Wedding Season

by Katie Fforde

  ‘I'm good at butterflies and kittens. And it's my wedding. This is something I can do for it. The amount of bossing around I've had to put up with, you'd never believe I was the bride. Honestly, I think what I want is the last thing anyone thinks about. I'm not even allowed to have the dress I want.’

  Sarah sighed. 'OK, butterflies on just a few, the ones you're sending to your own friends. But don't let Dirk's friends get any with them on. I'll just set the printer up.' She was halfway through doing this when the phone rang. Sarah's hand fell on it as if it were saving her life. 'Elsa! Hi! What's up!'

  ‘Golly, Sarah, you're very pleased to hear from me! What are you up to?'

  ‘Lily and I are printing the invitations for her wedding, or at least we will be in a minute. And yes I know they should have been done weeks ago.'

  ‘Did you? I don't have a clue about any of that stuff.'

  ‘We're also deciding about dresses.' Sarah glanced at her sister who seemed to be buried in a bridal magazine so fat a pregnant woman should probably be advised against lifting it. She lowered her voice. 'Hey, I don't suppose you could come round, could you? Lily's a bit fed up with being so restricted on style-'

  ‘Because she's pregnant?’

  `Mm. You might be a bit more imaginative about what she can have than I am.' The thought of another adult to help her with her sister's dottier ideas was wonderful.

  ‘Well, I know you said Mandy would let you know the moment she knew, but I was just ringing on the off-chance to ask if Carrie had said which of my designs she likes yet, because I'm going quietly mad here. I've got all the fabric samples, the drawings all done in detail, bridesmaids' dresses, everything, but I can't start until I hear from her. I know the dress'll take ages because they always do if you're short of time. Sod's law.'

  ‘Tell you what, if you come, talk to Lily and fold invites, I'll ring Mandy and see I can hurry things along a bit. Deal?'

  ‘Deal. See you in about ten minutes. Shall I bring wine?’

  Sarah considered. 'White wine, warm. Then we can't drink it until it's cooled down which will mean we'll get the work done first.’

  Elsa laughed and they disconnected.

  Lily looked up from the magazine. 'You are so MachieM- Who was that Russian person?'

  ‘Machiavelli. And he was Italian. Why?’

  Lily pouted. 'What you said about the wine. Actually, I'm not going to drink at all any more, although I had cut right down.'

  ‘Good! What brought this flash of sanity down on you?’

  ‘Something I read in the paper.'

  ‘Well, I'm really impressed.' Sarah patted her sister's arm. 'You're taking responsibility. Good for you.' Sarah felt ashamed of herself, assuming that Lily was just ignoring her pregnancy when really, she was beginning to take it all very seriously.

  ‘Actually,' said Lily after revelling in her sister's approval for a few seconds, 'it makes me sick.’

  *

  Elsa soon appeared with wine, crisps and chocolate biscuits. Both sisters were delighted to see her. Lily took the biscuits and ripped into them. 'The government hasn't told us we can't eat chocolate yet,' she said, tucking in. 'Although, it's only a matter of time.’

  Elsa proved to be an accurate and willing invitation-folder. To reward her, Sarah withdrew to her office and made the call. Mandy was as ever rather vague. 'Oh, honey, Carrie hasn't had the designs that long and she'll want to make changes. I don't really like to ask her about stuff like this when she's so busy. But I promise I'll try my best. We do appreciate you're all being so wonderful about it.'

  ‘I wouldn't nag,' said Sarah, who felt she hadn't nagged, really, but Mandy was always so charming, 'but Elsa really needs to start work. You know she's got to make the entire dress out of muslin first to check that it fits properly.'

  ‘Oh yes, the toile? That sounds so French! I think we had forgotten. We'll have a think, but in the meantime, give Elsa our love.’

  Sarah put the phone down wondering if Mandy and Carrie were joined at the hip or if Mandy was using the Royal 'we'. If so, did this mean her client was in fact royalty? In which case she could put 'By Appointment' on her business cards. On this happy but fantastical thought she went back to Lily and Elsa.

  They were sitting together on the sofa, the magazine spread over both of them. Sarah, seeing them happily ensconced, decided she needed a glass of wine. She came back to the room a minute or two later with two glasses of wine and an elderflower pressé for Lily.

  ‘How's it going?' she asked, handing out glasses.

  ‘Well, Elsa's much better at this than you are!' said Lily indignantly. 'There are loads of other styles I can have apart from the marquees that you think I should wear.’

  Sarah bit her lip. 'Thank goodness you reminded me! I must get on to the marquee people as soon as possible. Do you have any idea what size the garden is?'

  ‘Well, if you know how many guests there are going to be, you'll know what size you'll need, surely?' suggested Elsa.

  Sarah shook her head. 'We don't want to order one too big and have to take the neighbours' gardens over too. I'd better ring Dirk's mother and ask her.'

  ‘Don't do that. Then they'll know I'm not organising everything!' Lily was so horrified at this suggestion she had to have another chocolate finger to help her recover.

  ‘Oh, Lily! Did you tell them you were doing everything? Didn't you mention at any stage that your sister was a wedding planner?' Sarah's impatience got the better of her for a moment.

  ‘I would have done,' said Lily, 'but I knew you had a top celebrity client having a wedding on the same day. I thought you might not be able to fit me in.'

  ‘Lily, really!' said Sarah. 'You didn't know anything about Carrie when you chose your date. Why didn't you say anything?’

  Lily shrugged. 'What your sister does for a living doesn't necessarily crop up when you've just announced your engagement to your future in-laws.'

  ‘She's got you there,' said Elsa. 'But why don't you ask Dirk for the dimensions of the garden? He must have a rough idea.'

  ‘Good plan,' said Sarah, relieved to have another practical person on hand. 'Now, how are you two getting on with wedding dresses?'

  ‘Well, we've found several styles that would do well,' said Elsa. 'There's one with an overskirt that could look very pretty. The ball gown I've made is rather like it. I can show it to Lily and see if she likes it.'

  ‘I could try it on,' said Lily excitedly, sending the crisps flying as she leapt up.

  ‘Well, you could,' said Elsa, 'but…' She paused. 'As I seem to have a bit of time on my hands – until Carrie makes up her mind – I could make you a mock-up in muslin.'

  ‘Tell me, Elsa,' said Sarah, 'I've never known. How do you pronounce the word for that? Is it "twarl"' or "toil"?’

  Elsa looked abashed. 'I always wait for the client to say first then I just say what they do.'

  ‘Cop out!' said both sisters together, united at last.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Elsa felt surprisingly shaky considering she wasn't about to do anything life-threatening. It would have been better if Laurence hadn't been there, she decided, then she wouldn't have to worry so much about making a fool of herself. As instructed, she'd found a pair of shoes with medium heels that stayed on quite well and was wearing a skirt. She could have worn her favourite black trousers but she felt she should get used to moving with a bit more fabric around her.

  ‘He's a very well respected teacher. You'll be fine,' said Laurence as they mounted the stone steps to the door. 'There's nothing to be nervous about.'

  ‘I realise I'm not likely to die,' Elsa said, 'you very rarely die when you go to the dentist, either. It doesn't stop you being nervous.'

  ‘If it's any consolation to you,' said Laurence. 'I have never died while at the dentist.’

  She shot him a look while he pressed the bell. 'Well, nor have I but I'm still terrified!’

  Laurence had rung her the evening after Elsa had
helped Sarah and Lily with the invitations, offering to give her a dancing lesson. If wretched Carrie had made a single decision about what she or her bridesmaids should wear, she would have had a genuine reason for refusing, but she had no such excuse. If she hadn't had rather more wine than she'd intended and been feeling a bit giggly she might still have said no, but the combination of time on her hands and a fun evening with Sarah and Lily had her saying yes. And it would be nice to see him again. She found herself looking forward to that part at least. It was a pity that he was too busy for them to go out for a drink afterwards, she thought wistfully.

  ‘What are you frightened of, exactly?’

  She made a face. 'Making a fool of myself.’

  He laughed. 'Surely it's better to get your embarrassment over in private, rather than on the dance floor with hundreds of others?’

  She was about to remind him that she was doing him a favour when the door was opened. Elsa did her best to smile. She didn't want anyone else to know she was terrified. What if there were other people there to watch her? She'd die of embarrassment.

  When the door was opened by a man worryingly reminiscent of one of the professionals on Strictly Come Dancing her embarrassment meter, already on high, shot up to the top. Had the teacher been like lovely, kindly Len, the expert of experts, she'd have been fine. This young lion was bound to despise her feeble efforts.

  ‘Hi!' said the leather-clad stud in question. 'Come on in.’

  At second glance Elsa realised that he didn't look anything like any of those television stars, it had just been her nerves that made her think so. But he was very good-looking and moved like a panther. They seemed to be the only ones there. At least no one else but Laurence would see how bad she was – and he already knew.

  ‘No need to look so worried!' the panther said to her, smiling in a stomach-clenching way. 'I don't bite! I'm Terry,' he added.

  ‘I'm Laurence Gentle and this is Elsa Ashcombe.’

  ‘Well, come in both.’

  Terry led the way and when he was more or less out of earshot Laurence said, 'He's much younger than I thought he'd be. I hope he'll be all right.’

  Elsa didn't have a chance to reply but she did wonder if Laurence had ever watched Strictly Come Dancing. Didn't he know the dancers were young? A little fillip of satisfaction warmed her – he wasn't totally happy about this now, either.

  ‘Have you got some other shoes, love?' Terry asked Elsa. Elsa held up the bag with her best shoes in it. 'I'm going to be wearing these,' she said.

  ‘Fine. Come on in to the studio, or do you need to use the facilities?’

  It occurred to Elsa that he may have said this because she looked as if she was going to be sick. She really hoped he was wrong and followed the men into the studio.

  It was a large, mirrored room with windows at both ends. Elsa felt even more intimidated and crept to the corner to put on her shoes. Her medium-heeled courts that she had had for years suddenly felt loose and sloppy. She probably should have sewn some elastic on them or something.

  ‘Elsa really just wants to learn to waltz,' Laurence was saying. Although it was true, her nerves made her irritated with him for speaking for her. She told herself to calm down. Laurence was only trying to help.

  ‘Right, you guys,' said Terry. 'Take hold of each other. You know the hold? You do, Laurence, obviously. Elsa…' He moved Elsa's hands.

  ‘OK, we'll start without music, just to check we know the basic steps then we'll really start to dance.’

  Elsa felt suddenly awkward. She'd been quite happy in his arms at the wedding, when she had hardly met him; now it felt strangely intimate. They made a few unsatisfactory starts, Terry watching them carefully, his head on one side, patiently giving instructions. Elsa caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked as stiff as her dressmaker's dummy. Laurence could dance so it was obviously all her fault. Or was it? They were both getting a little frustrated with each other.

  ‘You know some people are born to dance?' said Elsa, pulling away from Laurence. 'Well, I think I'm born not to dance.'

  ‘You do seem to be taking a while to pick it up,' he replied, and Elsa thought she detected a slight note of impatience in his usually mild-mannered voice. Well, she had said she couldn't dance. 'It's quite simple really. Forward side together, back side together.’

  Terry looked at Laurence and then at Elsa. 'You know what? I think you're the problem, Laurence. You're making Elsa nervous. Why don't you go off and come back at half past and see how we're getting on?'

  ‘Oh,' said Laurence, rather nonplussed. 'You don't think I'm helping?'

  ‘No. You keep giving Elsa advice that isn't the same as mine. You go away and we'll get on fine.’

  Laurence gave her an odd look and, as he left, Elsa noticed a rather dejected air about his slumped shoulders.

  With Laurence sent to the shops for a paper Terry took Elsa in his arms, having started the music. 'Right now, don't look down, don't think, just move with the music. Back on our right foot – excellent!’

  After a faltering start, something fell into place in Elsa's brain. She stopped thinking about her feet, she just listened to the music, felt the pressure of Terry's arm on her back as he gently guided her, and moved about the floor with him, apparently glued to his chest. It was brilliant. She could see the two of them – what a contrast to her and Laurence -moving as one. She didn't look awkward and stiff any more.

  ‘That was amazing!' she said a little breathlessly, a few minutes later. 'I could really feel myself doing it.'

  ‘You see, you had the steps in your head and in your feet. You just needed to forget about both for it to all happen.' Terry smiled down at her, obviously pleased with her progress, and to have enabled it.

  ‘Can we do it again?' she asked eagerly.

  Round and round the floor they sailed – to the right and to the left and Elsa managed both. She didn't hear the door open and it was only when the music stopped that she noticed Laurence looking at her, and at Terry with his arms around her.

  ‘Well done,' he said quietly.

  ‘Isn't it great? I finally got it! It's like My Fair Lady or something!'

  ‘What?' Laurence frowned.

  ‘Sorry,' said Elsa. 'I'm a bit addicted to old musicals.'

  ‘Quite right too,' said Terry and then glanced at his watch. 'I'm afraid my next pupil will be here in a minute, but I want you two guys to practise together before the ball.'

  ‘Thank you so much, Terry,' said Elsa, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. 'That was wonderful! I never dreamt I could dance like that.'

  ‘Yes, thank you very much,' said Laurence. He still seemed rather subdued. 'Now, how much do I owe you?’

  ‘Oh, you must let me pay,' said Elsa, hunting for her chequebook. 'I had the lesson.'

  ‘But I arranged it for you, so you could come to a ball, with me.' Laurence's cheque arrived on the table before hers did. 'Forty pounds? Thank you very much.’

  ‘Laurence, you must let me pay. You can waltz perfectly well already. I needed the lesson.' Elsa would never have described herself as an ardent feminist before, but suddenly her whole worth as a woman seemed to depend on her paying for her own waltzing lesson.

  But Laurence was adamant. 'No! I arranged it all because I want you to be able to dance. It's my shout. I won't have any argument.’

  Once they were outside the studio, Elsa thanked him again. 'You really should have let me pay.'

  ‘Nonsense, it was worth it. You can dance now, although I wish… anyway, Terry, he was good, wasn't he? You seemed to be getting on very well when I got back.. Laurence looked at his feet.

  Elsa bit her lip. Surely he didn't mind that it was Terry who had unlocked the key that enabled her to dance? He was the teacher, that was his job, and he had to hold her tightly. It was part of the dance. Laurence couldn't possibly be jealous of Terry, could he? She smiled to herself – she was fairly sure that Terry was gay.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven
/>   Bron found the address, tucked away between a pub and a primary school, without difficulty. Pat's directions had been perfect. Four women who needed their hair doing in a kitchen that may well be suitable for making Carrie's wedding cake, all arranged by Pat as promised. Bron was excited as she parked the car.

  The house was delightful, she thought, as she started unloading her kit from the boot. She left one load on the doorstep and then went to get the rest of it. Someone had opened the door before she had a chance to ring.

  ‘You must be Bron,' said a pleasant-faced middle-aged woman with a bad perm. 'I'm Veronica. Let me give you a hand.' Veronica picked up Bron's tool kit. 'Do you mind doing it in the kitchen? There's plenty of space there.'

  ‘Not at all,' said Bron, thinking how much easier it would be for her to ask about borrowing it if she didn't have to ask to see it specially.

  ‘And you've got at least five clients. Pat said you wouldn't mind.'

  ‘Not at all,' she said again. 'I'll get a production line going. It would speed things up if people washed their own hair, though.' She was aware that people loved the therapeutic effect of having their hair washed by professional, massaging fingers, but without a back-wash, it sometimes involved a lot of water down the back of people's necks and it would mean the others had to wait longer.

  ‘Through here,' said Veronica, leading Bron to the most delightful room. It was large, sunny and overlooked an overflowing cottage garden. There was a long stainless steel counter along one wall with a four-oven range cooker and a double sink. Bron could see various other appliances and another washbasin but couldn't really look properly just now.

  Four women were sitting at a table drinking coffee and eating biscuits although it was only nine o'clock. They all looked up when Bron came in. Pat, who was already there, got up and kissed her and introduced her to the other women.

  ‘We're turning Veronica's kitchen into a hairdressing salon,' she said. 'She's being very nice about it, and providing tea and biccies.'