A Beginner's Guide To Saying I Do: A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

by Jennifer Joyce

  ‘Rory, darling?’

  ‘What now?’

  Trina tore her eyes away from the pool. Should she ask? Yes, she should. This was her honeymoon too, and she should be able to enjoy it. ‘Would you mind if I went for a little swim? I won’t be far away and I’ll only stay in the pool for a few minutes. I’ll be back before you know it.’

  Rory waved his hand. ‘Do what you want. I’m going to have a sleep.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Trina’s question was met by a snuffle, which she took as confirmation. Whipping off her sarong and flip-flops, Trina burst forth from the shade and joined the revellers. She wouldn’t be long. Ten minutes, tops. Being on their honeymoon didn’t mean that she and Rory had to spend every single second clamped together. There would be plenty of time to do romantic things together later.

  Eleven

  Ruth

  ‘Have we got everything?’ Jared paused in the doorway of the flat, patting his pockets to check he had his car keys. The pocket of his jeans made a reassuring jingle.

  ‘I’ve got the list of venues.’ I held up the notebook I’d purchased specifically. It had a pale pink cover made from the softest leather with a heart embossed on the front. So far it contained an extensive list of venues within the Greater Manchester area, whittled down to a shortlist of ten, plus a page dedicated to practice runs of my soon-to-be new name and signature. Ruth Williams. R. Williams. Mrs Ruth Williams.

  ‘Where is it we’re going first?’ Jared asked as he started the engine.

  I paused in my doodling of ‘Jared’s wife’ in the practice run page of the notebook and consulted my list, though I knew it off by heart by now. I’d mapped out our itinerary for the day and had studied it seriously. ‘Woodgate Registry Office. They’re expecting us in twenty minutes so we’d better get going. I was speaking to my mum, and she said we had to be quick before everything gets booked up.’

  ‘There’s no rush though, is there?’ Slowly, Jared pulled away from the kerb, as though demonstrating his relaxed state through the medium of his vehicle. ‘Not if we’re planning on next spring. That’s still what you want, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, spring will be lovely for a wedding. Why? Have you changed your mind?’

  Jared made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a splutter. ‘Of course I haven’t changed my mind. You know I want to marry you.’

  ‘I meant about spring.’ Oh God. Had he changed his mind about the wedding? Did he want to postpone it? Or break it off completely? Perhaps he’d changed his mind about me in general. Oh God, he was going to dump me on the way to the registry office!

  ‘Ruth, are you having an internal wobble?’

  ‘Yes.’ I could barely breathe. ‘How can you tell?’ Wheeze, wheeze, wheeze.

  ‘Just a hunch.’ Jared smiled at me. ‘You need to relax. We’re going to get married and live happily ever after, remember. That’s a good thing.’

  It certainly was, if only I could put my wobbles aside. I’d have to ask Mum if it was normal for brides-to-be to regularly imagine they were being jilted. Jared had declined my offer of porridge that morning, saying he was fed up of the bumper pack we’d been working through. I took the normal, ‘we’ve been eating porridge for days on end’ reply to symbolise our relationship. I suddenly became the porridge in Jared’s life that he was fed up of, and instantly panicked. I hadn’t been able to eat the porridge either after that, and now I was starving. Why couldn’t I put aside the idea that I wasn’t good enough for Jared and enjoy these moments?

  The registry office was a red-bricked Victorian structure with steps leading up to a pretty columned porch decorated with large planters of early spring flowers, which would make a fantastic setting for photos.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked as we climbed out of the car and gazed up at the building.

  Jared nodded his head. ‘It’s lovely.’

  ‘It’s really nice, isn’t it?’ I dug my notebook and pen out of my bag and scribbled a few notes. ‘Shall we go inside?’

  We made our way up the steps, pulling open the heavy oak doors that were framed by hanging baskets. I imagined myself emerging from the building as Jared’s wife, pausing for photos on the steps. The thought sent a delicious tingle up my spine. We were met in the reception area by a solid woman in a navy trouser suit, a clipboard tucked under one arm. She wore her glasses perched on top of her greying curls, and her red lipstick was a couple of shades too bright for her skin tone.

  ‘I’m Barbara Vincent and I’ll be giving you a tour of the building this afternoon.’ Her voice was monotone, and she gave a heavy sigh as though she would rather be anywhere else in the world than greeting yet another loved-up couple. Opening the clipboard, she plucked out a handful of pamphlets and handed them to me. ‘You should find everything you need in these, but if you have any questions, please ask.’ She gave a nod and turned to the huge stone staircase behind us. ‘Most of the rooms are upstairs, but if you’d like to take photos here, that would be fine. Confetti isn’t allowed within the building, however.’

  The wide staircase was flooded by natural light from the multitude of windows and it was quite pretty with a chunky, polished oak handrail entwined with foliage.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Jared said.

  I nodded. ‘Really nice.’

  With another nod, Barbara led the way up the steps. There were about a hundred of them and I was gasping for breath by the time we reached the first floor. That wouldn’t be very romantic on the actual day. Perhaps I could have a little break once I reached the top to get my breath back in order to say my vows without sounding like Darth Vader.

  ‘We have three differently sized rooms to choose from, priced accordingly. All costs are in the pamphlet.’ Barbara nodded at the stack in my hand. ‘How many guests are you expecting?’

  Jared and I glanced at one another and gave small shrugs.

  ‘We haven’t really talked about it,’ I admitted. ‘But pretty small. Close friends and family, really.’

  ‘You may be better with our Rose Suite.’ Barbara paused in front of a door, turning to us before she swung it open. ‘It’s our middle-sized room and the most popular.’ She swept into the room, and Jared and I followed.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Jared said, taking in the simple but perfectly acceptable room.

  ‘Really nice.’ What else could I say about a bland room filled with nothing but rows of red-cushioned seats and a heavy desk? Barbara stood against the back wall while Jared and I paced the room. She was hardly selling the place.

  ‘We also have the Owen Suite, which I will show you in a moment. It’s our more basic room and seats up to six people only. No exceptions.’ Barbara swept out of the room and we scuttled behind her. ‘Down in the basement we have our newly refurbished ballroom – the Lavender Suite – which seats up to two hundred guests. We can provide wedding packages with the Lavender Suite, which include a hot meal and a DJ. Have I given you the pamphlet for that?’

  I fanned out the pamphlets, sure it was in there somewhere – I had about a million of the things.

  ‘What do you think?’ Barbara pushed open the door of the Owen Suite and led us inside.

  ‘It’s, um, lovely.’ The room was little more than a broom cupboard, but Jared was too polite to say.

  I squashed myself against the tiny desk so that Jared could get more than his toes over the threshold. ‘Yeah, really nice.’

  ‘But perhaps too small for us?’ Jared backed out of the room, sucking in a glorious lungful of air now he was out in the open again.

  ‘I’ll take you down to the Lavender Suite so you can see what you think about that.’ Barbara closed the door to the Owen Suite and led us back down the stone staircase in silence, the only sound the tapping of her heels. We made our way down a second staircase to the Lavender Suite, which was a large room with a bar set up in one corner and room for a DJ in another. The room could be set up for the ceremony before being transformed for the reception afterward
s. The décor was simple but tasteful, and the colour scheme could be adapted to suit our needs.

  ‘Whichever room you choose, you’ll need to provisionally book and we can hold the date for up to fourteen days. Payment is required before a final booking can be made. You can book up to two years in advance. All the information is in the pamphlet.’

  I scanned the pile in my hands, discovering one dedicated to the Lavender Suite. I took a quick glance but soon closed it when I spotted the price list.

  Blimey. Had Will and Kate paid that much for their wedding?

  ‘Do you have any questions?’ Barbara looked relieved when we both shook our heads, and she happily led us back up to the exit.

  ‘What did you think?’ Jared asked once we were safely back in the car.

  I popped the pamphlets between the pages of my notebook. ‘It was lovely. Really nice.’

  ‘But not for us?’

  ‘Not if Babs is going to perform the ceremony. She was a bit …’ I struggled to find the words to describe our tour guide.

  ‘Dull? Miserable? Couldn’t be less happy in her job if she tried?’

  I caught Jared’s eye and couldn’t help the corners of my lips twitching. ‘I was going to say lovely. Really nice.’

  Next up was Westbridge Golf Club. From the research I’d already done, I knew, the wedding packages would be a little pricey, but I was sure it would be worth it as we drove along a long, tree-lined road to the main building.

  ‘Hi there. You must be Jared and Ruth?’ A young woman in smart black trousers and a white blouse bounced towards us, her long blonde ponytail swishing. ‘I’m Cerys. It’s so lovely to meet you.’ Cerys held out her hand, shaking Jared’s hand and then mine before she led us inside, chatting as she went. We were led into the breakfast room, which was bright and airy, the tables set with white tablecloths and white chair covers. ‘If you have a particular colour scheme, just let us know beforehand and we can accommodate that for you.’ I opened my notebook and added ‘colour scheme?’ to my long to-do list. ‘We have several options for breakfast. All menus should be finalised at least six weeks before the big day. Did you have a date in mind?’

  ‘We were thinking next spring,’ I replied.

  ‘Lovely. The grounds are absolutely beautiful during the spring.’ Cerys led us further into the room, pointing out the little details, such as the choice of candles for the tables and flower arrangements. We followed Cerys out of the breakfast room and into a long, narrow room lined with chairs. At the end of the room was a table wrapped in a white tablecloth and tied with a green bow to match the chairs. It looked like a giant present.

  ‘Again, the colour scheme can be changed to suit your needs. We’re fully licensed to carry out civil marriages and afterwards you’ll be permitted full use of the Darlington Suite until midnight. Shall I take you through?’

  The Darlington Suite was a large function room, fully equipped with a bar and a little stage that could accommodate a DJ or band.

  ‘There are a few catering options, but the finger buffet is particularly popular,’ Cerys told us as we wandered around the room. ‘I’ll give you a wedding pack with all the information on the way out, but if you have any questions, please do get in touch.’

  In the car, Jared and I discussed the golf club. We both really liked the venue, but couldn’t deny it was a little out of our price range, which was a shame.

  I consulted our itinerary. We had just over an hour before we were due at our next venue. ‘Shall we stop for some lunch before we go to the next one?’ My stomach grumbled loudly, angry at the lack of porridge that morning.

  ‘Sure. Where are we off to next?’

  ‘Burton Inn. It’s a hotel and restaurant. The website looks fantastic.’ I had a good feeling about Burton Inn. ‘I think this one could be it.’

  Twelve

  Ruth

  Burton Inn was not it. The building was small and shabby with peeling paintwork, crumbling plaster and threadbare carpets. One room had a suspicious yellow stain in one corner that I tried not to focus on. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised to learn the inn was rat-infested by the state of the dining room – if two tables squeezed into a large walk-in cupboard could be described as a dining room at all. There were crumbs all over the floor and a half-eaten bowl of cornflakes congealing on one of the tables, despite it now being after lunchtime. It looked like it should be featured on The Hotel Inspector.

  The landlord and so-called hotelier wasn’t much better than his establishment. He was greasy-haired and wearing a pair of tatty jeans and a T-shirt that had seen better days and his grey pallor and dark-rimmed eyes didn’t instil confidence that he would prove to be a good host. He couldn’t have been less interested in our big day if he’d tried. He shuffled around his dirty premises in a pair of holey slippers, not bothering to introduce himself beforehand, mumbling about fees and bar tabs, pausing every now and then to scratch his arse or crotch.

  ‘That’s about it. Let us know then, yeah?’ Tour finished, the landlord – we still didn’t know his name – stuck out his hand for Jared to shake. Having seen the man’s fingers wedged up his crack and shuffling around his bollocks, Jared flinched away and we scurried back to the car.

  The next venue was more promising (let’s face it, it couldn’t have been much worse than Burton Inn). The Bridgewater was a sizeable hotel in town and, while it wasn’t quite high-end, it was clean with friendly, approachable staff. The price per head was a little steep, but if it was a choice between Ratsville Hotel and this, we’d just have to tighten our belts a bit.

  ‘We aren’t licensed to hold wedding ceremonies,’ the manager – Geoffrey, who was freshly shaven and didn’t scratch himself at intervals – told us. ‘So you would have to find a separate venue for the actual wedding.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Jared said as I scribbled down some notes. We had a few churches to see that afternoon, and there was always the registry office, which didn’t seem quite so bland after witnessing the horrors of Ratsville. ‘We’ll be in touch to book when we have a date.’

  Jared and I made our way out of the hotel and climbed into the car.

  ‘What did you think?’ I asked as I pulled the seatbelt across my chest.

  ‘It was great. Much better than Burton Inn.’

  ‘So much better than Burton Inn.’ I gave a sigh of relief, happy that we’d actually found somewhere half-decent and pretty much affordable. ‘It’s a bit expensive, but doable, right?’

  Jared nodded. ‘I think so. We’ll have to cut back and save as much as we can, though.’

  ‘It’ll be worth it.’ I clapped my hands, unable to keep the grin from my face. ‘Is that it, then? Have we found our venue?’

  ‘I think so.’ Jared started the engine. ‘But first we have to find somewhere to become husband and wife. Where to next?’

  We visited a church that wasn’t too bad. It was clean enough, but it wasn’t very pretty, and it was a bit cold and damp inside. Plus, the vicar had a whiff of cheese and onion crisps about him. I have nothing against cheese and onion crisps – it’s a fine flavour – but I didn’t want the smell lingering over me as I took my vows.

  But the second church was perfect. The building was quite imposing: it was large and built in a gothic style, but it had lots of pretty arched windows and a set of huge, heavy wooden doors that I could picture myself walking through to become Mrs Williams. The churchyard consisted of well-maintained lawns with tall oak trees and smaller silver birches that would make the perfect setting for photos. There were stone steps at the churchyard’s entrance, which led to a pretty wooden lych-gate that would also make a beautiful setting for photos. I could picture us as newlyweds, standing underneath the arch, our guests in the background.

  ‘First impressions?’ Jared asked as we made our way towards the heavy doors.

  ‘I adore it.’

  This was it, I was sure. I had such a good feeling about this church and knew this would be the place where we
took our vows. The feeling intensified when we stepped inside. The interior of the church was just as impressive, and was warm with lots of natural light flooding in from the arched windows. The pews were beautifully polished and I could picture them packed with our loved ones.

  ‘Hi there,’ a booming voice called out. A short, round man strode towards us, giving a cheery wave. ‘I’m Father Edmund, but please call me Eddie. Everybody does. Apart from my mother, who always insisted on using my full name. She said if she wanted a son called Eddie, she’d have put that on the birth certificate. But she’s dead now, so don’t worry about offending the old girl.’ Father Edmund chuckled before sticking his hand out for us to shake.

  ‘I’m Jared.’

  Father Edmund pumped Jared’s hand before turning to me, almost crushing my hand with his enthusiasm.

  ‘And I’m Ruth.’

  ‘Do you prefer Ruth or Roo?’ He winked at me before leading the way to a room at the back of the church that was furnished with fat sofas and worn, but cosy, scatter cushions. ‘Would you like some tea? Coffee, perhaps?’

  ‘Coffee would be good, thanks.’ I sank into one of the sofas and it almost swallowed me whole.

  ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on and then we can have a chat.’ Father Edmund left us, whistling a merry tune. He returned a few minutes later with a tray laden with tea and coffee and a whole packet of chocolate hobnobs.

  I liked this man.

  ‘I usually have a lady to help with this kind of thing, but I sent her home early. She’s useful, Mrs March, but she does go on a bit at times. I wasn’t in the mood for hearing about her rheumatic knee today, so I sent her home to rest it. She wanted to stay, of course, being a bit of martyr, but I insisted.’ Father Edmund set the tray down on the coffee table and threw himself onto the opposite sofa, flinging one leg over to rest on his knee. ‘So then. You want to get spliced?’