Read The Wedding Diaries Online
Authors: Sam Binnie
The Wedding Diaries (33 page)
As the toast applause was settling down, Mike and Eve paraded over to our table with the cake, and Mike produced a cake knife from up his sleeve. ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘A magician too?’ Mike winked at me (which was somehow totally heart-warming, rather than cheesy. Can this man
get
any better?) and said, ‘And you haven’t even tasted it yet.’ To a chorus of ‘CUT, CUT, CUT, CUT’ started by Susie, we cut into the base tier of chocolate gateau. Thom licked the cake knife.
Thom: Holy cow … Is it too late to trade you for Mike?
Me: Ask me something I’m not seriously considering. If we divorce and you marry Mike, you’ll be paying me your settlement in cakes.
As we pondered the legal mechanics, Pedro came over with a shoebox-sized parcel, with a big bow on it. ‘One more peace offering,’ he said, and put it in my hands. Thom looked at me, and I shrugged, and began unwrapping it: inside, an old Polaroid camera and, miracle of miracles, a bundle of old films too, like gold dust since the company stopped making them. ‘They’ll look good in your guest book, you know,’ Pedro said, then turned on his heel before I could express any gratitude. I heard Jim give a whistle, and when I looked at him I saw he was standing behind his turntable grinning at me expectantly. The music started; it was Sinatra, crooning ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin’. Thom passed the box from my hands into Susie’s, took one of my hands in his, and put his other arm around my waist, and we were turning and stepping around the dance floor like we were Fred and Ginger themselves. Fine, maybe not Fred and Ginger, but we certainly enjoyed ourselves and when he dipped me we got a whole barrel of ‘oooooh’s. Which, let’s face it, is one great reason to hit the dance floor. We shimmied and twirled, and waved everyone on with us, and soon the tent was full of movement and laughter. I saw my Dad and Mum, dipping and prancing so you would never have guessed Dad’s state last month, Mum laughing so much and Dad whispering little jokes in her ear as they worked their way around the floor. He looked so well again. Eve and Mike were dancing too, a slow dance in the corner, just the two of them swaying together with their eyes closed; Susie and Pete were jiving like they were trying to out-injure one another, while Frida slept in her car seat in the corner and the Twins arm-wrestled at their table. Pedro and Jacki sat on one of the giant squashy sofas, whispering to one another; I knew exactly how mean Pedro was being and how nice Jacki was being right back at him, and I knew that they both really meant us all well and even though Pedro would take all this back to his East London hipsterdom as a snarky anecdote, he did look happy right now, slugging back gin and tonics with his best gal-pal at his side. Thom’s mum and dad had gone for a walk outside, the old romantics, and would almost certainly be canoodling under the stars and wondering how it had all gone so right for that gawky son of theirs. All our friends, from school to now, sat together laughing & drinking, or danced with one another happily; Dan was making tiny paper cranes as he chatted to Jim, Greta, & their plus ones, who I would definitely learn the names of, soon. And Zoe sat with Zac, her head on his shoulder, happy in their own world and not working for Pedro for one night. I saw Zac get up and offer her a drink, and I saw her mouth, ‘No thanks,’ with a little stern laugh, and as Zac walked away she touched her stomach, and she suddenly saw me see her, and she looked so shocked and frightened, but I laughed out loud and mimed locking my lips and throwing away the key. All this life in one tent!
It didn’t go on all night, though, although it felt like it. Around half past midnight, Jim turned the music down to some Miles Davis, and Mum and her gang brought out trays of bacon sandwiches and big W.I. urns of tea, and soon we were all sitting and chatting quietly and comfortably, full and tired and happy. Thom was next to me by then, and when we’d eaten all the sandwiches and they were bringing out another round of wedding cake, he took my hand and said, ‘Shall we go?’ and rather than resorting to my old line I decided to just follow and see what happened. He took me outside, where beside that lovely old school and lovely old school field there was a truly lovely old pair of bikes, with tin cans tied to the backs. He hitched my skirt up and tucked it up again, said, ‘Your carriage awaits,’ and we were off, our friends and family pouring out of the tent to wave and cheer us on our way. I didn’t know how long we’d have to keep it up, aware that my skirt (even hitched) wasn’t the ideal cycling outfit, but we’d only got around the corner when he rang his bell and said, ‘And your bed awaits.’ It was the Queen’s Arms, quiet and warm, where they must have been waiting for us because the door opened the moment he’d rung his bicycle bell. Sheila the Landlady greeted us with great formality and with the finest butlering accent she could muster, said, ‘The Brrrrridal Soooh-heet,’ and pointed us upstairs. Our luggage was already up there, delivered by one of my crafty friends, and the room itself was cosy and perfect, and all Thom and I could possibly have wanted. I noticed on the bedside table a little plate with three slices of cake on – one coffee and walnut, one chocolate, and one lemon and poppy seed. ‘If there was ever a day when three slices of cake were not just permitted, but compulsory …’ Thom said, then we jumped full length on the bed and ate that cake without even taking our shoes off. When we’d finished, panting slightly with greed, Thom said, ‘Hang on. This doesn’t feel quite right. Something’s … missing.’ I said, ‘Is it all the thank you cards we’re going to spend the next six months of our lives writing?’ He looked thoughtful. I fished down the front of my dress, and pulled out a small golden card with looping writing on it. ‘Do you take vouchers, Mr Sharpe?’
‘
That’s
what it is,’ he said. ‘Ms Carlow? I do.’
A huge thank you to Alan Trotter and Phillip Birch, who sent me home from the pub to get on with writing this book, and to Jessie Price, latecomer, but enormously welcome member of our Gang. The suggestions and help from the three of you were invaluable and I still can’t believe how kind you were.
Thank you to Liliane and David Binnie, parents and babysitters extraordinaire, who let me sit up in my teenage bedroom in their house to write bits of this, wrapped in my grandma’s old fur coat and undisturbed but for meals and cups of tea. They never even dared ask to read any.
Thanks to Hannah Duncan, Mark Rowlands, Lija Kresowaty, Rachel Tracy, Alice Berry, Sarah Topping, Hannah Beatson, Jenny Price, Jessica Read, Kitty O’Lone, Laurence Festal, Caroline Craig, Madeleine Collinge, Jack Faulkner, Sarah Hammond, Jess Kim, Jenny Fry, Emily Cox and Louise Willder, for all the stories, suggestions and anecdotes you shared so trustingly.
Huge thanks to Clau Webb, best agent ever and lovely human, Claire Bord, wonderful editor and brilliant deadpanner, and Caroline Hogg and Becke Parker, editor and publicist at Avon respectively; all women I’d love to spend time with anyway but who have been essential in getting this game on the road. You are all top dames.
Finally, thank you to J, M and F. A nice bunch, and by golly, you make me laugh.
I can’t plan your wedding for you (oh, if only I could. It would be the best wedding ever) but I can give you some of the top tips that I wish someone had given me. And these aren’t necessarily wedding-only: there’s always a moral to be taken when that moral is Stop Thinking Of Yourself For One Single Moment, No One Cares About The Difference Between White And Ivory.
Food & Booze
Anyone who’s a human will be able to tell you that these are the most important things of any party, ever. Across countries and cultures (although the alcohol thing might vary a bit) the heart of hospitality is Plenty: plenty of everything, your guests are your concern, you want them to have anything they could possibly need (and then seconds, too). If you’ve got a specific diet or weird palate (you hate eggs, meat makes you retch, gasp: you
don’t like dessert
– I’ve actually met people like this), just think: if I force these eating habits on my guests, will they mind?
You’re
inviting
them
: don’t just feed them sliced tomatoes with a cracker for pud because that’s what makes you most happy. Or they will almost certainly refuse to attend your second wedding.
Autumn
Getting married in the autumn means a) you’re canny, unwilling to pay crazy summer prices but hoping to catch a little good weather, or b) someone needs to get married in a hurry and took the first date they could. What is it? A visa? A pregnancy? I promise, I won’t say a
word
.
That crossover season means that food-wise, you’re laughing: there are so many fresh fruit and vegetables that come in then, plus you’ve got an excuse to start getting the colder weather stuff out too, like sloe gin and warm Pimm’s. The nights are just beginning to draw in but mostly we live in denial at that time of year, occasionally looking up from our desks in the office to say ruefully, ‘God, two weeks ago I was playing football in the park/reading in my garden/being kicked out of the beer garden at this time. It’s bloody
night-time
now.’ But we still want to believe evenings are for fun! The mains don’t matter so much for autumn weddings; you need to focus on getting loads of crackers, grapes and amazing cheeses, and putting them in clear view of everyone but away from the wild dancing that your live band is going to inspire. If you insist on giving your guests something slightly fancy, might I recommend a brilliant soup?
Spicy sweetcorn soup
This soup is so easy and so easy to do in bulk. It’s thick and hearty but not heavy – serve with loads of bread, or late in the evening to soak everything up.
(Serves 4)
4 sweetcorn cobs
Dash of olive oil
Tsp turmeric
Tsp ground nutmeg
Tsp ground coriander
Tsp ground cumin
40g butter
1 large onion, finely sliced
1 leek, finely slices
2 cloves of garlic, crushed and chopped
2 pints of vegetable stock
Dash of white wine
Salt and pepper
- Run a tablespoon of olive oil around a large saucepan on a medium heat. Put the cobs in, and, turning regularly, let them cook through (about 7-10 mins). Sprinkle over the spices and cook for another minute or two, then, once slightly cooled, cut off the sweetcorn from the cobs.
- In another saucepan, melt the butter, and add the onion, leek and garlic. Cook until softened.
- Add the hot stock and wine, simmer for 10 minutes, then add the sweetcorn. Simmer for another couple of minutes, season to taste, then cool and purée.
- To serve, reheat and swirl through a little crème fraiche.
Sloe gin fizz
Double shot of sloe gin
Lemon
Lemonade
Fresh mint
Blackberries
- In a low glass, put in a couple of cubes of ice. Slug in your sloe gin, a squeeze of lemon and the lemonade. Top with fresh mint and blackberry.