The Wedding Diaries (28 page)

Dad: Listen, love, this will all be gone in a week. It really will look very different in the sunshine, with this all cleared away.

Me: [struggling to swallow the misery-lump in my throat] Dad, this is fine, thank you. It’ll be great. It won’t be licensed for weddings though, will it?

But Thom had an idea: head to a register office the morning of the wedding, get hitched with some legal backing, then come here for the ‘real’ wedding with all our friends and families.

Dad’s checked with his friend, and the school is available on our wedding date. It’ll cost us an extra £100 to get the place cleaned after we leave, on top of the original £250, which makes Redhood Farm’s £700 corkage fee alone look like sheer bloody robbery.

TO DO:

Check the register office can do our date

Decorations & lights

Marquee

Dance space?

Tables & chairs

Food

Flowers

DRESS

July 25th

Oh. I had never been to a register office before. It’s certainly very municipal. The plug-in scents of fake flowers filled the air, and the walls were covered in plastic frames full of legal notices and fire drill information. The registrar we saw was so friendly and helpful though, but that didn’t stop my nerves when we had to take it in turns to remain silent while the other one answered questions. Thom had to give my date of birth and occupation while I kept thinking don’t make a joke don’t make a joke don’t make a joke … We got through that much without Interpol bursting in and declaring our marriage a sham, and then the spanner hit the works. Our Saturday is fully booked, and has been for months. The registrar said as kindly as she could that summer Saturdays get booked up almost as soon as they became available – she would let us know if she had any cancellations, but wouldn’t we consider an appointment on Friday afternoon instead? I took a deep breath, and said, ‘Friday would be perfect. As long as we’re married, that’s all that matters. Thom, is Friday OK with you?’

I got home and stayed locked in the bathroom for almost an hour before my breathing stopped sounding like I was about to burst into tears. Which I was. Oh God. Is our wedding going to be conducted at mini-desks while we serve tiny bottles of milk? Will our wedding flowers just be plastic rentals from the register office?

If I stay in here writing this, maybe someone out there will come along and fix it all.

TO DO:

Research whether the local fried chicken bar delivers

Florist – find out if we can just put some bits of hedgerow in jars

Lighting – ask if someone’s willing to stand in the corner and turn the lights on and off occasionally to add atmosphere

Tell everyone to not even bother coming

Stop feeling sorry for myself

July 26th

We met Rich and Heidi after work for a film and dinner. Heidi had picked a screening of
West Side Story
(the power of pregnancy – neither Rich nor Thom raised a dissenting peep) so it meant the meal afterwards was punctuated by Heidi and me hiccupping as we struggled to contain our emotions.

Thom: Heidi, would you like a starter?

Heidi: I – hic – would, thank you, Thom.

Rich: Kiki, you?

Me: Yeah, I think I will. [shuddering sigh]

Rich: How’s work at the moment, Kiki?

Me: It’s good, thanks, although my boss Tony … sorry, I just can’t stop thinking about Tony and Maria.

Heidi: [openly sobbing]

Thom: Kiki wasn’t even this sad when her dad had a heart attack.

Me: [weeping] It’s troo-hooo-oooo.

Thom warned me afterwards that, unless I buy them off the internet, we are now never, ever having kids.

We’ve counted again and again, and both money and space makes it pretty clear that even sixty people is pushing it. When you factor in those of us actually in the wedding party (my family, Thom’s family, Eve and Rich) we’re looking at around forty-five other guests.

Alice has made her feelings clear about bringing her faux-boyfriend along, so I’m glad to be able to invite our designer Dan along instead, since his lovely invitations kept me going all those months ago. He was so touched, and as he’s single too at the moment, he and Alice have agreed to escort one another as work buddies. I asked Alice what will happen when she meets someone she really
does
want to live with. She said, ‘Why do you think I’ve been working here? All those pennies go into my Disinheritance Fund.’ As ever, I’m unsure if she’s joking.

It looks like it will be:

Me & Thom

Susie, Pete & 2 (3-ish, really, but Frida doesn’t quite count yet)

Mum & Dad

Alan & Aileen

Eve & lovely Mike

Rich & Heidi

Jim & +1

Alice & Dan

Rose & Nick

Greta & +1

Zoe & Zac

Carol & Norman

Fiona (old boss) & bf Mark

Sara (uni housemate) and her +1

Ben & Hester (Thom’s school pals)

Malcolm and Phil (Thom’s two favourite boffin-pals from uni) and their +1s

Paul and Robert, Thom’s two decent ex-colleagues and their +1s

Other Tom from terrible holiday job I did when I was 17, and his +1

Ella and Vuk (pals from travelling)

Chuck and Matt (Thom’s snooker-playing buddies) and their +1s

Cousin Emma & her boyfriend Rocky, plus baby Arthur (our favourite members of the extended family, by a giant length, and who also live down the road from Mum & Dad)

Aunt Pepper and Uncle Joe (cousin Emma’s mum and dad, and the best of the extended family after Emma)

Elena and Stuart (Thom’s cousins) and their +1s

Audrey and Graham, Elena and Stuart’s parents

Jacki and Leon? I really don’t want her to feel that I’m inviting her for any reason other than I’d like to share this with her. But is she weddinged out? No, I will invite her. She is completely brilliant, after all, and if anyone will inject some fun into the day, it’s her.

And that’s sixty.

There’s no saying I’m heartbroken about not celebrating my nuptials with the pricks who made Thom jobless, but I’m not quite sure how one words these un-invitations. I don’t think any decent-minded printer would permit Thom’s suggested phrasing, but since it’s only Dan and me producing these beauties, I was sorely tempted. But I’ve settled on matching the disinvitations to the old ones for Thom’s crowd and the distant aunts and uncles we never really wanted, and an updated version for our close friends and family. (I’ve tucked them at the back of this book for posterity.) Ta-dah! Easy peasy.

TO DO:

Orders of Service – write with Thom. Might Dan help us again?

Ceremony readings – poems? Songs? Anything from any of our authors?

Wedding cake – ready-made?

Abandon all-Haribo diet

Admit defeat over vitamins

Remember to eat an apple occasionally

July 27th

BRAINWAVE. I sent an email to Ann and Charlie, our cookery authors, today.

From: Carlow, Kiki

To: [email protected]

Subject: Wedding Cakes

Hi you two,

How’s everything coming along with
Dining with Death?
I’ve really enjoyed the chapters I’ve seen so far.

I know it’s such late notice, but I’m getting married at the end of August and wondered if you could recommend any bakers – our wedding cake plans have fallen through.

Thanks so much and best wishes to you both,

Kiki

It’s the best I could do without writing ‘PLEASE MAKE ME A CAKE’. Fingers crossed.

July 28th

From: [email protected]

To: Carlow, Kiki

Re: Wedding Cakes

Hi Kiki,

Glad to hear you’re enjoying the book. It’s so different to working on a cookery book but we’re hoping all the food-related deaths don’t put customers off the restaurant …

Regarding wedding cakes, we wish we could help you ourselves! But between Dining with Death and our summer event bookings we’re totally swamped. In the meantime, I know the wedding rep at THE place for wedding cakes in London, Maison Edith. Shall I put you in touch?

Lots of love from both of us for your upcoming wedding day,

Ann x

Dammit.

July 29th

All invitations (and non-invitations) done and in the post. I hope no one is hugely put out by the change of plans – I’ve checked with the hotel everyone was staying at near Redhood Farm and they
will
give refunds (furious as they clearly were), and almost everyone we’ve rolled over to the new wedding either lives in London or has someone they can stay with here.

Jacki came into the office today. I’ve been speaking to her on email recently but I haven’t seen her since our little party when she collected the finished book; she came in today to sign some copies for a competition we’re running. It was a genuine pleasure to see her, I realised, and we chatted for ages – trying to ignore Clifton Black barking in Tony’s office about getting his new book out to the Forces – as she asked me about Thom and our plans, and even about Mum and Dad, and Susie and the kids, and some of our other authors who I in
no way
was indiscreet about to her. She thanked me for the invitation, and said she really hoped to be there, but her schedule was crazy at the moment, and please would I keep a spare chair and a piece of cake for her, just in case. She kept asking me questions, listening to my despair at my own wedding falling apart, and telling me funny stories about her wedding day that I hadn’t known about, or things she’s been hearing since publication from other brides or newlyweds, and I thought, ‘I’m really going to miss you.’ Finally she got all the books signed, then suddenly looked a bit apologetic. ‘Kiki,’ she said, ‘look. I’m more than happy to come in here and sign these books for you – any time you want me to do stuff like this, I’m happy to, and I hope we’ll stay in touch, but there’s something I need to tell you.’ For some reason, I was convinced she was going to tell me she was dying, which goes to show you
can
have too many Bette Davis films in your life, but what she actually said was worse. ‘Kiki, I don’t want you to think that I’m mucking Polka Dot about, or that I’m wasting your time. But I want you to hear this from me. I don’t know how popular this book is going to be when the readers hear that Leon and me are getting a divorce.’

My jaw dropped for a moment before I took her up in a hug. It felt for a moment like she might be crying, but when she drew back she kept hold of my hand and just sighed really deeply, dry-eyed but exhausted-looking.

‘Those jokes from the best man weren’t too far off the mark. Leon was with me for my money.’ I reassured her that with her pre-nup, she must know that wasn’t true.

Jacki sighed again, like she would split in half with it. ‘Oh, Kiki. I knew it for months. I’ve really always known it was that way. It wasn’t a secret between us. I knew that this wedding – and this book – would help my career, and he knew my money would impress his girlfriends. I thought, once we were actually married and living together under the same roof with the rings on our fingers, he’d change his mind and realise we had a future together. It just didn’t work out that way.’ She laughed, bleakly. ‘He didn’t even give me that present on my wedding day. I did that. I thought … if I worked hard enough at all of it …’

It seems that Leon didn’t stay at his mum’s the night before the wedding – he was with the lip-glossed wedding guest who had sat weeping next to me through the ceremony. And with the guest’s cross sister on the wedding night itself. Poor Jacki. He’d barely been home since, only coming back to get fresh clothes or match diaries so he would be there for the main events in her life: they’d agreed he’d keep quiet for six months. He’d been counting the days while she thought every morning would be the one she’d wake to find her handsome prince kissing her. No dice.

Jacki looked at me. ‘Kiki, if it’s what you really want, you know I can help out, don’t you? If one good thing can come out of this whole thing – I’ve got so much money and it’s only sitting there.’

If it’s what you really want.

That phrase echoes down the years; Dad checking that I really do want the bike that’s a bit too big, but I insist and fall off it, taking off most of my left knee and keeping me a nervous distance from all bikes for the next ten years; Mum, saying, ‘Darling, are you sure that dress is the one you
really
want?’ and within moments we are screaming at one another in the middle of a shop, another outing together ruined; Susie saying sweetly, ‘If that’s what you really want!’ when I tell her on my seventeenth birthday that her new boyfriend can fuck off, and she does just that, disappearing to the pub with Pete while I stay at home, playing Cure albums and promising that everyone will regret their treatment of me in a few years when I am on
Time
magazine’s Twenty Amazing People Under Twenty list; Thom. Thom crushed, putting the ring back in its tray, saying, ‘If that’s what you really want, Kiki.’ It’s here, right in front of me, the wedding I really,
really
want, waiting to be taken from this kind woman, fairy godmother in my hour of need, and all I have to do is say Yes (please), and that wedding will be mine, everything fixed. But I look at her crumpled face, all the sparkle knocked out of her by her giant, shiny, glittering wedding to a man who won’t ever realise how stupid he is to let her go, and I remember Thom, and I think of how I’ve learnt one thing: ‘If that’s what you really want’ is life’s wonderful alarm bell to tell you that you’re being a terrible idiot. I smile at Jacki and take her hand and say, ‘No, but thank you.’