‘You coming for a drink?’ Tim calls to him.
‘Erm...’ he checks his watch. ‘Where are you going?’ His eyes flit towards mine.
‘Just to the pub across the road,’ Tim says.
‘I might meet you over there.’ My heart jumps and then plummets. I try to convince myself that I don’t care either way.
I fail spectacularly in my efforts, spending the next twenty minutes at the pub glancing at the door in case Alex walks in. I’m curious to see him in a social situation again – this week at work has been strange.
‘Hey, guys!’ Bridget calls cheerfully as she arrives. ‘Who’s up for a drinking game?’
Everyone groans theatrically.
‘Bronte?’ she asks teasingly. ‘You want a shot?’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ I warn. ‘I’m fine with beer. I have to get up early tomorrow.’
‘What are you doing?’ Lisa, who’s a petite redhead, asks with interest, as Bridget gathers orders from the rest of the table and heads off to the bar.
‘I’m going to a wedding.’
‘Nice!’ she says.
‘Whose?’ Esther, the features editor, asks, overhearing. She’s striking and extremely tall at almost six foot, with shoulder-length dark brown hair.
‘I have no idea.’ I smile at the look on her and Lisa’s faces before explaining. ‘I’m assisting the wedding photographer.’
‘Wow. Have you done a lot of weddings?’ Lisa asks.
‘No, this is my first.’
‘How exciting!’ Esther nudges Pete. ‘You should get Bronte to do your wedding in July.’
‘Steady on.’ I hold my palms up. ‘I might not be any good at it. I’m absolutely shitting myself at the moment,’ I admit, making everyone laugh. Bridget comes back over with our drinks, plonking a beer in front of me.
I’m sure she’ll be trying to get me to do shots before the night is out. I will resist!
‘Hey, here’s Alex,’ Tim says. I stopped watching the door once Bridget arrived.
‘Hi,’ he says, dropping his bag loudly beside the table. He freezes and I glance up at him to see that he’s noticed Bridget.
‘Howdy. I’m Bridget,’ she says smoothly, holding her hand out to him. ‘Who are you?’
‘Alex,’ he replies with a slight frown as he hesitantly shakes her hand. ‘Can I get anyone a drink?’
No one needs one so he heads to the bar. I give Bridget a WTF look over the table and she suppresses a grin. Alex seems to have recovered by the time he joins our table, pulling up a seat between Lisa and Tim. I can’t see his face very well from here, which suits me just fine.
‘How’s your first week been?’ Lisa asks him.
‘Good. Just settling in, seeing how everything works,’ he replies in that warm, deep voice of his. Unfortunately I can hear him very well and I let out a small sigh at the sound. Why has he put this distance between us? Fine if he doesn’t like me. Cool if he’s seeing someone else. But can’t we be friends? Why is he being so standoffish?
‘What are you up to this weekend?’ Lisa asks, and I realise her question is directed at him. I wonder if her job on the newsdesk helps her excel at small talk.
‘Er, just hanging out with my girlfriend,’ he replies.
A dark feeling washes over me. Not that I didn’t have my suspicions.
‘Well, fiancée,’ he clarifies.
The dark feeling violently intensifies.
‘How lovely! When are you getting married?’ Esther asks warmly.
‘December,’ Alex reveals, as I pick up my beer bottle and take a swig. I have to force myself to swallow. I can feel Bridget’s eyes on me, but I keep mine trained on the table.
‘When did you get engaged?’ Lisa presses on while I inwardly cringe. Do we have to hear the gushy details?
‘Couple of months ago,’ he says, shifting in his seat. He doesn’t want to talk about this, either. Maybe it’s because I’m here; maybe it’s because he’s quite a private person. I got that impression when we met, but really, I don’t know him at all. I’m a fool to think that I did.
‘Let’s play a drinking game!’ Bridget erupts and everyone groans again. ‘Come on, you Hebes are so boring!’ She shoves against Russ and he moves aside to let her out.
‘Bronte, come help me carry the shots.’
‘I am not doing shots,’ I reiterate.
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come and help me anyway.’
I cast my eyes wearily at the ceiling, but silently thank her for the distraction.
The next morning, I’m up and out of bed early. I have a headache, despite my attempts to remain sober, but it’s not too bad. Bridget, however, is decidedly worse for wear.
‘Hey,’ I whisper, poking my head around her door.
A strangled moan comes from the bed.
‘I brought you pills,’ I tell her with a smirk.
She gingerly sits up in bed and reaches for the water, glugging some down with the headache tablets. ‘Why, oh why did you let me drink those shots?’
‘What?’ It’s an outrage!
She purses her lips. ‘I meant to tell you, there was a message on the landline from your mum.’
‘What did she say?’ I ask warily.
‘She said she was just touching base with you. Wanted to say hello.’
Nothing important, then.
‘Have a good day,’ she says. ‘Good luck with it.’
Anxiety surges through me and then the door buzzer goes and Bridget clamps her hands to her head. ‘Shut them up!’
‘I will.’ I laugh. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Good luck.’
‘Thanks.’ I’m going to need it.
Chapter 4
‘How are you feeling?’ Maria asks the bride, Suzie, as she applies foundation to her pale complexion.
‘Nervous,’ Suzie admits.
I’d be nervous, too, if I was about to legally bind myself to another person for the rest of my life. Mind you, there’s always divorce if it doesn’t work out.
‘That’s a good sign,’ Maria says encouragingly. ‘I think nerves help you to feel more connected to the day.’
Is that what she reckons? Well, I’m nervous as hell. And I’m not sure I want to feel connected to this particular day.
‘You’re looking radiant,’ Rachel says gently, taking a photograph.
I’m sitting in the corner, just watching and trying to keep out of the way. Rachel moves over to the wedding dress, which is hanging behind the door. ‘Can you adjust the curtains to soften the light?’ she asks me.
I get up and close the net curtains a little, as Rachel moves in to photograph lots of tiny, delicate lace flowers across the bodice. I’m looking forward to seeing how Suzie looks with it on.
I watch as Rachel takes some shots of the bride’s shoes and her gran’s wedding ring sewn into her garter. Suzie’s mother comes in with cups of tea for us all. The atmosphere is very relaxed, which is not what I was expecting.
The doorbell rings to announce the arrival of Suzie’s only bridesmaid and the energy levels ramp up a notch. She’s a sweet, friendly girl, but over the course of a short space of time, the chilled atmosphere becomes charged with electricity as we draw closer to the big event.
‘Time for you to go,’ Rachel says to me quietly with a smile as Maria puts the finishing touches to the bride’s make-up.
My nerves return as she sees me to the door.
‘So don’t forget to get the details,’ she says. ‘The flowers, the candles, the organ...’
A little dart of fear zips through me.
‘The Order of Service, the stained-glass windows...’ she continues.
I recover quickly and shake my head. ‘I won’t forget.’
‘Try to get the groom arriving if he’s not already there, and as many of the other guests as you can. Don’t specifically ask guests to pose for shots, but do take any that they ask you to.’
‘I remember,’ I say, no
dding quickly now.
‘And do your best to get his reaction,’ she urges solemnly.
‘I will,’ I promise.
‘Just do your best,’ she says again, this time with a reassuring squeeze of my arm. I sense she’s as nervous about my abilities as I am.
The church is a mere three-minute walk from Suzie’s parents’ house along a pavement slick with dew. There was a frost when we arrived this morning, but it’s burning off now in the late March sunshine. The blue sky is streaked with wispy white cloud. It’s been overcast and freezing this week. Could Suzie and Mike be the luckiest bride and groom on the planet? I breathe in the crisp spring air and listen to the sound of birdsong coming from the nearby trees. I pass a tiny chocolate-box thatched cottage behind a low hedge lined with bright yellow daffodils and impulsively start to click off some shots. This is such a pretty, picture-postcard old English village. I round the corner and the grey-slated church spire comes into view, gleaming in the sunlight.
I move out of the light and into the shadow of the stone church, walking with trepidation along the winding asphalt path to the porch. I take a deep breath and try to calm my jitters.
Get it together, Bronte. Get it together. I stop on the path and close my eyes, bracing myself.
‘Hello!’ a cheerful voice says. My eyes shoot open and I see a well-groomed usher waiting in the porch, holding a stack of sheets.
‘Hi,’ I reply quickly.
‘Bride or groom?’ he asks brightly.
‘Photographer,’ I tell him and he smiles.
‘Great.’
I force myself to smile back as I pass by him into the church. It’s the first time I’ve been inside one for years – Polly and Grant got married in a register office. I inhale the cold, damp air in short, sharp breaths. The musty smell is making me feel lightheaded. How can churches smell so similar, even when they’re oceans apart?
It’s okay. It’s okay. I look around. The church is vast and chilly, with a grey stone floor, cream limestone walls and enormous, arched, stained-glass windows.
There are already a dozen or so guests seated in the pews, talking quietly amongst themselves in hushed and reverent tones.
My dad used to say churches are like libraries. But he was wrong. They’re nothing alike. I like being in libraries.
Rachel has already met the vicar, but she asked me to introduce myself. I feel a surge of relief when I see that she’s a woman. She welcomes me warmly.
‘I’ll be staying down the back,’ I promise her, relaxing slightly. ‘I won’t get in your way.’
Rachel told me that vicars tend to like her because she doesn’t use a flash and disrupt the service, nor does she run all over the place like a lunatic. Because there are two of us, she can remain static up by the pulpit.
The weight of responsibility helps me to focus. I can do this. I can.
The groom is not yet here so I get busy capturing the details. The camera sounds loud to my ears at first, and I wince with every click, but it gets easier after a few shots. I capture the pretty flower arrangements – white daffodils, hyacinths and roses with acid green guelder-roses – suspended from the ends of the pews and the sunlight streaming in through the stained-glass windows. I force myself into the chancel and snap some shots of the larger flower displays and the gleaming silver candlesticks on the altar table. My heart is in my throat as I quickly click off a few shots of the organ with its polished golden pipes and all-too-familiar layers of black and cream-coloured keys. Then the groom arrives so I step down from the chancel into the nave, exhaling the breath I didn’t realise I was holding.
Mike is in his mid-twenties like Suzie and Maria, and he’s tall and slim with short brown hair. Maria told me that Suzie met Mike at university and next week they’re setting off to go travelling for a year. This wedding is also effectively their leaving party and our photographs will be a strong link to home for them over the next twelve months. It’s even more important that we do them justice.
I focus my attention on Mike and get a lovely shot of him sharing a moment with his mum, which ends with her kissing him on his cheek and laughingly wiping away the lipstick mark. I sheepishly step forward to introduce myself and wish him luck.
The church is filling up, but the hushed quality remains and when Suzie’s mother appears, I know that the bride must be on her way. I’ve set up Rachel’s monopod – a tripod with one leg – out of view behind the pulpit, like she asked me to. She shoots with minimal but top-notch equipment. She explained that her 85 mm F1.2 – the Holy Grail of lenses – lets in so much natural light that she doesn’t even need to use a flash until the first dance, and only then so she can freeze the action on the dance floor.
I take some shots of Suzie’s mother and then go to wait in the porch. I take a calming deep breath. This is okay. I’m doing okay.
After a few minutes, Rachel comes into view. Suzie, her father and her bridesmaid, who’s wearing a dusky-rose-coloured, vintage-style lace dress, have walked here from Suzie’s parents’ house and I watch with a smile as Rachel snaps away without losing her footing as she moves backwards.
Suzie looks jaw-droppingly beautiful. Maria has curled her golden-blonde hair into perfectly wavy curls and left it down. A delicate lace, flapper-girl-style headpiece takes the place of a traditional veil, with a large, white silk flower on the left-hand side. Her long, slim-fitting skirt is made of white lace, and as I noticed before, dozens of small lace flowers have been sewn all over the strapless bodice.
Rachel turns and comes towards me over the wet grass.
‘Good luck!’ she whispers loudly. ‘Don’t forget to get his reaction!’ she stresses again as she hurries past me into the church.
‘I won’t,’ I promise, but she’s already gone.
I hold my camera up to my face and look through the view-finder as Suzie and her entourage come towards me. I snap away as I back into the church to the sound of the organ playing.
A cold flush washes over me. The music fills up my head and reverberates through my body and for a moment I feel like I’m going to faint.
I force myself to focus. Hurrying over to the other side of the church, I try to block out the haunting music as I look for Mike at the front. Rachel stressed to me that this is my most important shot of the day. Once Suzie has entered the church, my one and only goal is to get Mike’s reaction to seeing his bride. Rachel says that this shot of the groom – and her own corresponding shot taken from the front of the bride locking eyes with the man she’s about to commit to spending the rest of her life with – is the one many couples have said they treasure the most. And now it’s up to me to get my half of it.
The organist starts to play the rousing strains of Wagner’s ‘The Bridal March’ and I steel myself to concentrate. I zoom in on Mike up at the front as he slowly turns around to watch his bride come down the aisle. Then someone lifts an iPad over their head and completely obscures my vision. Shit! The bridesmaid passes by and I dart to my left to find an unobstructed view of the groom. Out of the corner of my eye I see a white blur move past. I click away as Mike’s expression softens, his eyes fill with tears and I know that I’ve got it: I’ve done my bit. Happiness bursts inside me.
I wouldn’t say I actually enjoy myself after that, but it does get easier and it helps that I have a job to do. I take some beautiful long shots of the bride and groom at the altar, framed by the green and white flowers hanging from the end of every second pew. I stop cringing at the sound of my shutter, and zoom in to get the occasional candid shot of guests dabbing their eyes and a couple of cheeky little children peering over their parents’ shoulders at me. Mostly I keep out of the way and let Rachel do her bit from the front.
All too soon, it’s my turn to take centre stage again. I need to get the bride and groom coming down the aisle as man and wife, and I feel like I can hear my heart pounding over the sound of the ‘Wedding March’ as Mike and Suzie head happily in my direction, stopping to be congratulated by thei
r friends and family as they go. Soon they’re past the last pew and I snap away as I back out of the heavy wooden doors into glorious daylight and watch them swing shut. Then Suzie and Mike burst through and Mike punches the air, yelling, ‘YES!’
As he kisses her right in front of me, I try to contain my laughter and capture every joyous millisecond.
The other guests quickly follow, and then Rachel is with me.
‘Did you get it?’ she asks.
I assume she’s referring to the groom’s reaction and I nod happily, light-headed with blissful liberation. I did it. I got through it.
She laughs, misreading my reaction. ‘Did you have fun?’
‘Yes.’ Tears prick my eyes. In hindsight, I think I almost did.
She pats my arm. ‘I’m so pleased to hear it. But it’s not over yet,’ she reminds me with amusement.
The hard part is.
The reception is being held at a fancy pub just up the road, so I go on ahead while Rachel covers the shoot outside the church. There’s a buzz in the air as the excited, friendly staff put the final touches to the table settings and fill tall flutes with champagne. I stand for a moment and look around, taking everything in. The pub has a shabby chic vintage feel to it, with stripped floor-boards, open log fires, flocked wallpaper and paintings hanging from the walls. The tables are covered with white lace tablecloths and are centred with white and green flower displays in rustic white and silver painted pots. One staff member is going around lighting tealights and putting them in silvery green glass candle holders dotted around the tables. There’s a vintage birdcage on a table near the door for people to post wedding cards through, and beside it are three cakes on individual cut-glass cake stands. They vary in height and colour and have thick ruffle-style piped icing in pink, pale yellow and white. Sprays of tiny white flowers adorn them.
The whole effect is stunning.
After I’ve taken enough shots of the inside details, I move outside to the garden where a twenty-metre white marquee has been erected on the grass. A small bar has been set up inside and a member of staff is putting down a silver tray full of wine glasses brimming with a peachy-coloured cocktail. I could do with one of those. I take some photos, keeping my eye on the doors, until finally I see the wedding party start to arrive.