Thirteen Weddings

  ‘Hi,’ I reply. He was chatting to Tim when I walked past and I’m sure he must’ve seen me come this way.

  ‘How was your weekend?’ he asks cheerfully.

  ‘Great. I went to another wedding,’ I tell him with a smile, relieved to see that he’s clearly comfortable around me now.

  ‘Did you?’ He looks confused. ‘I thought that was a one-off?’

  ‘It was supposed to be, but Rachel’s assistant called in sick at the last minute, so I helped out.’

  ‘That’s cool. How was it?’

  ‘Amazing. Well, actually, it was a total nightmare at first. The bride and groom have a toddler and she was sick, so that made things difficult, and then the vicar was a total arse and wouldn’t let us take pictures of the service.’

  ‘No way?’

  ‘Yeah. Really mean. The bride was in tears. And it poured down and was so windy, everyone got soaked.’

  ‘It does sound like a nightmare!’ He leans back against the wall and folds his arms.

  ‘It was, but it was amazing too. Rachel is just so good at what she does. She got this fantastic shot of the pair of them later, in the rain under an umbrella. So stylish.’ I saw the teaser shot yesterday. It’s beautiful.

  He grins. ‘How was camera shake?’

  I smile. ‘I think I’m getting a bit better.’

  ‘And no need to borrow Auntie’s eyes from another shot?’ he asks teasingly.

  I laugh and shake my head. ‘I don’t think so. Although, actually, I did shoot the bride and groom after the ceremony and in some pictures the flowers look like they’re sprouting out of the bride’s head. Rachel said she’ll have to fix those ones in Photoshop.’

  He looks amused and a familiar skittish sensation swamps my stomach. This is not good. And now my tea has stewed. ‘Whoops.’ I fish out the teabags. ‘Nicky hates it strong.’

  ‘Maybe she should make her own, then,’ he says drily.

  ‘Mmm.’

  He flashes me a conspiratorial look, intensifying the edgy feelings.

  ‘So what did you get up to?’ I ask, trying to sound casual.

  ‘Not a lot. Pottered around at home, went out with some mates for a few drinks on Saturday night.’

  ‘Your girlfriend was away, right? I mean, fiancée,’ I correct myself.

  ‘Yeah, she was in New York for work.’

  ‘What does she do?’

  ‘She works in advertising,’ he says in a monotone.

  ‘Oh right. Cool.’

  He shrugs. ‘She likes it.’

  ‘That’s the important thing.’

  Okay, so we’re not entirely past the awkward stage. I make a move to pick up my mugs.

  ‘What about you?’ he asks. ‘Do you reckon you’ll be doing any more wedding photography?’

  ‘I’d love the extra work. I could certainly do with the extra cash.’ My lips turn down. ‘But Rachel’s assistant is back now. Maybe I’ll see if I can hook up with another photographer.’

  ‘That’d be good.’ A thought seems to come to him. ‘Zara and I still haven’t sorted out a photographer for our wedding in December.’

  He’s not asking me to do it, is he? That would be taking this new-found familiarity a bit far.

  ‘Do you really recommend Rachel, then?’ he asks.

  My face breaks into a smile. Phew. ‘Yes, definitely. She’s incredible. Do you want me to get you her contact details?’

  He grins. ‘That’d be great. Thanks.’

  We walk back into the office together.

  ‘Ah, the new issue is here,’ he says as I put my mugs down on my desk.

  He grabs a Stanley knife and slices through the plastic vacuum-packed wrapping, studying the front cover while I go back over to him and pick up a copy for myself.

  ‘It looks great,’ he says, glancing at me.

  ‘Bronte! Can you bring one to me?’ I hear Nicky call.

  ‘And me!’ Helen adds.

  I do as they ask and then settle down to read the latest issue of Hebe. Drinking tea and reading the current issue is probably my favourite part of a Monday morning – we all do it.

  ‘How are you getting on with those skinny celeb pictures?’ Nicky cuts into my thoughts.

  ‘Fine,’ I reply, glancing up at her.

  ‘I’m sending Helen on the Dragons’ Den shoot this morning, so I’ll need you to get on with the mark-up.’

  The mark-up is one of those super-dull accounting jobs which involves trawling through every page of the magazine, marking down which picture came from which agency and how much each one cost. It’s so we know our picture expenditure for each month and it’s very, very boring, but it ensures we don’t overpay anyone. It’s usually the assistant’s job, not the picture editor’s, and it’s by no means urgent. But judging by Nicky’s face, it’s not up for discussion.

  I put down my magazine and get on with my work.

  I’m lonely that following weekend. Rachel is doing a wedding with Sally, and Bridget has gone to a leaving party in Cambridgeshire with her friend Marty. She invited me to go with them, but I don’t know the people who are leaving: a friend of hers who nearly died last autumn when she was hit by a car, and her American-Cuban boyfriend who’s apparently keen to take her back to Key West where they met. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable gate-crashing, even though Bridget said the boyfriend had to be seen to be believed. She really needs to get herself a man.

  As for me, I haven’t been with anyone since... Well, I haven’t had a boyfriend since Jason, but I haven’t been with anyone since Alex.

  He’s been thoroughly pleasant to me this week and I’m starting to think we could be friends, even though my heart still hurts a little sometimes when I look at him. I’ll get over it. He came for a quick drink on Friday night, but left early to go for dinner with Zara. I wonder what she’s like.

  I passed on Rachel’s details and they’re meeting up this week. I hope it works out for both of them. I thought a lot about Rachel on Saturday. Sally had better not be taking her job for granted.

  ‘When are you meeting Rachel?’ I ask Alex on Monday morning.

  ‘Tomorrow lunchtime. She’s coming into town.’

  ‘Is it just you going?’ I don’t know why I asked that.

  ‘No, Zara’s coming to meet us.’

  ‘Cool. Rachel always likes to meet the bride and groom together. Get ready to dazzle her with your proposal story.’ I try to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. I don’t feel enthusiastic. ‘She’ll want to hear all the gushy details.’

  ‘Oh. It’s not very exciting. We just decided to get married.’

  ‘What?’ I exclaim. ‘You didn’t give your girlfriend of almost a decade a proper proposal?’

  He frowns and then gives me a quizzical look. ‘You remember how long we’ve been together?’

  I shrug. ‘Yeah. I wasn’t that drunk,’ I add and my face heats up under his amused gaze.

  The truth is, I remember everything about that night – the fact that he and his girlfriend have been together since university is just one detail of many. That’s not to say I wasn’t surprised myself when he remembered I didn’t like weddings.

  ‘Back to it, then,’ I say, rather than taking the conversation further.

  Late on Tuesday afternoon, Clare comes into the office. ‘Can we gather?’ Simon calls to everyone, so we get up from our desks and congregate in the middle of the room.

  ‘I have some sales information,’ he says, and from the look on his face, it’s good.

  It turns out, last week’s Joseph Strike baby bump issue saw our sales shoot up by over 50 per cent. Everyone gasps and bursts into spontaneous applause at the news.

  ‘Thank you to everyone who worked on the article,’ Simon continues. ‘But special thanks to Bronte for acquiring those stunning pictures and the interview.’ I try to contain my blush as everyone looks at me. ‘If you don’t already know, Bronte’s friend works at the conservation park where these shots were taken. In fact,
her friend took the pictures herself. She could have sold them to anyone, but she sold them to us. So thank you, Bronte.’

  ‘Well done, Bronte,’ Clare chips in.

  My colour deepens as everyone claps again – some more enthusiastically than others. I notice Nicky roll her eyes at Helen, who smirks, but even that doesn’t bother me. Warmth washes away my embarrassment as the sweet, eager editorial assistant, Sarah, appears with four bottles of champagne and everyone cheers. She pops one of the corks and starts to pour champagne into plastic disposable glasses, handing the first glass to me. ‘Here you go, honey,’ she says with a smile.

  ‘Thanks.’ I started out as an editorial assistant, too, so I have a lot of respect for her, knowing how much work goes into keeping an office as large as Hebe running smoothly.

  ‘Cheers, B.’ Russ appears at my side.

  ‘Cheers.’ I grin at him.

  Nicky and Helen and a few others return to their desks with their glasses, and Russ gives me a significant look. Lisa, Tim and Zach huddle round us. It’s nearly home time.

  ‘Cheers,’ Alex says, joining the group. ‘Well done.’ He nudges me good-naturedly.

  ‘Thanks.’ My treacherous face heats up again. ‘How did your meeting with Rachel go?’ I ask him, winking comically at Sarah as she pulls out her iPhone and starts to snap off a few photos.

  ‘Really good.’ He nods.

  ‘Did she show you any of her work?’

  ‘Yeah, she brought in a couple of her books.’ He shakes his head, impressed. ‘They’re fantastic. I love her documentary style. I think it’s the way we should go.’

  ‘It’s so much better than the old way, isn’t it?’ I say.

  ‘Definitely. Much more natural. I hate posed crap.’

  ‘Me too,’ I agree. ‘What did Zara think?’

  He cocks his head to one side. ‘I think she liked it. She’s quite traditional, although you’d never know it. I’m going to have a chat with her tonight. We should get Rachel booked in as soon as possible.’

  I am so curious to know what Zara’s like. I wonder if I’ll resist the temptation of asking Rachel next time I see her.

  Fat chance.

  ‘Does she have anyone else lined up for December?’ I ask.

  ‘Not yet, but you never know. I’m sure there are others out there who have left it as late as us to book a photographer.’

  ‘You’re lucky. She only left her job quite recently so I don’t think this year is too crazy busy for her. She’s already got dozens booked in for next year.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Thanks again for her details.’

  ‘No worries.’

  Easter comes and goes and I fall into an easy routine at work and outside of it. Nicky seems to have moved on after her grudge and while I don’t think the tension will ever truly be gone, she, Helen and I function fairly well.

  Bridget returns to cover for the recently departed features editor on Let’s Go! so I catch up with her regularly for lunch, and she joins our Friday nights at the pub. Alex usually comes for a couple, but always heads off earlier than the rest of us. He’s booked Rachel now for his wedding, and I’m pleased it all worked out.

  One Friday night at the beginning of May, I go out for a girls’ night with Bridget, Maria and Bridget’s friend Marty. We bar-hop and end up at a club, where we dance the night away. Later, Maria and I sit on a bench seat and giggle as we try to ignore Bridget and Marty getting cosy with two random boys on either side of us. We’re all single, and if there were more good-looking boys in the vicinity, I’d be making the most of it, too. As it is, I’m happy just hanging out with my friends.

  ‘How’s Rachel?’ I ask Maria.

  ‘She’s good,’ she replies. ‘She’s got a wedding tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re not doing the make-up?’

  ‘No, the bride is using her friend.’

  ‘Uh-oh, big mistake!’ I exclaim, tipsily.

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘How’s Sally getting on?’

  Maria pulls a face. ‘She’s alright.’

  ‘Oh?’ That didn’t sound too promising.

  ‘Between you and me, I don’t think she’s really cut out for this wedding photography business.’

  This fact shouldn’t make me feel happy, but it does.

  ‘Well, tell Rachel that I’m happy to step in if she ever needs me.’

  ‘I will,’ Maria promises. ‘She thinks you’re amazing.’

  My heart swells. ‘Does she?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ Maria enthuses. ‘Much better than Sally.’

  ‘Has she said that?’ I ask with surprise.

  ‘Not in so many words. Rachel’s far too nice, but I know what she thinks.’

  I ponder this for a little while, before asking the question I’ve resisted for so long. ‘Did she tell you she’s doing Alex’s wedding in December?’

  ‘No?’

  Damn. That means I can’t ask about Zara.

  ‘How do you feel about that?’ she asks carefully.

  I shrug. ‘It’s fine. I suggested he call her. She’s great and he’s a friend, so why wouldn’t I hook them up?’

  She says nothing for a bit, before asking, ‘Is he?’

  I frown. ‘Is he what?’

  ‘A friend?’

  ‘Of course. Things are cool between us now.’

  She smiles. ‘Well, that’s good.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Rachel calls me that Sunday.

  ‘Hey you,’ she says warmly. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to come over sometime and see the books for Suzie and Mike and Veronica and Matthew?’

  ‘Yes, please. How are they looking?’

  ‘They’re great. I’ve used a lot of your shots. You really did such a good job on both days.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I’m genuinely touched.

  ‘Have you thought about doing any more wedding photography?’ she asks tentatively.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply with a sigh. ‘If you can recommend anyone who might need an assistant, please do.’

  She pauses. ‘It’s just that... Well, I have a little bit of a problem with Sally.’

  My heart skips a beat. ‘Really?’

  ‘She wasn’t enjoying herself yesterday. I know she’s madly in love with this new man of hers, and that’s lovely.’ I don’t get the feeling Rachel thinks it’s that lovely. ‘But she just wanted to be somewhere else and everyone could see it.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ I try to sound sympathetic while my heart races.

  ‘I was wondering... I need to speak to Sally first,’ she clarifies, ‘but would you be interested in taking over some of her weddings this year? Just to give her a break so it’s not so full-on?’

  ‘I’d love to!’ I gush.

  ‘Really?’ she asks hopefully.

  ‘I would love to!’ I say again and she laughs.

  ‘Well, I have a wedding coming up next weekend in Scotland, and in a few weeks there’s one in the Lake District. Sally is massively dragging her heels about being away from her boyfriend so much. I really need someone who’s enthusiastic and keen.’

  ‘I’m enthusiastic and keen!’ I pipe up, unable to stop myself.

  ‘I’m so pleased to hear it,’ she replies. ‘Can I call you back later once I’ve spoken to her?’

  ‘Definitely!’

  Chapter 8

  We’re about half an hour into our flight to Glasgow when I finally give in to my curiosity and ask Rachel about Alex and Zara.

  ‘How did it go with Alex?’

  ‘Good.’ Rachel nods. ‘We’re all booked in for December.’

  ‘What was Zara like?’

  ‘You haven’t met her?’

  ‘No, he hasn’t brought her out to pub night yet.’ Surely it’s only a matter of time.

  ‘She was nice,’ she says with a shrug. ‘She wasn’t overly enthusiastic about my style of photography, but maybe she was just pondering which way to go. Alex seemed keen.’

  I should have kn
own Rachel would be diplomatic. I’m not going to get a completely honest reaction from her. She continues to flick through her magazine. Conversation finished?

  Nup. Can’t let it lie. ‘What does she look like?’

  Rachel looks up and purses her lips, thinking. ‘She’s tall, slim, attractive.’ She shrugs and looks down at her magazine.

  ‘What colour is her hair?’

  She glances at me. ‘Blonde.’

  ‘Up? Down? Long? Short?’

  She gives me a funny look. ‘I think it was long because it was pulled up into a bun.’

  ‘Maybe she used one of those donut things,’ I muse.

  ‘Maybe.’ Now she’s looking at me weirdly.

  ‘What was she wearing?’

  She gives a half-laugh and shakes her head, before launching into the detail I require. ‘Well, if I recall correctly, she was wearing a very well-fitted and no doubt expensive navy suit with a white shirt. And she had black horn-rimmed glasses and dark red lipstick. And killer heels.’

  ‘Horn-rimmed glasses? Urgh, she sounds like Nicky.’

  ‘Who’s Nicky?’ Her brow furrows.

  ‘My evil boss.’

  ‘Well, Zara didn’t seem evil,’ Rachel clarifies. ‘Just a little reserved with her compliments. I’m sure she’s perfectly nice.’

  Sounds like a bit of a bitch, if you ask me. I don’t say that out loud.

  The Loch Lomond hotel where the bride, groom and immediate family are staying is super-pricey, so Rachel and I have opted to stay at an inn twenty minutes away. It’s late Friday night by the time we arrive in the car we hired at the airport so we head up to our rooms.

  The next morning, we go to the hotel where the bride, Karmen, is getting ready.

  ‘Karmen’s family is Turkish,’ Rachel explains as we walk along the hotel corridor, ‘although she’s lived in London most of her life.’ She knocks on the door of their suite. Before I can ask what the Scottish connection is, the door swings open and a large woman beams at us.

  ‘Come in! Come in!’ she cries in a Middle Eastern accent, stepping aside for us. ‘I’m Karmen’s Auntie Bora.’

  We squeeze past her large frame in the doorway and walk into a big bridal suite crammed full of people. ‘The photographers are here!’ Karmen’s aunt announces to much excitement.