Don't Tell the Groom (31 page)

‘That sounds perfect,' I say, lying.

‘Great. And we've learnt “Mrs Robinson”, so we're all set to play that for your last song. Have you picked a song from our playlist for the first dance, or did you want to play a CD of your own choice?'

‘We picked “Kiss to Build a Dream On”.'

I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes at the thought of Mark and me dancing in the kitchen to the Lou Reed song earlier in the week. We'd been dancing to the different options and seeing which we liked best. Mark had spun me round to that song and I'd felt like a princess. Ironic that Mark made me feel like a princess having spent no money, and yet I was convinced it would take at least twenty thousand pounds.

‘Excellent choice. I've spoken to the venue and we've got it all sorted for our set-up and sound checks. So we'll see you on Saturday night. If you give our fee in cash to us then, minus the deposit you posted, that would be great'.

‘Brilliant,' I say, without any enthusiasm. We're going to have a band playing for no one at this rate. Or maybe all our friends will want to go to a big party without us; after all, I've already paid for it.

‘See you then,' says Chris.

Great. We've got the band confirmed and all I need to do now is make sure the groom is still going to attend. Somehow I don't think confirming Mark's attendance is going to be as easy.

I am proud that I managed to make it through an hour and a half of work before I left. I'd love to tell you that I was highly productive in that hour and a half, considering I've only got two days of work before I'm off for two and a half weeks, but I wasn't. Instead of starting on my massive to-do list I sat staring at my computer screen, the desktop image being of me and Mark looking all happy and loved-up on holiday last year in Greece.

I'd managed to answer two phone calls, including one where I'd agreed to host the annual ‘handrail safety awareness day' which, in our department, we usually rock, paper, scissors to avoid. But as I'm a tad preoccupied with my impending wedding and missing groom, I said yes just to get the health and safety officer off the phone. It now means that
next month I'm going to have to spend a whole day walking scores of people up and down the stairs making sure they know how to hold the handrail.

With Mark not answering his phone, and the receptionist at his accountancy firm telling me he's off site, I've got no choice but to go to his office in person. The receptionist always says the accountants are off site – it's like their default do not disturb. I don't really want to go to his office, but he's left me with no other option. I'm starting to lose my mind, and who knows what else I'd agree to at work in my current state?

Pulling into the Brown and Sons car park I scan it for Mark's car but it isn't here. I reassure myself that he could still be at work. It might just mean that he is staying somewhere so close he can walk.

I climb the stairs to the second floor where their office is and I take a deep breath before pushing the door open to reception. I've only been to Mark's office once, when I went to deliver the lunch he'd left on the kitchen sideboard. I don't know who was more embarrassed, me or the receptionist, as I handed over Mark's Tupperware tub of smelly leftover curry. I hope it will be a different person today.

As I open the door I see that it is the same receptionist. She looks at me like she's trying to place me and then her eyes widen in recognition and she looks down at my empty
hands. I do a jazz-hands wave to symbolise that I'm not carrying any Tupperware. And this is me trying not to cause Mark any embarrassment at work.

‘Hi, I'm here to see Mark Robinson,' I say as professionally as I can manage.

‘You're his fiancée, aren't you?'

‘That's right,' I say.

‘You must be so excited about the wedding this week! And the honeymoon, eh? Where are you going again?'

‘Mexico.'

‘How lovely.'

The receptionist is just smiling at me and I wonder if she's forgotten why I was here.

‘So is Mark around?' I ask again.

‘Oh, yes, sorry. No. No, he's not here.'

Surely Mark wouldn't have called in sick, would he? Mark hates missing work. I practically have to chain him to the bed if he has flu or else he'd go to work pretending it's just a sniffle.

‘Do you know when he's going to be back?' I ask.

The receptionist clicks around with her mouse.

‘It looks like he's on site at Kinetic-Co all this week,' she says.

‘Oh, OK,' I say, despite the fact there are a number of expletives in my head that I wanted to say instead.

‘You'll have to give him a call on his mobile,' says the receptionist.

What a genius. Why didn't I think of that? See, this whole not being able to talk to Mark thing is turning me into a mean person.

‘Thanks ever so much,' I say, before turning to leave.

‘Good luck with the wedding,' she says.

‘Thanks,' I mutter. At this rate I'm going to need it.

Slumping back down into my car I'm wondering just what I'm going to do. I know that Kinetic-Co is a big local company, but can I really just go there and hunt Mark down? I can't think of any other option, so I start the engine and try to remember where it is.

As I stop behind a car going on to the Kinectic-Co site, I'm thinking there might be a slight hitch in my plan. There's a barrier in my way, literally. I'd forgotten that Kinetic-Co is a quasi-military establishment. The car in front has pulled forward and the guard in his little hut is waving to me and I've got nowhere else to go but towards him.

‘Have you got an appointment?' he asks, as I wind my window down.

‘No,' I say honestly. ‘I just have to see my fiancé. You see, we're getting married at the weekend and I need a quick word with him.'

‘OK, so your fiancé works here. What's his name?'

‘No, no, he doesn't work here,' I say. I can see the guard is looking puzzled. I look in my wing mirror and there is quite a queue forming behind me.

‘Right. Well, if he doesn't work here, then how can I help?'

‘Because he's here on site all day, all week in fact. He's an accountant.'

‘Well, do you know who he's meeting here?'

‘No,' I say quietly.

The guard is not looking impressed. ‘I'm afraid you're not able to come on site unaccompanied. Can't you just phone your fiancé on his mobile?'

I'm about to start venting steam from my ears, if one more person tells me to ring his sodding mobile. What did people do before mobiles anyway? What if there was an emergency and his phone battery was flat? Perhaps I should have made that my cover story.

‘He left his phone at home,' I say, lying. ‘Look, can't you just check the guestbook and see where he is?'

‘I'm afraid I can't, love. Security and data protection. Without you knowing who I should contact, I can't help you. I'm going to put the barrier up and then you're to loop round the roundabout and come back through that side. You got it? No funny business.'

He's actually wagging his finger at me as if he thinks I'm capable of funny business. If only I knew what funny business
I could try. Even if I do get loose in the car park this site looks huge and I'd never find Mark.

I've just got to come up with another plan. Like waiting until he drives out from behind the barrier, that's what I can do. I can then follow him back to wherever he's staying.

‘Thank you,' I say, smiling. Now that I have my new secret plan I drive as instructed round the roundabout and outside again. I then position myself in the lay-by further down the road where I'll have a perfect view of him exiting. I turn the engine off and congratulate myself. Yes, if I look round I have an excellent view of gate F.

Uh-Oh – Gate F. That seems to imply there are multiple gates. I dig around in my bag to find my phone and pull up the internet. I hurriedly type in Kinetic-Co Farnborough directions and I click on a PDF map to download. As the colourfully illustrated map loads I see quite clearly that there are six gates on what appears to be a site the size of a small town. I had no idea that this place was so big.

I'm never going to be able to find Mark at this rate. I've got about as much hope as finding a needle in a haystack.

That's it then. I turn on the engine and resign myself to my fate. With no other options for finding Mark I may as well head back to work before I get into trouble for going AWOL in the middle of the day.

Back at my desk I'm even more depressed. At least for
the hour and a half this morning when I was pretending to work I was deluded into thinking that Mark was fifteen minutes down the road and that I could go and see him any time I want. Now I'm sitting here in the knowledge that he's working on a site that is guarded like Fort Knox.

There's nothing else for it. I'm going to have to actually do my work. I glance over my to-do list, trying to find the task that requires the least amount of brainpower, when I see number 6: find a venue for our graduate event. I clap my hands with delight. Not at the fact that I get to spend a whole two days meeting snotty-nosed, brainiac scientists, but because we usually host the day in a conference room. And where do you find conference rooms? In hotels.

We didn't like the hotel we were in last year so it's been on my to-do list forever to sort out a new venue. It hasn't been high on my list of priorities to phone the venues and find out rates and availability, but now it seems terribly important.

I pick up my list of hotels that I printed off Yell.com weeks ago and I dial the first number and wait patiently as I go through to reception.

‘Good morning, Reddington's Hotel, how may I help you?'

‘Oh, hello there. I just wondered if you were able to send me some information about your conference facilities. I'm looking to hire a place for a graduate recruitment day. We need one room that we could have lectures in, and then
another where we could set up like a fair and have tables and chairs so that our staff could interact with the students.'

‘Certainly. We have several rooms that could fit that description. Did you want to make an appointment to come and have a look first or did you want to give me your email address and I can send you over some information?'

‘Just some information would be great at this point.'

I rattle off my email address details to the very helpful receptionist who makes me repeat everything back to him, and then he repeats the details back to me.

‘Yes, that's right,' I say, desperately trying to move the conversation on. ‘Also, I think we have one of our employees staying with you at the moment and I wondered if I could leave a message.'

‘Certainly. What was the name?'

‘Robinson. Mark Robinson,' I say. Perhaps not what I should be doing on a work call, but I like to think of it as killing two birds with one stone. A bit of multitasking. At least this way I actually might achieve something workwise today, even if I am using the conference as a bit of a ruse.

‘I'm sorry, Miss Holmes, but we haven't got him listed as a guest. Would he go under another name?' asks the receptionist.

I think about this for a moment. Would he have gone under another name? What would he have picked? My mind is a
whirl of possible names Mark could have chosen and then it hits me: Mark isn't a famous movie star, and as far as I know this is the first time he's run away to a hotel and I doubt that a fake name would have crossed his mind.

‘Miss Holmes?' says the man on the phone. I'd almost forgotten about him.

‘I'm sorry, no, he wouldn't be under another name. I must have the wrong hotel. But thank you for your help.'

‘No problem, and I'll email you the corporate hire pack straight away.'

‘Great, thanks.'

I look down at the list – only another thirty to go. I hadn't thought I'd phone all of the hotels on the list, as not all of them would have the conference facilities. But I might have to if I want to find Mark.

By the time I get to number thirty on the list I've almost lost the will to live. This place is also trying to do the hard sell and get me to visit.

‘I think I'll just start with the price list,' I say, trying to keep my cool.

‘OK then, I'll send it over.'

‘Great. Also, while I'm on the phone, I think one of our employees is staying with you. His name is Mark Robinson. I wanted to drop something off for him.'

‘Robinson, hmm. Oh yes, here he is. M Robinson.'

I nearly bite through the biro I'm chewing – I've actually found him!

‘That's great,' I say, trying to hide the excitement from my voice. ‘I'll drop it off later tonight.'

‘OK, great, and maybe while you're here you can check out our conference facilities.'