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

by Jennifer Joyce

  Twenty-Five

  Trina

  The highlight of Trina’s day so far had been sifting through the mail that had landed on the mat mid-morning. Amongst the bills, unsolicited credit card applications and takeaway menus was a postcard from her mother, who was still enjoying a Caribbean cruise with her latest beau. Dumping Rory’s mail on the little table in the hall, Trina had turned the postcard over to read the message.

  Hello, darling! You probably won’t even read this as you will be far too busy consummating your marriage to that GORGEOUS new husband of yours (which is how it should be!!!) but I thought I would scribble a quick note to let you know I am well and will see you soon. Yuri sends his love.

  Your loving (and super-tanned!) mother xxx

  Trina had shoved the postcard on the mantelpiece, her cheeks burning as she realised there was a high possibility that the postman had read it before he’d popped it through the letterbox. Gloria may have had no problem flaunting herself and her sexual needs, but Trina was much more discreet and private.

  And also – who the hell was Yuri? Hadn’t her mother sailed away with a banker called Barry? Shoving her boots on and grabbing her handbag, Trina had left the annexe and climbed into her car. Being cooped up was driving her mad.

  ‘Have you thought about going back to work?’ Trina, with nowhere to go in the middle of the day, found herself in Aidan’s chair, her freshly washed hair hanging around her shoulders. She hadn’t planned on having an actual cut – a cup of tea and a sympathetic ear would have done – but her friend had managed to squeeze her in, and her hair had taken a beating in the hot sun during her so-called honeymoon.

  ‘I’d love to go back to work, but you know what Rory’s like.’ Trina met Aidan’s eye in the mirror and pulled a face. ‘They’re a very traditional family. Husband goes out to work while wifey stays at home, going out of her mind with boredom. Winnie’s trying to persuade me to join one of her committees, but I’d rather boil my own head in dog wee than hang out with her snooty friends.’

  Aidan paused, his scissors in mid-air. ‘Didn’t you grow up around your mum’s snooty friends?’

  ‘Exactly!’ Trina didn’t want her life to revolve around lunches and designer handbags. There was more to her than that. Besides, she’d loved her job (or ‘little job’ as Winnie referred to it). She’d worked as a dog groomer since she’d left school and she missed the dogs – and their owners – terribly.

  Perhaps it was why she and Aidan got on so well; he styled humans while she styled their pets.

  ‘Have you spoken to Rory about all this? Since the wedding, I mean?’

  ‘Not really.’ Trina had barely spoken to Rory about anything since the wedding. He was usually too busy with work and she’d been sulking since the whole Blue Llama mix up and the subsequent row once he’d returned.

  ‘But you said you didn’t want to go. You never said anything about me,’ Rory had pointed out. Which, while technically true, didn’t make it right. But although she’d been fuming that he’d gone off to stuff his face with posh food after she’d slaved away at Mrs Timmons’s recipe, Trina had tried to remain cool. This coolness, however, soon vanished once it became clear that Rory didn’t give a toss that she’d made an effort to please him, to get their marriage securely on the right track. He didn’t seem to realise their marriage had veered from the track at all, even once all of Trina’s grievances, worries and fears poured out. She hadn’t uttered more than a handful of words to him since. Not that Rory had noticed. Or cared, Trina suspected.

  ‘Why don’t you talk to him, then? Tell him how you feel.’ Aidan resumed his snipping. ‘He’ll want you to be happy, won’t he?’

  Trina wasn’t so sure about that, but she promised to talk to him anyway.

  It was two days after her haircut – which Rory had failed to notice – before Trina had the chance to chat to him about returning to work. Rory had been incredibly preoccupied with work – even more so than usual – and hadn’t got home from the office until way after midnight, leaving again shortly after six. Rory worked for the family’s business, which operated a hugely successful chain of betting shops across the UK, with Rory steering the online side. Trina had known Rory worked hard before they got married, but she wasn’t prepared for these extreme levels. But Rory was forced to take time off from work at the weekend when Winnie insisted he and Trina join the family for dinner. It was Carrington’s birthday so Winnie was hosting an intimate dinner party at the house. Carrington had been most put out that her birthday hadn’t warranted a more elaborate venue, but she kept her sulking to a minimum (i.e. she only slammed three doors, stamped up one flight of stairs, and delayed confirming the evening’s menu until the day before). Although it was supposed to be a family dinner, she’d managed to wrangle an invite for Ginny (who was practically part of the family anyway and had known them all far longer than Trina had, and she was invited, Carrington had whined).

  The dinner was to take part in the Hamilton-Wraiths’ grand dining room. Although Mrs Timmons had cooked, Winnie had hired a couple of waiters for the occasion. Trina was seated between Rory and Ginny, who had so far insisted on conducting a conversation between themselves as though Trina wasn’t there at all. She felt completely out of place and unwelcome, especially as Carrington was shooting daggers at her from across the table. Stuck between her parents, Carrington felt she was missing out on the fun at the other side of the table. At either end of the long table sat Rory’s regal-looking grandmother and grandpa, who were visiting from Cyprus, where they had retired several years before. They hadn’t made it to the wedding, but had flown over to wish their granddaughter a happy birthday. And yet Carrington still wasn’t grateful.

  ‘So, Katrina. What do you do, dear?’ It was the first time Cecilia – or Grandmother, as she insisted on being addressed – had spoken to Trina.

  ‘I’m a dog groomer.’ Or used to be. Now she was a bored layabout who’d spent far too much time in the company of Phil, Holly and the gaggle of loose women on the telly.

  Carrington unsuccessfully muffled a giggle with her hand. ‘I think Grandmother meant what do you do with your spare time? Committees and things. Like Mother.’

  Because why on earth would Trina work for a living when she had a husband? ‘I’m not on any committees. I’m thinking about going back to work. I know Rory isn’t keen, but I feel so useless at home. It isn’t like we have children for me to look after.’ Trina gave Rory a sideways glance. He didn’t look too impressed with the idea – his lips were pursed like a cat’s arse. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think this is something we should have discussed in private.’

  Yep, Rory was mad. Really mad, judging by the vein attempting to vacate his skull at his hairline.

  ‘You’re a dog groomer?’ Grandmother had been too shocked to speak until now, but all heads turned towards her as she spat out the question. She spoke as though Trina had announced she wrestled in dog poop for sport.

  ‘Yes. A dog groomer.’ Trina lifted her chin. She’d adored her job, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be belittled by this snobby little woman who had probably never worked a day in her life.

  ‘But her father is chief executive of Elswood Spas.’ Winnie was quick to jump to Trina’s defence – or, rather, to defend her son’s choice of wife.

  ‘Elswood?’ Grandmother looked suitably impressed. Elswood Spas was a worldwide chain of luxury spas and hotels. ‘How delightful.’ Grandmother twitched her lips in an attempt at a smile in Trina’s direction. She couldn’t quite forgive the rather unsavoury dog-grooming business. ‘We have an Elswood not far from our Florida villa.’

  Trina wasn’t sure what to say to that. Should she congratulate the woman? Or perhaps offer her a family discount? Luckily, their first course arrived and the conversation moved on.

  ‘Did you have to embarrass me like that in front of Grandmother and Grandpa?’ Rory leaned in towards Trina to hiss his question. ‘What will they think of us now
? We should have discussed this in private.’

  ‘I tried.’ Trina’s voice was pathetically weak. ‘But you’re always working. I didn’t get the chance.’

  ‘I work so many hours so you don’t have to.’

  ‘But I want to. I’m so bored at home. What do you expect me to do? Hang out with your mother’s snobby friends?’

  ‘Why not? Maybe you’d learn a thing or two from them.’

  Trina gaped at her husband. What was that supposed to mean? But she didn’t get the chance to ask as Grandmother called for her grandson’s attention.

  ‘Your mother has just told me that you’re off to New York tomorrow. I believe your Aunt Beatrice still has an apartment in SoHo. You should get in touch with her. It would be so much cosier than staying in a hotel. Unless, of course, you’re planning to stay at an Elswood.’ Grandmother smiled indulgently at Rory. Trina glared at him.

  New York? Tomorrow? Why was Trina only hearing about this now?

  Rory was going to New York and he’d left it until the night before to let Trina know. Or, rather, he’d left it to his grandmother to spill the beans the night before. When Rory would have divulged his plans if it had been left to him was anybody’s guess. As he packed his bags? Or via a quick last-minute text as the plane taxied along the runway?

  ‘Of course I was going to tell you.’

  Trina had waited until they were safely out of earshot in the annexe before she aired her grievances. Rory liked to conduct their conversations in private, after all.

  ‘But it was all very last-minute. I didn’t find out myself until this morning.’

  Which was fair enough, until you factored his mother in. ‘Why couldn’t you tell me when you told your mum?’ Or even before. No – what a crazy idea that was!

  Rory kicked off his shoes, letting them fall to the bedroom floor with a thud. ‘I saw her this afternoon. She was in town, so we met for lunch and it came up. By the time I got home, we were in a rush to get to Carrie’s dinner.’ He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt before peeling it over his head and discarding it onto the floor with his shoes. Trina had almost forgotten how sculpted her husband’s body was. They hadn’t had sex since their honeymoon, before Rory burned himself to a crisp and rendered all movement agonising. They shouldn’t be fighting over a trip to New York – they should be taking her mother’s advice and consummating their marriage. Repeatedly. Isn’t that what newlyweds did? Their marriage had got off completely on the wrong foot and it seemed like an uphill battle every single day, but it didn’t have to be that way.

  ‘I’m sorry, okay?’ Trina unfurled herself from the bed, where she’d slumped on their arrival back at the annexe. ‘It was just a shock.’ She placed her hands on her husband’s bare chest. Forget New York. Right now she didn’t care if Rory was about to take off for Timbuktu. They’d just have to make the most of the few hours they had left.

  ‘It’s all right, babe. I should have told you earlier, but it’s been so hectic.’ Rory twirled a stray curl around his index finger. It was the most contact they’d had since the sunburn incident. ‘But things will get better, I promise. I’ll take some time off work after New York and we can start looking for a house of our own.’

  ‘Really?’ The annexe had always been a temporary measure, but he hadn’t made so much as a murmur about moving into their own place since the wedding.

  Rory cupped Trina’s chin in his hand, lowering his face until they were nose to nose. ‘Really. I love you, Trina. You know that, right?’

  Trina forgot about New York and the crushing disappointment her marriage had been so far. Rory loved her, as he went on to prove with toe-curling gusto. Everything would be fine. Better than fine. They would find somewhere perfect to live, somewhere of their own where Trina wasn’t living under his mother’s shadow. They would live happily ever after.

  ‘Do you know what would be so romantic?’ Trina snuggled into Rory as he began to drift off to sleep. ‘If I came to New York with you. I could try to get a flight in the morning and we could have a second honeymoon.’ It would go some way to make up for the first. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Sorry, babe,’ Rory said through a yawn. ‘I’ll be working all hours. It won’t be a holiday.’

  ‘You’ll have the evenings, though. I could keep myself busy during the day and then we could have dinner together.’

  ‘I doubt I’ll even have much time for dinner.’ Rory rolled away. ‘I need to get to sleep now. I have to be up at four.’

  So that was that. Rory would be going to New York – alone – and Trina would do what she did best: sit in the annexe and wait for him to return.

  Twenty-Six

  Ruth

  I tapped away at my keyboard, filling my Word document with random patterns of letters until Kelvin’s bulk disappeared from view. Once I was alone, I gave up the pretence of work and switched over to one of my bookmarked wedding blogs. I was busy researching handmade favours, which basically meant weeding out the easy-looking ones to have a go at. I did try Pinterest for a bit of inspiration, but the whole experience left me feeling wholly inadequate and I closed it down in a bit of a huff.

  ‘Oh, hello.’ Spotting a possible winner, I reached into my handbag and pulled out my wedding notebook, grabbing a pen from the pot on my desk and taking the lid off with my teeth. I scribbled down ‘personalised fortune cookies?’ before scrolling down past the photo. This could be a fantastic idea. I could really have some fun with this one. Imagine my dad’s face when he pulled out his fortune that told him any continued DIY attempts could lead to divorce. Or Theo’s telling him his doo-dah would fall off if he didn’t temper his slutty ways.

  ‘Oh.’

  There was a recipe for the cookies. I’d have to bake them myself? I’d presumed I could buy a load of empty cookies and slot some printed-out fortunes inside. This looked like far too much hard work. Yep, further investigation revealed this was far beyond my capabilities. I couldn’t bake fortune cookies – I couldn’t even manage chocolate chip cookies

  It was back to square one then. I returned to the blog and scrolled to the next project. Personalised jars of homemade jam? Not happening. Wooden hearts engraved with our guests’ names? Yeah, right. Jog on handmade soap and bath bombs.

  Ah, this was more like it. Cupcakes topped with pale yellow icing and finished with a Love Heart sweet, just like Casey had shown me at the wedding fair. Perfect! Even I could bake cupcakes. Children baked cupcakes with their grannies on rainy Sunday afternoons. Satisfied with my discovery, I made a note and printed off the recipe, tucking it into my notebook before opening my email to let Jared know the good news. I had just finished my email and was seriously considering doing some actual work when a new email came through. I assumed it would be a reply from Jared, congratulating me on a successful morning, but it was from Stuart from Accounts. Apparently he was back from his honeymoon and wanted to thank everyone for the card and gift voucher. He and his new wife – Bex, it transpired – were touched. He’d attached a photo of the pair, grinning at the camera in their wedding finery. A few weeks ago, that photo would have made me homicidally jealous, but now it only reminded me that I’d be walking down the aisle very soon myself. Plus, their wedding was over and done with, while mine was still on the horizon, tantalising and exciting, rather than dead and buried. In your face, Stuart and Bex!

  I was determined to leave all thoughts of weddings at the door of the church hall as I attended my weekly yoga class. I hadn’t realised how exhausting planning a wedding would be, and I had a constant ache between my shoulder blades from the moment I woke up (thinking about the wedding) until I dropped off to sleep (dreaming of the wedding).

  Yoga was my chance to relax, which meant I had to push aside all thoughts of nuptials for the next hour.

  Ha! Fat chance.

  ‘Hi Ruth,’ Mary said as I joined her, unrolling my mat next to hers. ‘How are the wedding plans coming along?’

  ‘Good, thanks.’ I ro
lled my shoulders to ease the ache. ‘There’s a lot to do but I’m getting there.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ Mary grabbed her right foot with her left hand to stretch her muscles. ‘My Eric got married last year. It’s his third go, bless him. I’d have given up after his second wife – awful woman – but my Eric isn’t a quitter.’ Mary dropped her foot and switched sides. ‘She’s lovely, though, this new one. She’s a nurse. She was ever so good when I injured my knee that time.’

  A few months earlier, Mary had taken part in a 5k run to raise money for charity. She’d twisted her knee after two kilometres, but had persevered and finished the run. Her knee had turned purple and was the size of a beach ball by the time she crossed the finishing line. Mary was incredible – like Supergirl but all grown up and a little bit wrinkly.

  ‘His second wife didn’t work at all. Claimed she had a bad back. Probably because she spent all day lying on it with her legs in the air, servicing any man who’d have her while my Eric was hard at work.’

  ‘She cheated on him?’

  Mary spluttered. ‘Cheated? I’m surprised she didn’t give him gonorrhoea, the way she got through men. I always knew she was a bad ’un but my Eric is too trusting. Mind you, that trust disappeared when he found her going at it with the butcher from three doors down. My Eric hasn’t been able to stomach steak since.’

  ‘Right.’ What else was there to say to that? Thankfully Greg arrived and the conversation came to an end.

  ‘Good evening, everyone.’ Greg attempted to wave with the hand holding the CD player. ‘I’m afraid it’s just me tonight. Nell isn’t feeling too good.’ He placed the CD player and his mat at the front of the hall and mimed rubbing a small bump at his abdomen. ‘She’s been feeling quite queasy for the past few days.’

  ‘I completely understand,’ Mary said. ‘I spent the first six months with my head down the toilet bowl when I was in the family way with my Eric. My husband thought I’d contracted some horrible disease and called the doctor out five times in two days. In the end, the doctor refused to make any more home visits, even when I was in labour and the baby got stuck.’