A Beautiful Day for a Wedding

by Charlotte Butterfield

Eve thought that now would be the wrong time to mention her penchant for cheap-as-chips paint-stripper wines, so instead she launched herself across the table into her soon to be brother-in-law’s lap scattering the neat pile of drying luggage labels all over the floor.

  George smiled, returned her hug, patted her back and said, ‘You’re an arse too.’

  Chapter 25

  The minutes were ticking by on the tiny clock in the corner of Eve’s computer screen, taunting her every time another five, ten, fifteen minutes went by. She’d never suffered from writer’s block before, smugly assuming it to be a fictional affliction before it happened to her. She had two deadlines hovering menacingly over her. She had to submit the next column for Venus in just under an hour, and she had three blank pages in the magazine that had the sub editors breaking into cold sweats, and Eve’s fingers were literally frozen. For the magazine feature Eve didn’t feel remotely romantic; love was over-rated, elusive and like the Monkees song, she thought love was meant for someone else and not for her. Writing about how glorious it was to be in love made her feel like a fraud. And for the Venus article Eve was so anxious about accidentally offending one of her friends, or writing something that could be linked to Tanya, or even herself, that she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Pointing out what she thought was the comedy in situations had spectacularly backfired and had been interpreted instead as something driven by spitefulness and malice. How could she now regain the lighthearted humour her earlier columns had, without making any reference to anything that had happened in real life? She suddenly knew what she had to do to make things right.

  The more outlandish the wedding, the more likely it is to stick in our minds, and creating memories is the name of the game when it comes to tying the knot. So what if Great-Aunt Edna frowns at your cactus centrepieces and your Union Jack bustle is the talk of Table Three; quirky is the new classic. Re-reading last week’s column, it hit me that my appreciation for the ingenious, and my respect for the innovative may have been mistaken for derision, but this is grossly untrue. Creative touches of jaw-dropping brilliance will never be a bad thing, and a personality-less event would be worthy of nothing but yawns. Sequinned cowboy boots instead of white kitten heels? Bring it on. A song that actually means something to you as you take your first steps towards your new spouse? Absobloodylutely. Forget the naysayers, the critics and the downright curmudgeonly, they’ll be the ones with boring old bagpipes as their first dance not Monty Python’s Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.

  Do you really want to walk down the aisle of a hotel’s function room on the same swirly carpet that 150 delegates from the local gas board just had their conference on? Not likely. So why not have a two-foot wide strip of green AstroTurf running up to the top to fit your country theme? A red carpet, Turkish rugs, heck, why not tile the whole thing like a chocolate river and have twenty-five bridesmaids dressed as oompa-loompas following you, orange faces and green wigs and everything?

  Life is too short to do what is expected of you. And weddings are filled with traditions, customs and conventions of how things should be done, but maybe it’s time for that rulebook to be torn up, shredded and burnt on a sacrificial pyre made up of bridal garters, sugared almonds and buttonholes.

  This is your day. Make it yours, not a Pinterest board of someone else’s.

  ‘Eve, can I have a word?’ Gemma, the chief sub editor was casting a shadow over Eve’s desk. Eve quickly minimised her document so her screen displayed the work of her day job.

  ‘Sure. But I know what you’re going to say, I’m late on the copy, and I know, it’s on its way I promise.’

  ‘It’s just that we can’t leave tonight until it’s done, and the design team will take a good couple of hours to lay it out – I’m presuming you’ve got images already?’

  ‘Er … of course I do.’

  ‘At least that’s one thing, but after they’re done with it, we’ll need at least two hours to check it, and peer-sub, which means that already we’re going to have to stay late.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, it’s literally minutes away, honestly, grab a coffee and a biscuit and by the time you’ve finished them it’ll be with you.’

  She was so convincing that Eve herself almost believed that she had already written it and it was ready to be sent over to the subs desk. In reality, she hadn’t got a bastarding clue what she was going to write about and she could see through the glass doors to the canteen that Gemma and her team were already gathered around the boiling kettle.

  It was a shame that she couldn’t tone down the Venus piece and run that in both, but that would well and truly blow her cover. Eve had a sudden flash of inspiration. Becca had asked her to help create a moodboard for her wedding, a sort of checklist of different ideas she could implement to transform a one-acre field into a beautiful village fete wedding. She’d already started brainstorming it, it wouldn’t be too tricky to turn it into a feature. Eve fired off an email to Rosie on the picture desk, begging her to drop whatever else they were doing and try and source as many pretty images as possible. Think fairy lights strung through trees, bunting, close ups of wild flower bouquets and lavender in jam jars, barrels used as bar tables, lawn games like jenga, bridesmaids wearing wellies, dried rose petal confetti in colourful paper cones, large glass jars of pick n mix and pink and white striped candy bags, a stage lit with fairy lights with musicians in checked shirts playing guitars and ukuleles, a white marquee tent, but not a posh one, one that’s open on all sides, decorated with bunting. Sorry for the long list, but as much of this as poss would be fab. And can I have it in about 20 mins? Eek. I know. I’ll owe you big time. And if Gemma asks, you sourced these images for me last week, not 18 hours before we go to print. Big love Ex

  Again, it wasn’t a piece of journalism she’d ever win prizes for, but it was fun and would look good on a page and totally killed two birds with one stone as she had lots of words and pictures to impress Becca with.

  Keeping busy was at least stopping Eve from driving herself mad with unanswered questions after her drink with Ben. One side of Eve’s brain was saying to her, Text Ben, you know you want to. The other side was completely against this idea. So far the reluctant side was winning. There were so many questions that Eve wanted to ask. When did Kate die? Had they got back together before she did? It was very noble of him to race back for a final moment with Kate, but then, why stay there for four more years? Clear the air, say your goodbyes, fly to New York and start the life he’d planned to share with Eve. What had stopped him? Eve knew that she wasn’t going to find out any of the answers if she never got in touch with him, and yet she didn’t know if she wanted to hear his story either.

  Walking into work that morning, Eve had been pleased to see Clive back at work after his surgery. They’d given him a chair inside the office’s front door, so he was taking it a bit easier. He’d signalled for Eve to stand to one side when she arrived, and led her slightly away from other ears.

  ‘I want to thank you so much Eve,’ he started. ‘I don’t know why you said what you said to me that day, but you’re the reason I went to the doc, and got myself sorted out. They said if I’d have left it another six months I might not have been so lucky. It’s like you had a sixth sense my love. My wife thinks it’s well spooky.’

  Eve smiled and patted Clive’s arm. ‘I’m so glad you’re up and about, you need to take it easy though, make sure you rest a lot.’

  ‘Will do. My wife, Cath, she’ll make sure of it.

  Eve hesitated. She was about to go and then said, ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking Clive, but how long have you and Cath been together now?’

  Clive puffed out his chest like a proud pigeon. ‘Thirty-two years.’

  ‘And how did you meet?’

  ‘I was nineteen, she was a year older, and she always took the same bus as me in the mornings. At first we ignored each other, then smiled at each other, then we started talking, and one day I plucked up the courage to ask he
r to the flicks and six months later we were married. Four kids we have. Not a cross word.’

  Writing about marriage and relationships had increasingly made Eve feel that fate threw people together for a reason. What if Clive had taken a later bus every day, would he have married someone else? Would he have been as happy? How could it be so easy, and yet so difficult to meet someone you want to share your life with?

  As she tore herself away from daydreaming about Clive and his wife and back to the present, she saw there was an email waiting in her private Gmail account from Belinda at Venus. She’d received Eve’s latest column and was ‘disappointingly underwhelmed’. As Eve read on, her heart began to sink. Belinda’s accusation of Eve using her latest column to apologise for her previous one was unfortunately spot on. ‘You have basically contradicted everything you said in last week’s opinion piece, and completely backtracked,’ Belinda wrote. ‘I don’t understand why you had such a change of heart in just one week, and it’s very confusing for the readers. This latest article wouldn’t be out of place in My Wonderful Wedding and that’s not the point of Venus. We’re spiky, sassy and honest. We say the things that others feel but don’t voice, and you were absolutely on the right track before this latest column. I really hope that this was a one-off Eve, and that you can find that funny frankness inside you again as I do want to retain you as a writer. You mentioned in our first conversation that you have a country festival type wedding coming up and a gay wedding, these are absolutely perfect breeding grounds for comedic observations, so focus on those for your next articles, and don’t hold back.’

  Don’t hold back on making fun of your best friend and your brother, Eve thought. Well, that wasn’t an option, but then, losing the Venus job wasn’t either. Eve was barely making ends meet before it came along, and it had given her a financial lifeline she desperately needed. She had thought she’d been quite clever at disguising Ayesha’s wedding in her previous column, but evidently not, so if she was going to do the same for Becca’s and Adam’s she’d have to be a lot smarter about it.

  Chapter 26

  ‘Which one did we say we liked again?’ Ayesha slurred, reaching across Becca to taste test a punchy sauvignon. The bowls that they’d each been given to spit out the wine they’d been sampling for the last two hours into were still clean and dry, and the three friends were well on their way to being skunk drunk.

  ‘I do not like this one,’ Eve announced, taking another big sip. ‘Oh, hang on,’ she furrowed her brow. ‘Actually, I do, that’s lovely.’

  ‘Let me try that one,’ Becca said, grabbing the glass from Eve. ‘No, it’s got undercurrents of lemon.’

  ‘Hahaha, you sound such a ponce!’ Ayesha laughed. ‘Next you’ll be talking about bouquets and noses.’

  They laughed, Eve clutching onto Ayesha for support as she wobbled on the bar stool. The French vineyard owner looked on with good-natured bemusement. They weren’t the first group of English visitors to turn a wine tasting into a piss-up, and at least these three women were young and attractive, not the senior citizen coach trips or stag dos he’d had to host in the past.

  ‘Mademoiselle,’ he said, approaching the table and directing his question to Eve as she seemed to be the one in charge. ‘I assume you will be tasting the rose, vin rouge and the champagne as well?’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Eve burst out. ‘I forgot about the other colours! I hate red wine, so these two will do those, you can load me up with the pink and bubbles though.’

  As he walked away, shaking his head smiling, Becca said, ‘He seems nice. No wedding ring either.’

  ‘Stop it,’ Eve said. ‘Just stop it. I’m not in any hurry to go on another date, with anyone.’

  ‘Unless it’s with Ben.’ Ayesha hiccupped and ignored Becca shushing her.‘Why do you think we invited him along to the dinner last week?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Eve asked. ‘He was Amit’s best man, so I just assumed that that’s why he came.’

  ‘A bit, but mainly because when we were on honeymoon we kept saying how you two should get back together. Amit told me he’d set you up with Bryn, but then we both said that Ben’s a much better match for you.’

  Eve rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a bit late for that, too much has gone on.’

  ‘Has he told you then?’ Ayesha said.

  ‘About Kate?’ Eve said, knowing that her response was vague enough to hopefully prompt Ayesha into divulging more information that Eve didn’t yet have.

  ‘It was so tragic, finding each other again just as she was dying, and the sacrifice he made afterwards, staying there for the good of the family, it was just heartbreaking. I’m sorry Eve, I know it must be hard to see him all the time now,’ Ayesha said, reaching across the table to put her hand over Eve’s. ‘But he’s been through a lot and doesn’t have any other friends in London, we’re all he has.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call myself a friend of his,’ Eve replied, a little sadly.

  ‘I think he would.’ Ayesha stuck her bottom lip out. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned him. I’ve ruined the mood.’

  Eve shook her head. ‘Not at all, don’t be silly, it’s not as though I’m still in love with him or anything. It’s fine.’

  ‘His name does begin with B though,’ Becca pointed out, and Ayesha solemnly nodded.

  ‘Oh my God, stop it, both of you! Enough of the B-talk. It was the ludicrous announcement of a senile pensioner, it is not a real thing. I’m banning any more blind dates or set ups, or even mention of any name beginning with B. Done. Finito.’

  Just then the French sommelier approached the table pushing a small bar trolley with half a dozen bottles of red wine and champagne on it. ‘Mademoiselles, here is the vin rouge and the champagne. Might I make a suggestion that you don’t swallow these ones?’ he said with a smile.

  ‘I’m sorry, are we being really loud and unruly?’

  ‘Unruly?’ the vineyard owner looked confused at the unfamiliar word.

  ‘Unruly, it means out of control,’ Eve explained. ‘Disruptive, rowdy.’

  The young man laughed displaying a perfect set of pearly whites. ‘Not at all, you are very fun, it is a pleasure for me to have you here. You are much nicer than most of the people that come here, it is amazing how many people think themselves to be connoisseurs. Can I explain a bit about the grape varieties of these wines before you taste them?’ he said.

  ‘Of course, why don’t you take a seat and join us? No one else is here at the moment,’ Eve replied. ‘Sorry, what’s your name?’

  ‘Bruno.’ He was a little confused as to why his name resulted in howls of laughter from these strange English women.

  Chapter 27

  Ayesha was drunk, Becca felt ill, and Eve was wide awake and surprisingly sober. So when Bruno asked her if she wanted to go out for dinner with him when the other two started talking about heading back to the hotel, Eve could see no reason to say no. It had absolutely nothing to do with his name, so she kept telling herself, and a lot to do with the fact that he was very charming, rather persistent and her two friends had bullied her into it. Eve watched Ayesha and Becca link arms to weave back down the cobbled street to their small family run hotel, throwing Eve knowing smiles and winks over their shoulders. Eve stood outside the darkened, locked-up vineyard shop and for a split second wished she was going back with them.

  ‘My cousin runs a little bistro a few minutes’ walk away, we could go there?’ Bruno suggested, holding his arm out for Eve to take. She hadn’t really paid him much attention before he’d asked her out, but he was very easy on the eye, with dark hair perfectly styled, his shirt crisply ironed with a crease down both sleeves, a cashmere jumper casually resting on both shoulders. He was smooth, continental, and his accent was incredibly sexy.

  ‘Your English is very good,’ Eve said. ‘Much better than my French.’ Although that wasn’t saying much.

  ‘Thank you, I worked in London at a top hotel for three years after leaving university, so
I, how you say, picked it up, then.’

  As they walked through the small medieval town, everyone they passed raised their hand to greet Bruno, either silently or with a friendly exchange of pleasantries.

  ‘You seem to know everyone.’

  ‘My family have lived here for five generations,’ he explained. ‘Most people here have history going back hundreds of years. You see that woman there—’ he pointed to an attractive brunette woman wearing a little white apron over a miniskirt serving a table of old men their aperitifs outside a bar ‘—her great-grandfather was mine too. And that lady there—’ he gestured to an elderly grumpy-looking woman sitting on a bench holding a small white terrier on her lap ‘—had a big argument with my grandmother when they were at school together and to this day has never said hello to me or my sister.’

  ‘It’s like a soap opera,’ Eve said laughing.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘You know, a television drama.’

  Bruno laughed along with her. ‘Yes, it is exactly that. And soon the whole town will be talking about Bruno Dupont being seen with a beautiful red-haired woman that nobody knows.’

  Batting away the compliment he’d casually thrown her way, Eve replied, ‘I can’t imagine I’m the first strange woman that you’ve been seen with.’

  ‘Like I said, it is quite unusual for my customers to be so attractive. I don’t really like taking fat old men on coach trips for dinner.’

  Eve laughed. It was refreshing to be in the company of someone so disarmingly charming, and for the evening at least, she was going to enjoy it. She knew no one in this small hilltop Provencal town and had nothing to lose.

  ‘Here we are.’ They had stopped outside a small restaurant with colourful floral baskets overhanging the doorway. Through the window Eve could see the small interior was glowing with candlelight. Bruno held open the door for Eve to walk through first and followed her in, greeting the staff with enthusiastic handshakes and double kisses. He’d obviously phoned ahead when Eve wasn’t aware of it as they were immediately shown to a prime table for two in the window, its reserved sign discreetly removed. Bruno pulled out Eve’s chair for her, making Eve remember a time when Ben had done that in the university canteen and she’d fallen on her bottom. This time though, the act was chivalrous, not mischievous.