The Wedding Diaries (14 page)

She’d been keeping a low profile, so it was the first time I’d spoken to her since her party, and I found I didn’t have a great deal to say to her even now. I smiled because it was impossible to not smile at Eve when she’d turned her charm on, but she sensed the mood. ‘Right kids! Enjoy your night. Tim’s taking me to Nobu, so I shall leave you to it – although these fries look amazing.
Sure
you wouldn’t prefer to eat here, Tim?’

For a moment, I could really see the struggle within poor Tim: the slim chance this is what Eve really wanted, versus the idea of having to join these people whose body-language screamed ‘Please don’t’. With a polite smile at us, he simply said, ‘Eve, we’ll be late. Nice to meet you both,’ and swept her back out the door and off to an evening of sushi and caviar.

Thom: Bloody hell. That was close. Kiki, you’ve got a little something [points to his upper lip]?

Ah!
L’esprit de l’escalier
. Always too late, I thought that I
should
have said to Eve, ‘That’s not a good date.
This
is a good date,’ and pulled out our
Crocodile Dundee
tickets. But she probably wouldn’t have got the reference.

February 16th

Jacki asked me if I’d come and meet her for a lunch today. We agreed on a delicious little French place off the Strand, where we got a cosy dark-green booth in the corner and a waiter who never left us alone. She looked a bit worried, so I asked the obvious.

Me: Jacki, are things OK?

Jacki: With me? Of course, love!

Me: And with Leon?

Jacki: Of course! He’s great! He’s off getting fitted for his suit. He’s like a bloody peacock at the moment, strutting around asking me which kind of fabric he looks better in.

Me: Then, if you don’t mind me asking, Jacki, what’s wrong? I am never one to turn down lunch with anyone, and it is a real pleasure to see you, but … well,
are
you alright?

Jacki: Oh, doll, it’s nothing. Let’s order one of everything on the menu and forget all about it. Tell me about your wedding. Tell me where you’re going to live afterwards, and how many children you’ll have, and how many of them you’ll name Jacki.

Me: Mmm … It’s fine as long as neither of us mentions it; probably apart as we’ll have fallen out over the necessity of rings or something; none if things continue the way they’re going; and all twelve of the cats I’ll get instead.

Jacki: Kiki, that’s so kind. Can I come to the christenings?

Me: Absolutely. Getting cats into a font is much harder than it sounds. I’ll need all the help I can get.

Jacki: That calls for a drink. Waiter!

We both jumped as he was already next to our table, but he settled our nerves with two Amaretto Sours followed by a bottle of Merlot. Shortly after our starter arrived we were greased enough for Jacki to tell me what was really going on. She said what was playing on her mind was how excited she was about her wedding. It was tough for her to think of anything else, and all her dreams were swathed in veils and tulle. But she was worried that her thoughts never really went past that. She didn’t fantasise about her life married to Leon because her imagination just stopped at that point. What was wrong with her?

I ordered us two more Sours and told her this: if Leon could stand by her side when she became so obsessed with her own wedding that she
published a book on the subject
, then she wouldn’t really need to worry about their future life together. I was pretty tipsy by that stage. But she looked thoughtful for a really long time, then took my hand and said, ‘Yes, Kiki, you’re probably right.’ Then she described something she was planning for their wedding night that made us laugh so hard the manager asked if we would like our bill yet.

I’m actually feeling a bit queasy now. More later.

TO DO:

Stop the room spinning

Check at least one of us did actually pay the bill

February 20th

We’ve block-booked a sweet little hotel round the corner from Redhood Farm that’s offered our guests a good rate for our party. Rich, Thom’s best man, has confirmed that his girlfriend Heidi will be at the wedding, although she’s slightly nervous about being so far from their hospital when she’ll be eight months pregnant with their first child – although we’ve been shown to secrecy about the pregnancy for the next month. I told her that Thom’s dad is a retired vet but she didn’t seem that reassured. Where’s her sense of adventure?

TO DO:

Music – jazz trio for drinks, Ceilidh band for the dancing later?

Caterers – anything but pâté followed by chicken. Pork? Soup?

Book hair treatment to keep it in good condition (one a month from March)

Makeup – ask at Space NK to see if anyone available for freelance work

Flowers – see if that amazing florist I always notice in Soho can do a small posy, three boutonnières and a few centrepieces for decent price

Find out why florists insist on referring to wedding flowers as ‘blooms’

February 25th

I met Eve tonight, at a new little restaurant off Covent Garden. It was so little that even though we were seated opposite one another, I was almost in her lap, but it was incredibly trendy and I’d heard the pulled pork was to kill for. Aptly, I thought, as I watched Eve browse the menu and gritted my jaw.

Eve: I’m going to buy us dinner because I think you’re cross at me.

Me: Why do you think I might be cross at you?

Eve: Why do I think that, or why might you be?

Me: Eve, I couldn’t really give a shit about semantics right now.

Eve: OK, we’ve got
that
to be going on with. [silence] Yup, this is a bad one.

Me: What do you want me to say?

Eve: That you understand we were all drunk? That it was just my birthday and you know I didn’t mean anything by it? That it was stupid but you still love me anyway?

Me: No. But I might manage, ‘Bring me one of everything, please, she’s paying’.

Eve: [clasping hands together under her chin] Oh, you
do
forgive me!

Me: Throw in a cocktail and we’ll talk.

And we did talk. We had a hilarious time – Eve really does make me laugh. Eve updated me on her work, telling me about this great link they’ve set up with a local bakery, Bake Away, to encourage both young apprenticeships at the bakery and home cooking, and how she’s got to get up at 4am tomorrow to meet the head baker there, which somehow cancels out all her good feelings about the project. I told her all about Jacki, and Leon, and their amazing wedding plans.

Eve: They won’t last a year.

Me: You’re so cynical it must actually affect your tastebuds. Does
everything
taste sour to you?

Eve: Oh, you’re so heart-warmingly naïve you must never need a coat. It all balances out.

We hugged at the end of the night, and Eve promised to send over a loaf from the bakery.

March’s Classic Wedding!

The service began. The explanation of the intent of matrimony was gone through; and then the clergyman came a step further forward, and, bending slightly towards Mr Rochester, went on. ‘I require and charge you both (as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed), that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not lawfully be joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it; for be ye well assured that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God’s Word doth allow, are not joined together by God, neither is their matrimony lawful.’

He paused, as the custom is. When is the pause after that sentence ever broken by reply? Not, perhaps, once in a hundred years. And the clergyman, who had not lifted his eyes from his book, and had held his breath but for a moment, was proceeding: his hand was already stretched towards Mr Rochester, as his lips unclosed to ask, ‘Wilt thou have this woman for thy wedded wife?’ – when a distinct and near voice said – ‘The marriage cannot go on: I declare the existence of an impediment.’ The clergyman looked up at the speaker and stood mute; the clerk did the same; Mr Rochester moved slightly, as if an earthquake had rolled under his feet: taking a firmer footing, and not turning his head or eyes, he said, ‘Proceed.’ Profound silence fell when he had uttered that word, with deep but low intonation. Presently Mr Wood said – ‘I cannot proceed without some investigation into what has been asserted, and evidence of its truth or falsehood.’ ‘The ceremony is quite broken off,’ subjoined the voice behind us. ‘I am in a condition to prove my allegation: an insuperable impediment to this marriage exists.’

Jane Eyre

Charlotte Brontë

March 1st

An invitation brainwave. Where could I find someone who creates gorgeous, affordable designs to a strict brief every day? No, not just Topshop’s design office. Polka Dot! Our lovely art department have to do everything from glossy magazine ads to sparkly book jackets, so I was sure with the right payment one of them might be willing to help out. Sure enough, Dan agreed. Mark had broken up with his girlfriend the week before and Nayla was swamped by the forty-eighth redesign for evil (hang on – maybe not evil? Can’t cope with this new uncertainty) Monica Warner, but after a short bit of haggling, Dan settled on payment of one carrot cake for the invitation. I told him I wanted something quite classic, fresh and simple, but with a wedge of humour. ‘Are we talking … Rosalind Russell film?’ he said. I knew I had my man.

That was yesterday, and already he’s
totally
delivered. There were a couple of tiny tweaks but Dan had produced a really gorgeous design, sparky and modern and clean. I ran to the stationers at lunch and got printing and guillotining those suckers, and returned home tonight with a stack of lovely expensive-looking invitations and a large pile of envelopes (there’s one in the back for your historical perusal). All of which cost me £12 and a carrot cake. Thom gave me a high five when I explained the whole thing, then sagged when I handed him the address book and pen. He does have very nice handwriting.

As he wrote, Thom and I were having a totally necessary and reasonable conversation about who we know that has great hands, when I had a sudden thought: the wedding bands. I fished out my trusty bridal magazines to get browsing for inspiration, but when Thom asked what I was working on, he swiftly pulled them from my hands and said, ‘I think that’s my task, if that’s alright. Do you trust me?’ I reassured him that as long as the rings were circular and hollow, and matched my ring, and my dress, and didn’t clash with jewellery I wore at any other time, and were classic enough that I could wear mine forever – Thom stopped me there: ‘Got it. You trust me.’

TO DO:

Start taking vitamins for good skin

Just get hair mask from Boots? (for good condition on wedding day)

Gifts for the wedding party – Thom, me, bridesmaids, best man, ushers, parents

Helium balloons? Canister?

March 4th

Miracle of miracles, all the invitations posted this morning (thank you, Polka Dot franking machine). Otherwise, it was a horrible day at work – Norman and Carol were sniping at one another all day, until Tony finally called out from his office, ‘My GOD, will you two just get a bloody room?’ There was an excruciating silence, then Carol stormed out, sobbing. Norman suddenly became hugely interested in the sales sheets on his desk, but Alice raised one eyebrow at me, moments before Carol came in again, opened the printer drawer and throwing the ream of paper at Norman. Tony stepped out of his office for a moment to say, ‘Did I hit a nerve?’ then wandered back in and slammed the door. ‘Prick,’ said Norman. Fair enough.

TO DO:

Wedding pearls?

Teeth whitening? Will my teeth have to match my dress?

Hair colouring and styling

Fans for the guests if a hot day?

Favours – bags of sweets? Fortune cookies? Biscuit cutters? Diamonds?

March 5th

A joyful break from everything. Another of Thom’s treats tonight: a forties-style swing night at a little underground club near Soho. He insisted on meeting me there, having mysterious errands to run, and when I got to the door he was waiting for me with a little parcel in brown packing paper and string. Inside: a red lipstick, a brown eyeliner (‘To draw the seams of your stockings’) and a hipflask of brandy (‘Medicinal’). So we swigged from the hipflask, drew on my seams and headed straight inside, where they were giving free lessons to all the new dancers. We joined them once our medicine had kicked in. When I attempted some of the moves I laughed more than I had in months; let’s just say that I’m no threat to Ginger Rogers. But it was a great, great night.

March 7th

First responses already in. Norman said he will be solo, as, separately, did Carol, giving me a meaningful look as she did so. Alice said, ‘Wooooop! Count me in. But I’m not bringing Gareth, you clown.’ I reassured her that she would still be welcome even without her pretend-boyfriend and that she could even bring an actual-girlfriend if she wanted, and she said she would think about it, but be there either way. Susie and Pete said they would come if we could guarantee someone else would take charge of their kids for the day.