‘There you are!’
Lara turned, shaken from her musings, to see Mrs Wilson, Fiona’s mum, glaring at her.
‘Have you tasted these blinis?’ she asked. ‘They’re foul; we can’t have these out.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ Lara said, tempted to add that it wasn’t her usual habit to go around stuffing handfuls of food from her clients’ buffets into her mouth and, if she did, she was certain that Mrs Wilson, for one, wouldn’t be happy about it. ‘What’s wrong with them?’
‘They’re soggy. The salmon is too wet – any fool can see that.’
‘Nobody seems to be complaining. In fact, I’ve heard people saying the food is lovely.’ Lara was doing her best with her customer-service face, but the way she was feeling she feared it was going to fail her today for the first time.
‘Well, I don’t think it’s lovely,’ Mrs Wilson said. ‘I want a refund.’
‘For the whole thing?’ Lara asked. ‘I don’t think—’
‘The whole thing is below par. If M&S had sent this out in an order I would have sent it straight back to the store.’
‘If you’re unhappy with it, don’t you think the caterers need to be told before anything else is done?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Mrs Wilson looked expectantly at Lara.
‘Ah, I see,’ Lara said. ‘You want me to talk to them.’
‘That’s what I’m paying you for.’
‘Right. Well, I’ll have a word.’
But I’m not asking for a refund, she added internally. Tightwad.
‘While you’re at it, get someone to open the windows; it’s like an oven in here. Don’t they know it’s summer? Someone will faint.’
‘Right.’
‘And the dance floor is slippery. I don’t know if it’s sweat from everyone being so hot, or polish. I’ve a good mind to sue the venue either way because I nearly lost my footing a moment ago.’
‘I’m not sure what can be done at this stage considering the dance floor is full of people right now.’
‘Well, if a guest breaks their ankle, it’s you I’ll be sending them to.’
Lara said nothing, but for the first time since she’d set up Songbird Wedding Services she was beginning to wish she’d chosen something else to offer services for, something that didn’t turn people into raging psychotic blini haters.
‘I’ll leave it with you,’ Mrs Wilson concluded, puffing out her chest and marching off, the fuchsia feather fascinator on her head trembling madly like a psychedelic twig in a storm.
Lara sighed. With a last glance at the stage, where her gaze once again found the empty stare of Theo and made her feel more wretched than ever, she went to find the catering manager.
She’d barely reached the kitchens when she was stopped by Fiona.
‘Has my mum seen you?’
‘Yes. I’m just trying to find someone to sort it all.’
‘Have you tried the blinis?’
‘No,’ Lara said again, tempted once again to verbalise the sarcastic comments she’d held back from Mrs Wilson.
‘Honestly I was nearly sick. I’ve never tasted anything so disgusting – they’re like eating slime. And the chicken wings aren’t much better. We’re not going to pay for this food, you know. We want a refund – you can tell the catering people that.’
‘Your mum said that but I don’t know what—’
‘And my mum nearly broke her neck on the floor over there. I’m sure they polished it with chip fat this morning. And the hand dryer isn’t working in the ladies’ toilet. Honestly, this venue is shocking and I’ve got a good mind to tell them so. We could get some money back for all this, couldn’t we?’
‘Oh, I really don’t think—’
‘Oh, I need to go and warn my cousin before he eats the salmon!’ Fiona cried, cutting Lara off and rushing back towards the buffet, almost taking out a small child with her enormous skirts as she passed him.
I need a pair of ruby slippers, Lara thought bleakly. Three clicks and I could be home, curled up on the sofa with my little Fluffy.
Having set her phone on vibrate so, while the room was noisy, she’d know if someone was calling, she felt it go in her blazer pocket now. Taking it out she saw Betsy’s name flash up and rushed out of the function room to find a quiet spot to talk to her.
‘I knew you’d be worrying,’ Betsy said. ‘So I thought I’d call and let you know that everything was OK at our wedding today.’
With all that was going on here, Lara had almost forgotten that Songbird Wedding Services had other clients today.
‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘So they were happy?’
‘Very happy. They said they’d tell everyone how good we are.’
‘That’s one less thing to worry about then.’
‘How’s it there?’
‘Awful.’
‘Oh, no! Do you want me to come down?’
‘No, I can manage,’ Lara said. ‘I’ll tell you all about it on Monday. You need to take it easy. You were alright today – not too ill?’
‘No,’ Betsy said. ‘I mean, I was a little this morning but it passed. Your mum was worse than me.’
‘Mum? She hasn’t called me to say she’s been ill! Is she OK? What was it?’
‘Oh, I think she’s OK now.’ Betsy laughed. ‘She tried the fish sauce and it made her sick. She was alright after it had come up.’
‘She tried the fish sauce?’ Lara asked. ‘That fermented stuff?’
‘We both did. I was asking someone whether the food was nice and Patricia heard me and got us both a plate. Your mum thought it was so cool lying down and pretending to be Roman and she looked so funny. Do you know, Patricia is so lovely – I wish she’d get married every week.’
Lara wasn’t entirely comfortable with how familiar Betsy and Fay had apparently got with the guests at the wedding they were meant to be working at and, if it had been anyone else, she might have felt very uncomfortable. But she had a feeling that Dave and Patricia would have loved introducing Betsy and Fay to their Roman cuisine and might even have been a little offended had their offer of food been refused. She certainly couldn’t imagine them complaining.
‘So, how was it?’ she asked.
‘I actually thought most of it was quite nice. It was just shrimps and octopus and stuff. Patricia gave us some dormouse, and your mum looked like she’d faint, but then Patricia said they hadn’t actually used real dormice; they’d just cooked some chicken or pork or something and were pretending it was dormouse because apparently it’s quite hard to get hold of. So that was OK. It was nice.’
Lara had to laugh at this. Her own evening might be one she’d want to forget very quickly, but at least Betsy and Fay had enjoyed their day. Apart from the bits when they were being sick, at least.
‘And Mum managed not to break anything?’
‘Yes. Honestly, I was really glad to have her there in the end. I felt better – not so nervous. Is yours really horrible then? Is it because you have to see Theo there?’
‘I wouldn’t mind so much if it was just that, but I’ve had nothing but complaints. And they do whatever they like – hang the schedule. It’s a complete nightmare.’
‘I bet you wish you’d done my one now.’
‘God no! Imagine you being here alone with this lot for your first wedding! I’m sorry I missed Dave and Patricia’s – it sounds like it was lovely – but it’s far better that you worked that one and I did this. Don’t worry about me – it’s nothing I can’t handle here; I’m probably just being a grump about it all really.’
‘I suppose you might not be feeling quite so stressed if you didn’t have Theo’s band playing there.’
‘Probably,’ Lara agreed. There was no point in denying that. ‘But I have to put work before my feelings on the matter. Hopefully it will be some time before I have to deal with them again – if ever – and I might be a bit stronger by then.’
‘Oh, Lara,’ Betsy said. ‘Oh, it’s such a shame ab
out you two.’
Lara gave a wry smile, her eyes on a spot on the opposite wall. ‘There’s no need to feel sorry for me – you’ve got enough of your own going on.’
‘Oh, that’s alright,’ Betsy replied. ‘Mum’s been lovely since I got home today. She’s running me a bath now. And she went out to buy folic-acid tablets for me this afternoon.’
‘And you were so worried about telling her!’
‘I know, though she did say she’s not happy about being a granny because she doesn’t even have any grey hair yet. She said she’s not going to give up her gin club just to babysit for me.’
‘She’s not too upset that I went to the scan with you instead of her?’
‘I think maybe a little bit, but she hasn’t said. I’ve told her there’s always the next one, and then we’ll get to find out the baby’s sex together.’
‘That’s probably a better one. You’ll be able to see things more clearly at that one too.’ From the corner of her eye, Lara saw Mrs Wilson making a beeline for her. ‘Have to go… Speak to you Monday!’
If Betsy replied, Lara didn’t get to hear it. She ended the call and stuffed the phone back into her blazer pocket.
‘My mother-in-law has just found a hair in her apple-roasted pork bap!’ Mrs Wilson huffed. ‘What do you think about that!’
‘Did you keep hold of it?’
‘Keep hold of it?’ Mrs Wilson cried, eyes bulging. ‘What on earth for?’
‘So we can show the caterers.’
‘We most certainly did not! Surely our word is good enough – we’re not liars! What did the catering manager say about all the other things?’
‘I haven’t spoken to him yet.’
‘Not spoken to him yet? What have you been doing?’
‘Looking for him,’ Lara said, which was half-true, although she’d spent the last few minutes talking to Betsy. She was feeling belligerent about the whole thing, though, because Mrs Wilson and her picky daughter were really beginning to wind her up. ‘As soon as I find him I’ll add the hair to the list of complaints.’
Along with a request to add some arsenic to your bloody salmon blinis, you cantankerous old bag!
The catering manager had been sympathetic to the complaints Lara had relayed to him and perhaps understood that she was repeating gripes that she didn’t necessarily think were all that big a deal. They went to the buffet to fetch some of the offending articles to inspect, and both thought that they tasted fine. Lara had a suspicion that the Wilsons were just trying to save some money on their bill, and she thought that perhaps the catering manager felt that too, but both were too professional to say so out loud. Instead, he offered to remove the blinis that the bride had been unhappy with and put some new ones out because that wouldn’t take him too long to do. The chicken was a bit more of a problem because he didn’t have enough left over to replace it. As for the hair, he couldn’t do anything about that because he hadn’t seen it and so couldn’t comment on where it might have come from. All his staff wore hair nets, he said, and left it at that.
Lara thanked him and turned her attention to the other issues Fiona and her mother had flagged up. But what she was supposed to do about most of them she had no clue. She found someone who would open the windows for her, but that was the easiest bit. Then she went into the function room again and weaved in and out of the crowds on the dance floor, trying to get an idea of where the floor was slippery, but if there was a dangerous patch, she couldn’t find it. All the while she was conscious of Theo’s eyes on her; she didn’t even have to look up at the stage to know, because she felt it, as if there was a psychic link between them.
She’d given up on the greasy floor as Chas announced their last song to a disappointed groan from the audience. The evening would continue through to midnight with a disco, he said, but it didn’t seem to make anyone happier. Once again, it seemed that they’d proved very popular and had got many of the wedding guests on their feet. The audience might not have been happy but Lara was, because it meant that Jazzy Chas and the Anglo-Sax-ons would pack up and leave and she could get on with her work without feeling Theo’s eyes on her wherever she went.
Without meaning it to be, she felt her gaze drawn up to the stage again where it settled on Theo. Maybe she’d been staring at him as much as she felt he’d been staring at her. Perhaps neither of them could help it.
As she watched, she saw Chas walk across the stage to him and say something in his ear, and then Theo whirled around looking furious, before one of the other band members came up behind both of them and settled a hand on each man’s shoulder, as if to cool heated tempers down. Lara knew she was staring as she watched the subtle drama unfold but she couldn’t help it. What was going on with those two? It was likely that nobody else in the room would have noticed anything untoward because they didn’t know the men – or at least one of them – like she did, but Lara could see otherwise.
Suddenly, she was grabbed by the arm and whirled round, finding herself face to face with a tiny old man.
‘Care for a dance, young lady?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t…’
‘Oh, come on! It’s the last song! Don’t be a stick in the mud!’
‘You don’t understand; I’m not actually a guest—’
‘What are you doing here then?’ he asked. Then he laughed and tapped his nose. ‘Gatecrashing, eh? Heard the party and thought you’d come and have a look? Don’t blame you! Have a dance with me and I won’t tell anyone!’
‘No, I’m…’
Lara tried to shake her arm free, but his drunken grip was tighter than he looked capable of. As she gave it another, rather fiercer shake, sorely tempted to give him a piece of her mind, she saw a couple close by turn to look in the direction of the entrance to the function room. Then one of them tapped the person next to them and pointed, and they tapped someone else who turned to look too. Lara felt the grip of the old man slacken and, when she glanced at him, she saw that he’d noticed something at the doors as well. She followed his gaze and saw that there was some kind of altercation going on. She looked closer, trying to work out what was happening and who was involved, suddenly going cold at the thought that it might be Mrs Wilson shouting down some poor staff member.
Fiona’s mother was at the centre of it alright, and that was no huge surprise given how the day had gone so far. What was far more surprising was the person arguing with her. Lara stared, straining to confirm the improbable scenario that her eyes were telling her she was seeing, because it just seemed so unlikely.
Pulling her arm free, she made her way over, pushing through oblivious guests. As she drew closer she could hear their argument, even over the music.
‘You don’t understand – this is an emergency!’
‘You’re not coming in!’ Mrs Wilson shouted.
‘But I need to see her!’
‘Absolutely not!’ an outraged Mrs Wilson retorted.
‘Could you get her for me if you won’t let me in?’
Lara hesitated and hung back for a moment. She was already unpopular with the Wilson women and getting involved here might make it worse. But Lara was mad with curiosity and actually quite concerned.
‘I don’t pay her to stand around chatting! Contact her in her time, not mine!’
Lara suddenly realised that she might be the person they were talking about. She stepped forward.
‘Selina?’ she said, frowning. She couldn’t imagine what business Selina had at this wedding. Did she have some connection to the bride or groom? Clearly not to Mrs Wilson, who looked as if she wanted to have her arrested. But what other reason could she have for being there?
‘Oh, Lara!’ Selina cried, looking almost faint with relief to see her. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you!’
‘Me?’
‘And then I remembered that Theo had said he was playing here for you tonight, and I hoped you’d still be here because I just didn’t know what I was going to do if you we
ren’t—’
‘Selina, what’s wrong?’
Mrs Wilson’s voice boomed over the exchange. ‘I simply won’t allow this business to be conducted here!’ She glared between the two of them, daring an argument.
‘But if you could just let Selina tell me what it is she’s—’
‘No! No, no, no!’
Selina glared at Mrs Wilson now. But then she turned to Lara and her defiant expression became one of sudden misery.
‘I’m so sorry, but I’ve hit your cat!’
Lara’s eyes widened. Surely she hadn’t just heard that right?
‘He ran out into the road and I couldn’t stop. I’ve been all over looking for you!’
‘Where is he?’ Lara asked, her legs feeling suddenly weak.
‘I took him straight to the emergency vets; I didn’t know what else to do. I’ll pay the fees, of course. I feel just terrible – I’m so sorry.’
‘When was this?’
‘About two hours ago – I’d just finished my shift. They’re going to do emergency surgery. I had to give them consent – I hope that’s OK. I said I’d come to find you.’
‘Which vets?’
‘The one near the leisure centre.’ Selina looked close to tears. ‘I’m really sorry, Lara.’
Lara turned to Mrs Wilson. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Absolutely not!’ Mrs Wilson barked. ‘What about the wedding?’
‘I’m not asking your permission,’ Lara said. ‘I’m telling you I’m going.’
‘But…’
‘The night’s almost over – surely you can spare me now?’
‘The gifts!’ she boomed. ‘The clearing up! The settling of bills!’
‘Could you have a word with the hotel manager?’
‘I could not!’ Mrs Wilson cried, her chest heaving and staring at Lara as if Lara had just offered to sign her death warrant. ‘What am I paying you to do?’
The Break Up: The perfect heartwarming romantic comedy Page 24
