If We're Not Married by Thirty

by Anna Bell

  ‘If I promise to watch it, will you give me the ring?’

  ‘And you’ve also got to promise you’ll call me anything but nice?’

  ‘OK. Danny Whittaker, or should I say Adonis, as you’re the hottest man on the planet . . .’

  ‘That’s a bit better. Although I don’t know if Adonis is really me – I don’t think my abs are really up to that.’

  ‘Just put that bloody ring on my finger before I change my mind.’

  Danny does as he’s told. Obedience is a key requirement in marriage – I’ve seen Kerry and Jim in action over the years.

  Getting the ring on is a bit of a squeeze but it just goes over my knuckle, even if it is in slight danger of cutting off my circulation.

  We both stare at the tiny ring and take in the symbolism of it.

  I’m getting married.

  Scratch that.

  We’re getting married.

  My heart could burst. The fact that I’m the sexiest woman on the planet might be up for dispute, but there’s no question that I am the happiest. Danny kisses me and it only confirms this is the right thing to do.

  ‘Holy shit,’ I say, looking up at him.

  ‘I know. Now we’ve just got to work out how to do it.’

  ‘How to do what?’ I say, absentmindedly wondering how quickly your finger can drop off through lack of blood supply.

  ‘The wedding.’

  ‘Oh, God. The wedding,’ I say, thinking back to my sister’s overly elaborate do. It was spectacular and wonderful but it isn’t what I’d like. It cost thousands and that was over ten years ago. Things have moved on and are even more elaborate now.

  ‘My mum’s going to be a nightmare.’

  She loved Kerry’s wedding. The planning. The hen do. The run-up to the big day. It was as if she’d found her true vocation.

  ‘Can you imagine mine?’ he says, wincing.

  Danny’s mum Hazel is lovely, but she’s bat-shit crazy. Goodness knows what ideas she’d have.

  ‘She’d want to do a solo – do you know that she plays the ukulele?’ he says.

  ‘My mum’s new year’s resolution is to do the Paleo Diet,’ I say, wincing.

  ‘Mine’s doing vegan and raw.’

  I shake my head. They’re best friends for a reason.

  We both shudder and stare at the ring.

  ‘It seemed like such a good idea,’ I say, wistfully.

  ‘It still could be. Why don’t we elope?’

  ‘What, go to Vegas?’

  I start to imagine myself surrounded by Elvis impersonators and slot machines. That’s not very me either.

  ‘No, we could go to Gretna Green. It’s not very far away from me at all.’

  ‘OK,’ I say, slowly thinking that that’s more like it. ‘But wouldn’t our mums try and talk us out of it?’

  ‘Not if we went before we told them. We could go tomorrow.’

  ‘What?’ I say, the heat creeping over me once more. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve got an afternoon flight to Glasgow. You could book on it too. My car’s there. I could drive us to Gretna. I’m sure we could be married by teatime.’

  My head’s spinning. My heart and my lady bits are telling me to go for it; that a lifetime of Danny would be the most amazing thing ever. My brain, however, is telling me to slow down, that there’s no rush, especially when we haven’t worked out the post-wedding logistics.

  ‘But what about my flight? I’m supposed to fly into Bournemouth. I’ve got work on the third.’

  ‘I can’t drive you back as I’ve got meetings all week but there are trains that run from Oxenholme to London pretty regularly and it doesn’t take that long.’

  ‘I guess that could work.’ Short-term logistics taken care of, but they’re not really the important ones. ‘But do you think we should wait? You live at one end of the country and I live at the other. Shouldn’t we work out, you know, that little old thing like where we’re going to live?’

  ‘I can work anywhere with my business, but I think you’d love it up in the Lakes. I’ve got a beautiful little house in a pretty little town. You were only saying yesterday that you wanted a change. Perhaps it’s time to move jobs. There’s bound to be event-planning work up near me.’

  I think of my life in Portsmouth, the one I used to love. It’s definitely not the same anymore since everyone else’s lives have moved on. I’ve been feeling as if something’s missing and that I needed a change and perhaps this is it. Perhaps marrying Danny and moving up north is the fresh start I need. Perhaps that’s what’s been holding me back over the years that I haven’t been more impulsive. Just because it didn’t work out when I moved to London on a whim doesn’t mean to say I shouldn’t take more risks.

  ‘OK,’ I say nodding. ‘I’ll move up to the Lakes with you.’

  ‘What? Really? Don’t you want to think about it? Will you not miss your flat?’

  I think of my funny little studio under Kerry and Jim’s house – it’s not as if it’s my forever home.

  ‘No,’ I say shaking my head. My mind is made up. ‘Sod it, I know this is right, Danny. Sometimes you’ve got to take a leap of faith, right?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he says, kissing me and then leaning his forehead on mine. ‘So we’re getting married tomorrow.’

  ‘Do you really not think we should wait?’

  ‘If we wait, then our mums will hijack it. You know what they’d be like.’

  ‘They’ll also be devastated that we did it without them.’

  ‘They might be, but don’t you think they’ll just be pleased that we got together?’

  ‘I guess they would.’

  I can imagine what they’d be saying right now if they knew that we’d been here all this week. They’d probably have had the knitting needles out making cardigans for our firstborn.

  ‘We’re actually doing this,’ I say giggling.

  ‘We actually are,’ he says. His whole face lights up and he kisses me as the fireworks and firecrackers crackle loudly around us.

  ‘Happy New Year, soon-to-be-Mrs-Whittaker.’

  ‘Oh my God. That sounds so weird. I’m going to be a wife.’

  ‘Uh-huh, my wife,’ he says, kissing me gently again before picking up the bottle of cava.

  He pops the cork and I put the glasses underneath the stream of fizzy wine.

  ‘To us. Here’s to the start of an incredible new year,’ he says.

  ‘To us,’ I say chinking back. ‘And to tomorrow.’

  ‘Today,’ he says as he sips his drink. ‘Here’s to getting married today.’

  I lean over again and kiss him. It’s certainly going to be one hell of a start to the year.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was really nice seeing you last month. And finally meeting Ross; good to put a face to a name and all that. I’m guessing that it must be serious now that you’ve moved in together. I’m really happy everything’s going so well for you. I just hope that he shares your love of tacky decorations – as here’s another one.

  Parcel; Danny to Lydia, December 2014

  ‘This is so exciting,’ I say, gripping Danny’s hand even tighter as the plane starts to drop down on its descent.

  I can’t believe we are actually doing this. We’re landing in Glasgow in a matter of minutes and we’re getting married.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ he says through gritted teeth. ‘Any chance I could keep some feeling in my fingers? I might need to sign a marriage certificate or a register, or whatever else it is you do.’

  ‘Oh yes, totally,’ I say, letting his hand go and practically elbowing him off the arm rest so that I can grip that instead.

  ‘Are you always this scared of flying?’ he asks. ‘I mean, it’s pretty calm out, there’s not even any wind.’

  ‘Hush,’ I say, momentarily lifting my hand up to put a finger to his mouth before grabbing hold of the armrest again as if I’m on a white-knuckle ride. ‘I don’t want to think about us hurtling
towards the earth in this baked-bean tin at God knows what speed.’

  I’m not the world’s worst flyer, but I’m certainly not the best either. I seem to be OK on take-off, optimistic that if we can make it into the air, that’s where we’ll stay, but as soon as we start descending again I feel the fear overwhelming me. All those sudden bumps. And all those other planes. What if someone points a laser in the captain’s eye? Or there’s a rogue drone? Or a bird strike? Or the wheels don’t come out? What if . . .

  ‘What do you think we should do after the wedding? Stay in a hotel in Gretna or head back to my cottage?’ asks Danny, trying to distract me. He’s obviously seen my rapid blinking, indicating that my mind was running away with itself again.

  I breathe out and try to focus on his question.

  ‘I’m not sure. It is our wedding night, so perhaps we should stay in the hotel. What time’s your meeting in the morning?’

  ‘It’s at ten. Might be cutting it a bit fine. Perhaps we should stay at mine.’

  ‘I guess we hadn’t really thought this through very well. It would have been nice to have a proper honeymoon.’

  ‘Why don’t we go somewhere after you’ve worked your notice? A proper honeymoon? Maldives, Mauritius, the Caribbean, somewhere where you won’t be wearing many clothes,’ he purrs into my ear and I push him away, hoping the little old lady sitting next to me has dodgy hearing.

  ‘That sounds pretty much like the holiday we’ve just had; we could just go back there. It was perfect.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m missing it already.’

  I rub my head, which is all fuzzy from the drinks last night. Luckily, this morning has been such a whirlwind – booking me a seat on the flight, packing and tidying the apartment, getting to Barcelona, not to mention wedding-dress shopping – that I haven’t been able to dwell on my hangover.

  ‘It’s lucky that Zara was open at the airport,’ I say, thinking of the dress.

  ‘I’m glad it was. We’re going to be at risk of looking like hipsters, but I’m thinking that’s preferable to you wearing that reindeer onesie.’

  ‘There’s still time; I could dig it out of the case.’

  Danny gives me a look.

  ‘I’m hoping our wedding will be memorable in other ways, not for being dressed in novelty outfits.’

  ‘OK,’ I say nodding, ‘so the idea of you hiring a kilt from the venue as we’re getting married in Scotland is—’

  ‘Out. Most definitely. I wore a kilt for a fancy-dress party once and it did nothing for my knobbly knees.’

  ‘Ah, but I love your knobbly knees.’

  I run my hand over them gently before the plane bumps suddenly and I hold my breath as I look out of the window, only to notice the drab grey buildings to the side of us that must be Glasgow airport.

  ‘Phew, we made it,’ I say, genuinely relieved.

  ‘You do know that something like eight million people fly every day? That’s hundreds of thousands of planes in the sky every day, millions of flights a year.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ I say, ‘and doesn’t it scare you that all those planes are hovering precariously close to one another?’

  Danny pats me on the knee as if to subdue me and we taxi round to our gate. When the plane finally stops and everyone does a mad rush for the door, we stay sitting, grinning at each other.

  ‘Not long now, kiddo.’

  I’m getting excited. There’s such a lovely feeling bubbling away in my stomach, I grip Danny’s hand, yet not as tight now that we’re back on the ground.

  ‘It’s going to be great,’ he says.

  I nod. It is, I can just tell.

  *

  I look at myself in the mirror of the dimly lit toilets at some random motorway service station. If I’m totally honest, this isn’t where I pictured myself getting ready for my big day. But, as I stare back at my reflection, I do look almost bridal with my hair pinned to one side, loose curls cascading down my face, dressed in a silky cream dress with pearl detail at the top, and I’ve applied almost flawless make-up. I’m pretty impressed.

  ‘Ooh, I know where you’re off to, lovie,’ says a woman with a wink as she washes her hands.

  I feel my cheeks flush as it feels as if we’re doing something illicit.

  I smile back and totter out awkwardly.

  I catch sight of Danny shuffling around in his skinny-trousered suit, his hands in his pockets. He looks so handsome; I can’t quite believe that he’s going to be my husband.

  He turns around and does an embarrassingly loud wolf whistle as I walk up to him, and I do a little curtsey.

  ‘You look amazing,’ he says, kissing me on the cheek.

  ‘It’s not too short, is it?’ I say, as I awkwardly pull the hem down as it’s barely covering my bum.

  ‘The answer to that question is always going to be no. Things are never too short in my book.’

  He grabs my hand and I slip my thick coat on as we hurry to the car through the light drizzle.

  ‘Right, next junction down and we’re there,’ says Danny.

  I almost yelp with excitement. I try and block out thoughts of my mum and Danny’s mum, my sister and Olivia – all of them are going to be so peeved at us. Instead I keep trying to focus on the big picture. I’m sure they’ll all be happy in the long run.

  In a matter of minutes Danny’s pulling off the motorway and I almost wet myself as we see the little road sign that’s so synonymous with elopers. This is it. We’re here and we’re really doing this.

  ‘So, how does this work, do you think? Do we just turn up and book in, then wait in a queue?’

  ‘I have no idea. I’ve only seen Vegas weddings in movies and they just rock up.’

  Gretna looks like your average town with houses and shops and people going about their everyday business. I don’t know if I’d expected to see couples running down the road in puffy wedding dresses and kilts, but it seems surprisingly normal.

  ‘What about that place?’ he says, driving slowly past and pointing to a black-and-white building that’s got a big sign out in front of it declaring it the venue to get married in Gretna.

  ‘It says that it’s world famous.’

  ‘I guess that’s what we’re after,’ I say, as Danny turns into the car park.

  We look at each other as he pulls up the handbrake. There’s no turning back now.

  My heart is racing as we walk into the reception. Danny grabs at my hand but it’s so sweaty that it slides around and, in the end, I have to take it back and wipe it on my coat.

  ‘Hello, there,’ says the cheery receptionist as we walk up to her, hand in hand.

  ‘Hi,’ says Danny, flashing a winning smile. ‘We’re here to get married.’

  ‘OK, then,’ says the woman. ‘You’ve come to the right place. Our marriage planners are based next door in the hotel. I’ll see if one of them is free to have a wee chat with you. Did you have a date in mind?’ She’s picked up her phone and is covering the mouthpiece as she chats to us and dials at the same time.

  ‘Yes, we want to do it now. Well, today,’ I say, all high pitched and squeaky. It just seems so weird to say that out loud.

  ‘Right,’ says the woman, sliding the phone away from her ear and hanging it up. She looks over the counter at our outfits with a mild look of horror on her face. ‘You do know that you can’t get married today, legally?’

  She’s wrinkling her face up and looking at us with a mixture of pity and exasperation at the fact that we haven’t researched this before coming.

  ‘Can’t we?’ says Danny, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘No, we’re not Las Vegas,’ she chirps back. ‘But the good news is that you only have to wait twenty-nine days from when you hand your forms to the registrar. So, do you think you’d want to come back then? We’re obviously full around Valentine’s Day, as you can imagine, but early February is freer and we’ve got good availability for most of March. I can get one of our wedding planners to talk you through your requi
rements and they’ll even help you fill out the M10 form.’

  ‘The M10?’ I ask, feeling deflated.

  ‘The form you need to submit legally to the Gretna registry office. Have you got your birth certificates on you?’

  ‘Um, just our passports,’ says Danny wearily.

  ‘Oh no, you’ll need to give the registrars your birth certificates too. No matter, the registry office is closed today anyway. But you’ll need them when you come back, along with proof of address – like a utility or council tax bill.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, thinking that we should have stopped running around this morning to do a bit of research. ‘So much for eloping.’

  I feel Danny squeeze my hand.

  ‘Do you still want to see the marriage planner?’ asks the receptionist.

  Danny turns to look at me and I stare back at him.

  ‘Do we? I mean, if we’ve got to plan a wedding in advance is this where we want to do it?’ I ask.

  Danny shrugs. ‘It’d still save all the hassle. We could sort everything out today, I guess. If you post me your birth certificate, I could come back up on Friday with the forms for the registrar. Do we both need to be here?’

  ‘No, just one of you.’

  ‘OK, then we could have the wedding in early February. We could either keep it a secret or we could tell everyone about it and then they’d be here, but there’d be no room for interference from them.’

  I guess this way our mothers won’t disown us when they find out we got married without telling them.

  ‘Yes, that’s a great idea. And twenty-nine days isn’t a long time, is it? It’ll fly by.’

  ‘And you’ll be well on your way through your notice period, too.’

  ‘So you’d like to go ahead?’ asks the receptionist. ‘I’ll call Grace to come and chat to you.’

  She talks to her colleague on the phone and I turn to Danny. ‘Twenty-nine days,’ I say. ‘What date would that be in February?’

  Danny pulls out his iPhone. ‘Hmm, if I can get the forms up to the registrar on Friday, twenty-nine days from then will be. . . ’ he says counting out loud, ‘will be Saturday the second of February.’

  ‘OK, I guess that would work, if they’ve got availability. I wonder what we’d do afterwards?’ I say more to myself than to Danny. I see his eyebrows raise. ‘Yes, I know what we would do afterwards, I just mean with everyone coming. Will we go for a meal after or have a proper reception?’