A Beginner’s Guide To Saying I Do
Jennifer Joyce
About The Author
Jennifer Joyce is a writer of romantic comedies. She's been scribbling down bits of stories for as long as she can remember, graduating from a pen to a typewriter and then an electronic typewriter. And she felt like the bee's knees typing on THAT. She now writes her books on a laptop (which has a proper delete button and everything).
Jennifer lives in Oldham, Greater Manchester with her husband Chris and their two daughters, Rianne and Isobel, plus their bunny Cinnamon and Jack Russell Luna.
Find out more about Jennifer and her books at
Blog: jenniferjoycewrites.co.uk
Twitter: @writer_jenn
Facebook: facebook.com/jenniferjoycewrites
Also by Jennifer Joyce
The Little Bed & Breakfast by the Sea
The Little Teashop of Broken Hearts
The Wedding Date
The Mince Pie Mix-Up
Everything Changes But You
A Beginner’s Guide To Salad
A Beginner’s Guide To Christmas (short story)
Contents
About The Author
Also by Jennifer Joyce
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Acknowledgements
For my husband Chris, who helped to plan the smallest wedding possible. It was perfect for us!
Also Rianne and Isobel, who shared the day with us.
One
Ruth
A hush suddenly descended on the room as the string quartet began to play from the corner of the room that had been beautifully swathed with fairy lights, their music a soft, entrancing lullaby that soothed the restless guests. The congregation’s breathing mellowed and shoulders softened until the moment the heavy doors swung open to reveal the bride and her delighted father. A collective gasp swallowed the gentle music as the guests turned, en masse, for a first look. A tingle wormed its way up my spine as I looked around the vast room – or, rather, the Great Hall. I couldn’t believe how stunning it all was. The ivory and gold colour scheme was elegant, but the twinkling fairy lights threaded along the rows of chairs added a whimsical, fairy tale quality. Every detail was perfect, from the oversized vases of lilies perched high on golden plinths at the end of each row of seats, to the archway of creamy roses, lilies and yet more fairy lights where the vows were soon to be exchanged. A lot of planning had gone into this wedding and it had certainly paid off. It was stunning. I couldn’t have dreamed of a more romantic setting.
‘Doesn’t she look beautiful?’
‘Wow. Just wow.’
‘This must have cost a fortune.’
I could hear the murmur of voices around me, and I had to agree with them all. It was, without a doubt, the most magnificent wedding known to man (or woman), and no expense had been spared to create this lavish setting. The morning had begun with a champagne welcome in the library of Durban Castle – yes, an actual, real-life castle – before the guests moved into the Great Hall for the ceremony. Afterwards, we would enjoy a sumptuous five-course meal in the drawing room, followed by drinks in the wine cellar before we moved back into the Great Hall to continue the festivities until late. I was exhausted just thinking about the long day that lay ahead, but I wouldn’t have missed out on any of it.
Jared turned to face me and it hit me all over again how very lucky I was to be with him. I’d been beginning to think I would never find a man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with (I was struggling to find a bloke I wanted to spend an entire evening with, if I’m being completely honest here), and I’d had a string of hopeless relationships with hopeless men, but then along came Jared, who was sweet and kind and funny. And gorgeous. What more could a girl ask for?
‘Are you okay?’ Jared’s skin had taken on a greenish hue, so I reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The day seemed to be taking its toll on him, and we hadn’t even reached the most important part yet.
Jared swallowed. Hard. ‘I love you, you know.’
‘I do know.’ It was strange, but true. Jared Williams loved me. Jared Williams, who could have any woman he chose, loved me, Ruth Lynch. Now, I don’t want to put a downer on this lavish wedding, but I was no supermodel. I wasn’t even a run-of-the-mill model. I’d spent my childhood bearing the brunt of jokes about being fat, and my confidence had been chipped away at so severely and frequently that I never expected to find myself with a man like Jared. A man who was so fit he looked good sweating (which was handy, as he was one of those weird types who enjoyed spending time at the gym) and who could cause a roomful of knickers to drop with one dashing smile (something he thankfully didn’t put into practice). If I’d have known it was possible to bag a Jared, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time with the losers I’d settled for before. Losers who thought farting to the tune of The Simpsons was hilarious, or thought showering more than once a week was wasting water. Losers who thought being vaguely pleasant to their girlfriend was optional.
But all that was behind me. I had a Jared now and I wasn’t letting go of him.
‘I love you too.’ And I did. I honestly and truly did.
Butterflies took flight in my stomach as Jared leaned towards me, pressing his lips against mine. Kissing Jared was still a novelty, even though we’d been together for two glorious years.
‘It’ll be you two next, eh?’ A head popped up from the row behind us, grinning as she gave an elaborate wink. I vaguely recognised her from previous family functions, but I couldn’t give her a name or a place on my family tree.
‘You never know,’ I replied, because I didn’t know what else to say. I could hardly reveal that I longed to marry the man sitting beside me, that it made feel sick with envy that my twenty-two-year-old cousin was getting married before me. I mean, come on! Twenty-two. That’s practically a foetus! What right did she have to be tying herself to the man of her dreams so soon? Although, come to think of it, the groom was hardly dream man material. From what I could gather, Rory spent the majority of his waking hours glued to his office chair, and any free time was taken up with playing golf. But he was apparently loaded. Like, proper minted. So I could sort of see the attraction, if that’s the kind of marriage you’re after. And Trina hadn’t had much in the way of guidance when it came to love and relationships. Her mother, my aunt Gloria, had married for money when she was eighteen and was now on her fifth divorce, with each ex-husband being richer than the last.
‘Have you popped the question yet?’ Our unnamed spectator waggled a gnarled hand at Jared, where her own wedding band lay shining against her dull skin.
‘Not yet.’ Poor Jared turned a shade greener as he tugged at his collar, loosening his tie ever so slightly. If he carried on like this, my plus one would morph into Kermit the frog.
‘Betty, will you be quiet?’ Our spectator – who we now had a name for her, even if I still had no idea who she actually was – was on the receiving end of a deathly glare from her neighbour. Betty sank back into her seat and mimed zipping her lips, while winking at me. I shifted in my seat so I was facing the bride and groom once more. Trina really did look beautiful as she stood facing her soon-to-be husband, a look of pure serenity on her face. Her voice was clear, so sure of the man standing beside her and the life they would lead that there wasn’t a hint of nerves or uncertainty.
‘I, foetus, take thee, Rory, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer but not poorer.’
Okay, she didn’t actually say that, but it really wasn’t on that a young girl, barely out of school, was getting married while I was almost thirty and had never even sniffed a proposal. But still, I was happy with the life I had, which I hadn’t always been able to say. I had Jared, a man who loved and respected me and had yet to question what the hell he was doing with a woman like me. I had to be grateful for that, at the very least.
Durban Castle was a truly beautiful setting, with its vast rooms, ornate staircases and extensive gardens. And believe me, the gardens were extensive. We traipsed every last sodding acre of them in the bid for the perfect photo. It was quite fun posing for the photos at first, as I could pretend I was on a shoot for Vogue or Cosmopolitan. Until the photographer shattered my illusions and asked ‘the chubby one’ to move over as I was overshadowing the bridesmaids. I wouldn’t mind, but he was no Adonis himself, the cheeky git. Jared was fuming, but I managed to calm him down before he garrotted the man with his own camera strap. The ‘photo shoot’ lost its shine from that point, and only grew worse as we moved from one location to the next, my feet aching more with every minute that passed. The drinks in the wine cellar couldn’t come quickly enough.
Eventually, after what felt like hours, the photo session was over and we were permitted to hobble into the drawing room. The large room was swathed with golden ribbons which swept majestically from the ceiling, twined around stone pillars, and were tied to the backs of chairs. The head table was framed by more oversized vases of lilies, while smaller versions created the centrepieces for the remaining tables. The tables were set beautifully, with tiny ivory boxes labelled with each guest’s name creating the place settings. Inside each box was a miniature golden macaron nestled on a bed of ivory tissue paper. Taking a look at the other boxes, I saw that I would be sitting next to my mum and somebody named Aidan, who I had never met. I hoped he wasn’t a posh relative of Rory’s. I’d be self-conscious enough slurping my soup without being judged by a member of the social elite.
‘You’ll never guess what he’s bloody gone and done now.’ Mum plonked herself down on her chair and glared at my dad, who was sitting opposite us, merrily chatting away to Great-Uncle Gerald. Her face was pinched as she drove unsavoury thoughts towards her husband.
Was it too late to switch seats?
‘He’s bought a caravan.’
A caravan? Noooooo! I was about to gasp over-dramatically, but by the look on Mum’s face, she wouldn’t have appreciated my sarcasm.
‘What’s wrong with a caravan? You can go away any time you want to now.’
It sounded lovely, actually. Perhaps Jared and I could borrow it. I had fond memories of staying in some ancient relative’s caravan in Blackpool during the school holidays, snuggled up inside as it pissed it down outside, all hopes of hitting the beach dashed as the drops of rain snaked down the windowpanes. Yes, I’d hated it at the time, but memories were funny little beasts and suddenly I longed to hear the rain pounding on the tin roof while I gazed out of the rain-spattered window (and not glared miserably out of it as I had back then, obviously).
‘Oh no. He hasn’t bought it for holidays.’ Mum gave a humourless laugh. ‘Holidays are what normal people do with caravans, but when has your father ever been normal? Tell her what you’re doing with that blasted caravan, Louie.’
I cringed as she shouted across the table, causing a barrage of curious glances from the other guests. Dad opened his mouth to speak, but Mum got in there first. ‘He’s turning it into a gym. A gym!’ Mum gave a hoot. ‘When has your father ever set foot in a gym?’
‘I’ve never had access to one, have I?’ Dad called across the table, but he may as well not have spoken as far as Mum was concerned.
‘It isn’t enough that he turned the loft into a home cinema that nobody ever uses, or the garden shed into a sauna. No, he has to buy a rusting old caravan and turn it into a gym.’ She said the word ‘gym’ like it was a disease, which I totally got. I couldn’t stand the places either. ‘I blame that George whatshisface. The one off the telly with the tiny spaces.’
‘George Clarke,’ Dad piped up. ‘And it’s amazing spaces, not tiny.’
‘In fact, no.’ Mum, ignoring Dad, swivelled in her chair so she was facing me. ‘I blame you. You were into all that fitness stuff not so long ago. He must have got a taste of it from you.’
‘Hey, don’t blame me.’ I held up my hands in surrender. ‘I’m hardly an advertisement for healthy living.’ In fact, I’d already scoffed my golden macaron – which was delicious, by the way – as a pre-appetiser. ‘Anyway, you might like it if you gave it a chance. You hated the thought of Dad turning the shed into a sauna, but you love it now.’
Mum gave a slight one-shouldered shrug. ‘It’s strangely invigorating.’
‘See? You might like working out too.’
Mum’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why? Have I put on weight? Because Aunty Pat said I was looking a bit chunky last week.’
Next time Dad could fight his own battles. This was too much like hard work for my liking.
‘No, Mum, you haven’t put on weight. I’m trying to be positive.’
‘And I’m trying to be realistic. Do you think I’m getting bingo wings?’ Mum lifted her arms and flapped them up and down. I decided the best course of action was to turn away and pretend she wasn’t there.
Two
Trina
Her cheeks were beginning to ache but, camera or no camera, Trina couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. This had to be a dream, surely. Was it really possible that she was now Mrs Hamilton-Wraith, wife of Rory, one of the most incredible men she had ever met? Rory was handsome, with wavy auburn hair and intense brown eyes framed by dark brows and never-ending eyelashes. He was always immaculately dressed and today – obviously – was no exception. His suit had been beautifully tailored and fitted his lean body like a second skin.
Trina couldn’t believe her luck.
‘All done, guys.’ The photographer unhooked the camera from around his neck and started to pack up his equipment as Trina and Rory’s guests breathed a collective sigh of relief, wandering back towards the castle and the five-course dinner that awaited them.
Trina held back, grasping hold of Rory’s hand. ‘I can’t believe we’re married. Can you?’
Rory gave her hand a squeeze, squashing the unfamiliar gold band into her fingers in a pleasant sort of way. ‘I’m the luckiest man alive.’ Rory stooped to place a whispery kiss on her forehead.
‘No, I’m the lucky one.’
Trina had known Rory Hamilton-Wraith forever. Their fathers were members of the same golf club so their paths had often crossed at functions. But it had been during last year’s annual dinner dance that they’d really hit it off. Meeting Rory had come at the exact time she’d needed a confidence boost. She’d been feeling low and had been contemplating sneaking off home when Rory had appeared and lifted her mood. They’d started chatting over som
ething inconsequential, but by the end of the night they were inseparable. Sort of. Rory was very dedicated to his work, which Trina most admired about him. After his dashing good looks, of course.
‘We’re both lucky.’ Rory grinned at his new wife before his attention was snapped away by the feathery blue head-dress of Winnie Hamilton-Wraith wafting by. ‘Mother! What did you think of …’ Rory’s voice trailed away as he scurried after his mother, leaving Trina standing by herself, a serene smile still plastered over her face.
She’d done it. She’d actually married Rory, and she was so glad she hadn’t allowed the nerves she’d awoken with that morning to push her into a decision she would regret. Marriage was a huge, scary step but she’d taken it and she couldn’t be happier.
‘Hey, you.’ Trina’s best friend appeared by her side, giving her a friendly nudge. ‘How does it feel to be married?’
Trina gave a fluttery sigh. ‘Amazing, Aidan. It feels utterly amazing.’ She reached up to touch her intricate up-do. ‘How’s my hair? I was a bit worried when it started to get breezy.’
Aidan peered at her head. ‘There are a few loose strands but nothing to worry about. I can fix it easily.’
‘Do we have time?’ Most of the guests had arrived back at the castle by now and would be expecting to eat the sumptuous meal they’d been promised. On the other hand, Trina didn’t want to ruin the day by showing up with hideous hair. Aidan had spent the morning creating the perfect do and she wanted to show off her friend’s magnificent handiwork.
‘You’re the bride! It’s your day. You have time to do whatever you want to. Come on. My kit’s up in my room. It won’t take long.’ Aidan took Trina’s hand and led her through the ornate doors of the castle. Their footsteps echoed on the beautiful stone floor of the entrance hall, but came to a stop as Rory’s sister loomed in front of them. Carrington Hamilton-Wraith was rake-thin and not very tall, but still she posed a threat as she blocked Trina and Aidan’s path, rather like a yapping Chihuahua guarding its territory.
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