I Heart London

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘How do you imagine your wedding, Ange?’ She patted Jenny on the flank like a knackered racehorse. ‘When you close your eyes and see the whole thing, what’s it like?’

  In order to answer her question properly, I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes, holding my empty wine glass against my belly. My wedding.

  ‘It’s really simple,’ I said, imagining myself in the delicate, flowing white dress from Delia’s magazine, hair loosely tied back, a hand-tied bouquet of white peonies and flat, sparkly shoes that I knew Jenny would never allow. ‘Very classic and unfussy. Elegant.’

  ‘Nice.’ I heard Jenny scribbling away at her pad. ‘Keep going.’

  ‘And Alex is in a black suit. Is that OK?’

  ‘Not really,’ Lou answered.

  ‘Whatever you want is OK,’ Jenny replied, overturning Louisa in a tone that couldn’t be questioned.

  ‘Well, I’m sure he’ll know what he wants to wear,’ I carried on, hoping to avoid a confrontation over Alex’s wardrobe choices. We’d been doing so well. ‘But yeah, there are loads of flowers everywhere. White and pale pink peonies. On the tables and in vases. And lots of candles and fairy lights so at dusk we can make it all twinkly.’

  ‘Oh, that’s gonna be pretty.’ Jenny scribbled some more. ‘Anything else essential?’

  ‘Music.’ I wanted there to be dancing. ‘But I want Alex to be in charge of that. Or at least consulted, please.’

  ‘Got it,’ she replied reluctantly.

  ‘And I just want everyone to be really, really happy and chilled out.’

  ‘As far as I can tell, as long as we get you a frock and enough champagne to sink Wales, we should be all right,’ Louisa reasoned.

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ I couldn’t deny that the big party of my fantasy involved me and Alex surrounded by flowers and candles and fairy lights whilst necking champs.

  ‘I think it’s time to call it a night,’ Jenny said, all business, hopping up off the floor and bundling away her planner. ‘I say we reconvene in the morning when I’ve talked to Angela’s mom, and then, tomorrow afternoon, we’ve got a dress to find, ladyface.’

  ‘You think we’ll find it in one day?’ I popped the bubble of my designer dress fantasy. I wasn’t going to fall in love with something else if I was still clinging to the idea of a dress I’d only ever seen in a magazine.

  ‘Maybe two days,’ she said with a reassuring tone. ‘Louisa only just did all this stuff. You know all the best boutiques, right?’

  ‘She knows literally all of the boutiques,’ I answered for her. ‘From Brighton to Edinburgh.’

  ‘We only went as far as Nottingham − don’t exaggerate,’ Louisa said as she waved us out into the hallway. ‘And yes, I’ll dig out the numbers for the bridal places tomorrow. And all the other stuff. Don’t worry. Tim’ll drive you home. Tim.’

  Her husband ran down the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him, car keys in hand. Either he was psychic or he’d been waiting for us to leave for some time.

  ‘I’m not worried,’ Jenny said with confidence. ‘There’s never any need to worry when you have a plan, and we’ve got a hell of a plan.’

  ‘Hitler had a plan,’ I muttered, wiping errant mascara flakes from under my eyes. ‘X Factor contestants always have a plan. Doesn’t always mean it’s going to work out.’

  ‘Hitler didn’t have my commitment to a vision,’ Jenny said, her eyes flashing. ‘Don’t sweat it.’

  ‘Right, I’m going up to bath Grace.’ Louisa kissed us each on the cheek. I was so, so relieved to see the two of them getting along, I could have cried. It had occurred to me that they might not. ‘And I’ll talk to you in the morning.’

  ‘Talk in the morning,’ I said with a wave and followed Tim out to the car.

  ‘Hey, Jenny,’ I said, following her into the back seat. ‘Before we actually start calling people and buying things, do you think it might be a good idea to run some of this past Alex first?’

  She pulled a very unpleasant face for a moment and then sighed loudly. I wasn’t sure if this was professional Jenny who didn’t like to be second-guessed or drunk Jenny who didn’t play well with others, but either way, you’d have thought I’d just asked her to give Alex a kidney. ‘Jenny.’ I tried to echo her stern face but I just wasn’t as good at it. ‘It’s his wedding too.’

  ‘And I’m already allowing his douchebag friends to come along,’ she replied. ‘But fine. You can tell him what we’ve agreed. And tell him he needs to get his ass into a suit. I don’t want to have to babysit that motherfucker in a tailor’s. I know the dude can dress himself.’

  Woah. High praise indeed.

  It took around seven seconds for Jenny to ascertain that my mother’s plans for the catering would not meet the ‘simple, classic and elegant’ theme of my wedding. I happened to think sausage rolls were completely classic, but Jenny wasn’t having any of it, and it wasn’t a battle I was interested in fighting at that moment. She was throwing around words like ‘arancini’ and ‘beignets’ when I skulked up the stairs and shut the bathroom door before texting Alex. A couple of minutes later, the door opened up and a very handsome black-haired gentleman appeared.

  ‘Is this where we hang out now?’ he asked. ‘Because your parents have, like, three times the number of rooms we have at home. We don’t have to have our one-to-ones in the tub.’

  ‘It’s the only room in the house with a lock,’ I explained from my seat on the closed toilet lid. ‘Admittedly it’s not the sexiest.’

  Alex smiled and pulled on the light cord, blacking out the bathroom. The street lamps outside cast orangey shadows across the white tiles and gave out just enough of a glow for me to see him swooping in for a kiss.

  ‘Of course, there’s a chance I’m wrong,’ I said, catching my breath. ‘Fun afternoon with my dad?’

  ‘He had a really great nap,’ he said in between kisses to my face, my throat, my shoulder, my collarbone. ‘I went for a walk, did some reading, actually played around with some new song stuff. There was a guitar.’

  ‘Ahh, that’s mine,’ I replied. ‘From my Britpop phase.’

  ‘Nice.’ He clearly wasn’t interested in hearing about my Britpop phase. It was best that he didn’t, to be honest − those flares did me no favours, and I think we were both far more interested in what he was doing at that precise moment. ‘I don’t know if it’s all this wedding planning, your dad’s Scotch collection or being made to sleep in separate rooms, but I’m going kinda crazy over here.’

  ‘I need to talk to you about the wedding,’ I squeaked. This was entirely unacceptable behaviour for my mother’s bathroom, but so entirely necessary. ‘I have about a million things we need to decide on.’

  ‘As long as you’re there, I’m there and we end up married, I am super-cool with everything else,’ he replied, hands searching in the darkness. I couldn’t help but be slightly dubious, but he did seem far more interested in getting my dress off than choosing between bone, cream or ivory table coverings. ‘I want what you want as long as I get you at the end of it.’

  ‘That’s not true and you know it.’ I was trying to keep my voice even, but being dragged onto the floor and straddled by your fiancé who you haven’t so much as touched in three days makes it very difficult to keep yourself in a serious place. ‘Jenny wants to bring in goats as ring bearers.’

  ‘Sounds amazing.’

  ‘And do liver and onions for the reception.’

  ‘My favourite.’

  ‘And we’re going to get Lionel Blair to dance me down the aisle.’

  ‘I’ve always liked his work.’

  ‘Do you know who he is?’

  ‘No.’

  The bathroom floor was not the most comfortable place for a romantic assignation, but it was difficult to argue with Alex’s insistence. Every stroke of his warm, strong hands swept away a wedding worry. Where would we hire glasses? Didn’t matter. What if we couldn’t get a cake made on time? The guests would get Fonda
nt Fancies and like them. And a wedding dress? Meh. I’d rock up in a bin bag and save myself the hassle.

  ‘How long do you think we’ve got before they come looking for us?’ Alex whispered, although how I was supposed to concentrate on what he was saying when all I was aware off was the sound of his fly popping open was beyond me.

  ‘Not long enough.’ I pressed my lips against his and tried to pretend I hadn’t just kicked over a can of Mr Muscle as I wrapped my legs around his waist. ‘So shut up.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  I loved it when he did as he was told.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Monday morning was bright, sunny and filled with bird song. Unlike me. Fifteen seconds after opening my eyes, I vaulted over Jenny and hurtled into the bathroom, face first into the toilet.

  ‘Angela, are you OK?’ Mum knocked on the bathroom door that I’d kicked closed with impeccable parental timing.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I called, ignoring the echo of the toilet bowl. ‘Just ate too much yesterday.’

  And worried too much. And was jet-lagged too much. And did it on the bathroom floor too much. Maybe that last one didn’t add to my nausea, but it certainly didn’t help me get enough rest.

  There was a brief silence while she did some motherly calculations. ‘I’m going to make you some dry toast,’ she announced. ‘That always helped me. Come downstairs when you can.’

  Pulling up my T-shirt, I rested my bare back against the cool tiles and closed my eyes. Weddings really were the answer. Somehow, in the space of twenty-four hours, I’d managed to press Jenny’s reset button, reawaken the bridezilla within Louisa and find a way to stop my mum being mad when I puked the morning after night before. And whatever fire it had lit under Alex was fine by me, even if I was never going to be able to look at the bathmat in the same way again.

  ‘Angie, did you vom?’ Jenny didn’t bother to knock, she just barged through the door in her vest and knickers combo. Fingers crossed my dad was already down the garden; I didn’t need him having another funny turn. ‘Are you sick?’

  ‘My stomach is just a bit unsettled from too much excitement,’ I explained, heaving myself up. ‘I’ll be fine once I’ve eaten.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jenny looked disappointed. ‘I was going to say don’t eat. You know, trying on dresses?’

  ‘Right.’ I never thought I’d be thankful for throwing up. ‘I suppose. Although I’m not actually going to be able to lose weight between now and the weekend so it might be better to get something with a bit of give.’

  Jenny shook her head so very slowly, never taking her eyes off me. ‘You are so lucky I’m here. Get downstairs − I’ll be fifteen minutes. And no carbs!’

  That was the toast out the window, then.

  The kitchen table was set to feed an army of thousands, but as far as I could see, it was just me, Alex and Jenny who were eating. Dad was nowhere to be seen and I knew Annette Clark never made it past eight a.m. without her bowl of All-Bran. It was just after nine-thirty − nearly tea and biscuit time.

  ‘I hope you’re hungry.’ I sat beside Alex and squeezed his hand under the table. He leaned over to kiss me, a full-on hands in hair, lip-to-lip, filthy snog while my mum was busy removing half the contents of the fridge.

  ‘Not for that.’ I pushed him away and ignored his chuckles as my mum turned round, laden with jars of jam.

  ‘Well, you’ve got some colour in your cheeks, at least,’ she commented, placing everything Robinsons had ever created on the table. ‘Ready for the dress shopping?’

  ‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ I said, taking a banana and ignoring her frown as well as her Dorothy Perkins Special cropped trousers. They did her no favours. We’d been through this. We Clarks were short-legged women and few things hated us as much as Capri pants. She never listened. ‘Don’t fancy toast.’ Really, I just didn’t fancy getting my arse kicked when Jenny came downstairs.

  ‘Jenny gave me a list of things to do,’ Alex said, putting his hand over his mouth while he chewed his toast and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. ‘This is what I’m in charge off. I’m pretty psyched.’

  Music (PA tbc − JL)

  Suit (liaise with JL re: color scheme)

  Stag (liaise with JL re: timings)

  Write vows (submit to JL by Thursday p.m.)

  Rings (confirm with JL)

  I looked up at him, wide-eyed.

  ‘That’s it? That’s all you have to do?’

  He nodded like a big, happy dog.

  ‘And basically she’s going to do it all for you?’

  ‘I’ll be amazed if I’m actually allowed to write my own vows.’ He brushed something off his plaid shirt. ‘And Graham called to say they’re coming out tomorrow, so that’s pretty cool.’

  It was pretty cool. There were several worries gnawing away at my insides and one of them was that Alex’s friends were going to miss the wedding and that wasn’t right. I still didn’t feel great about his parents not coming, but Alex wasn’t a baby − he knew what he wanted, and if he didn’t want them there, he didn’t want them there. I’d meet them eventually. Probably.

  ‘I wish my list was that short.’ Mum sat down with her fifth cup of tea of the day. ‘Have a look.’

  Mum’s list was triple the length of Alex’s and her jobs were twice as difficult or five times more depressing. She had the pleasure of hiring and overseeing cleaners, confirming RSVPs, making sure we had the right number of glasses for water, wine, cocktails and the champagne toast as well as all the correct flatware and table settings. There were also a million other dreary tasks involving toilet paper, napkins, trash cans (I had to translate on that one) and cloakroom storage. As far as I could tell, after I’d crashed out Jenny had spent the entire night working out every last possible necessity for Saturday and then picked out every single one of the most boring jobs and assigned them to my parents.

  ‘Your dad is in charge of chairs and tables.’ Mum sipped her tea and rubbed the burgeoning bags under her eyes. ‘He’s gone to B&Q on a recce.’

  ‘Did Jenny approve B&Q?’ I asked, wild-eyed. White plastic patio furniture did not emanate elegance and class. Simplicity, yes − but not in a good way.

  ‘No,’ she hissed. ‘And I told him he should check with her. But he said once I’d got a tablecloth on them, you wouldn’t be able to tell. But I’m not in charge of tablecloths, Angela. How am I supposed to cover up a contraband table if I’m not in charge of tablecloths? Tell me that?’

  This was quite the predicament. On one hand, I was very happy that my wedding was clearly in good hands and would in no way be a right royal cock-up. On the other, I didn’t really want to have to forfeit my honeymoon in order to check my parents in at the Priory.

  ‘It’ll be fine, Mum,’ I said, feeling a bit distracted, as I wondered about what was going to be on my list. ‘She doesn’t know what B&Q is. Just don’t tell her. And don’t get anything from Ikea, whatever you do. She hates Ikea.’

  ‘Are we ready?’ Jenny appeared at the door fully dressed, fully made-up and carrying her handbag, notebook in hand. I immediately noticed she was wearing my green silk Marc by Marc Jacobs shirt as a dress and the same brown leather sandals I’d worn the day before. Not that I wasn’t excited that Jenny had stormed my wardrobe, but it was a little odd. And I could almost see her knickers. Plus that meant another outfit I’d brought for the Spencer Media presentation that was out of the running. Obviously I was planning to wear it with trousers. At least until the presentation started to go badly. ‘Angela, you need to get dressed.’

  ‘So do you,’ I retorted, sulkily putting down my banana. It was a poor rebellion because I was marching upstairs to find clothes before she even poured herself a coffee.

  ‘Well, if she’s going to steal my clothes,’ I thought, slamming the door shut and stamping a foot, ‘maybe I’ll borrow some of hers.’

  Living in my teenage bedroom was making me behave like a teenager, and teenaged Angela was a petulant little
mare. Safely shut inside my bedroom, I opened up Jenny’s suitcase, excited about what treats might be inside. Maybe a little Chloé shirt dress. Or a Missoni maxi. Even a little Alexander Wang mini dress − the weather was nice enough. I’d get myself warmed up for wedding-dress shopping by doing a bit of bargain hunting in Jenny’s suitcase.

  Or, I realized as I sat back on my heels and stared into the empty depths before me, I’d be shit out of luck. Flipping the zip-up compartments back and forth, I tried to work out why Jenny’s suitcase contained absolutely nothing but several pairs of underwear, two bras and a pair of Havaianas. Hmm. Dragging her other case out from under the bed, I opened it up to find her jeans from the day before, the leather leggings she’d travelled in, two dirty T-shirts, a neon-orange Stella McCartney clutch, five bottles of flesh-toned nail polish and a battered copy of How To Get The Love You Want.

  ‘Maybe she unpacked?’ I pondered out loud, trying to work out where she was hiding her stuff. My clothes were in the wardrobe and there was nothing of hers in there. ‘Maybe I’m just being stupid?’

  It wouldn’t have been the first time.

  ‘Angie, get your ass down here,’ the world’s lightest packer bellowed from the bottom of the stairs. ‘And make sure your underwear matches. And is nice. And don’t wear pants. And freaking hurry up.’

  By pants, I assumed she meant trousers. And by nice, I assumed she meant not falling apart. And by hurry up, I knew she meant be ready already.

  Well, I told myself. Today should be fun.

  ‘Should I be leaving Alex alone at home?’ I asked no one in particular from the back of my mum’s car, simultaneously checking my emails. I was all over multitasking. I was going to be the best bride, best editor, best darn Angela I could be. I had also had a lot of coffee. ‘He’s going to go stir crazy. I should be doing stuff with him.’

  ‘He’s got shit to do,’ Jenny replied from the front passenger seat. She’d called shotgun, much to my mother’s horror. It took a little while to explain that Jenny just wanted to sit next to her and had no intention of shooting her. ‘And so have you.’