Don't Tell the Groom (9 page)

‘Hot lead?' asks Mark.

I look up and he's laughing at me. I guess my furrowed brow has turned into a look of desperation mixed with happiness. I'm just hoping this place is cheaper than The Manor.

‘Possibly.'

I look down at the museum's ‘find us' map. It is probably only about twenty minutes away by car, and they are open on Saturdays. I could go today. I could go right now. Who
knows, maybe I could even have this wedding venue booked by this afternoon.

‘I'm off to see a venue.'

The excitement in my voice must be evident as I'm rewarded by a lovely smile from Mark.

‘Want me to come?'

‘Nope, I'll be fine. I've got a good feeling about this.'

And I have; a
very
good feeling.

Pulling up outside the museum, it is every bit as pretty as it was in the picture. You had to go over a little moat to get on to the site and through a narrow set of gate posts that I have to hold my breath to get through in the car. Not that I drive a tank, but my Beetle is wider than I think it should be.

It reminds me a little bit of the family outings we had to go on as kids. Parking on a makeshift stony grass car park. Walking past the little museum shop filled with rubbers and pencils. I never could resist stocking up my pencil case with museum shop stationery. And my mum would always buy it for me as it was practically educational. It had come from a museum, after all.

This place would be perfect for the wedding. Please, please let it be in my budget.

There's a staircase at the front of the building which I can imagine walking down in my dress, the train trailing behind
me. Oh, wait. I probably won't be able to afford a train. I can just imagine walking down here in my dress, swishing away. I'm sure I can still afford a dress that swishes.

I'm not entirely sure what is going to lie beyond the entrance. I hold my breath and pray that it is equally stunning on the other side.

‘Hello, there,' says a beaming woman as I step over the threshold. She's just a little bit keen to see me.

‘Hi.'

So far, so good. The reception desk is an old mahogany wooden desk and the rest of the inside looks … well, it looks like a National Trust Property.

‘Something tells me that you're here to talk to us about weddings.'

The woman is pointing at me; I hope she's not pointing to my belly. We did have a massive fry-up for brunch this morning. I hope she isn't mistaking my pot belly for a baby bump. This isn't a shotgun wedding.

But then I realise she is probably looking at my engagement ring. Yes. That's where her finger is pointing. Phew.

‘Yes, I was just wondering if I could talk to someone, you know, about costs. And maybe availability.'

‘OK. I can help you with that. I'll just get Ted. Ted?'

An old man appears who looks like someone's granddad. He's so cute and smiley that I have to resist the urge to go
and give him a hug and sit on his knee. Although that makes it sound pervy, like I've got a granddad crush. I'm just trying to say that he looks cute.

‘I'll show you the room first then, shall I?'

‘OK, that would be great. Thank you.'

In all my giddiness at the outside of the venue, I'd forgotten that there would have to be a reception room too. What if this is the room that is full of the showcases and scary mannequins?

But as the woman opens the door any doubts fall away from my mind. This is
the
room. It is perfect. It is woodpanelled in a nice, not cheesy seventies, way. There is a long mahogany table and chairs running along the centre and oil paintings adorning the walls.

The windows look out to the Surrey downs and I can't believe that anywhere this beautiful exists, and especially not in a museum. That will teach me for not going to anywhere vaguely cultural.

‘We reserve this room for weddings and events. It's how we keep the museum going,' says the woman.

‘It's just wonderful. Oh, look at the ceiling!'

There are chandeliers! This place is so going to be out of my price range.

‘Now, depending on how many guests you have, you can either have the long table – that seats thirty – or, for a bigger
wedding, we can move it out and you can have round tables. How many guests were you planning for?'

‘We did have a hundred, but I think eighty is more realistic.'

‘Eighty is fine in here; a hundred gets a little cramped for the sit-down meal. But for the evening anything up to one hundred and fifty is fine. Now, this is probably where the stage would go for a band or a DJ.'

A swing band would go really well in here. It would just fit the whole tone of the place. Maybe we could have a vintage wedding. I could put my hair in rags the night before to give me a curl and I could get a vintage wedding dress. A vintage
couture
wedding dress. I'm sure that would be lots cheaper than a brand new dress.

‘Are you OK, dear?' she asks, interrupting my thoughts.

‘Yes, sorry, just planning it in my head.'

The woman is smiling at me and nodding.

‘Of course, if you want anything like a string quartet during the wedding breakfast then we have the little balcony up there. It also makes for a wonderful photograph if you get the photographer up there and your guests down below.'

I'm nodding like the nodding dogs I hate. I bet it would also make an excellent point to do a bouquet toss from. Although it could be a bit lethal if it hit someone from that height.

‘It's perfect,' I say. ‘But I'm on quite a tight budget, so I think before I get too carried away we should talk costs.'

‘OK, that's very sensible. Take a seat.'

There's something unnatural about sitting at the table. I don't know whether it is because we're in a museum where you're usually barked at if you even breathe on an object, or whether it is because it looks too old and beautiful to disturb. But either way I'm terrified of sitting down, even though the woman told me I could.

‘Right. I'll just get straight to the figures, then.'

For once in my life, I had listened to the little voice in my head that sounds an awful lot like Mark, and I've brought a notepad and pen. Getting it out, I feel like a journalist as I hold my pen over the pad eagerly.

‘The room hire, which is this room and the museum grounds for the day, is £3,000.'

Hooray, this sounds like it might be in my price range.

‘Then you've got the catering. We've got a number of different caterers you can choose from, which range from a cheaper option to the more expensive.'

‘Can you tell me roughly what their costs are per head?'

‘Yes, the cheapest option is about £35 per head and the most expensive is £50.'

I start to take deep breaths, because this is actually affordable. Now, I admit maths has never been my strong point.
That's usually where Mark comes in handy. But I think we may be able to afford it, if we don't buy anything else and we have no entertainment and no wine. But people would like that, right? It could be a theme wedding, the theme being no fun.

If only I hadn't gambled away the money then we could have afforded to have had a lovely venue like this which is half the cost of the other places and with tons more charm and character. I know that I can't go back in time and change what I did, but right now I'm furious with myself.

‘Are you OK?'

The woman has a very concerned look on her face. I'm not sure whether she can see actual steam coming out of my ears.

‘That all sounds very reasonable. It's just I'm still not sure that we're going to be able to afford it. I don't suppose …'

No, I can't do it. I can't get the words out of my mouth.

‘You don't suppose what, dear?'

‘That you offer any discounts on the hire fee. You know, if we got married on a Monday or something?'

There, I've said it. I'm officially mortified.

‘I'm afraid not. And we're closed on Mondays. I know it probably seems steep but if you go round the other venues in the area I'm sure you'll find that they're much more expensive.'

‘Oh no, I know that. I know this is an absolute bargain. It's just me. I had the money and I don't have it any more. Or at least I don't have enough for this.'

I prise myself out of the chair and stand up. I don't want to leave this place. Now that is the first time I've ever said that in a museum.

‘I'm sorry, dear. I'm afraid we have to charge what we do or else we can't afford to run the museum.'

‘Of course, I totally understand.'

‘The only people who get discounts here are the staff.'

‘I don't suppose you've got any jobs going, have you?' I ask, laughing.

I meant it as a joke, but that would kill two birds with one stone. A discount and some extra pennies to put towards the big day.

‘Not paid ones. We only have a few members of paid staff.'

‘Shame.'

We are back out in the lobby with the lovely mahogany desk and Ted, who I would like to adopt as a granddad.

‘Thank you ever so much for your time. I'm sorry that I'm not able to book.'

‘That's OK, dear. Would you like to go round the museum while you're here?' she asks.

I shake my head. Museums, in case you haven't already guessed it, aren't my thing. But just as I'm about to leave
something hits me like a little light bulb going off in my head.

‘You know you said that you didn't have any paid jobs? Does that mean you have unpaid jobs?'

‘Oh yes, we have volunteers who help run the museum and help out behind the scenes.'

‘And do they get a discount?'

My mind is racing a million to the dozen. Even a tiny bit of a discount would mean I'd be that little bit closer to maybe having our wedding here.

‘They do. But …'

Uh-oh, there's always a but, and the woman's finger is pointed up to the sky, meaning this ‘but' doesn't sound good at all.

‘To get the discount our volunteers must attend regularly and they must have volunteered for at least three months.'

‘I can do that!'

I
could
do that. It is three months until the potential wedding. I'm sure I could volunteer between now and then.

‘Would you be able to give up two hours a week to come and volunteer?'

‘Could I do it at the weekend?'

‘Yes, we have Saturday-morning volunteers.'

Perfect, just when Mark plays golf.

‘Great. How do I sign up?'

‘You'd need to have a chat with the curator. She's not here today, but you can give her a call on Tuesday.'

The woman hands me a piece of paper with a name and telephone number on it, and I clutch it to my chest as if it is the most precious possession on earth.

‘I will do. And what type of discount do the volunteers get?' I ask.

‘You would have to pay the cost price, which is about five hundred pounds.'

That is some discount. Even I can work out that saving. Two and a half thousand pounds. Amazing.

‘That's great. Thank you so much for all your help. And I'll phone the curator on Tuesday.'

Waving goodbye to the woman and Ted I walk out of the main entrance and down the sweeping staircase.

I feel like I am gliding down it. Not because I am imagining myself as a princess bride, but because I feel for the first time in weeks that this wedding could actually come together. I'd better keep all my fingers and toes crossed that the curator says yes to me volunteering, or else I'm going to be back to square one.

I'm starting to get a grip on this wedding. So I haven't booked the venue yet or even found out if they have any dates free, but at least I'm not putting off thinking about it any more.

I've got to go and volunteer on Saturday at the museum to see if I'm a suitable fit. But I will do absolutely anything to make sure I am or else the wedding is off. And I'll be off too, as I'd have to confess to Mark about the horrible gambling-induced mess.

You'll be pleased to know that I haven't gambled in a whole week. I didn't even buy a lottery ticket. I think Mark thinks I've lost the plot, as I practically rugby-tackled him to the ground at the kiosk at Tesco's when he went to buy a ticket. I told him that with the wedding coming we should save every pound.

It's week two of my online gambling support group. I've got that sick feeling in my stomach. The one I used to get when I was going back to school after being off for a few days. I always used to imagine it was going to be a whole lot worse than it was. I know I'll be fine when I get there. After all, it can't be worse second time around, can it?

‘Penelope!'

I stop dead and desperately try to come up with a cover story that will explain why I am entering the community centre at 4.30 p.m. on a Tuesday when I should be at work. You'd think I'd have invented a story just in case, with this being the second week that I'm coming. But I haven't, I'm just not creative. I clearly would make the world's worst spy.