coughing
a little and turning on that actor-like voice of his. 'Kelly and I are getting
married. She's moving straight back into the house and we're going to get
married as soon as possible.'

There are cheers all round then. Sophie even treats us to that quite unbelievably loud wolf whistle of hers that has us all wincing in pain.

'Now we're sorry to have to run out on you like this, but we've got a little bit of catching up to do,' he says, taking my hand and pulling me off in the direction of the exit. 'I also need to feed this girl before she fades away completely. But we look forward to seeing you all very soon and Frank . . .'

Frank looks up from his seat on his favourite bench.

'Thank you,' says Rufus. 'From both of us. We're more grateful than words can ever say.'

'Bye and thanks so much to all of you,' I add, as I'm practically dragged through the gardens in the direction of Rufus's car.

'Home, Henry,' he instructs and Henry gives me the biggest broadest smile ever.

'Nice to have you back, Kelly,' he says.

Then it's my turn to smile. 'I can't tell you how nice it is to be back.'

It's funny going back into the house again. This time it feels far less stressful than last time. You know, this time it feels like I should be here rather than I'm here on a temporary basis until he finds someone better suited to his needs. I'm not fresh off the bus and feeling embarrassed about every part of me. This time I'm thinking: I'm fine. If you don't like me, the problem is yours.

I've had a takeaway sandwich, a packet of crisps and a chocolate bar in the car – the most I've had to eat since I met Elody all those weeks ago. I ate the whole thing and you know what? I don't feel guilty at all. I really don't. This is me; I am who I am. Take me or leave me.

This time I'm convinced that Rufus needs me, wants me here and will do anything to make sure I don't leave. It gives me a confidence that I've never had before. It's also lovely to see the staff and how happy they seem. While Rufus is always friendly with them, it feels like I've reached a whole new level of rapport; we're high-fiving and smiling and I'm asking after Pamela's mum, David's sister and whether Julie ever managed to get it together with Mike, the guy from the record shop. 'Yes,' she says, excitement squeezing out of her despite her efforts to keep it in and look as smooth and unruffled as possible in front of Rufus.

'Brilliant,' I say, genuinely delighted, and we give each other a little hug. You see, I'm like these people. Before I met Rufus, so less than a year ago, I would have been out socially with the likes of Julie. I'd probably have fancied Mike from the record shop; he sounds nice. Just because I happened to meet Rufus doesn't change the fundamental constituents of my being. These are my people and the fact that they work for me and not me for them is a matter of luck, timing and circumstance, and I hope I always remember that. I think it's what most of Rufus's friends have forgotten. They're more successful than most people because they happened to have been born in a particular place to particular parents with particular views. Their schooling and upbringing gave them the push up the ladder that most people don't get, but it doesn't make them better than anyone else.

Rufus is looking at me in amazement as I hug Pamela and tell her how pretty her hair is.

'He's been miserable without you, love,' she says, and I hug her again.

'Why do the staff adore you so much?' asks Rufus as he leads me upstairs with rather more haste than is appropriate given that the staff are all watching us so closely.

'Because I talk to them,' I reply, as he swings open the bedroom door and pushes me inside. 'I talk to them as individuals and not as staff.'

He's awake when I open my eyes. It's around 3 pm.

'You've been fast asleep,' he says.

'Haven't you been sleeping?' I ask.

'Nope. I don't sleep much any more.' He leans up on his elbow and begins stroking my hair as he speaks. 'To be honest, I'm afraid to sleep because once, while I was asleep, the most wonderful girl I've ever met disappeared. I don't want to take that risk again.'

'Ha, ha,' I say. 'I'm not going anywhere this time.'

'So you'll stay here for Christmas Day?'

'Oh shit! Christmas! No, I can't. I promised Mum that I'd go back home. She'll be devastated if I don't go.'

I pick up my phone to call and explain that I'm going to be later than expected.

'Grrrrrr . . .' he says, kissing me on the forehead. 'Promise me you'll come straight back then. And promise me you'll let Henry drive you. I don't want you getting onto trains in the dark.'

'Thanks,' I say, because having Henry drive me there would be just amazing.

'So, before then there are a couple of things we have to do, aren't there?'

'Are there?'

'Yes. We need to book the Plaza in New York – the most famous wedding venue in the world. Nothing, my love,
nothing
is going to go wrong now. We'll have the best dress, the best guest list and the best venue. We'll have the time of our lives. Now, I thought, to save you having to organise the whole thing yourself, what we'd do is get Jamelia Walker to help organise it. She runs a company called Celebrity Bride. They're the best wedding planners in the universe and . . . while you were fast asleep . . . I called them. She can come round at 4.30 pm on the twenty-seventh. What do you think?'

Silence.

'Well, what do you think?' he asks again, all excited now.

I just snuggle up next to Rufus and breathe in his scent, soaking in the familiarity of it, and delighting in the return of it. I want to absorb the man as much as I possibly can, just in case what I'm about to say sends him running for the hills.

'Did I do good?'

'No,' I say and I see him flinch and look at me with concern and confusion.

'You haven't changed your mind. Please tell me you haven't changed your mind.'

'I haven't,' I say with honesty. 'I want to marry you more than anything. But I want this to be a marriage about us, not about the brilliance of Jamelia Walker or Celebrity Bride. How did we get back together? Was it Jamelia who set that up? Was it any of these fantastically proper and sophisticated friends that you dinner party with every night? Was it? Was it Lord and Lady Simpkins – the guys who were talking to the press about how evil I am throughout my time with the police? Do you want them to come?'

'No of course not,' he says, looking quizzical. 'I went round to see Simpkins after what he did and told him I wanted nothing to do with any theatres he was involved with. I made it very clear that if he said a word in public about you again, I'd be round there to discuss it with him personally, and it wouldn't be pleasant. Of course I don't want someone like that hovering around anywhere near our wedding day.'

'Good, because I want this wedding to be about you and me and our parents. I want it to be about Frank and Lawrence, about Mandy and Sophie. I want Katy and Jenny to come and to show everyone how good they are at Malteser-throwing now, because they are good, Rufus. They've left us way behind. I want my friends there and I want your friends Deevers and Courty to be there, and I want them to be having fun, not worrying about how they're going to look in
Hello!
magazine. I want them to be able to get drunk and party all night. I want this wedding to reflect who we are, not who people think you are and who I once wanted to be. Am I making sense?'

'Yes,' he says. 'But I'm not sure what sort of wedding you're after. I mean – we could have all those things you've just described at the Plaza.'

'I know,' I say. 'But I've never been to the Plaza. Why would I want to spend the most important day of my life there?'

'Because it's lovely.'

'No. People who've never been to the Plaza before do not suddenly decide to go there on their wedding day because "it's lovely". They do so because they think it makes them look good. I'm past caring how I look, Rufus. I want to marry you but I'd like us to get married my way. Will you do that?'

'I'll do anything you want,' he says. 'As long as I get to marry you at the end of it all, nothing else matters.'

'Good. Because the thing is – we're different. That doesn't need to matter at all, but you need to realise it. I have normal parents who worked hard to put a roof over my head and food in my mouth; they struggled a lot and this is my chance to say thank you and to give them a day out that's as special to them as it is to me. I have a mad Great-Aunt Maude who's just thrilled to wake up alive every morning because she's convinced the war's still going on. When you leave the room to make tea she cries because she thinks you're never coming back. This is where I come from, Rufus. We don't have private jets and pairs of shoes for every social occasion. We eat tea not dinner, and we have one knife and one fork. If there's a starter, and to be honest I don't think there ever has been, but if there were a starter then we'd have to lick the same knife and fork clean and use them for the main course.

'We have a tiny garden and no security guards. It's been hell for Mum and Dad since I came to live with you because the photographers can get right up to the house. And before you say it – yes, they could have asked you to sort out their security for them and help them keep the papers at arm's length but they're proud people, Rufus. You don't have to have drivers, cars and multi-million pound film contracts to be proud of who you are and what you've achieved in life. They're proud people and I love them, so – no – I won't be getting married on the other side of the world in a room full of people I don't know but who look good in the pictures. The wedding planners can come if they want but I won't be here to meet them. I won't be a Celebrity Bride so Jamelia can go and boil her head, as beautiful as it no doubt is. This is our wedding, it's my wedding, and it'll be me and Mum who decide what happens. For starters, everything at the wedding must match her chocolate-brown hat or the wedding doesn't happen. Do you hear me?'

'I hear you, sweets,' he says. 'Not sure whether I understand you in any way though. Did you say your mum wants to wear a hat made out of chocolate?'

'And what if she does? What if she wants all the bridesmaids' dresses made out of chocolate?'

'Then we'll have all the bridesmaids' dresses made out of chocolate. If you're happy, I'm happy. That's all I've ever wanted: for you to be happy.'

'Good. Then what are you doing for Christmas?'

'No plans,' he says. 'I tend to think I'm a bit past celebrating Christmas. I've got no desire to sit in a paper hat, reading bad jokes and eating turkey.'

'Well, that's bad news, because that's exactly what you're going to be doing. Pack your bag, sunshine. You're coming to Hastings for Christmas.'

'Right,' he says. 'But can I just ask: what's this got to do with us getting married?'

'Our wedding planner lives there,' I say. 'Her name's Jayne Monsoon, but she likes to be known as "Mum". Now come on, stop dawdling. Let's hit the road.'

To say Mum looks surprised to see us would be to totally under- represent the
look of utter shock and amazement on her face.

'My word,' she says, with that starry, mad-eyed expression that has unveiled itself to me so many times over the years – usually when she's had too much sherry or ginger wine, but sometimes when I flunked an exam or got into trouble. The look says, 'Well, there's something I wasn't expecting, now give me a few minutes and I'll work out exactly how to deal with it.'

Her first mission on seeing us is to insist that Henry comes in. 'I won't have you driving back in the dark with no food inside you,' she announces, as Dad comes out into the hallway to greet us and nearly trips over the end of his own slippers when he sees Rufus standing there, looking bashful, clutching a box of champagne.

'Nice to see you son,' he says, patting Rufus on the back in such a friendly way that I can see Rufus relaxing instantly as he slips out of his coat and hands over the box of booze. The champagne inside it is worth more per bottle than my parents have spent on alcohol for the entire Christmas period. They wouldn't know good champagne from bad, but I'm glad Rufus has taken the trouble to bring the best for them.

'Do you mind if I come in?' Henry asks Rufus.

'Of course not,' he says. 'No, please do. You'll make Kelly's night if you come in and have something to eat.'

We're all sitting at the dining room table with mum's famous Christmas Eve pork joint sitting in the centre, taking pride of place.

'Help yourself to any more, Rufus. Shall I cut you another slice? More potatoes?'

Rufus pats his stomach appreciatively but declines the offer of a fourth serving.

'Yes, leave a little room for pudding. Good idea,' says Mum.

Rufus looks quite terrified by this thought. I don't think he's ever seen anything quite like this feast being laid before him.

'I saw the news about Elody,' says Mum. 'Is it OK to mention?'

'Of course,' we both say. It's perfectly fine to mention it; in fact it would be weird if it weren't mentioned. I think I'd be more worried if everyone skated around the subject and was scared to address it. The truth is that she killed herself. We should be able to talk about it.

'Did it surprise you, love?' asks Mum. 'I mean, was she the depressed sort?'

'I don't think I really knew her at all,' I say. 'She was obviously more troubled than any of us realised. I tried to find out about her and I'd ask her questions all the time – about her family and friends and home life, but she never seemed to want to talk about them.

'I used to think that maybe she was like Jimmy – you know the guy who runs the nightclub cum strip club near my flat? He always acted really hard and cool and as if he'd had a tough background on the streets but his parents showed up and were as nice as anything, proper, decent middle-class folk; nothing could have embarrassed him more. I always thought that Elody's parents were probably middle-class business people from Harrow, or something. I imagined the mum in a cardigan typing away wearing horn-rimmed spectacles and the dad taking his homemade sandwiches in a plastic Tupperware box. Nothing would have embarrassed her more than that. I guess I stopped prying because she didn't want to talk about it and I figured that was her prerogative. Sorry – I'm waffling.'

It's a bright, clear and dry day when we wake up; in different rooms, of course, because this is Mum and Dad's family home and even if they allowed us to sleep in the same bed, I'd refuse on the grounds that it would be too embarrassing for words. Imagine coming down and sitting opposite Mum and Dad at the small dining table in the little kitchen, with them knowing what Rufus and I had been up to overnight . . . No, no, no, it's all wrong. I can't imagine sleeping with him under Mum and Dad's roof when we're married, let alone now.

I can hear voices downstairs so I wander down and find Mum and Rufus standing by the patio window looking out into the garden. 'No, they're not hyacinths; those are the gladis,' she's saying, and he's pretending that he gives a toss. 'It's hard to tell them apart in winter, isn't it?'

'Morning,' I say brightly, and they spin round.

'Oh, Merry Christmas, love,' says Mum, giving me a hug. 'Let me get you a cup of tea.'

'I've just been talking to Jayne about the wedding,' says Rufus. 'I told her that you've put her in charge of it.'

'That's very thoughtful of you, dear,' says Mum, walking over with my tea in a lovely big mug. 'But I don't think I'm really the best person to ask. I mean – I know I was very keen to organise everything for you last time, but I don't think I realised just how famous you both are when I was talking about the community centre. I mean, I don't know any famous people or posh dress designers or anything like that.'

'That's why I want you to do this, Mum.'

'Well, I'd love to help,' she says warily. 'But I'd better not do it on my own. I'll need you to help me.'

'Of course I'll help you,' I say. 'We can organise the whole thing together. Mandy and Sophie will help too.'

'OK. When are you thinking of getting married?'

'Twenty-ninth of April,' Rufus and I both chorus.

'It's the day we met. Our one year anniversary,' I explain.

'Oh dear.' Mum looks quite distraught.

'What is it?'

'Well, that's a very difficult time of year for brown,' she says. 'I've bought brown now. There's no going back.'

'Let me buy you a brand-new outfit that's perfect for April,' Rufus offers, gallantly. 'As a Christmas present.'

'OK, well maybe just a summery scarf to brighten it up,' she says. 'I don't want you spending all your money on me when you've got so much to plan and pay for. We'd like to help with the wedding though, wouldn't we, Tony?'

Mum looks over at my dad who's sitting in his favourite armchair, pushed out of the way, into the corner of the room, to make way for the Christmas tree.

'Of course,' he says. 'It's only right.'

Rufus doesn't know quite what to say. The idea of my parents digging into their measly pensions to pay for a wedding that Rufus could afford to cover entirely out of his small change clearly appals him, but he also recognises that Mum and Dad are proud and to deny them the chance to pay for their daughter's wedding would be plain rude.

'Right,' says Mum. 'Well, where are we going to hold it then?'

'The Hastings Community Centre,' I say with confidence. 'I thought we could get married at that pretty little church in Battle village and all go over to the community centre afterwards.'

I'm expecting her to jump up and clap her hands together in joy . . . but no. She looks at me as if I'm stark, staring mad.

'Sweetheart, some of the most important people in the world will be flying in for this wedding,' she says. 'It would be much better if you got married somewhere near the airport to make it easier for them. Somewhere bigger and a bit nicer than the community centre, love. Anyway, to be honest, I don't think you'd get it now. It gets booked up months in advance, and I don't care who you are, you won't get the centre unless you're on the shortlist. Did I tell you about Marian? She's been running kids clubs down there all year so that she can get it booked for her daughter but it's no good – the place is booked out.'

Oh God.

'Rufus, I don't want to get married in New York,' I say, just in case my husband-to-be is mentally planning the sophisticated, star-struck wedding of his mother's dreams.

'No, not New York!' cries Mum. 'No, we need somewhere lovely. Let's get our thinking caps on. Tony, are you listening over there? We need everyone with thinking caps on. We need to plan a beautiful wedding for these two and we need to do it sharpish.'