The next two days fly past. I’ve been trying to source pictures of Joe and his fiancée and we’re running the baby bump photos again. The management company has released an exclusive shot of the happy couple and their baby son to us at a hefty price – all of the money is going to charity. I’m on a high as I work. I enjoy my job so much more when Nicky isn’t around, and even Helen is impressing me with her new fired-up attitude. I’m thriving on the extra responsibility, organising shoots and going along to art-direct a couple of important ones with high-profile celebrities. The only problem is Alex, who seems like a wreck. As Nicky’s stand-in, I’m supposed to work more closely with him, so when shoot photos come in, I print them out on contact sheets and we edit them together. I also need to regularly check pictures on his screen to make sure they look sharp enough on the layouts – the resolution on digital photos from readers is often not good enough to print. Each time I’m more or less alone with him, I ask him if he’s okay, and each time he barely meets my eyes as he tells me he’s fine.
On Friday he leaves as soon as he can. I watch him go with a heavy heart. I wish I knew what was wrong.
I have a wedding myself the next day, so I don’t go out on Friday night, either. I haven’t seen Lachie for two weeks, although I’ve texted him a few times to keep things friendly. I know he’s working as many shifts as he can to try and bring in some extra money. He’s taken to busking in Camden when he’s not working at the pub so he doesn’t waste money on Tube fares into Central London.
In the car on the way to the wedding in Guildford, Rachel tells me that the bride’s parents are divorced.
‘Urgh,’ I groan. ‘The last wedding’s politics were a nightmare. Those group shots were the most stressful part of the day.’ I didn’t tell her that I nearly lost the compact flash cards.
‘Even more stressful than thinking you’d lost the compact flash cards?’ she asks wryly, casting me an amused look from the driver’s seat.
I look suitably bashful. ‘Did Maria tell you?’
She laughs. ‘Yes. Don’t worry, I’ve done it myself. It’s a total nightmare, isn’t it?’
‘One of the worst things I’ve ever experienced,’ I admit. I’m not sure how accurate that statement is, but it certainly felt pretty awful at the time.
‘I’ve attached the carry case to a clip inside my kit bag now, so they won’t come loose again.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ I tell her. I pause a moment. ‘How’s Maria?’ I ask. I haven’t seen her since the last wedding. She hasn’t answered my calls – only my texts, to say that she’s still trying to work things through. Russ has seemed almost as subdued at work as Alex, but Maria asked me to keep quiet so I won’t say anything to him.
‘She’s... not great,’ Rachel says carefully.
‘Has she told her parents, yet?’
‘She’s telling them this weekend.’
‘Oh, if only I’d known. I would have wished her good luck.’
Mind you, I think she’s going to need quite a lot more than my good luck wishes.
‘At least she has Russ with her for moral support.’
‘Russ is going with her?’ I ask, taken aback. I don’t know why I should be surprised – Russ is a nice guy – but from the sounds of it, this is going to be one heavy conversation. And they’re still only in the early throes of their relationship. It’s a lot of pressure to place on new love.
‘He insisted,’ Rachel replies with a significant look.
My ninth wedding of the year is taking place in a village church on the outskirts of Guildford with a reception in the gardens of a local country estate.
Louisa, the twenty-seven-year-old bride, has two dads. Her parents split up when her mother was still pregnant with her, so she has a stepdad who raised her from the age of one, and a biological father who she has grown close to in the last ten years. She says the most upsetting part about this whole wedding process was trying to choose between them. And then she realised she didn’t have to.
There’s barely a dry eye in the house as she walks down the aisle with a father on each arm. The two men smile proudly – there’s not an ounce of animosity between them – and the groom, Carl, looks as though he’s going to burst with pride. I capture his glowing face and then straighten up and brush my tears away.
Yep, they’ve even got to me. Who would walk me down the aisle? The thought is stifled before I can ponder it when I remember that I’m never getting married. My cynicism slots back into place.
I’m back in a smaller church again after the magnificence of Ely Cathedral, but this time nothing feels quite as sinister, nor as cold. Perhaps it’s because it’s high summer – it’s August now – or perhaps it’s just because my stint with the organ a few weeks ago has proven to me that I can handle just about anything.
The country house where the reception is being held is not quite as grand as anything you’d see on Downton Abbey, but it’s not far off. The elderly couple who own the place have had to rent it out for functions because it’s falling into a state of disrepair. The lady of the house does not appear to be happy about this turn of events. She certainly doesn’t seem keen on the paupers who are traipsing about her land. When we go to do the bride and groom shoot inside the house, she gets herself in a bit of a tizz.
‘Watch your shoes on that rug – it’s a hundred and fifty years old! Be careful of that vase – it’s a family heirloom! Don’t stand on that balcony – it’s five hundred years old and it might collapse!’ She even seems annoyed when I brush away some cobwebs. The eccentric old dear makes me think of Miss Havisham.
It’s a relief to return to the great outdoors. In spring the sound of birdsong filled the air, now in summer, it’s all about the insects. Bees and wasps buzz around the nearby orchard trees and the sunshine is hazy from dust and pollen drifting through the air from the adjoining fields.
Guests bask in the sun with glasses of champagne in their hands, and everyone seems reluctant to move inside to the marquee when it’s time for the wedding breakfast to be served. Rachel and I stay outside and sit on some weathered stone steps leading down to the rose garden. Rachel turns her sun-kissed face up to the sky and I do the same.
‘This is bliss,’ I say, pulling my skirt up to my thighs in an attempt to tan my legs. The air smells of freshly mown grass and I can see a large, dark eagle-type bird circling and soaring on the thermals far above. It makes a mewing sound.
‘Buzzard,’ Rachel says.
Is that what it is? A butterfly flits past us.
Rachel looks across at me. ‘That was a nice service. I like church weddings. I don’t do many of them these days.’
‘You don’t do many church weddings?’ I check. Almost all of the weddings I’ve done have been in churches.
‘No. They’re mainly register offices and licensed venues. Sally hasn’t done a single church wedding all year; you’ve been getting them all.’
‘Oh.’ Lucky me. ‘How are things going with Sally?’ I ask.
‘She’s okay.’ She nods. ‘Still with her boyfriend.’ She smiles wryly. ‘I think she’s happy that you’re doing today, although she did seem to enjoy last week.’
‘Did she?’ I didn’t even know Rachel had a wedding.
‘Might have had something to do with the wedding singer,’ Rachel adds sardonically, rubbing her thumb over a patch of moss on the steps to bring it loose.
I smile. ‘Who was that?’
She looks momentarily confused. ‘Lachie. I thought I told you.’
‘No.’ I shake my head and force a little laugh. ‘That’s nice. Did you get him the job?’
‘Yeah. It was a bit of a last-minute thing.’
‘That was nice of you.’ I can’t seem to think of any other adjectives. ‘Sally liked him, then?’
‘Yeah.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Bit hard not to, isn’t it?’
‘Mmm.’ Bet she thought he was better than ‘nice’.
‘What’s that?’ she says suddenly
, her ears pricking up.
‘A fire alarm!’ I exclaim, scrambling to my feet.
Turns out, the kitchen equipment is just one more thing that needs updating in this decrepit mansion. The fire is quickly contained with minimal damage, but a bright red fire engine screams down the country lane regardless, causing all sorts of excitement, not least amongst the female guests and children. Not one to waste a photo opportunity, I convince four buff firemen to hold our bride aloft with the fire engine as a backdrop while Rachel laughingly clicks away. Finally they return Louisa to her feet to a chorus of cheers. Rachel winks at me.
I catch up with Polly the next day. Grant is at the cricket so we meet for Sunday lunch at a pub in Borough Market. She suggests we get a bottle of wine, and isn’t too pleased when I say I don’t feel like drinking alcohol. In the end, she reluctantly opts for a soft drink, too.
‘How are you?’ I ask.
‘I’m okay,’ she replies.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her since Maria and I dropped in on her unannounced. I’ve tried to meet up with her on a few occasions, but she’s always claimed to be busy.
‘Do you miss home?’ she asks outright.
‘Sometimes.’ I don’t want to get into a conversation with her about Mum like last time so I bat the question back at her. ‘What about you?’
‘I miss my parents and my sister. I miss my friends. I know you’re here, but I miss everyone else. I don’t have any history here.’
‘It was always going to be hard, putting down your roots in another country.’
‘I thought Grant would be enough for me.’
‘I don’t think one person can ever be enough, can they? That’s a lot of responsibility to place on one set of shoulders.’
‘Yeah, well, he’s useless anyway,’ she grumbles.
‘Are things still not going well between you?’ I ask cautiously.
‘I barely see him,’ she replies. ‘He’s always at work or out with his friends.’
‘Does he still not ask you to join him?’
‘Occasionally,’ she says. ‘But he doesn’t like me drinking.’
I look down at the table.
‘I don’t have a problem,’ she tells me defensively.
My eyes lift to meet hers. ‘Polly, you’ve always had a problem.’
She scoffs. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Like you don’t drink? Come off it.’
‘I usually know when enough is enough,’ I reply. ‘Okay, sometimes I make mistakes, but I’ve never been abusive.’
‘I don’t get abusive,’ she snaps.
I give her a look. ‘You often get abusive. You just don’t remember it in the morning.’
She glares at me.
‘And I don’t drink in the daytime when I’m on my own,’ I add quietly.
‘I’m not drinking now,’ she says, indicating her glass of cola.
I don’t say anything.
‘He thinks I need to go to AA meetings,’ she says with disbelief.
‘Is that such a bad idea?’
‘It’s ridicu—’ her voice cracks and ‘–lous’ comes out sound choked.
I reach across and take her hand. She shakes her head to ward off the tears.
‘Why don’t we catch up more,’ I say gently. ‘I’d like to get to know Grant better. Why don’t you bring him out with Bridget and me so he gets to know your friends, and it’s not always on his terms? It might make you feel a little less isolated.’ I’m thinking it would also help if Grant got to know me better. Maybe it would help if we joined forces. He shouldn’t have to do this on his own, but I understand that he might not want to ask for my help if he doesn’t know me that well.
She sniffs and nods. ‘Maybe.’
Chapter 21
On Friday, Russ comes over to me, practically vibrating with anticipation. ‘Are you coming for drinks tonight?’
‘Er, yeah, maybe one or two.’
‘Fuck that. It’s going to be a big one.’
‘Really?’ I give him a perplexed look. ‘Why?’
‘You’ll see.’
He grins and I look over my shoulder to see him go straight over to Alex’s desk. I see Alex nod before I turn around again to face my computer. My phone buzzes to let me know I have a text message. I smile when I see it’s from Lachie asking if I’m out tonight. I reply that I am and he tells me he’s coming into town and will see me at six p.m. He usually works on Fridays. My pleasure is quickly crushed by nerves. It feels like ages since I’ve seen him and the sudden memory of our kiss makes my face heat up. I press my hands to my cheeks to cool myself down and then another text message comes in. I snatch it up, wondering what he’s got to say now, but it’s from Polly:
Grant up for drinks tonight. See you at that pub across the road from your work?
Oh. I slump back in my chair. When I suggested getting to know Grant better, I was thinking more of a pub lunch one day, not a night out drinking with my work colleagues. That’s the last thing Polly needs. But she knows I go out every Friday, so what can I say? I bite my lip, reply, ‘Cool, I’ll see you later,’ and pray for the best.
I don’t usually bother, but late that afternoon, I duck into the bathroom and apply a little extra mascara and lip gloss. Russ, Alex and the others have gathered by the door when I re-emerge.
‘There you are,’ Russ exclaims, grabbing me and pulling me to him for a rough but affectionate hug.
We all walk across the road together as a group. Maria and Rachel are already sitting at the bar.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, pleasantly surprised as I give Rachel a hug, followed by Maria. ‘Hello!’ I say warmly to Maria.
‘Maria dragged me in,’ Rachel tells me with a playful glint in her eye. Maria seems positively glowing. What’s going on?
‘G’day.’
I hear his deep Aussie voice and feel his hands on my hips a second later. I spin around and smile up at Lachie. He grins down at me with amusement in his eyes and then he lets me go to greet Maria and Rachel. He kisses them both on their cheeks and I feel a little put out that he didn’t kiss me. I push the thought to one side as Alex appears beside me.
‘Drink?’
‘I’ll get these,’ Russ interrupts with a grin.
‘What?’ Alex and I say at the same time. Russ rarely offers to buy a whole round.
‘Go and get a table,’ he urges.
I sit next to Alex on a bench seat against the wall. Lachie pulls up a chair opposite. Lisa, Esther and Tim also sit down, blocking Alex in on his other side. There’s no Pete – he’s still on his honeymoon. I don’t know what time Polly and Grant are coming. Bridget also said she’d join us later if we’re still out – she’s meeting up with a friend for dinner straight from work.
We might need a bigger table.
I look across at Lachie. ‘Have you trimmed your beard?’ I ask. He looks different, although he’s still wearing his usual scruffy denim jeans and a black T-shirt.
He rubs his hand over his jaw. ‘Yeah. Finally got around to it.’
I smile at him. ‘You didn’t have to work tonight?’
‘Got the night off.’ He grins up at Rachel and leans back in his seat as she pulls out a chair at the end of the table.
‘Yeah, well done,’ she mouths significantly as she sits down between us.
I’m confused. Did Rachel invite him here? Why? Is she interested in him? Is he interested in her? I know it’s none of my business and it really shouldn’t bother me, but bugger that: it does. And then Russ is bringing over a tray with two bottles of sparkling wine and a load of champagne glasses. I stare up at him with astonishment.
‘What on earth is going on?’ I ask, looking around at my Hebe colleagues’ equally confused faces.
He looks like the cat that got the cream. Rachel and Maria are definitely in on it, but Lachie just shrugs at me. He seems to know something is going on, but I’m not sure he knows what. Russ pops the cork and keeps us waiting while he smugly takes his ti
me pouring the fizzing liquid into several glasses. Then, ensuring everyone has a glass, he stands behind Maria, who’s sitting on the other side of Lachie, and puts one hand on her shoulder.
‘I propose a toast,’ he says.
Maria looks like she’s going to burst with happiness. She glances up at him and Russ’s face grows momentarily serious as he smiles down at her, gently chinking their glasses together. ‘To my future wife.’
‘What?’ I stare at them in disbelief, as does almost everyone else around the table.
‘Maria and I are getting married next month,’ he tells us with a huge grin as he sits down beside her.
I nearly fall off my chair.
Maria’s parents flew off the handle when she told them she was pregnant, but their suggestion that Russ make an honest woman of her was not met with the derision Maria expected from the soon-to-be father of her child. In fact, the more Russ thought about it, the more he wanted to put a ring on her finger. Both Russ and Maria realise that everyone will think they’re being too impulsive – Russ’s parents and brother have already been trying to talk them out of it. But at the end of the day, Russ told them this is his decision, and they say they’ll support it. Maria is due in January, and she wants to wear a white dress before she starts to show.
‘It’s not long to get organised,’ I say, wanting to be pleased for them but doubting their sanity. ‘Have you made any plans?’
Maria laughs at the horrified look on my face. ‘We’re keeping it simple,’ she says, smiling lovingly at Russ. ‘In fact, we’re going to get married in northern Spain at my grandfather’s villa.’ She returns her gaze to each of us in turn. ‘And we were wondering if you’d all be up for coming?’
A murmur passes around the table, but she continues. ‘The flights to Bilbao are super-cheap. We’ll put on a minibus to the venue, and we can all squeeze into the villa and adjoining apartments. My grandfather has blocked it out for us on the weekend of Friday the twelfth to the fourteenth of September.’