‘I was actually more upset about that than I expected to be,’ I mused. ‘But what if we can’t find a dress? What about your dress?’
‘Oh, please,’ she scoffed. ‘I could find me a dress blindfolded. Worst comes to the worst, I’ll have something flown over. And if I start looking for you now, we could go shopping tomorrow. Thank God you had that stomach flu last month − you don’t even need to lose weight.’
‘So you’d be ready to call a stop to this if I wasn’t at my target weight?’
‘I’d call a stop to it if I wasn’t at my target weight,’ she replied. ‘But I honestly think it’s a good idea. We could make this super-beautiful. An English country-garden wedding. I’m seeing a loose skirt, maybe a deep V-front and back for the dress, your hair down, wavy, fresh flowers in a garland. I’m having a vision, Angie. I’m having a concept.’
‘And I’m having a heart attack,’ I said. ‘Just don’t get overexcited, OK? I haven’t agreed to this. And Alex literally hasn’t said a word.’
‘Alex will do whatever you tell him to,’ Jenny said with a yawn. ‘Guy’s whipped.’
Alex wasn’t whipped; he just understood I was easier to manage when I was getting my own way. He wasn’t afraid to kick my arse when I needed it. And if he wasn’t into this, he’d tell me. ‘I’ll talk to you later. And don’t eat all the Mini Rolls. I’m going to want seventeen when I get back.’
‘What’s a Mini Roll?’ Jenny asked, excited. ‘Are they better than the Penguin biscuits? Because I already ate, like, four of them. And what’s with your bacon? Why is it weird?’
‘Please leave some food for the rest of us,’ I said. The last thing I needed now was a return trip to the supermarket. ‘We’ll be home in a couple of hours.’
‘KK, bridey,’ she said before hanging up.
At times like these there really was only one answer.
‘Vodka, lime and soda please,’ I told the bartender. He nodded with surly agreement, poured the drink and mumbled something about two pounds ten. I silently rejoiced at suburban British booze prices and then necked my drink. More vodka was absolutely what this situation needed.
‘Could I get another, please?’ I asked. The bartender looked at me as though I’d just asked him to punch his own mother in the kidneys and didn’t move.
‘If it’s not too much trouble.’ I stared him out until he started pouring. This damn dress.
The second drink went down slightly slower and my brain started to process everything that had happened in the last fifteen minutes. In all honesty, I was more surprised at Jenny’s enthusiasm than my mum’s suggestion. Looking out across the dark wood-panelled room, I considered the pros and cons. Pro: it would be an easy option. Con: I wasn’t even slightly prepared. Pro: it would make my mum really happy. Con: it would make my mum really happy. Pro: I would be married to Alex. Con: … there wasn’t really a downside to that one.
‘Hey.’ I looked up to see Alex walking across the bar. ‘You OK?’
I nodded. ‘Just a bit shell-shocked.’
‘That one came right out of left-field, huh?’ He gave me a lopsided smile and sat down on a bar stool beside me. ‘Your mom has this all figured out.’
‘She was giving you the hard sell?’
‘She was,’ he confirmed. ‘I think she’s really freaking out about the idea of us getting married in New York without her.’
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ I protested, taking another sip of vodka. ‘I know I’m a shit daughter, but I’m not that shit.’
‘Angela.’ Alex took my drink from me, took a sip, pulled a face and handed it back. He hated sweet cocktails. ‘If you want me to, I’ll go right back out there and tell her never to mention it again. There’s no pressure here. There’s no time frame, there’s no stress, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. I leaned in and placed a Sunday afternoon pub-appropriate kiss on his soft lips. ‘The weird thing is, I’m not sure it isn’t a good idea.’
‘You’re not?’ He looked surprised.
‘I don’t know.’ And I didn’t. ‘What do you think?’
He rested his elbows behind him on the bar, much to the annoyance of my friend the bartender, and looked at me with level eyes. ‘I think it could be awesome. Like we’re reverse-eloping.’
I looked at the bar and ran my fingernail along the grain in the wood, trying not to get overexcited until he’d finished.
‘You know I’ll do whatever you want to do. But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna sit back and go along with whatever everyone else says. I honestly think this could be great if we do it right. If we do it for us. And I’m not going to let you give into this just to shut your mom up. But if you want this, then we’ll do it.’
‘I don’t think it’s a terrible idea,’ I repeated. ‘And I am sort of a bit excited about the idea of it. Maybe if I didn’t have the presentation to worry about as well. Is it a terrible idea?’
‘If you’re not into it, we just say no,’ Alex said.
‘I think I am, though,’ I whispered in case my mum was recording me somehow. ‘Am I mad?’
‘Maybe a little.’
‘I’m an idiot.’ I tried to get my head round what I was considering. This was definitely more of a tequila quandary and I was almost certain the Red Lion didn’t have any Patrón behind the bar. ‘I’m just asking for trouble.’
‘I wouldn’t have come up with this myself,’ he admitted. ‘But I just want to be married to you. I don’t care if it’s your mom’s garden, the top of the Empire State Building, Vegas or the moon. I want you to be Mrs Reid, and hell, if that happens sooner rather than later, I’m not going to complain.’
‘I’m not changing my name,’ I reminded him.
‘My wife the feminist,’ he said, pulling me towards him and resting a hand on my bare back. ‘This really is a cute dress.’
I ate up the compliment like Ms Pac-Man and felt my skin burn where his hand was touching me. ‘So I’m thinking I go out there, refuse to commit to anything until I have asked many, many questions and eaten my dinner,’ I said slowly, ‘but maybe this might happen?’
‘This might happen.’ Alex’s sleepy green eyes sparkled. ‘And I’m with you whatever you decide.’
‘We decide?’ I amended. ‘This has to be our decision.’
‘Whatever we decide, then,’ he agreed. ‘I’m in.’
He was in. Whatever it was we were getting into, at least we were in it together.
CHAPTER TEN
By the time we got into the car to go home, I had a belly full of roast beef and Yorkshire puddings plus a head full of weddings. After talking to Alex, I had banned my mother from mentioning it again at the table and told her I’d think about it. I could see she was champing at the bit to pour out the rest of her argument, but she gave in. She knew when not to push, and I was fairly certain she thought she was getting her way. And, much like her daughter, she was always in a much better mood when she was getting her own way. Instead of talking dresses, party favours and first dances, we discussed the magazine launch, Alex’s touring plans, Dad’s shed and Mum’s bitchy co-workers at the library. You’d think she worked for MI5 − it was ridiculous. The politics were less intense on Question Time.
Alex dozed in the back seat all the way, his iron constitution tested by the carvery option, while I imagined what a back-garden wedding might look like. It was definitely big enough, and I had to admit Dad’s retirement had been good for the lawn. Either he’d bought shares in Miracle-Gro or he’d been investing every spare moment in that grass. Possibly because he was secretly growing weed somewhere; I hadn’t asked yet. If I agreed to go through with this, I would definitely be bringing in a truffle pig to scout round the back of the greenhouse. So the venue wasn’t a problem. And I had had a little internal swoon at the idea of peonies everywhere. And external catering. And perhaps this was the best way to avoid waking up in the middle of the night with wedding sweats.
And Alex seemed to
be pretty into it, although I did feel a bit strange about his parents not being there, even if they didn’t get along. And yes, Jenny was right − most of our really good friends probably could organize a last-minute flight to London; but his couldn’t. They didn’t own PR companies or come from rich, Upper-East-Side families − they were bartenders and baristas living six to a loft in Bushwick. I had a sneaking suspicion most of them didn’t own passports. Or deodorant. But maybe we could have a party back in New York for them. It would be another occasion on which to wear my non-existent dress. And we’d probably have to do some City Hall stuff to make it legal anyway, so really I’d be getting two weddings with none of the hassle.
I looked over at Alex. He was smiling happily in his sleep. Years of catching a nap on a tour bus whenever he could meant he could sleep any time, anywhere. It was one of our shared skills and it made me worry for our kids. At least the odds were that they would sleep through the night pretty early on.
Calm down, Angela, I told myself. One step at a time. Yes, you’re considering a shotgun wedding, but there’s no actual baby involved. Thank God. But a wedding. An actual wedding. In six days’ time. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea sitting here in the car, looking at the man I loved. If only because whenever I got an uninterrupted gawk at my boyfriend, the devil on my shoulder popped up and started chanting ‘lock it down, lock it down, lock it down’. I thought the engagement ring might have calmed that a little, but it hadn’t. Well, I’d been engaged before. Not all sparkly engagement rings led to solemn wedding bands.
‘Hey.’ Jenny had been busy. I walked into the living room to find the carpet covered in magazines, sheets of paper and coloured marker pens. In the centre of it all, Jenny sat on the floor. Hair tied back, reading glasses that she didn’t need though she swore up and down that they helped her concentrate better, she was waist-deep in paper products and staring intently at her laptop. Pinned to the wall beside her (with what I could only hope for Jenny’s sake was something that wouldn’t mark the wallpaper) was a chart titled ‘WEDDING TIMELINE’ covering seven days, starting with Sunday and running all the way up to Saturday, or, as it was now to be known, ‘wedding day’.
‘Woah.’ Alex walked in, froze and walked back out, pulling me with him. ‘Did I miss something?’
‘I told her on the phone.’ I creased my forehead in an apology. ‘But I didn’t say we were definitely doing it.’
‘Well make up your mind quick,’ he said, placing his hands on my shoulders, ‘because as soon as your mom sees this, it’s on. If you want to shut this down, we have to shut it down now.’
‘OK.’ I rested my own tiny hands on top of his. ‘I’m not sure I do want to shut it down.’
Alex didn’t say anything, just dipped his head in a barely noticeable nod.
‘So if you wanted to do this, I think maybe I would want to do this.’ I looked over my shoulder and wondered how long it would take me to regret those words. ‘I don’t hate the idea of being married to you before the week is out, if I’m honest.’
‘That’s really not the part that concerns me,’ he replied, cocking his head to one side so his fringe fell in front of his eyes. ‘I don’t want you to agree to something you’re being pushed into. You’re too much of a people-pleaser and you already have the presentation to worry about this week.’
‘Please!’ I tried to laugh off his statement, but it was a little bit true. I did have a tendency to get myself into trouble out the goodness of my heart. Or at least for fear of Jenny beating me up. Because she totally could. ‘But really, I think it could be lovely. Unless you’re even a tiny bit not into it. At all.’
‘I was kind of thinking about it in the car,’ he admitted. ‘And the only thing that’s stopping me dragging you down the aisle and having your Uncle Kevin make shit official is the problem of getting Craig and Graham here. Kinda feels like they should be.’
‘Agreed.’ I breathed out. A part of me had been concerned that he would say he had completely changed his mind and was going to dedicate his life to becoming Justin Bieber’s official Twitter chronicler. Although that was on my to-do list, not his. I shouldn’t project. ‘You really don’t want to invite your parents?’
‘I want to tell them,’ he said, pulling me in for a hug and dropping his chin on top of my head. ‘And my brother, I guess. But I don’t think they’ll come. And I honestly don’t mind. We just don’t have that sort of relationship. I don’t want you to stress out about it.’
‘You’re telling me I shouldn’t use this as an excuse to stage an elaborate, overly emotional reunion then?’
‘I don’t think so. My mom hasn’t emoted since 1974. And that’s one of the things my dad likes best about her.’
So his parents weren’t overly demonstrative. Suddenly his laconic approach to life made a lot more sense. I broke the hug by slapping him on the arse, overwhelmed by a surge of excitement. My parents weren’t exactly touchy-feely, but I’d definitely broken the chain.
‘You really think you can keep a lid on this thing?’ Alex nodded towards the living-room floor where Jenny was hard at work. ‘This is our wedding − try to remember that.’
‘What trouble can she cause in six days that she couldn’t cause in six months?’ I reasoned. ‘And besides, Louisa is here. She’ll help keep things sensible.’
‘Good point.’ He squeezed me tightly. ‘The less time she has, the better.’
‘And she’s in a new country,’ I added. ‘She’s totally at a disadvantage.’
‘Angela, can you get in here?’ Jenny called from her carpet office. ‘I’ve been doing some research and I need you to narrow down some stuff so we can start placing orders.’
‘Disadvantage, huh?’ Alex released me from his arms and I reluctantly entered Wedding Central. ‘No doves. That’s all I’m saying. Anything else is OK by me.’
‘No doves,’ I agreed. That couldn’t be too tough to avoid. Even Jenny couldn’t arrange doves by Saturday. Could she?
‘What was that?’ Jenny looked up.
‘No doves.’ It couldn’t hurt to make sure she knew. ‘This is a dove-free wedding.’
‘But there is definitely going to be a wedding?’ Jenny scrambled to her feet so fast, her laptop fell onto the carpet and she didn’t even blink. ‘We’re going to do this?’
‘I’m not marrying you,’ I fought off her kisses but accepted her hug. ‘But yes. We’re going to do it.’
‘Angie!’ Jenny jumped up and down, still attached to my neck. ‘It’s going to be awesome. I promise. Total dream wedding. The best.’
‘Dream wedding?’
Mum appeared at the doorway and took a sharp intake of breath when she saw the state of her living room. This was more like her worst nightmare.
‘Angie agreed, Mrs C!’ Jenny let go of me and threw herself at my mum. ‘We’re having the wedding!’
‘Oh, Angela.’ It did seem a little strange that my mum was celebrating my agreeing to get married by hugging another girl, but I let it go. If her arms were busy hugging Jenny, she couldn’t beat her senseless for making a mess of the wallpaper. ‘Right, we’ve got some planning to do, haven’t we?’
‘We have,’ I agreed. ‘But I think I’d better go and see Louisa first, if that’s OK?’
‘Of course!’ Jenny answered for both of them and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be for the last time. ‘Can I come with? We can bridesmaid-bond. And we really didn’t get to chat yesterday. Because you didn’t introduce us. Because you’re rude.’
I couldn’t actually argue that point.
‘Fine. Can I borrow the car, Mum?’
‘I’ll drive you,’ she offered. ‘I need to pop to the shop for some things anyway.’
I knew this was a complete lie. The house was stocked to withstand a nuclear war, but she did not want me behind the wheel of her precious Toyota Yaris. Honestly, you have one little accident in ten years and they never let you hear the end of it.
‘Fine.’ I pulled my ph
one out to text Louisa while Jenny raced upstairs to grab her Proenza Schouler satchel. It made my bag look sad. My dad and Alex sat at the kitchen table, pouring out tumblers of whiskey. Watching them toast the wedding and clink their glasses gave me a happy.
‘Best to stay out of it from here, son,’ my dad said in a low voice. Just not low enough. ‘Unless you really can’t stand something, I recommend a lot of nodding, smiling and the occasional “yes, love”. It’s a lot easier.’
‘Gotcha.’ Alex sipped his whiskey. ‘Good advice, Mr Clark.’
‘You really are going to have to start calling me David,’ he replied. ‘Or Dad. If you want.’
I bit my lip and tried to hold in a little squeak. Good God, this week was going to be a trial for my mascara.
‘Angie,’ Jenny wailed from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Move your ass. There’s no time.’
‘See you later.’ I kissed Alex quickly on the cheek and waved at Dad. ‘I’ll be back so you can agree with everything in a couple of hours.’
‘Can’t wait.’ Alex raised a hand. ‘Take your time.’
‘That’s it,’ Dad said, completely missing the sarcasm. ‘Good work.’
For some reason, I was more nervous about telling Louisa I was getting married on Saturday than I was about the idea of getting married on Saturday. As we pulled up, Jenny was still grilling my mum on what exactly she had arranged and what exactly needed to be brought in ‘logistics-wise’. Slightly flustered, Mum had sworn to have all the information ready when we got back home. I had a funny feeling she was going to go straight back to the house in order to create said information. The flower shop on the high street probably hadn’t given her more than a ‘we’ll see you on Saturday’ as confirmation, and that was not going to work for Jenny Lopez.
Lou’s place looked the same as ever from the outside. The bright blue painted door, the wooden buckets full of pansies in the yard, the perfectly numbered and aligned wheelie bins outside, hinting at her OCD. It was my home away from home. I even had my own room for the nights when we’d done one too many bottles of white wine for me to stagger home. And for the nights when I just couldn’t be arsed. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise to me that my ex-fiancé was having an affair.