Thirteen Weddings

by Paige Toon

  ‘It’s all yours,’ I say to Bridget.

  ‘Cheers, big ears.’ We swap places, but as soon as Bridget locks the door to the bathroom, Alex passes me a large brown envelope.

  ‘What’s this?’ I ask, confused.

  ‘Open it,’ he urges, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  I lift the flap and reach into the envelope, pulling out a mock-up cover of Hebe. I’m the cover star, winking cheekily at the camera and holding up a plastic glass.

  I gasp and cover my mouth with my hand as I take it all in.

  ‘Bronte turns 30!’ yells the headline, and there are other, funny little in-jokes and coverlines about camera shake, Photoshop and Friday nights at the pub. I recognise the picture as one of the shots Sarah, the editorial assistant, took when we were celebrating the Joseph Strike baby bump issue.

  ‘Did you do this?’ I ask, touched beyond belief as he nods, smiling at my reaction. People get mock-up covers like this if they resign, not for something like a birthday.

  ‘I wanted to give it to you last night, but...’ He shrugs.

  There was too much else going on.

  ‘Thank you,’ I whisper.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he replies gently. ‘Now, is there anything you want to watch?’ he asks as I continue to stare at the cover.

  ‘No, I’m good,’ I say, carefully placing it between us on the bed. I lie down on my side, facing him. ‘I’m just going to rest my eyes.’

  The morning’s mist has burnt off and now sunshine is coming through the window, spilling across the bed. I bask in the warmth and feel content. Out of the blue, a horrible dark feeling washes over me and my eyes shoot open. Alex is still watching the telly, his arm draped across his tummy and his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. I look up at his face, but he’s fixed on the television. Déjà vu hits me hard and I realise that we lay on a bed in this same position under the window on the morning after we’d slept together.

  Perhaps sensing my gaze, he glances down at me, his blue eyes lighter under the sun’s rays. He gives me a curious look.

  ‘I’m tired,’ I say, trying to ignore the darkness I’m feeling. ‘Did you get much sleep last night?’

  ‘No,’ he replies. ‘Your friend kicks.’

  ‘Does he?’ I smirk. ‘Sorry about that.’ I know he’s not really cross, but I feel bad. ‘Do you wish you hadn’t come?’

  His brow furrows as he looks down at me. ‘Of course not. Why would you say that?’

  ‘Just, I don’t know...’

  He shakes his head. ‘It’s been fun.’

  I roll over onto my back. ‘You wouldn’t have rather stayed at home in peace and quiet, being able to sprawl out in your lovely, big double bed?’

  He gives me a pointed look. ‘No,’ he says resolutely.

  I grin. ‘Good.’

  He keeps eye contact for a long moment and the dark feeling inside me turns into jitters. He looks like he’s about to say something but the sound of a hairdryer starting up in the bathroom seems to jolt him to his senses. He returns his gaze to the TV.

  ‘What?’ I ask, my curiosity too great to let it lie.

  He glances down at me again, his expression grave. ‘I’m sorry about what I said in the car on the way up here.’

  ‘Oh. Don’t worry.’

  ‘I know you don’t go around...’ He lets his sentence trail off. I don’t go around having one-night stands with people.

  ‘No,’ I confirm.

  ‘And if you like him, well, that’s cool.’

  His lips may be curved upwards, but his smile doesn’t feel sincere. Still, he’s trying to be nice.

  ‘Okay. Thanks,’ I say quietly.

  He looks back at the TV and I close my eyes as the dark feeling returns.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Honestly, they were a frigging nightmare.’

  I’m at work ranting to Alex about my latest wedding.

  ‘Rachel reckons it’s a phenomenon. The Rise of The Useless Bridesmaid, she calls it,’ I tell him. ‘They were utterly useless. All they cared about was getting drunk and having a good time. They even changed out of their dresses for the evening do.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. They had on these beautiful, Fifties-style dresses, all in different shades of blue, and they took them off and put on some awful clubbing outfits that barely covered their arses. If I was the bride, I would have gone spare. Not that I’d ever want to be a bride. But honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it. They were completely selfish. Didn’t care about their friend at all. I was the one who had to carry her train and bouquet half the time. Rachel even helped her go to the loo.’

  Alex laughs. ‘It sounds awful.’

  ‘Honestly, I hope Zara’s got some nice friends, because those girls were useless.’

  After the tension in the Lake District a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been making a concerted effort to talk about Alex’s fiancée more. It seems to be working. We’re much more relaxed around each other.

  ‘She’s not having bridesmaids,’ Alex reveals.

  ‘Isn’t she?’ Doesn’t she have any friends?

  ‘She’s having a couple of little flower girls instead.’

  ‘Oh, right. That will be nice.’ The flower girls on the weekend were almost as bratty as the bridesmaids. The bride indulged them by letting them wear fairy wings at the last minute.

  ‘How did your birthday drinks go?’ Alex asks.

  ‘Stupidly,’ I tell him, not amused. ‘We ended up at Lachie’s pub doing shots before hitting a club.’

  ‘Guess you only turn thirty once,’ Alex points out.

  ‘I felt so sick on Saturday.’

  Luckily Rachel didn’t mind. In fact, she was sympathetic. Sally had let her down again – flu, this time, allegedly – so I stepped in at the last minute.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I jump at the sound of Nicky’s irate voice. She’s obviously come to find me because I’ve been away from my desk for so long. ‘Simon wants to see you,’ she snaps, glaring at me.

  ‘Be there in a sec,’ I tell her as she spins on her heels and walks out again. ‘I wonder what that’s about,’ I say worriedly.

  ‘I think I know,’ Alex whispers. ‘It’s nothing bad,’ he adds with a reassuring smile.

  I take my tea and return to the Hebe office.

  ‘Ah, Bronte,’ Simon says, spying me. ‘Can I have a word?’

  He nods at the meeting room near my desk. I nervously follow him in there.

  ‘As you know, we’re doing a redesign.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I need to take a small team of people out of the office for the next three weeks to work on it and I’d like you to come from the picture desk.’

  My heart lifts. ‘Really? Not Nicky?’ I check.

  ‘No, Nicky’s got enough on her plate,’ he says smoothly.

  ‘Okay, great.’ Wow! I wonder who else is going. ‘Is there anything I need to do to prepare?’

  ‘Nope. Friday will be our last day in the office, so try to tie up any loose ends. Esther, Pete, Alex, Mike and Teagan will be coming, too.’

  That’s all the department heads from Features, News, Art, Production and Style. I’m the only one who is not a department head. How weird. Not that I’m complaining.

  ‘Great.’

  He stands up, meeting over.

  I walk out of the room and catch Alex’s eye. He smiles at me, but I keep a straight face because Nicky’s watching me. I sit back down at my desk, trying to ignore the sound of her slapping her paperwork around.

  ‘I don’t know why,’ Alex insists on Friday night at the pub.

  Russ thinks he has the answer to why Simon has asked me to be involved in the redesign instead of Nicky. ‘It’s because she’s crap,’ he says. ‘And she’s a silly bitch. I’m going to miss you guys, though. It’s going to be quiet in the office.’

  ‘Aw,’ I say, ruffling his hair affectionately. ‘Are you catching up with Maria later?�
�

  ‘Yeah, I’m meeting her at Lachie’s pub.’

  ‘Cool.’ I turn to Alex and Pete. ‘Are you guys coming out?’

  ‘Can’t. Sylvie’s mum is over from America,’ Pete says. Sylvie is the American girl he’s marrying next month.

  ‘Last-minute wedding preparations?’ Lisa asks him.

  ‘Yeah, just enough time for her to put her two pence in,’ he confirms.

  ‘What about you?’ Lisa turns to Alex. ‘Camden?’

  ‘Not tonight,’ he replies. ‘Zara’s parents are here from Devon for the weekend, too. Wedding dress shopping,’ he reveals.

  ‘How exciting,’ I say, trying to sound like I mean it.

  ‘So when are we going to meet this bird of yours?’ Russ asks. ‘You should bring her out one Friday night.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he says, noncommittally. ‘Maybe.’

  I know that it would probably be a good idea for me to put a face to her name.

  But it doesn’t feel like a good idea.

  ‘What can I get you?’ Lachie asks me with a grin when we arrive at the Camden pub. ‘Shot of tequila?’

  ‘No!’ I say firmly. ‘I’ve got a wedding tomorrow. Last week nearly killed me. I’ll have a lemonade, please.’

  He grabs a glass down from above the bar and fills it up from the soda gun. ‘What time are we heading off?’ he asks.

  ‘Heading off where?’ I’m confused.

  ‘To the wedding.’

  ‘What wedding?’

  ‘The wedding tomorrow. You know I’m coming, right?’

  ‘Are you?’ I ask with surprise. ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘Rachel called me on Wednesday. They decided at the last minute to get a live act and she recommended me.’

  ‘Oh, cool. That was nice of her.’ I didn’t know Rachel even had his number.

  ‘So?’ He puts my drink in front of me.

  ‘What? Oh, what time are we setting off?’

  He nods, amused. I’m still a little thrown that Rachel didn’t tell me about this.

  ‘Nine, I think. Didn’t she say?’ I get my purse out and hand over a fiver.

  ‘Yeah, but I forgot. Thought I’d ask you tonight.’ He goes to the cash register and returns with my change.

  ‘Are we picking you up?’ I ask.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Maria asks, overhearing.

  ‘Did you know Lachie was coming to this wedding tomorrow?’ I ask her.

  ‘Yeah,’ she replies. ‘Rachel said.’

  ‘How late do you think you’ll be back tomorrow night?’ Russ asks her.

  ‘I was thinking about staying up there, catching up with my parents,’ Maria replies.

  He looks disappointed. I guess he wants to spend time with her this weekend. ‘You could come if you like?’ she suggests.

  ‘What, and stay with your parents?’

  ‘Well, no, they’d go mental.’

  ‘Would they?’ Bridget asks with surprise as Lachie gets on with serving a group of girls who have just come in.

  ‘Yeah, they’re really strict,’ Maria says. ‘Catholic.’

  ‘Where are you from?’ I realise I’ve never actually asked Maria this before.

  ‘Spain,’ she replies. ‘Well, my parents are. I’ve lived in Britain all my life. My grandfather still lives near San Sebastian.’

  ‘Oh, I love northern Spain,’ Bridget says. ‘Do you have loads of holidays there?’

  ‘We usually get over there in the summer. They have a villa which they rent out.’

  ‘Nice!’

  ‘So if I can’t stay with you...’ Russ’s voice trails off, bringing Maria’s attention back to the weekend.

  ‘Well, okay, maybe I’m not really thinking properly. I only have to do this wedding in the morning, then we could go say hi to my parents and travel back down with the others. You can stay at mine and Rachel’s. Just don’t tell my parents you’ve been doing that,’ she adds quickly.

  From what I’ve been hearing since we went to the Lake District, Russ has practically moved in.

  ‘I’m a bit scared,’ Russ says in a small voice.

  ‘Don’t be scared. They’ll love you.’ She squeezes his arm. He smiles down at her and I glance at Bridget, who rolls her eyes at me. I smirk and walk around the lovebirds so I can chat to my flatmate. I pull up a stool next to her and sit down.

  ‘There are far too many pheromones flying round at the moment,’ she says. ‘Check out Lachie.’

  I look over my shoulder to see the group of girls at the end of the bar flirting with him as he gets their drinks. He seems to be lapping up the attention.

  ‘I bet he could go home with a different girl every night if he wanted,’ she muses.

  ‘Mmm,’ I reply, averting my gaze as I sip my drink. ‘He probably does. Can you imagine how many bridesmaids he’s shagged over the years?’

  ‘Too many to count,’ she agrees drily. ‘I still would, though.’

  I snort with laughter at her typically casual comment.

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’ she asks with a smirk.

  ‘Becoming another notch on Lachie’s bedpost would be the last thing I need,’ I tell her with absolute certainty.

  Chapter 15

  Rachel, unlike Alex, does not have a problem with Lachie singing along to the radio. I sit in the back, squeezed up against the door as Maria and Russ smooch beside me.

  ‘So just to give you a bit of an update,’ Rachel says loudly, and I realise she’s talking to me. ‘The groom’s uncle is a part-time wedding photographer.’

  I cling onto her headrest and pull myself out of my tight corner to speak to her. ‘Why isn’t he doing the wedding?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe Nina and Seb just want him to enjoy the day,’ she replies.

  Nina and Seb are the bride and groom.

  ‘Or maybe he’s shit,’ Lachie butts in, swivelling in his seat to look at me, then at Rachel.

  ‘Maybe,’ Rachel says, glancing at him. I can’t see her face, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

  ‘Apparently, he has vowed to make our lives difficult,’ she adds.

  ‘What?’ I scoff.

  ‘I think he’s joking. I hope he’s joking,’ she corrects herself.

  He’s not joking.

  ‘That’s a big lens for a little girl.’

  I’m assuming this is the uncle, because he’s carrying a massive professional camera around, photographing the same details in the church as I am. I’m trying not to let him put me off.

  ‘Aah, a Canon,’ he says. ‘I’m a Nikon man, myself.’

  I honestly couldn’t give a toss.

  ‘Bob,’ he says, holding his hand out.

  ‘Uncle Bob? Are you being serious?’ I ask with a grin. Bob’s your uncle...

  ‘Afraid so. What lens are you using?’

  ‘35 prime.’ It’s good for portraits and I’m hoping the groom is about to arrive.

  ‘Really?’ he pulls a face. Just then, the groom does come into the church.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I say, but Bob crouches slap bang in the middle of the aisle and calls for his nephew.

  ‘Seb! Come here, lad. Just stand there, would you? Flash us a smile. Great!’ Click, click, click. I can’t believe the cheek of the man.

  ‘Sorry, can I just...’

  He doesn’t budge. ‘Gorgeous, my boy. Turn a little to your right. Hand on your hip. Perfect.’

  I give up. I don’t want posed shots anyway. I continue capturing the details until Bob moves on, and then I surreptitiously take some nice, natural shots of Seb chatting to his mother and his best man before going into the chancel.

  I falter at the sight of the pipe organ. It’s not as big and daunting as some of the ones I’ve seen recently. There are only two keyboards – or manuals, as they’re called – and just over two dozen shining silver pipes. Some of the largest organs in the world have as many as seven keyboards and over twenty thousand pipes. The pedalboard, which is the wooden k
eyboard played by the feet, is scuffed and dirty from use. The yellowing, curling-edged sheet music is laid out and ready for the entrance of the bride, and several of the stops – the cream-coloured knobs that control the sounds for each keyboard – have been pulled out and are already in position.

  I notice my breathing has sharpened as I stare at the instrument. I shouldn’t feel so affected by wood, metal and plastic. It’s actually faintly ridiculous. I force myself to walk over to it and run my fingers across the keys. My pulse rate jumps up a notch, but I stay there a while longer before letting my hand drop to my side. Then I pick up my camera and start shooting. By the time I’ve finished, I feel relatively peaceful.

  As luck would have it, sunlight is streaming in through the church doors when Nina, the bride, arrives. She’s wearing a white gown of chiffon and silk with pleats over her bodice and a halter-neck lace detail. Her floaty, chiffon A-line skirt billows out into a bell shape and is scattered with white sequins. She’s also wearing a veil and the light shines straight through it, making her look like an angel. Her three bridesmaids, stunning in long, floor-length gowns in varying shades of pink, from pastel to rose, hover behind her, but she’s central and serene in the shot. And then Bob bumps into my elbow.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he says, snapping away. I stare at him in disbelief. Is he for real? Thankfully I’ve got my shots, but what is he thinking?

  He doesn’t improve during the church service. Sometimes he blocks my view and he doesn’t even turn off his focus beep, so every time he takes a picture during the ceremony, his camera beeps and the vicar looks up the aisle at us. I want to shout, ‘It isn’t me!’ but I don’t think that would go down too well.

  He’s even worse when we’re doing the group shots at the reception venue. He stands to Rachel’s right and gives directions to the wedding party. ‘Hold your bouquets like this, girls,’ he calls to the bridesmaids. ‘Right here, just above your hips.’

  Rachel is having none of it. ‘Sorry, that’s not how we work. No, just look natural,’ she calls to the group. ‘Don’t put them on your hip.’

  ‘Why not?’ he has the cheek to ask her.