by Sophie Hart
‘From the look on your face, I’m not sure I want to know.’
‘That’s probably for the best,’ Debbie giggled, her mind racing. ‘I need to look into this, find out if it’s possible. Let’s just say that Stevie will be a very happy boy if I manage to pull this off.’
‘As the actress said to the bishop,’ Angela sniggered.
‘We should probably change the subject,’ Debbie grinned, mentally filing away her idea with the promise of revisiting it later. ‘So how’s everything with you? How’s Mitch?’
Mitch was Angela’s new boyfriend. They’d been dating for a few weeks, but Angela was notorious for going through men quicker than Harry Styles went through supermodels. She was the complete opposite of Debbie, who’d only had two boyfriends before Stevie, both long-term relationships. Angela teased her that she was a serial monogamist.
Right now, she wrinkled her nose uncertainly. ‘He’s okay. I’m not sure whether I really like him, or if—’
They were interrupted by one of the boys getting up from his chair and coming over to Debbie, wrapping his arms around her legs.
‘Sammy, you’re supposed to be sitting on your chair and eating your lunch, like a good boy,’ she reprimanded him.
‘But I don’t feel very well.’
‘No? What’s the matter?’
‘It hurts,’ he murmured listlessly, pointing to his stomach.
‘You’ve got tummy ache?’ Debbie crouched down, touching her hand to his forehead. She looked up worriedly at Angela. ‘He’s really warm.’
‘Feel sick,’ Sam said, his lower lip pouting.
‘I’d better take him to the sick bay. I’ll see how he goes, and maybe give Gill a call if he gets any worse.’
Angela nodded. ‘Shout me if you need a hand.’
‘Thanks. Come on, Sammy,’ Debbie said softly, as she reached down to pick him up. He wrapped his legs around her waist, laying his head wearily on her shoulder. ‘Let’s go see if we can get you feeling better.’
She left the dining room and headed out into the corridor, doing a double-take as she spotted Julia standing awkwardly in the entrance hall. A BabyBjörn carrier was strapped to her body, and she was looking at the drawings on the wall. The kids had created firework pictures, bright streaks of coloured chalk on black sugar paper, with their names written neatly on white stickers in the bottom corner.
‘Hey, how are you?’ Debbie grinned, walking towards her.
‘Oh, hi!’ Julia exclaimed. ‘I wondered if I’d see you here. I thought I’d take your advice and come for a look around.’
‘Fantastic! And this must be Jack,’ Debbie cooed, as she leaned closer to look at the sleeping baby, all bundled up in his sling.
‘That’s right. I’m Julia, by the way. I don’t know if I properly introduced myself the other night.’
‘I’m Debbie. And this is Sammy,’ Debbie explained. ‘He’s not feeling very well, so I’m taking him to the sick room.’
‘Oh no, what’s wrong with you?’ Julia asked, as Sammy shyly buried his face in Debbie’s neck.
‘He’s got a tummy ache and a temperature. Just a bug, I think, but we don’t want the other kids to catch it so I’ll give his mum a ring. Is someone showing you round?’
‘Yeah, I think Mrs Palmer – Helen? – is on her way. The receptionist lady went to find her.’
‘Oh yeah, Helen’s the boss. She really nice though, great to work for.’
‘Good, I’ll tell her you recommended me,’ Julia beamed.
‘So you decided to go back to work then?’ Debbie asked, shifting Sammy on her hip.
‘Yeah. I think it’s time. I’m lucky because I freelance, so I can decide what jobs I want to do. I’m not taking on much yet, as Jack’s still so small, but I’ll probably need to drop him here a couple of times a week. Maybe more when I get busier in a few weeks’ time.’
‘What do you do?’ Debbie asked curiously.
‘I’m an events planner.’
‘Ooh, that must be fun!’
‘It can be. It’s hard work, and pretty stressful at times, but it’s all worth it when the party’s a success and the client’s happy. It’s definitely an adrenaline rush when you’re running round trying to bring everything together, hoping it’ll all go off without a hitch.’
‘Have you ever organised anything for a celebrity?’
‘You mean like a post-Oscars party at Elton John’s house?’ Julia laughed. ‘That’s a bit out of my league, I’m afraid. Although I did once organise a twenty-first birthday that a couple of the TOWIE cast turned up to! Weddings and sweet sixteens are more my style though.’
‘You do wedding planning?’ Debbie asked excitedly, as Julia nodded.
‘That’s what this new job is. It’s quite a large scale one actually, with a big budget, so there’ll definitely be a lot to keep me busy. But I’m looking forward to getting stuck in.’
‘I’m getting married next summer,’ Debbie burst out, unable to contain herself any longer. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing like the wedding you’re organising. Ours won’t be massive – we can’t afford anything extravagant.’
‘Well I cater to all sorts of budgets, if you’re interested. Or if you just need some advice, I’m happy to point you in the direction of good caterers, photographers, that kind of thing.’
‘That would be amazing,’ Debbie gushed. ‘Ooh, I feel like I’m J-Lo or something, with my very own wedding planner! So how come you—’
She broke off as a woman came dashing round the corner. She was dressed smartly, but practically, in comfortable fitted trousers and a plain jumper with a shirt underneath. Her hair was dark, cut short, and she looked busy but friendly.
‘I’m so sorry, I got held up on a phone call. I’m Helen Palmer.’ She held out her hand.
‘Julia Crawford, lovely to meet you.’
‘And this must be Jack.’
‘Yes, it is, although I should probably warn you that he’s not always this quiet.’
Helen laughed, then looked across at Debbie. ‘Is everything okay? Is something the matter with Sam?’
‘He’s got a sore tummy and a temperature. I was just taking him to the sick bay when I got chatting with Julia.’
Helen frowned, putting her hand to Sammy’s forehead. ‘He is warm, isn’t he? Has someone contacted Gill?’
‘I’ll ask Magda to, then sit with him until she arrives.’
‘Great, thanks Debbie.’
‘No problem. I’ll hopefully see you soon, Julia.’
‘Yes, definitely. If all goes well, you could be seeing a lot more of me – and Jack – around here!’
8
‘It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages’ – Friedrich Nietzsche
‘Oh, doesn’t it look beautiful,’ Aimee breathed, as she gazed round in awe.
The usually staid and traditional Hurlingham Manor had been transformed into a bridal Winter Wonderland. An eight-foot pine tree, beautifully trimmed in white and silver, stood majestically in front of the grand, sweeping staircase, its banisters garlanded with holly, ivy and red berries. On the other side of the marble reception area, a festive snow scene had been created, complete with frolicking deer and other woodland animals, all gathered around a traditional wooden sleigh filled with presents.
‘Maybe I should switch to a winter wedding,’ Aimee wondered, wide-eyed as she pictured herself swathed in white faux-fur, snow falling softly outside as she and Jon said their vows.
Valerie pursed her lips in disapproval, clearly thinking that the idea was tacky.
‘I’m sure we’ll get lots of inspiration here,’ Julia said diplomatically, as she followed Aimee through to the Grand Ballroom.
Hurlingham Manor was holding a wedding fayre, and the space had been transformed, with dozens of stalls showcasing everything from florists to caterers, videographers to DJs. Hordes of young women were dashing around excitedly, chattering loudly to accompanying friends an
d family who trailed in their wake as they bounced from one booth to the next.
Aimee’s mother, Pauline, was starting to get a little tearful. She was a small, round woman with ash-blonde hair and a distinct resemblance to her daughter.
‘I can’t believe my baby’s getting married,’ she sniffed, the impending wedding finally becoming real as she gazed around the room. ‘And it’s going to be so grand. When me and your dad got married, we didn’t have anything like this,’ she went on, gesturing to a stall displaying shimmering tiaras and jewelled fascinators. ‘Your granny helped make my dress, then after the ceremony the George and Dragon did a lovely spread for us in their back room.’
‘Yes, well, now Aimee’s marrying a Cunningham, I’m sure we can do better than that,’ Valerie sniffed.
There was an awkward silence, which Valerie didn’t appear to notice.
‘So where do you want to start?’ Julia turned to Aimee. ‘Anything in particular that you’re looking for?’
‘No, not really.’ Aimee looked overwhelmed. ‘There’s so much to think about.’
‘Don’t worry, that’s what I’m here for,’ Julia smiled reassuringly. ‘All you need to do is tell me what you like.’
‘Well I like those,’ Aimee gushed, her gaze landing on a display of table decorations. She drifted closer, examining frosted glass bowls half-filled with water, purple chrysanthemums and tea-lights floating on the surface.
‘We can customise the colours to match your theme,’ the stallholder explained helpfully.
‘Ooh, look how pretty they are! And so unusual. I’ve never seen anything like that before,’ marvelled Pauline.
Beside her, Valerie gave a little shudder, her face contorting into a pained expression.
‘Aimee, darling, you might as well fill it with goldfish and seaweed. There’s unique, and then there’s a step too far. No, I think we’re better sticking with a classic floral display for the centrepieces. Something like that, for example.’
Valerie moved across the aisle, pointing out a very simple arrangement of white orchids in a tall, stem vase.
‘It’s… nice,’ Aimee tried to work up some enthusiasm.
‘It’s not very you, though, is it?’ Pauline put in. ‘I mean, anyone could have that at their wedding. It doesn’t really say much about you, does it?’
‘That’s the point,’ Valerie cut in icily. ‘It’s elegant and classic. As you say, perhaps that’s not quite right for Aimee.’
Aimee flushed at the insult, and Julia gasped. Pauline opened her mouth to speak, but Aimee quickly laid a hand on her arm, her eyes flashing a message of: Please don’t say anything.
Dutifully, Pauline closed her mouth, but she still looked furious.
‘Shall we move on to stationery?’ Valerie said smoothly, apparently unaware that anything was wrong.
The others tripped after her, Pauline’s expression still mutinous, as Valerie cut through the crowds imperiously.
‘We’ve got about twenty minutes until the catwalk show starts,’ Julia informed them, glancing at her watch. ‘So we’ll need to save some things until afterwards. Apparently there’s a whole area upstairs dedicated to champagne and cake tasting.’
‘Mmm, that sounds fun,’ Pauline grinned, smacking her lips in anticipation.
‘As long as you’re not planning to have one of those ghastly cupcake towers,’ Valerie called over her shoulder. ‘Honestly, I just don’t understand the fascination with those things. It’s a wedding, not a chimps’ tea party. No, a beautifully iced, traditional fruit cake is what we’ll be looking for.’
‘But Aimee doesn’t like fru—’ Pauline attempted to speak, but Valerie was on a roll.
‘Oh, and I should warn you, Aimee,’ Valerie turned and smiled coldly at her future daughter-in-law, ‘if you’re thinking of having one of those awful chocolate fountains, you can think again.’
Aimee blanched, and this time Pauline couldn’t contain herself. ‘I thought this was Aimee and Jon’s wedding,’ she burst out. ‘Maybe it should be about what they want.’
‘I’m the one writing the cheques,’ Valerie replied acidly. ‘And I can assure you I won’t be writing any for cupcake towers, chocolate fountains, Cinderella carriages or, indeed, anything I deem unfitting for the occasion. Oh, look, there’s Tibby Cavendish-Grey,’ she continued without missing a beat, waving across the room at a well-dressed woman in a powder-blue skirt-suit and pearls. ‘Her daughter, Caroline, is marrying Henry Lennox. He’s terribly ugly, but he’s set to inherit an enormous estate and half a dozen regional publishing companies.’
And with that, Valerie strode away, slipping through the throng to air-kiss Tibby, as Julia, Aimee and Pauline remained rooted to the spot.
‘Ooh, I can’t stand that woman,’ Pauline burst out, clenching her fists in frustration. ‘Why do you let her speak to you like that, Aimee? You need to stand up for yourself.’
Aimee looked torn. ‘It’s not that easy. She is Jon’s mother after all, and, like she says, she is paying for most of the wedding.’
Pauline’s face fell, interpreting the comment as a personal dig at her. ‘You know we’d help out more if we could, love. We’ve always got by, but there’s never been a lot to spare, and then we had to buy that new boiler last month, not to mention the car’s on its last legs…’
‘I know, I know, I wasn’t blaming you,’ Aimee insisted. ‘But Valerie has very strong opinions, and sometimes it’s just easiest to go along with them. After all, the most important thing is that Jon and I will be married. What’s one day, when we’ll have the rest of our lives together?’
Pauline frowned, not looking convinced. ‘What do you think?’ she demanded, turning to Julia. ‘I bet she’s one of the worst clients you’ve ever had to work with.’
‘I… um…’ Julia’s mouth flapped open and closed. ‘It wouldn’t be right for me to—’
‘You can’t ask her that!’ Aimee cut in, as Julia shot her a grateful look.
‘Well I think she’s an absolute nightmare,’ Pauline asserted. ‘And you know I’m only saying what we’re all thinking. But I’ll keep my mouth shut for your sake, Aimee.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Aimee replied gratefully, as she spotted Valerie making her way back towards them.
‘It’s always so delightful to see Tibby,’ Valerie announced on her return. ‘Her daughter’s having Alessandro Lombardi sing at her wedding – you know, the famous opera singer. Can you imagine? I really should introduce you to Caroline, she’s exactly the sort of person you should be getting to know. Did I mention that she studied Fine Art at the Courtauld Institute? Delightful girl.’
‘Wow,’ Aimee said weakly, unsure how to respond.
‘I think the catwalk is this way,’ Julia interjected. ‘Maybe we should head over there now to get a good seat.’
The runway area was already busy when the women arrived, and Valerie took the lead, pushing through the crowds to ensure a seat on the front row. Two young women were sitting in the centre, with two spare chairs on either side of them.
‘Could you please move along,’ Valerie asked them haughtily. ‘We’re a group of four, and we’d like to all sit together, so if you could move down that would be much appreciated.’
The two women looked at one another. Moving down would mean that their view was somewhat restricted, as they’d be partially sitting behind a pillar, but they both got up and moved without a word of protest. Aimee felt for them. It was hard to refuse anything of Valerie; she knew that herself.
Before long, ‘Spring’ from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons began playing, and the first model came out onto the catwalk. She wore a strapless white gown, with a dramatic feathered skirt, and she was holding the hand of an excited little girl wearing a purple crushed-velvet bridesmaid dress. They walked to the end of the runway and struck a pose, as the second model came out in a stunning halterneck mermaid gown, shimmering with beads and sparkle. She was accompanied by a cute little pageboy, looking proud as punch in
his miniature waistcoat and matching tie.
‘Aw, isn’t he sweet,’ Pauline leaned across to murmur to Aimee. ‘Your cousin Jennifer’s little boy, Riley, would look gorgeous in that.’
‘I like that dress,’ Aimee whispered back, pointing up at the model who’d just emerged. She was wearing a striking gown with a red-and-white panelled bodice and red lacing down the back of the train. ‘I’ve never seen one like that before.’
Valerie, who’d clearly heard the exchange, leaned across and said to Aimee in low tones, ‘You’re a bride, not a nineteenth-century French prostitute. Red is certainly not an appropriate colour for a bridal gown. Now that’s much nicer,’ she continued, as the next bride came out in a traditional gown with a demure neckline and long, lace sleeves. ‘Very Duchess of Cambridge,’ Valerie finished approvingly.
Aimee glanced across at Pauline, who pulled a face.
‘Have you decided what’s happening about Christmas yet?’ Pauline murmured, as they watched one model after another walk the runway, showcasing the different styles and shapes.
Aimee swallowed, knowing that this was yet another conversation she didn’t want to have. Sometimes she felt as though she was constantly trying to keep everyone else happy – Jon and Valerie and Pauline – and no one ever stopped to ask what she wanted to do.
‘I’m not sure—’ Aimee began evasively.
‘Only we’d love you and Jon to come to us for Christmas lunch. Or even just a drink in the afternoon, if you can’t manage that.’
‘I know, Mum. Jon and I haven’t really decided yet and—’
‘I mean, I know you probably don’t want to be bothered with me and your dad,’ Pauline continued, as she watched a model in an off-the-shoulder A-line gown slink past. ‘But I think Charlie’s spending it with his girlfriend’ – Charlie was Aimee’s younger brother, who was studying geology at Birmingham University – ‘and it’s your last Christmas as a Nicholls, so we’d love you to spend at least part of it with us. We really want to get to know Jon better too, as we hardly ever see him.’
