Wedding Season

by Katie Fforde

  ‘Sorry! I didn't mean to offend you.'

  ‘It's all right. I know you didn't. But the thought of doing all this for people I really didn't know is fairly dreadful.’

  `Oh.' Elsa subsided, feeling crushed in spirit as well as in hand-beaded organza. Now she felt like a burden.

  Laurence looked left before turning out into the road and patted her knee. 'Don't worry, I'm not quite as good-natured as people think. I don't do anything I don't want to.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘OK,' said Ashlyn, when they had got out of their respective modes of transport and were all in the hotel's exceptionally grand foyer, 'which one of you two is going to help me in the loo?’

  Sarah looked at Elsa. Her short but intensive career as a wedding planner had not previously required her to take on this duty. Sometimes it seemed as if her clients needed everything doing for them but it hadn't gone this far before. 'It's definitely the bridesmaid's job.'

  ‘But…' Elsa looked around for Laurence for support. He wasn't visible; he was probably in the Gents, unencumbered by several miles of tulle.

  ‘Darling, I'd do it of course,' said Mrs Lennox-Featherstone, 'but about a million people are about to arrive and we need to arrange the receiving line… God, they're here already,' she muttered. 'I thought knowing the way gave us a good fifteen minutes' grace. Ah, Daphne. How lovely you could come. What a blissful hat. The bride's not quite ready to say hello – needs the lay, poor girl.'

  ‘Well, I can't go into the Ladies,' said Bobby, playing with the gloves that went with his hired outfit. The bride's mother had insisted on all the men wearing morning suits. 'Or I'd willingly hold your dress up while you pee.'

  ‘Oh, for God's sake! I'm bursting here.' Ashlyn gathered up her skirts and rustled purposefully towards the Ladies.

  Elsa, who'd covered the dress every night after she'd finished working on it and did not want it to be trailed along a dirty floor at this stage, hurried after it. She had to kick off Fulvia's shoes, which were at least two sizes too big, and throw her own, shorter train over her arm in order to keep up.

  Sarah, aware that it really wasn't Elsa's job to hold the bride's skirt while she answered the call of nature, hastened after them, clutching Elsa's discarded shoes. If Elsa had been the real bridesmaid she'd have left her to it, but Elsa had helped them all out of a spot, she deserved support now.

  In the Ladies, Ashlyn, a strong-minded woman whose need was great, took charge. She looked at the cubicle which seemed extremely narrow and said, 'Here, catch.’

  To Elsa's immense relief, she did not actually throw her long train, but Elsa caught it quickly all the same.

  ‘Pick it right up and drape it over the wall to the next cubicle,' went on Ashlyn. 'Why they have to make these stalls so damn narrow I have no idea. They do weddings all the time. I'm going to complain about it.’

  Sarah, glad she wasn't going to have to write a letter explaining in polite language that the dimensions of the toilets made it difficult for brides to relieve themselves, helped Elsa gather up Ashlyn's train. Ashlyn would undoubtedly be far more down to earth in her use of words than she could allow herself to be.

  ‘Here,' Sarah said now, 'I'll climb on the loo next door, you hand all that you can of it up to me so we can drape it over the partition.’

  Elsa, carrying the bulk of it, squeezed in beside Ashlyn and between them they hauled the spangled train up the side of one cubicle wall and Sarah supported it as it came over the other side.

  'If I'd known my creations would suffer these indignities…' Elsa began.

  ‘What?' said the others. Sarah was about to avert her gaze and Ashlyn was about to pull down her thong. They both stopped to look at Elsa.

  ‘I don't know! I just never think of them having to be peed in. Or squashed into ancient sports cars.’

  Ashlyn giggled. 'Did Laurence bring you in his Morgan? It's fun, isn't it? And Laurence is nice. Not dashing but jolly dependable. Now look away, girls, I don't think shutting the door is an option.'

  ‘I think you could-' began Sarah.

  ‘Too late,' said Ashlyn. 'Oh, that feels better.'

  ‘I did warn you against the champagne,' said Sarah, keeping her gaze averted.

  ‘It wasn't the champagne,' said Ashlyn, pulling up her thong with a snap. 'It was the water you made me drink afterwards to stop me getting a hangover. Anyway, all's well now. Let's get back to the party.'

  ‘Er, hang on!' said Elsa. 'I need to go too and my train's nearly as long. Now that we've mastered the technique… I promise to shut the door,' she added.

  *

  As Elsa sat at the top table a couple of hours later, she began to stop feeling like a fraud. She'd already confessed to Laurence, the best man, the bride's parents knew already, and the groom's parents didn't much care. The speeches were nearly over and her tension was beginning to ease.

  ‘That was a brilliant speech,' she said when Laurence had sat down again. 'You didn't seem nervous at all.'

  ‘Well, you get used to people looking at you after the first few weddings,' he said, filling her glass. For someone who didn't drink, he was very prompt with the wine bottle.

  Elsa considered this. 'Do you? I don't think I ever would, although my mother tells me being shy is an affectation, an assumption that people are looking at me when, of course, they aren't.’

  He laughed gently. 'She hadn't ever been a bridesmaid and sat at the top table, then?’

  Elsa shook her head. 'Don't think so. I'll ask her next time she says it.'

  ‘Do you see her often?’

  Elsa nodded. 'Quite often. I live in a corner of my workshop, and if I need a bit more comfort, or a garden to lie in, I go home. They also feed me up occasionally. They're only a few minutes away.' She frowned, wondering if this made her seem pathetic, constantly running home to mummy and daddy.

  ‘There's nothing to be embarrassed about.’

  She turned to him, about to deny being any such thing but thought better of it. She sighed. 'It does seem a bit sad, a woman of my age going home to play in the garden.'

  ‘You're not exactly ancient! What, twenty-three?’

  ‘Twenty-six, actually,' she said with dignity.

  He seemed surprised. 'Oh. It's just that fringe makes you look much younger.' Then, possibly seeing Elsa blush, he went on, 'So tell me about living on the job.’

  Elsa relaxed a bit. 'Well, I couldn't afford to rent two places, so my dad helped me convert a corner of this warehouse – well a floor of one – into a little bedroom, kitchen and sitting room. There's a teeny shower room, too.'

  ‘Does it feel cramped?'

  ‘Not really. I can open the sitting room out on to the workroom if I want to. My parents say it would be a great place for a party.'

  ‘Have you ever had one?’

  'No. I'm not really a party girl. I think maybe it's because I'm an only child and got used to my own company.’

  ‘Were you lonely?’

  She considered. 'I don't think so. I don't ever remember being bored. But it means that now I don't like trying to talk to people in big echoey spaces – more than just a couple of people, anyway.'

  ‘I know what you mean. I'd always prefer to talk to just a few people than a whole braying crowd.'

  ‘So you're not keen on large donkey sanctuaries then?' He laughed and gave his head a little shake. 'No. Like you, I prefer one donkey at a time.’

  Elsa sipped her wine. She liked Laurence, she decided. He got her jokes and didn't interrogate her – well, not too much. He was fun and she found him very easy to talk to.

  Then he said, 'Did you know that guests who don't know the people on their table, or who aren't getting on with them, make up stories about the people on the top table?'

  ‘That's a bit horrifying! But how do you know that? I thought you were always the best man at weddings?’

  He laughed. 'Not absolutely every time. This is only my third appearance as the groom's right-hand man.' •


  ‘Always the best man, never the groom, eh?’

  Elsa said this as a throwaway line – she hadn't expected a little sigh before he said, 'Yes.’

  She felt instantly remorseful. She put her hand on his sleeve. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to step on your toes – it was just a sort of joke.’

  Gallantly, he laughed. 'Stepping on my toes comes later, when we dance. But the last wedding where I was best man the bride was my ex.' He looked down at her, smiling ruefully. 'I told you it was the brides who chose me as best man, didn't I?’

  Elsa's heart was touched. 'God, that's awful! How utterly tactless. How could she do that to you? And how could you do it?’

  He shrugged. 'It did hurt, obviously, as I was still in love with her at the time, but that was why I did it. She asked me to.’

  Elsa felt her throat constrict with tears of sympathy. 'That's so sweet.' She knew if she wasn't careful she'd actually cry. She was either over-tired or had had too much to drink.

  Laurence said briskly, 'No need to get sentimental, I'm pretty much over her now.'

  ‘I'm so glad!' His eyebrow went up a little and his mouth twitched. Trying to backtrack she said, 'I mean, I'm glad for you. I don't care personally.' She paused and sipped some water.

  ‘It's all right,' he said, still gently amused by her discomfiture. 'I know exactly what you mean.' He paused. 'So, what about you? Is this your first time? Or have you followed lots of your girlfriends down the aisle?’

  She shook her head and found that her fringe went into her eyes. She flicked it away. 'No. I've never been a bridesmaid before and they didn't give me long to learn my part.'

  ‘So you don't really know Ashlyn, then?'

  ‘Well, I do, actually. We got to know each other quite well when we were doing fittings, choosing fabrics and things.'

  ‘So you're here because the bride begged you to be,' said Laurence firmly. 'And quite right and proper too. Now, can you dance?'

  ‘Dance? What do you mean?' She was horrified. Did he want her to dance a rapid quickstep, backwards and in heels, like Ginger Rogers? Somehow she didn't think he meant disco dancing.

  'Sorry, I didn't realise that was a hard question. I'm asking you if you can waltz at all. I'm not talking proper ballroom here, but when Ashlyn and Bobby have had their first romantic number, we have to join them. Now, if you can waltz, I can too. If not, you can just hang on and I'll steer.'

  ‘That doesn't sound very romantic.'

  ‘It's not supposed to sound romantic. I'm the prosaic best man being frank.'

  ‘I thought you said your name was Laurence?' She smiled.

  He frowned and shook his head. 'I must have given you too much to drink.'

  ‘Well, you did but don't worry about it. I was only being flippant and everyone says I take life far too seriously, so it's probably a good thing.' Elsa sighed, wishing she could be bright and outgoing without having to be slightly drunk.

  ‘They say that about me too.’

  She didn't really believe him – he had a very frivolous car after all – but she didn't want to argue. 'Then we're well matched. That's good!’

  He nodded. 'It also makes me believe in the power of coincidence.'

  ‘What do you mean?'

  ‘Nothing, really.' He paused before going on. 'The brides, having chosen me as best man, are not usually terribly considerate in their choice of chief bridesmaid.’

  This made Elsa laugh. 'I'm sure you'd have loved Fulvia! She's a real goer. Well, obviously, she's gone to Paris, after all.'

  ‘I know Fulvia,' he said mock seriously, 'and while she is definitely a goer, she's not much fun.'

  ‘No?'

  ‘No. Lovely to look at but absolutely no brain. Not much sense of humour either.’

  It was somewhat of a surprise to Elsa that a man should feel like this. She'd always assumed that a good figure and pretty face were what was important. Although she saw his point; in her work she often dealt with brides who were extremely pretty but weren't easy to communicate with. Ashlyn had been a lovely exception – demanding, but fun, and able to be clear about what she wanted. 'Oh. Well, I hope I'm not too disappointing.’

  He smiled. 'Not at all.'

  ‘Hm,' said Elsa. 'You're very polite, aren't you?’

  ‘Very. Famous for it. So, can you dance?’

  She wondered briefly if dancing round her studio on her own counted as dancing. 'A bit. But steering me might be the best option.'

  ‘It will be a pleasure.’

  Elsa considered. 'I suppose having such an ancient car makes you good at steering.’

  He nodded, really smiling now. 'It does. Now, let's see if Ashlyn can get down from the dais and on to the dance floor in those shoes.'

  ‘Oh God, my shoes. They're about ten sizes too big.’

  ‘Really?'

  ‘Well, a couple, anyway. I can't dance in them. You'll have to find someone else.'

  ‘Ditch the shoes. So Fulvia has big feet, has she?'

  ‘No,' said Elsa, 'I have small ones. It's one of my few virtues.’

  Laurence looked at her sideways. 'Oh, I wouldn't say that.'

  ‘No you wouldn't, because as I said, you're very polite. I'm honest.'

  ‘Honest but deluded,' said Laurence.

  Suspecting she was being paid a compliment and unsure how to react, Elsa ignored this. She'd never learnt how to flirt.

  Just then, Ashlyn and Bobby shuffled past them. The band was playing their specially selected 'first dance' number and they were heading for the dance floor.

  Elsa watched the bride and groom dance together with awe. They must have practised. That dress was not designed to move in, and yet they glided over the floor with grace and harmony. At the end, everyone applauded, not just because it was expected, but because they were really very good at it.

  ‘Wow,' said Elsa. 'I'd love to be able to dance like that.’

  ‘Well, now's your chance,' said Laurence, helping her to her feet.

  ‘It won't be like that,' she muttered under her breath, but he either didn't hear or chose to ignore her.

  Elsa left her shoes under the table, and this emphasised the already noticeable height difference between her and her partner. The first few steps were a disaster. Her feet felt so vulnerable next to his huge, shiny black shoes, she would only move them backwards.

  ‘I'm sorry, I really can't do this,' she said. 'Please find someone else. There are lots of girls here who'd love to dance with you.'

  ‘But I want to dance with you. Come on, you can do it.’

  Three more staggering steps proved that Elsa couldn't.

  ‘Tell you what, put your dress over your arm. Good, now put your feet on mine. We'll dance together.' Then he put his arm firmly round her, lifting her slightly. Elsa surrendered and put her feet on his, trusting that his shoes wouldn't allow her feet to crush his.

  It felt magical! He moved gracefully round the floor, and because he did, so did she. When the dance was over she forgot that she was shy and inhibited, flung her arms round his neck and kissed his cheek. 'Thank you, that was fantastic! I loved it!’

  `Mm,' said Laurence, 'so did I. Maybe you should have some lessons, so you can dance on your own two feet instead of mine.'

  ‘Maybe I should!' She sighed, yearning to be able to glide, as if on wheels, like Ashlyn and Bobby had.

  Laurence chuckled. 'Now it's your turn to show me up. I'm hopeless at bopping about. I feel silly and I look silly.'

  ‘I'm sure you don't!' said Elsa, indignant for him. But a few moments later, she had to admit – privately, of course – that he was right. He couldn't dance for toffee.

  Chapter Four

  Sarah eased her shoes off under the table. The reception was fine – so far. No one had grumbled about where they were sitting. The food had arrived in an organised fashion, and only one table had to wait any length of time. Spotting this, Sarah had appeared with a bottle of champagne and given everyone another glass.

 
Then she had produced a large china plate and a special pen. 'This is for you all to sign and write messages on. If you go first, you'll have more space.'

  ‘Won't the writing wash off?' asked one girl, who had taken the pen and was now chewing the end of it, wondering what to say.

  ‘No, you bake the plate and the writing is fixed. Lovely idea, I think, don't you? But please don't write too much!' Ashlyn had wanted a plate per table and so have a set of dinner plates, but Bobby, who'd wanted a different sort of china, had said two plates, maximum, although it would mean people would have to express themselves in very small writing.

  Everything else had gone smoothly. Unlike at many weddings she had worked on, the Lennox-Featherstones had insisted that Sarah was catered for as if she were a guest. She had agreed only because there was room for a little table on its own from which she could leap up if the need arose.

  It was a very stylish, lavish do, she had to admit, and a lot of the credit was down to her. Now she had leisure to look about her, she could admire the details. The size of the budget had definitely helped.

  The flowers were superb. Sukie, her florist of choice, had done a wonderful job. The tables all had a glass cube packed with one sort of fragrant flower. Sarah had caught the whiff of freesias, fat-stemmed hyacinths and roses, as she'd moved from table to table before everyone sat down, checking everything was as it should be.

  There was a long, low, sophisticated floral runner on the top table. In this the varieties of flowers went in waves, a patch of roses, followed by one of sweet peas, then one of delphiniums, and so on. Sukie had told Sarah she was creating a herbaceous border effect, to reflect the bride's mother's love of country gardens.

  Ashlyn had a simple bouquet of lilies of the valley. Like many simple things, it had been fantastically expensive because, Sukie had told Sarah, it had taken 250 stems to make it really lavish. Elsa had a trailing bouquet that also included lilies of the valley, but not quite so many, and the little bridesmaids had simple posies of all the flowers represented, tiny, but very fragrant. Sukie had taken a lot of time finding out exactly what was required and Mrs Lennox-Featherstone had already told Sarah how beautiful the flowers were.