by Anna Bell
I smile at her. ‘That’s good to know. Not that it matters now. Danny’s mad at me for lying to him about quitting and he said it shows that we don’t know each other well enough to get married.’
‘So did he actually say the wedding was off?’ asks my mum, who’s perched on the sofa behind me.
‘Yep,’ I say nodding. ‘I knew there was a reason that I didn’t want to have a hen do.’
I start to do proper, ugly crying – all snot and wails – and Kerry pulls me in for a hug.
‘There, there. It all seems worse as we’ve drunk our body weight in booze. I’m sure when Danny sobers up tomorrow morning it will be fine.’
‘You think?’ I say, not daring to believe her. The look he gave me will forever haunt me.
‘Yes,’ says Kerry. ‘Trust me, this will all be forgotten along with the hangover.’
I start to wipe my tears away desperately hoping that she’s right.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Thank you for my birthday card and the big 3-0 badge just in case I forgot how old I was. So I’ve got some news in that I’ve moved again, in case you didn’t see the full page ad that Facebook seemed to have taken, Ross and I split up. It was all very amicable and we’re still friends and I’ve found myself my very own lovely flat close to the beach.
Email; Lydia to Danny, August 2018
The past couple of days have been a blur. After my fight with Danny on Saturday night, I fell asleep in the very early hours. I woke hoping we’d sort it out, but then found out that Victoria had driven him home the night before, leaving Gaz to drive Danny’s car back the next day. I don’t know what hurt me more – the fact that he’d left, or that he’d left with her. It’s what she probably wanted all along. Since then I’ve been going through the motions on half-hearted autopilot barely eating, sleeping or working. Which is not ideal when I’m supposed to be impressing my boss.
I’ve just got to make it through this afternoon and this evening’s event, and then I’ve got tomorrow off. I had been planning to sort out the final wedding tasks with Mum, but all I’m planning to do now is to lie in bed feeling sorry for myself.
I start drifting off again when I look down at my hand and my ring catches the light. I can’t believe that I’d forgotten to take it off. I slip it over my knuckle and zip it protectively into a pocket in my handbag. I’ll give it back to Hazel when she comes down to see Mum later in the month.
Despite only having had it for a few weeks, my finger suddenly feels naked without it, and I bite down on my lip hard to stop myself from crying.
‘Lydia, the set-up is finished downstairs, can you come and approve it?’ asks Fred.
‘Sure, I’ll come now,’ I say, picking up the folder for Helen’s event that was reassigned to me. I should be excited, as it’s my first big event that I’m managing by myself – an awards ceremony for two hundred guests – but I’ve barely glanced at the folder. Luckily, Helen confirmed all the suppliers last week before she handed it over and her event plans are always flawless. All I’m hoping is that I get an early night. The awards are being run by Family First, which is quite a twee magazine, so I can’t imagine that it’s going to be a lively affair.
To be honest, I can’t think of anything I want to do less than work an event where I have to be nice to people and pretend that I’m in the party spirit, but now more than ever I need to prove myself. I no longer have the option of quitting as I don’t have Danny to run to and I need a job to be able to afford the place I’m going to have to rent now that Kerry’s got bookings on my current flat.
I walk into the small conference suite and boy it’s dark. Everything’s black and there’s soft purple lighting, which gives it a kinky Halloween feel.
‘Are you sure this is the right colour scheme?’ I say, flicking through the folder.
‘That’s what it says in the event plan.’
I pull out my copy and see it’s all there in black and white, or at least black and purple.
‘Right, then. I thought it was a group of mummy bloggers coming for an award ceremony and that it was being hosted by a kids TV presenter,’ I say, looking round at something that’s all together more adult than I was expecting.
‘It all seems to be there, we’ve used all the props mentioned,’ says Fred.
I look at the plumes of purple feathers that we last used for a burlesque-themed event and I try and ignore the feeling in my gut that something is wrong.
Helen’s an amazing event planner and she always knows what she’s doing. I’ve just got to trust her on this.
‘It looks great, Fred,’ I say – it isn’t a lie, it does look great. Just not what I expected. ‘Well done for all your hard work.’
‘Thanks, Lydia. I hope it’s a great party,’ he says as he walks off.
I watch Fred go before I head into the kitchen to see the event caterer.
‘Hi, Ben, everything OK?’ I ask, as I try to resist the temptation to eat one of the giant langoustines that he’s arranging on a platter.
‘Yes, fine. We’re all sorted.’
‘Good, are the waiting staff here? I didn’t see them setting up.’
‘We’re not using our waiting staff tonight. Helen’s booked Allbrite.’
Before I can question Helen’s choice of wait staff, the radio crackles in my ear.
‘Lydia,’ says Jenny, one of our junior events staff. ‘Marie from Family First is here at reception.’
‘Great, I’ll come and meet her. Ben, are you sure it’s Allbrite staff coming?’
‘Oh yeah,’ he says with a twinkle in his eye. ‘I always love working events with them.’
My heart is starting to pound now as I try and piece this all together. Maybe I’ve googled the wrong company, maybe Family First aren’t as conservative as I fear they’re going to be. After all, they need to be pretty open minded if they’re going to cope with the Allbrite waitresses. It’s a company that specialises in scantily clad (if clad at all) waiting staff. We usually only use them at the client’s request if they’re trying to be a bit risqué or edgy. Which is mainly for our more liberal clients: media companies or large male-dominated, high-testosterone industries such as city bankers. Not family friendly organisations like this.
I wonder what the waitresses are going to be wearing tonight – I’m hoping they are at least dressed. The last time I was at an event with them they were naked apart from body paint.
I walk through the venue hoping that I’m fearing the worst and that Allbrite have branched out into pastures new.
‘Hello, you must be Marie,’ I say, planting an overly large smile on my face and holding out my hand. ‘I’m Lydia. I think that Helen might have mentioned on the phone that I’m taking over tonight? She was very sorry not to be here in person, but she has planned you a fantastic event and you are in for a real treat.’
Whether you like it or not.
‘Thanks, Lydia. We’re so excited about tonight. I’ve got a couple of last-minute adjustments to the table plans. People who can’t make it.’
‘OK, well, we’ve set it up as per the last instruction from you so we can go ahead now and make the changes if you like?’
‘Great. I can’t wait to see the room. Wow,’ gasps Marie as we walk in. ‘It looks so different to how I imagined it would. Are those purple feathers?’
‘Uh-huh,’ I say, trying to work out if that’s a good thing or not.
‘I like it,’ she says finally, and I sigh with relief. ‘It looks classy. I thought that we were going for something a bit more vibrant, but this could work. I guess it’s hard as we were a bit vague with what we asked for.’
I can sense that she’s not so much disappointed as underwhelmed, and that’s not really what we aim for with our events.
‘Well,’ I say, thinking off the top of my head, my heart pounding with the fear that I could mess this event up, ‘we have yet to put in the giant lollypops and the candy canes that we thought would work with the brief.’
‘Oh
great,’ she says, her eyes lighting up.
‘If you’re OK, I’ll leave you to change the seating plan. There are some additional name tags here that you can write on if you need to change people. And if we can go over what you’ve done afterwards, then I can make sure that the caterers are up to date. And I’ll chase up our estates team to sort out the additional props.’
‘Perfect.’
I hurry away out of earshot and pick up the walkie-talkie, switching it to the channel that the estates team uses.
‘Lydia to Fred.’
‘Go ahead, Lydia.’
‘Um, I’ve just had a last-minute addition from the client and they want some of the Willy Wonka props.’
There’s a crackle and a pause at the end of the radio.
‘The ones we’ve just bubble wrapped and put into storage?’
‘Um, yes, those would be the ones. Not many,’ I say, wincing. ‘Say half a dozen lollies and four or so candy canes.’
I’m met with silence again and I see the door opening and a number of women dressed in black tracksuits walk in. Allbrite staff.
‘I’ll get Matt to give me a hand. We’ll have them up within the next half an hour.’
‘Fred, you’re a star.’
‘You’d better be buying another box of those doughnuts at some point soon.’
‘Deal,’ I say, thinking that that will be a small price to pay.
I don’t have time to dwell on this crisis as I have another unfolding.
‘Hi, there, ladies, are you from Allbrite?’
‘That’s right,’ says a tall blonde woman who has her hair tied messily in a top knot. ‘If you can let us know where we can do our hair and make-up, and what the timings are.’
‘OK,’ I say, wondering what the suit covers they’re carrying are holding. ‘I can show you to the changing room. Just one quick question, when you say hair and make-up, what theme have you got down for tonight?’
‘Dominatrix.’
My heart sinks. Tight skimpy leather isn’t really going to go with the giant lollypops.
‘Right,’ I say nodding. ‘You see, the thing is, I’m pretty sure there’s been a bit of a mix-up. The event tonight is a family friendly bloggers award ceremony. There’s a kids TV presenter compering. We can’t have you walking out dressed as dominatrixes.’
The woman in front of me unzips her bag and it’s even worse than I could ever have imagined.
‘There’s no way we can have you wearing that.’
‘But what are we supposed to wear instead?’
I look at the black tracksuits that they have on and I shake my head.
‘I don’t know. I really don’t.’
I take a deep breath and have a think. I haven’t been giving my work a lot of head space today as it’s all foggy with thoughts of Danny and how royally I’ve fucked everything up with him. I should have looked at the event plan before now and then this would never have happened. I’ve got to sort out this mess or I’ll lose this promotion as well as Danny.
The top-knot woman and her crew have now all either got their hands on their hips or their arms folded in exasperation.
‘OK,’ I say taking another deep breath. ‘We’ve got to make you look more family friendly. I know, we’ve got the Oompa-Loompa costumes left over from our Willy Wonka-themed Christmas parties. They’ve been laundered ready to go back to the costume-hire place, but we can deal with that again tomorrow.’
‘You want us to dress as Oompa-Loompas? Do you know our hourly rate?’
‘Unfortunately I do,’ I say, remembering the premium you pay for wanting less from your waiting staff. It’s all going to eat out of the profits from tonight’s event, but it will have been paid for already.
‘Come on,’ I say, ‘I’ll show you the costumes.’
Half an hour later and I’m looking at fifteen Oompa-Loompaesque waitresses. I’ve just about managed to persuade them to put the brown tops underneath the white braces that hold up the skirts, and, despite the skirts seeming a whole lot shorter than before, seeing as most of these women have legs that go all the way up to their armpits, at least they are decent.
I walk back into the venue as the waitresses start to sort out their welcome-drink stations and I see that Marie is smiling at one of the giant lollipops.
‘This looks fabulous. And I love the waitress uniforms like candy canes, too. Great idea.’
I nod and smile. Candy cane, let’s go with that. I guess without the green wigs and orange faces they look less like characters from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
‘Yes, they look pretty good,’ I say, nodding.
‘Now, all we need is the presenter to turn up,’ she says, looking at her watch.
I glance at mine and realise that it’s almost 5 p.m. When did it get so late? The ceremony kicks off at 6.30, which means people will be walking the mini red carpet and having welcome drinks at 6.00. That gives us an hour until everything kicks off.
‘I’m sure he’ll be here in plenty of time,’ I say crossing my fingers, as nothing else seems to be going my way tonight. It’s so unlike Helen to mess up this badly.
‘Lydia,’ says Jenny, ‘the ice luge is here.’
‘Oh great, the ice luge is here,’ I repeat for Marie’s benefit as she doesn’t have an earpiece in. I’m just hoping that she actually ordered one.
‘Oh fantastic. That seemed like such a great idea. A perfect icebreaker – so to speak,’ she says, laughing at her own joke. ‘Especially as a lot of these bloggers have never met before and will be here on their own. I can’t wait to see it.’
‘Jenny, can you have them set up the block at the entrance lobby where the welcome drinks will be held and we’ll meet you there.’
‘Absolutely,’ she replies.
‘Shall we?’ I say to Marie, holding my hand out to show her the way, and we walk out into the reception where there’s a guy wheeling out a giant vodka luge made of ice in the shape of a pair of boobs. I stop and wonder if it’s too late to bundle the client out of the way, but she’s already pointing at them.
‘Are those breasts?’ she says, squinting, before she walks up to them.
We get closer and we can see that the luge is indeed cut into a very realistic pair of giant boobs. The kind that I’m sure would be at home at a stag party.
‘Oh my God, they’re brilliant. They fit in so perfectly with the campaign we’ve been running on social media to support breastfeeding. Wow, Helen really did her research,’ she says, clapping her hands in delight.
I breathe a sigh of relief, just as my radio crackles again.
‘Don’t say anything to the client, but the kids presenter is here and you’ve got to see him.’
‘Don’t tell me, sauce for table three,’ thinking that all we need is a drunk presenter.
‘More like Mary Poppins has arrived.’
Great, a presenter that’s high as a flipping kite.
‘Everything OK?’ asks Marie when she sees my face.
‘All A-OK,’ I say, as I leave her with the ice block and run off round the back to the staging area. I spot Jenny trying to calm down the man in front of her.
‘Hey, I’m Giles!’ he says with a big beaming smile. He’s giggling maniacally and I can see why Jenny thought he was on something – he’s positively wired.
‘Hi, there, I’m Lydia, the event manager. I’m going to show you to your dressing room now. Can I get you anything on the way? A coffee perhaps, or a soft drink?’
A stomach pump?
‘I’m fine, really. I don’t do caffeine. I’ve got some water.’
‘Good, good.’
I hope between now and when he gets on stage that he drinks a gallon of it.
‘I am so excited to be here,’ he says, hopping as he follows me. ‘I don’t often get asked to do these types of events. In fact, I’ll let you into a little secret.’
He leans into me and I’m dreading what he’s going to say.
‘This is my
first one. Can you believe it? I’m a little nervous,’ he says, giggling again.
‘So nervous that you had some Dutch courage?’
Or Colombian courage.
‘Oh no, I don’t drink. I actually don’t do toxins. I’m vegan.’
‘OK, then.’
‘You think I’m on something, is that what you mean?’
He looks hurt, as if I’ve just drowned his puppy.
‘No, not at all.’
‘You do. I’ve had this before. Have you not seen my show? This is what I’m like,’ he says. ‘I’m naturally this happy.’
‘Oh thank God,’ I say with a sigh of relief. I could almost cry. ‘Then let’s get you ready and I can introduce you to Marie who runs the magazine.’
‘Perfect! Let’s get this show on the road,’ he says, doing finger guns in my direction.
I bundle him into the changing room and shut the door, leaning against it and breathing out.
My phone buzzes and I see that it’s Hazel. I can’t face talking to her. Not while I’m at work. I put the call through to voicemail and my heart sinks. I’d got used to having her back in my life and I’d been looking forward to having her as a mother-in-law.
‘Let’s do this,’ shouts Giles, as he comes out of the room and it snaps me back to where I am. With everything going so wrong tonight I need to be as focused as I possibly can. There’ll be plenty of time to sort out the mess that is my life after tonight’s event is over. But right now, I’ve got to make sure everything goes smoothly as now the promotion is more important than ever.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Did your mum tell you what my mum did at my dad’s birthday party? She only went and jumped out of a giant cake like some stripper. Thankfully, for everyone, she was fully clothed (or clothed at least) but she nearly gave my Great-aunt Hilda a heart attack. The party went a bit downhill from there; I found your mum holding my mum’s hair back as she vomited into a flowerpot. Our mums huh? What a shining example of how to live.
Email; Danny to Lydia, September 2018
I put a pillow over my head and try to ignore the banging on my front door. I don’t want to see anyone today.
