‘Who’s been on the phone?’
Olly reels off a lengthy list of the businesses he’s dealt with this morning.
‘You need to get onto Dodmans too’ – the handbag frame supplier – ‘and order some more stock. I need to have some more diamanté sparkles by the end of the week before we run out. Can you also give the printer a ring and see if the latest batch of designs is ready?’ As I’m pausing for breath, Jenny looks up from her work.
‘You look absolutely knackered, Olly,’ she says softly.
‘I am,’ he admits, seemingly pleased that someone has actually noticed.
‘We’re both exhausted,’ I butt in. This may be all my dreams come true, but there’s certainly a nightmarish quality to it as well.
‘Come here,’ Jen says to my lover (a somewhat loose term now). ‘Sit down for five minutes. Let me rub your shoulders. I have healing hands.’
Olly does as he’s told and Jen stands behind him and starts to massage his back. My dearly beloved makes suitably appreciative noises. Just as I’m starting to get a tiny bit jealous, Jenny looks up at me. ‘You next, lady,’ she says. ‘Neither of you can go on at this pace.’
Olly and I swap places and I have to say that Jen manages to find knots that I never knew I had.
‘Let’s stop for a break,’ I say when some of the tension has been eased from my shoulders. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on.’ Olly trails after me into the kitchen. ‘Jen’s right,’ he says as I clatter about with the cups. ‘We don’t get a minute’s peace now.’
‘The business has to come first,’ I tell him. ‘Just while we’re setting up. This is critical for me. All the publicity has been fantastic and I have to make sure I capitalise on that. Tod says—’
At that Olly rolls his eyes and so I let the sentence go unfinished. But what Tod does say is that this is probably the best possible chance I’ll have to establish my brand in the public eye and I have to seize every opportunity before the media move on to someone else – as they inevitably will. I just don’t understand why Olly can’t see this. It seems as if he just wants me to knock out a few bags at Hitchin market every week and be content with that. But this is my big break. This could transform our future.
‘What about the wedding?’ Olly says.
The date that we’ve settled on is in less than a month and it’s fair to say that I’ve done very little towards organising it. I simply haven’t had the time.
‘Maybe we should postpone it,’ I suggest tentatively. We were being ridiculously optimistic about booking it for when we did. Things are quite strained between us at the moment and I’m not sure that it’s the right time to be tripping down the aisle. ‘We’ve waited this long. Can’t we wait a little longer until things settle down here?’
‘What if they never do?’ Olly says. ‘What if this craziness is how our life is going to be from now on?’ He paces the floor.
‘I saw what being obsessed by his business did to my dad. It completely destroyed him, Nell. Because of the strain, he died long before his time. I don’t want that kind of stress for us.’
‘I can understand that, but at some point we have to put in more effort to get a better life. Now is my opportunity.’
He doesn’t look convinced.
‘I want more than this, Olly.’ I gesture at the shabby kitchen. ‘I want our own home, not one where the landlord can chuck us out at any moment. I want a garden for Petal, somewhere for her to play that doesn’t involve a ten-minute walk to the park. I’d like a car. We’re too old to be riding round on a scooter now. It’s ridiculous. You’re a family man. You have responsibilities. I’m trying to do this for all of us. Don’t you want more?’
‘I want you,’ he says. ‘I want you and Petal and life as it was before. That’s all. I’m frightened that you want more than I can ever be.’
‘Oh, Olly. That’s so not true.’ All my rage dissipates and I go to him and we hold each other tightly.
‘You do still want to get married?’ he murmurs against my hair.
‘Of course I do.’
There’s only ever been Olly. He’s been the one love of my life. I need to make time to do this. If only I could think how.
Chapter 34
We have a beautiful Norman church in the centre of Hitchin, set in its own grounds, but as we’re not churchgoers, we opt instead for the register office in Stevenage, which is not beautiful and not Norman and is at the back of Matalan.
I did wonder whether we were actually going to make it to this day at all. It’s been touch and go on several occasions, but somehow, in the midst of all the madness, we’ve managed it.
My plan to make my own dress seemed insane at three o’clock this morning when I was still hemming it. Pink is the theme – Petal would hear of nothing else – and so I’ve got a hot-pink shift with a vintage cream lace cape, a long string of cream pearls, and shoes that I had dyed to match. My bouquet is a handful of hot-pink and cream gerberas bound together with ribbon, the dark centres studded with diamanté. I top my outfit with my Ms & Mrs handbag. Just perfect.
Petal’s tutu-style dress is fairy tale pretty – pale pink with hot-pink details and fairy wings to match. She’s carrying a small pompom studded with daisies to complement mine. Olly is wearing a vintage sixties shirt in a pink paisley pattern with tailor-made mohair trousers and his favourite pointed Chelsea boots. He looks more handsome than I’ve ever seen him.
The wedding is small, which is probably just as well as it’s the only way that I’ve coped with it. My rocks – Jenny, Constance and Phil – are here. The reception is our wedding present from Phil and it’s going to be held back at Live and Let Fry, which he’s closed up especially for the day.
This morning I went in and decorated it all with balloons and put bunches of brightly coloured gerberas in jam jars on the tables and the place is looking great. One of Constance’s friends has made the cake for us and I put it out on one of the tables. It’s iced in a pale cream colour and has three small tiers. Truly an extravagance with the size of the wedding party! But you can never have enough cake, can you? The bottom tier is decorated with chocolate and hot-pink hearts while the middle has matching stripes and the final tier is all spotty. A marabou feather confection stands on top. Glasses are out waiting for our return and I know that there’s a stash of champagne chilling in the fridge that Phil bought from Costco.
Olly’s mother, unsurprisingly, declined to come out of her sun-soaked retirement to attend and my parents are away on a three-month cruise. They won’t mind missing it as they’ll just be delighted that we’ve finally tied the knot. Olly and I will go to visit them as soon as we can when they’re back. If I’m really honest, Phil, Constance and Jen feel more like family to us now so we won’t feel as if we’re missing out. We’ve got a few more of our friends dropping by to toast us later and Tod also said that he’ll pop in afterwards.
Thankfully, with Nell McNamara Handbags being so busy, we do have some money to spend on a few luxuries to make the day more memorable. We’ve hired two pink-and-cream stretched mini-limousines to whisk us and our guests to our wedding.
‘OK?’ Olly asks as the posh minis pull up outside the register office. I nod in response. ‘Sure?’
‘Absolutely.’ I lean against him. Despite the stresses and strains of the last few months, I’m glad that we have actually made it.
We sip chilled champagne on the journey – even Petal has a little taste – and I think I’m finally beginning to relax enough to enjoy it. Out of the other mini, Jen, Constance and Phil stumble, giggling. Looks as if they’ve been enjoying the in-car hospitality too. They all look great. Constance has toned her usual leopard print right down and is wearing a smart pink suit. I’m pleased to say that her trademark vertiginous heels are still firmly in place. Jenny is looking very comely in a Marilyn Monroe style silk number. And it looks like Phil has splashed out on a new grey suit for the occasion. As instructed, he’s wearing a pink tie and has a gerbera buttonhole
.
‘You look fabulous,’ I tell my old boss, straightening his tie as I do.
‘So do you, Nell,’ he says. His voice cracks with emotion. ‘You’re a stunner. Olly’s a very lucky man.’
‘That’s what I keep telling him.’ I link my arm through his. ‘Come on, we’d better go in or we’ll miss our slot.’
We all pile into the register office, which, thankfully, is much nicer on the inside than it is on the outside.
Olly and I take our places, flanked by our witnesses, Phil and Constance. I notice that Constance slips her hand into Phil’s. Petal stands behind us, flowers in a death grip in her tiny hands, as she concentrates hard on ‘being good’ as instructed.
The registrar completes the formalities and then asks, ‘Do you, Nell McNamara, take Oliver Meyers to be your lawful wedded husband?’
As I look at Olly, my lover, my friend, my soon-to-be husband, all doubts, all fears, fly out of my mind when I say, ‘I do.’
Chapter 35
Back at Live and Let Fry the champagne corks pop. Some of our friends swing by to join us and swell the numbers. In his usual inimitable style, Phil serves us all fabulous fish and chips. The mood is high. I put disposable cameras on the tables and everyone is taking photographs – lovely mementos of our special day. We let sixties music rock out of the stereo system and I feel all the tension of the last few months melt away.
Looking over at Olly, I watch him tenderly wiping tomato ketchup from the front of Petal’s dress, and smile.
‘It does feel different,’ I say as I sidle up next to him and link my arm in his, ‘being Mrs Oliver Meyers.’ Who would have thought so after all the years we’ve been together? But somehow it does feel like we’re a proper family now. A tightknit little unit. Us against the world.
‘You think so?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Maybe I should have become Mr Nell McNamara if you’re going to be the famous one?’
‘I don’t think so. I’m happy being Mrs Meyers.’
Tonight, Constance has offered to take Petal home with her for a sleepover so that Olly and I can have a one-night-athome honeymoon. My husband (I like the sound of that!) thought that we should at least have a few days away somewhere, but how can we when I have so much to do at the moment? Our two-week extravaganza in an exclusive beach bungalow in Bali will more than likely have to wait until our tenth anniversary. It was more by good luck than good management that we’ve actually had the whole day off today. I can certainly manage one night of wedded bliss though!
‘Happy?’ Olly asks.
‘Very.’
‘Mummy and Daddy! You’re being all squishy,’ Petal complains.
‘That’s because we’re very much in love,’ I tell her.
Our child doesn’t look very impressed by that, but Olly and I exchange a dreamy look nevertheless.
The afternoon wears on. Phil, jacket already thrown off, loosens his tie and spends an awful lot of time cosied up with Constance, which makes me smile. Everything about Jenny is getting looser due to the amount of champagne that she’s necked. She comes up now and plants a wet kiss on my cheek.
‘I bloody love you two,’ she slurs. ‘Bloody love ya.’ She wraps her arms round Olly. ‘And you,’ she continues, ‘have missed your big chance.’ He gets a big fat smacker on his lips. It must be like being licked by an over exuberant puppy.
‘Great,’ Olly says. I can tell that he wants to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand and I grin at him. ‘Shall we cut the cake now, Nell?’
‘Excellent idea,’ I agree, coming to his rescue.
We clear the decks a bit and we all gather round the rather grand cake. A battery of disposable cameras flash as we pose with the knife held precariously above the bottom tier. Just as we’re about to make our first cut together, the door chime signals the arrival of a new addition to our party. I look up and see Tod coming through the door. Immediately, I abandon the cake-cutting and rush to greet him.
There’s a hiatus while I say hello.
‘Hi.’ I feel flushed and overexcited, whereas Tod is as cool as always. ‘Glad you could make it.’
‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ he says, then he turns to Olly. ‘May I kiss the bride?’
‘You’d better ask the bride yourself,’ Olly, quite wisely, answers.
Tod tilts his head, silently asking for approval, then he lifts my chin and for one fleeting moment I get a flashback to when we were in the car together. He kisses me softly on both cheeks. ‘For the blushing bride.’
He’s right, the bride is blushing now. My face probably matches the bright pink gerberas in my bouquet.
Tod proffers an exquisitely wrapped present, which looks like it might well be a bottle of fizz. ‘Thank you.’
‘I have one more surprise for you, if I may?’ With that, he throws open the door again and lets in a photographer laden down with equipment.
‘Oh?’
‘What better backdrop to photograph your new Ms & Mrs handbag than this?’
I’d forgotten that I’d even told Tod about that. Fancy him remembering. ‘Fantastic idea,’ I gush. Some of it may be the copious champagne talking.
Tod waves airily at our guests. ‘Don’t let us interfere. Carry on with your cake-cutting, Nell. That will be just perfect.’
So, somewhat bemused, we return to pose with the knife. I notice that the expression on Olly’s face has darkened somewhat.
As we cut the cake, the professional photographer clicks away, this way and that. I pose and preen with my handbag on full show and get Petal in on the act too, but I can’t help but notice that Olly doesn’t seem to share my enthusiasm.
The deed is done. Our friends clap. The photographer finally puts down his camera. I start to help Constance and Jenny dish out the cake to our friends.
‘Can I steal you away for five minutes?’ Tod asks. ‘Kyle here would like to take some more shots of just you on your own with your handbag.’
‘Oh, OK.’ I put down the plate in my hands, lick my sticky fingers and wipe them on my dress.
Olly takes my arm and pulls me to one side. ‘Nell,’ he says. His teeth are gritted. ‘This is not a good time.’
‘It’s only five minutes,’ I say. ‘No one minds.’
‘I do,’ he hisses. ‘I mind. Not everything has to be turned into a publicity stunt.’
‘But this is a great chance,’ I counter. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself. Tod has been kind enough to organise a photographer.’
‘I’m not happy, Nell.’
‘It makes perfect sense. Tod’s right. It’s the ideal setting to launch the Ms & Mrs handbag.’
‘We could have just staged a wedding if that’s how you feel,’ he snaps. ‘Why go through the bother of all those tiresome vows?’
‘I don’t feel like that,’ I snap back. ‘It’s just that I happen to think, in this instance, that Tod is right.’
‘Tod, Tod, Tod,’ my husband mutters.
‘Come on,’ I urge. ‘Just have a couple of photographs of us taken together. For me.’
‘No.’ He pulls away. ‘Leave me out of this. I’ll have nothing to do with it.’
‘Well, excuse me,’ I say crisply, ‘but I’m going to have my photograph taken.’ I snatch up the handbag that’s causing so much controversy. Olly stomps away.
Looks like we’ve had our first domestic as Mr and Mrs Meyers. That didn’t take long. But surely Olly understands by now how important this is to me? Clearly he doesn’t.
I sigh to myself. Looks like the one-night honeymoon isn’t going to be much fun after this.
Chapter 36
Two weeks after the wedding, I’m sitting in my pyjamas watching Lorraine. Petal is sitting on my lap eating her breakfast and has just spilled her porridge all down me.
‘Sorry, Mummy,’ Petal says.
‘Breakfast at the table tomorrow,’ I say. That will teach me to encourage my child to have slovenly habits. E
ven though there are extenuating circumstances today.
Petal’s got a sniffly cold and is red-eyed and runny-nosed. The nursery are hysterical if you send any children in with the slightest thing wrong, so I’m having to keep her at home for a couple of days until it clears up. She’s not poorly enough to be confined to bed, but she’s ill enough to be tired and whiny and tearful, which is a complete nightmare as I have so much to do.
In fact, I’m so tired that I didn’t even jump up when the porridge ran down my jim-jams. I’m just looking at it with a sinking heart. More washing.
After the photograph of the Ms & Mrs handbag appeared in the national press – all organised by Tod – the phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Olly and I haven’t had a moment to ourselves. The orders have gone completely crazy and every waking moment – and some sleeping ones – has been spent making handbags.
The house is a complete state. Every corner looks like a handbag factory. There’s a small, clear track that winds its way through the middle like a maze but you have to move handbags from every seat before you can sit down. Already, before I got Petal up this morning, I’ve been making handbags for two hours.
My mobile rings again and I sigh. I can’t even sit here in my porridge-covered state in peace for five minutes. From beneath the pile of soft toys and handbag trimmings, I locate the ringing and rescue the phone.
I know that it’s a business call as no one else ever rings us these days. Our friends have long since given up asking us to go out as we’re never available. Sure enough, the cut-glass tone on the other end tells me I wasn’t mistaken.
‘Karin Parks from Fabulous magazine,’ the woman says.
‘We want to run a feature on your handbags.’
I feel like falling to my knees and giving praise, but I am aware of dislodging my child and nicely congealed breakfast cereal by doing so. This is like someone phoning to tell you that you’ve won the lottery and that it’s Christmas tomorrow.