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

by Jennifer Joyce

  ‘Yes.’ I grasped Jared’s hand and he gave mine a reassuring squeeze. ‘And we’d love to get married here.’

  ‘And why not? It’s such a beautiful building.’ Father Edmund reached for the packet of biscuits and tore it open. ‘We’ll go through all the boring facts and figures later, but did you have a date in mind?’ He slid a biscuit out of the packet and bit off a chunk, wafting away the crumbs that fell onto his chest.

  ‘We were thinking about next spring,’ I said. We were edging towards the end of February, so we’d have just over a year to prepare.

  ‘How lovely!’ Father Edmund returned the packet of biscuits to the tray. ‘Do help yourself. I’ll only eat them all if you don’t. They’re my favourite.’ He chuckled to himself while reaching for an iPad on a little desk to his left. He opened an app, sliding his finger across the screen. ‘Bear with me. I’m not so good with all this techno gubbins, but you have to move with the times, don’t you? Mrs March says it’s unchristian, so I gently remind her who the boss is around here. And I’m not talking about the big guy upstairs.’ Father Edmund chuckled to himself again as he continued to swipe his finger across the screen. ‘Oh. Oh dear.’ Father Edmund paused and looked up at us. ‘There don’t appear to be any dates available for next spring.’ He slid his finger across the screen a few more times and gave a sad shake of his head. ‘Or even next summer.’

  ‘What about winter?’ Winter could work. I could wear a thick red shawl and weave holly and ivy through my hair and bouquet. A festive wedding sounded lovely, actually. I should have thought about it earlier.

  ‘Nope, nothing for winter either, I’m afraid.’ Father Edmund slid the packet of biscuits across the tray towards me, and I took one. It would be rude not to. ‘We’re quite popular, you know. Ah, here we go. The next available slot is in June.’

  ‘This June?’ Panic made me spray biscuit crumbs, but we all pretended we hadn’t noticed. ‘But that’s only four months away.’ We couldn’t arrange a wedding that quickly, could we?

  Father Edmund chuckled. ‘Of course not this June.’

  ‘Next June?’ Father Edmund shook his head and I reached for another biscuit. ‘The June after that? But that’s almost two and half years away.’ A lifetime, practically. We couldn’t wait that long. What if Jared realised he could do so much better than me in the meantime and called the whole thing off? ‘Aren’t there any closer dates?’

  Father Edmund returned the iPad to the desk and clasped his hands together on his lap. ‘I’m afraid not. Why don’t you think about it for a few days and give me a call if you’d like to book?’

  I really wanted to get married at St John’s, but I didn’t want to wait so long. Disappointment made me want to cry. Instead, I reached again for the packet of chocolate hobnobs.

  Thirteen

  Ruth

  Jared slipped his hand into mine as we left St John’s, and gave it a little squeeze. ‘Should we go and see the next church? They might have a closer date.’

  I shrugged. My heart was no longer in the search for our wedding venue. I’d practically skipped into the church, but I could barely manage a shuffle on the way out. And it wasn’t just because I’d stuffed myself with consoling biscuits.

  ‘You really wanted this one, didn’t you?’

  I nodded, emitting a sad little sigh. ‘It’s perfect. What did you think?’

  ‘I liked it, particularly Father Edmund.’

  ‘Eddie.’ I managed my first smile since we’d discovered the hefty waiting list. I’d wolfed down four chocolate hobnobs, but they hadn’t made me feel any better about the situation. The next four hadn’t either. ‘I liked him too, but two and a half years is a long time to wait.’

  ‘You could look at it like that.’ As we reached the car park, Jared held up his key fob to unlock the car. ‘Or we could see it as a blessing.’

  Panic began to rise up in my chest. What was Jared saying? That he didn’t want to marry me after all, and this was his perfect get-out excuse?

  ‘Stop wobbling, Ruth. I’m not trying to get out of marrying you, you big dope.’ Jared knew me so well. ‘All I’m saying is that we could use that time to save up even more money for the wedding. We could get married here and have the reception at the golf club without worrying about the price tag.’

  I hadn’t thought of it like that, but Jared was right. We could see this as a blessing. It would give us plenty of time to plan the wedding, meaning I wouldn’t have to panic every time I glanced at my ever-expanding to-do list, and the extra time for saving would certainly come in handy. Maybe we’d even manage to scrape together some extra cash for a luxurious honeymoon, like Trina and Rory had done.

  ‘Let’s do it.’ I turned away from the car and started skipping back up towards the church. ‘Let’s book it right now.’

  Father Edmund was surprised to see us again so soon. He brushed the hobnob crumbs from his clothes as he led us back into the cosy little room. The packet of biscuits was almost empty.

  ‘We’d like to take that booking,’ Jared said once we were all seated again.

  ‘Jolly good.’ Father Edmund’s face lit up and he shook our hands in turn. ‘I enjoy nothing more than seeing a young couple in love. Let’s get this thing booked then, shall we?’

  I felt much lighter as we emerged from the church again. We now had a little more time, and the pressure had been taken off us, so I could truly enjoy the experience of planning our wedding. I couldn’t wait to tell everyone that we’d set a date, even if it was three million years in the future. We phoned our parents first, who were obviously thrilled. Mum insisted we pop over for a celebratory roast lunch the following day, and who was I to say no?

  I thought Mum had been going a bit over the top whenever she moaned about Dad’s caravan – it was a hobby for him, and better than chasing after busty women or buggering off to the pub every night, right? – until I clapped eyes on the monstrosity myself. ‘Rusty’ and ‘run-down’ didn’t even begin to describe the caravan that sat on Mum and Dad’s front lawn, ruining the grass and flowerbeds. The once white paint was bubbled and peeling, revealing orange rust and holes in the panels. The body was covered in layers of grime, and a grubby old net curtain flapped about in the breeze where a window had once been. The house prices of the entire street must have plummeted upon the arrival of this thing.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ I flung myself into Mum’s arms as soon as she opened the door. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘What is it, love?’ Mum pulled away, worry etched onto her face. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘That happened.’ I turned and pointed at the caravan. ‘It’s horrific. I thought you were being a miserable, moany old cow about it all, but you weren’t. It’s disgusting. Does he really think he can make it into a gym?’

  Mum rolled her eyes as she ushered us inside. ‘He really does, the daft old sod. He won’t be told. He’s even started bidding on gym equipment online. Where he’s going to put it in the meantime, I don’t know. I’ve told him he’s not cluttering up my dining room with it.’ Mum shook her head. ‘Hello, Jared, love. I bet you’re wondering what you’re marrying into, aren’t you?’

  Mum deposited us in the sitting room while she popped into the kitchen to check on lunch and to put the kettle on. Dad was hunched over his laptop, eagerly watching the last few minutes of a treadmill auction on eBay.

  I plonked myself on the arm of Dad’s chair. ‘You’re not seriously buying a treadmill, are you?’

  ‘Of course I am. This beauty’s a bargain. Hold on a second.’ Dad suddenly became animated, clicking and tapping away. ‘You have to wait until the very last second, you see. That way you get the best price. Drat! I’ve been outbid.’ Dad squinted at the screen. ‘By less than a bloody quid!’ Shaking his head, Dad snapped the lid of the laptop closed and put it down on the coffee table. ‘That’s the third time that’s happened this week.’

  ‘It’s the third blessing this week,’ Mum called from the kitchen. Dad grunt
ed in response.

  ‘Maybe you should finish the caravan before you start buying equipment.’ Or maybe even make a start on the project. From the look of it, he hadn’t touched it yet.

  ‘You sound just like your mother.’ Dad folded his arms across his chest like a petulant child. ‘She doesn’t believe I can pull it off. Says it’s an eyesore.’

  Mum had a point there, but I kept my gob shut. Dad was still smarting from his loss, and there was no need to kick him while he was down.

  ‘She wants me to get rid of it. Wants me to take it to a bloody scrapyard!’

  ‘Enough about that blasted caravan.’ Mum joined us with a tea tray. ‘Let’s hear the latest on the wedding. What’s the church like?’

  ‘It’s gorgeous, Mum.’ I gave a dreamy sigh as I remembered. ‘It’s a shame we have to wait two and a half years, though.’

  Mum smiled at me, not worried by the timescale at all. ‘It’ll pass quickly enough, trust me.’

  ‘You don’t have to wait, you know.’ Dad shifted the laptop over so Mum could place the tray on the table. ‘Why don’t I forget the gym for now?’

  ‘Hallelujah!’ Mum couldn’t have looked more pleased. I’d never seen her grin so wide, and her hands were thrown up in the air.

  ‘I said for now.’ Dad turned from Mum to me, so that his shoulder completely blocked Mum from his view. ‘As I was saying, I could forget the gym for now and turn the caravan into a cosy little chapel. I’m sure you can get licences for this kind of thing.’

  Taking both of Dad’s hands in mine, I hoped to convey how much his gesture meant to me. ‘That’s very sweet of you, Dad, really. But I couldn’t possibly accept.’

  ‘I don’t mind, love. I can always do up the caravan as a gym later.’

  I smiled at Dad while I figured out how to phrase my reply. ‘It’s not that. I can’t accept it because – and no offence is meant here, none at all – that caravan out there is a pile of crap.’

  Mum gave a hoot while Dad’s face fell, making me feel bad. ‘I’m sure one day it’ll be … not so crap, but I’ve set my heart on St John’s. It’s such a lovely church, and I have a good feeling about it. It’s where I want to start my married life – and, anyway, it gives us more time to save.’

  Dad puffed out his chest. ‘You don’t have to worry about money, love. That’s what me and your mum are here for. It’s tradition.’

  ‘It’s a tradition I don’t believe in.’ This was something I felt very strongly about. ‘Jared and I will be paying for our own wedding.’

  ‘Can’t we help out a little?’

  I gave Dad’s hand a pat. ‘It would really help if you could come up with an excuse not to invite Aunty Pat.’

  Dad’s sister-in-law was not a pleasant woman. She thrived on putting people down, leaving a path of misery behind her wherever she went.

  ‘If we knew how to get rid of the woman, we’d have done it a long time ago.’ Mum gave a sniff and patted her hair. ‘She told me I was going grey the other day. I mean, I know I am, I do own a mirror, but there was no need to point it out. I was hoping to grow old gracefully, but I can’t cope with Pat’s jibes so I’ve booked an appointment to have it coloured.’ Mum picked up her cup from the tray and blew on her tea. ‘But enough about that old crow. How are the rest of the wedding plans coming along?’

  ‘Not that well. I’m finding the whole process overwhelming, but there’s loads of time so it’ll all come together.’

  ‘Oh no, no, no.’ Mum shook her head with vigour. ‘Weddings don’t simply come together. They take a lot of hard work. Why don’t you go and see Trina when she comes back from her honeymoon? They’ll be back by next weekend. I’m sure she’ll give you some pointers.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit soon? Shouldn’t I give them a bit of space to, you know, do what married people do?’

  ‘Argue about the wet towels on the bathroom floor?’ Dad asked.

  Jared laughed. ‘Or about whose turn it is to do the washing up?’

  ‘That one’s easy,’ Dad said. ‘It’s always my bloody turn.’

  Mum and I glared at the men, not finding their little quips amusing or helpful. Eventually Dad and Jared admitted defeat and dropped their eyes to the carpet, their mouths firmly shut.

  ‘It’s never too soon to go and see a new bride,’ Mum said. ‘Trina will be thrilled to be able to relive the wedding. Talking about her big day will be almost as good as the actual wedding. Better, even, without all the stress.’ Mum caught my eye and gave an awkward laugh. ‘Not that it’s very stressful.’

  No, of course it’s not.

  Fourteen

  Trina

  The fasten seatbelt sign pinged, earning a sigh of relief from Trina. She couldn’t wait to land, to pick up her luggage (okay, maybe she wasn’t looking forward to that part so much) and go home. She was exhausted – and not just because of the travelling. The last few days of her honeymoon had been action-packed, with snorkelling (and this time it wasn’t an ill-fated trip), boat rides to see dolphins, walks along the beach and swimming in the beautiful, clear sea. Trina had been windsurfing, quad biking and had attempted to learn to surf. Her body ached, but she’d had such a fantastic time that it was more than worth it. Who would have thought that her honeymoon would turn out to be quite so fabulous?

  She fastened her seatbelt before giving Rory a dig in the ribs. His snore turned into a snuffle but he didn’t stir. Trina tried again.

  ‘Ow. What’s your problem?’ Rory glared at Trina through one open eye. The other remained closed, ready to drop back to sleep.

  ‘Seatbelt.’ She pointed at the lit-up sign above them. ‘We’ll be landing soon.’

  Rory grunted. He fastened his seatbelt before settling back down again. He was snoring again within seconds.

  Yes, Trina’s honeymoon had been fabulous. It was a pity that Rory hadn’t been part of it, though. He’d spent their honeymoon dozing beneath a tree with his factor fifty and bottled water. His sunburn had faded, but Rory was still determined to snooze their honeymoon away. So Trina had taken matters into her own hands and left him in the shade. Literally. She’d had a wonderful time, but now she needed a good cup of tea and time to recuperate.

  ‘Thank you for flying with us. Have a good day.’

  Trina shuffled off the plane, nodding in acknowledgement to the cabin crew. Rory strode ahead of her, more awake than he’d been since they’d taken off from England. He was fiddling with his phone, eager to catch up with the work he’d missed while they were on honeymoon.

  ‘Can’t that wait?’ Trina cantered after him, dragging her small wheeled suitcase behind her. ‘I’m sure they’ll cope without you until tomorrow.’

  Rory shot her a withering look. ‘I’ve missed out on far too much already. I’d been hoping to keep up to date while we were away, but the Wi-Fi at the hotel was terrible. My Trip Advisor rating will reflect that.’

  ‘We haven’t even picked up our luggage yet,’ Trina gasped as she galloped along next to her husband. ‘I thought we could spend a bit of time together before you started back at work.’

  ‘We’ve spent plenty of time together. What do you think the honeymoon was for?’

  Trina honestly didn’t know. She’d been hoping it would be romantic and passion-filled, but it had seemed that Rory only felt passionately about sleep. They’d eaten breakfast together before going their separate ways, Rory to his shade and Trina to whatever activity she fancied. They’d only met up again in the evenings to eat in the hotel’s restaurant. Rory had spent more time with his sun lotion than he had with her.

  ‘Can we at least slow down?’ Trina stopped, grabbing her side as a stitch took hold. A couple grumbled as they were forced to go around her. ‘Rory, wait!’

  Rory turned with a heavy sigh. ‘Come on, babe. Don’t you want to go home?’

  Trina did. Very much. Today would be the real start of their married life as they set up home in the Hamilton-Wraiths’ annexe. The honeymoon had been a practice
– however unsuccessful – but now their lives together could truly begin.

  Trina set off again, trundling after Rory as he made his way to baggage claim. With their suitcases loaded on a trolley, they made their way to the exit. Trina turned to head for the taxi rank while Rory veered the other way. All became clear as Carrington flew towards her brother, flinging her arms around him.

  ‘Welcome home!’ Carrington released her brother and held him at arm’s length. ‘Look at you. Where’s your tan? Don’t tell me you spent the whole time in bed!’ Carrington placed a hand on her hip, observing Rory with mock indignation. ‘Come along. Ginny’s waiting in the car.’

  At no point did Carrington address, or even glance at, Trina. She didn’t comment on her tan (which Trina actually had. She was golden and glowing) or offer any sort of welcome. Turning with a swish of her sleek ponytail, Carrington marched off towards the exit.

  ‘I didn’t know Carrington was picking us up,’ Trina whispered as they scurried after her. She was smarting after being snubbed by her sister-in-law, but she knew better than to bring it up in front of Rory. He was fiercely protective of his younger sister and Trina knew she wouldn’t come out on top should she push it.

  ‘Mother arranged it.’ Rory attempted to manoeuvre the luggage trolley while checking his phone, growling with frustration when it proved unsuccessful. ‘She didn’t want us taking a cab.’

  Gosh, no. Winnie wouldn’t want her son slumming it, thought Trina.

  They made their way across the car park, where Carrington’s car waited to transport them to their new, temporary home. She slipped onto the cool leather seat while Rory and Trina lugged the suitcases into the boot.