The Wedding Diary (Choc Lit)

by James, Margaret

  ‘I’ve noticed that you have an eye for colour,’ she continued. ‘You look particularly nice today, in that pale pink and darker pink and green, and that yellow top you wore in Dorset really flattered you.

  ‘Your clothes are rubbish, obviously. They’re cheap and mass-produced in Third World countries or bought from market stalls. You ought to buy a classic piece or two, my love, at least once in a while. It’s often quite amazing what’s going in the sales. But you always look well put together, even dressed in tat. I’ll tell darling Rosie to send you a few shade cards and some charts.’

  ‘What if I’m no good at glossing?’

  ‘If you’re not already, you will be very soon, my sweetie pie.’ Fanny took out a file and tapped it with one long, red nail. ‘You signed the entry form, remember? In the event of any monies being disbursed by Supadoop Promotions?’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ said Cat and sighed, accepting she was beaten. Or that she’d got off lightly? She wasn’t really sure. ‘When shall I start?’

  ‘As soon as possible, my love,’ said Fanny, and her mouth curved in her trademark vixen’s smile again. ‘What do you have planned for this weekend?’

  ‘Well – nothing, I suppose,’ admitted Cat.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Fanny as she tapped more keys. ‘So now it’s set in stone. Caspar, angel, it’s a lovely day. So you shall go out and have a little fun with Rosie. You can both go running in the park.’

  As Cat left Fanny’s office she met Rosie coming in, carrying a dozen bags from very expensive stores.

  ‘Hello, Cat,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here to let you in, but I’ve been collecting samples for her ladyship. How are things with you?’

  ‘Oh, you know – pretty bad.’ Cat shook her head. ‘I wish I’d never heard of Fanny Gregory!’ she cried. ‘I wish I’d never entered her bloody competition!’

  ‘Why, what did she say to you today?’

  ‘I can’t pay back the money she spent on me that day at Melbury Court and so I have to go and paint her barn. She’s going to let me choose some colour schemes. You’re going to send me shade cards.’

  ‘I’m going to send you what?’

  ‘Some charts, some shade cards, so she said.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Rosie dropped her bags on to the pavement and then gave Cat a sympathetic hug. ‘You mustn’t let her bully you,’ she said. ‘Fan’s all mouth and bluster, and that’s why she’s so good at what she does. She can talk anybody into doing anything. But with Fan you have to stand your ground, otherwise she walks all over you. Come and have a coffee?’

  ‘What about that woman, isn’t she expecting you? She was saying something about you and Caspar going to the park.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m in training for a fun run. It’s for charity and Fanny’s doing the promotion. They can wait ten minutes.’ Rosie kicked the bags into the hallway. ‘There’s a Starbucks down the road. Come on, I’ll treat you to a chocolate muffin and a cappuccino.’

  ‘I’d better not,’ said Cat. ‘I must go back to work. I’m late already and I can’t afford to get the sack.’

  ‘I tell you what, I’ll call you,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Okay,’ said Cat and forced a smile.

  ‘You mustn’t worry, it’s going to be all right.’

  A few weekends in Surrey, Cat thought grimly, as she made her way into the dirty, crowded, nasty-smelling Underground.

  They might be exactly what I need.

  Some country air and exercise, they’ll probably do me good.

  It’s not as if I have much choice.

  ‘The blackmailing old witch,’ cried Tess.

  Cat was back at Chapman’s yard, explaining what had happened and what Fanny Gregory had said she had to do. ‘You should go and see a lawyer, mate. Get a solicitor on the case to send her a stiff letter – that’s my advice to you.’

  ‘I can’t afford to pass the time of day with a solicitor,’ said Cat. ‘Let alone employ one.’

  ‘I could ask my brother’s bloke? He told Nick some useful stuff when he was up for burglary one time.’ Tess looked sympathetically at Cat. ‘I’ll ring Mr Gibson for you, shall I?’

  ‘No,’ said Cat. ‘I can’t afford to pay solicitors. I’d rather sort it this way, anyhow. These days, unless I’m at the yard, I never do much at weekends.’

  ‘But you could, you know. You and me and Bex, we could go clubbing, drinking, meeting guys. Like we used to do, remember, in the olden days, before you met that bastard Jack?’

  ‘I don’t want anything more to do with guys. I’m going to become a nun. I’ve been on to a website and downloaded the forms.’

  ‘Why won’t you speak to Adam?’

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘But maybe he was telling you the truth? Listen, I’ve been thinking—’

  ‘Blimey, that’ll be a first.’

  ‘Shut up, Cat,’ said Tess. ‘Maybe he and Whatserface, perhaps they really had split up? Perhaps he really loves you?’

  ‘Perhaps there’s life on Mars.’

  ‘Why don’t you call him, anyway?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Cat, and sighed. ‘Okay, he’s nice. I know he’s nice, and part of me is almost sure he wasn’t lying when he said he and the Maddy woman had broken up before we even met. I believe he was as shocked as I was when he found her in his bed. But I can’t take the risk.’

  ‘You can’t take the risk of what?’

  ‘Of being hurt a second time. My heart can’t take the strain. What if it’s all on again between him and the Maddy woman? What if they’re tucked up in bed this minute?’

  ‘At four o’clock on Wednesday afternoon?’ Tess grinned sarcastically. ‘I’d say it was unlikely. Our Adam’s probably on a building site in darkest Cornwall. Or he’ll be in Dorset or some other part of cross-eyed-peasant-country, sticking some old house or ancient monument together with spit and Araldite.’

  Or could he still be waiting in the bar of the Red Lion, thought Cat, and was he still hoping she would come?

  Suddenly she wanted more than anything to see him.

  But she forced the longing down.

  ‘What do you suggest?’ she asked.

  ‘You could meet him, couldn’t you, and keep it light and friendly? What about a movie and a pizza, Adam, my old mate? Let’s have some good, clean fun?’

  ‘I’m not really in the mood for fun,’ said Cat, wondering why merely hearing Adam’s name still had the occult power to twist a dagger in her heart? ‘Maybe slapping litres of magnolia or something on Fanny’s sodding walls will be good therapy for me, and Surrey’s probably very nice in summer.’

  ‘Cat, if you think slapping paint on walls is therapy, you really need to buy a better class of magazine – one that isn’t full of stuff about my-husband-is-a-paedophile-who’s-working-for-a-children’s-charity, or my-council-house-is-full-of-ghosts-and-the-bishop-came-to-exorcise-them-but-it-didn’t-work-and-there’s-still-a-lot-of-ectoplasm-which-won’t-respond-to-bleach.’

  ‘So you’d do what?’

  ‘Oh, I dunno,’ said Tess. ‘I think this Fanny Gregory woman sounds like a gold-medal-winning bitch. But I’m not doing anything this weekend. Barry’s at the yard and Annie’s in the office. She’s bringing Roxie in her Moses basket, so she said, and they won’t need me. If you want a bit of company as you do your slapping, I’ll come and help you out.’

  ‘You mean it?’

  ‘Yes, of course I mean it. I’m your mate.’

  ‘Do you think Bex would tag along, and then the three of us could slap together?’

  ‘No, Bexy-girl’s got other plans.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Cat.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ said Tess, and then she grinned. ‘She’s been giving herself the works this week – nails and hai
r and facial peel and spray tan. She’s been Body Shopped to death, all for some new guy she met in Tesco.’

  ‘Where are they going, on a mini-break to Paris?’

  ‘No, just tenpin bowling.’

  ‘Las Vegas?’

  ‘Cricklewood.’

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘No, that’s what she said, or maybe it was Harlesden?’

  ‘God,’ said Cat and shook her head. ‘If that’s the best this guy can offer, she’d be better off with the emulsion and with us.’

  Saturday, 2 July

  As Cat and Tess drew up in Tess’s ancient Peugeot – Cat’s even older Honda Civic was out of circulation at the moment – they saw at once that Fanny’s barn was gorgeous.

  It was built of local flint and weathered, blush-red brick. Its narrow, arching windows sparkled in the summer sunshine, and its pantiled roof was mossed and lichened to perfection. The original doors had been removed, and now one side was glass.

  It was huge, as well. She wondered how much life she’d spend emulsioning and glossing this gigantic place as she repaid her debt to Fanny Gregory and Supadoop Promotions. Maybe she should go to a solicitor, after all? But what would a solicitor cost? She didn’t have any money to waste on going to see solicitors.

  Maybe getting some experience of DIY would stand her in good stead? She was ashamed to realise that apart from toe and fingernails she’d never painted anything in her life.

  ‘Good morning, ladies!’ As Cat stood there wondering, debating with herself, Fanny came striding from the barn with Caspar at her heels, and Cat saw she looked different today.

  She wasn’t in her usual business suit. She was wearing smart designer jeans and an expensive Chloe shirt that Cat had seen in Vogue and coveted. She wasn’t wearing any obvious make-up. She looked casual, happy and relaxed, and ten years younger, too.

  ‘Cat of course I know,’ she said, ‘but you are?’

  ‘Tess,’ said Cat. ‘She works with me, and she’s come to help me with the painting. I hope that’s all right?’

  ‘The more the merrier, that’s what I always say,’ chirped Fanny brightly. ‘Well, I sometimes say it. Politicians, civil servants, tax inspectors, social workers, union representatives – the fewer of people like them we have, the better, obviously. Well, girls, don’t just stand there, come inside – I’ll show you round.’

  Cat and Tess exchanged a shrug, a raising of the eyebrows and a widening of the eyes, then did as they were told. They followed Fanny and Caspar down a hallway into an enormous atrium, full of sunlight pouring in like honey through the arching windows, and they gasped.

  ‘Fanny, this is wonderful,’ breathed Cat.

  ‘Yeah, it’s amazing,’ Tess said softly, like somebody afraid to break a spell.

  ‘Do you think so, darlings?’ Fanny grinned. ‘I’m so glad you like it. I must admit I had some tiny doubts about the atrium. But now it’s nearly finished I’m quite pleased with it myself.’

  She laid her small white hand on her black greyhound’s sleek dark head. ‘Caspar loves it, don’t you, angel?’

  Caspar looked at Fanny with adoration in his lovely eyes, as usual rapt by every single word his mistress spoke.

  ‘Cool dog,’ said Tess.

  Cat hadn’t expected Fanny to be there.

  She’d supposed she and Tess would be alone, that there’d be instructions somewhere, maybe saying the keys were with a neighbour, that the paint and stuff was in the garage, and to get on with it.

  On the way they’d stopped off at a supermarket, where they’d bought some food they could eat cold – little pots of salad, pasta, yogurts, cakes and cookies (Tess had insisted on the cakes and cookies) and a big box of organic muesli (Cat had insisted on the muesli and forbidden Tess to buy a box of sugar-coated, additive-rich rubbish). They’d also bought some fruit, some smoothies and, in case there happened to be a kettle, some teabags and a couple of pints of milk.

  They had been expecting to sleep on bare stone floors – they’d brought their sleeping bags – and the best they’d hoped for in the way of luxury was water, electricity and a roof over their heads.

  The kitchen had been finished, Fanny told them, and so had all the bathrooms. But there was still an awful lot to do – all the painting, naturally, and the carpeting, and buying lots of lovely china, pictures, rugs and furniture. She’d have to ask a stylist, see what he could suggest. She knew most of the influential ones. She would go to Liberty because they had the most amazing things.

  ‘I’ve coffee on the hob,’ she added, as she led them into the most luxurious, biggest kitchen Cat had ever seen. ‘Yes, my darling girls – as of today I have a functioning stove at last! Oh, the bliss, the bliss!’

  ‘Where do you want me to start working?’ Cat asked Fanny, as she poured them coffee from a very expensive-looking pot.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, don’t you worry about work! Or not right now, at any rate.’ Fanny twinkled merrily at Tess. ‘This girl, you know, she’s quite obsessed with work! Fanny, she says, I have to go to work. Fanny, I have a job. Fanny, I can’t take time off. So conscientious – I hope her boss appreciates it. Do you work together, did you say?’

  Tess was saying nothing. She was gazing round in awe like someone in an abbey or cathedral, taking in the huge American appliances, the polished granite surfaces, the gleaming chromium fittings and the snow-white porcelain sinks.

  ‘Sit down, darlings,’ Fanny told them, sitting down herself at an enormous kitchen table. Cat guessed it must have come from France, from some old farmhouse in the Lot or the Dordogne.

  Or maybe it had come from China? You could get some brilliant stuff from China nowadays, and not even Barry could always tell the genuine from the fake or reproduction.

  Last week, he’d almost bought some chairs which he had been convinced were genuine Victorian balloon backs. But when he had upended them to check, he’d found them stamped with Chinese characters.

  ‘The milk is in the frother, and there are some biscuits in that yellow box,’ continued Fanny. ‘I had them from a client yesterday, so they should be all right. They won’t be going soft yet, anyway.’

  She took a couple of sips of coffee, dunked a biscuit, took a bite. ‘Why do you look so jittery, my angels?’ she enquired. ‘Cat, my sweet, stop staring at the ceiling. There are no hidden cameras there, you know.’ She twinkled merrily again. ‘Do you think, my love, with your suspicious mind, you ought to work for MI5?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Fanny.’ Cat had just been wondering how long it would take to paint the bloody ceiling, not looking for cameras or bugs. ‘This is delicious coffee, by the way.’

  ‘Thank you, Cat. It comes from Italy. You were probably drinking something similar yourself a week or two ago. That’s if you went to any decent restaurants, of course.’ Fanny sighed. ‘I don’t know what’s going on in Italy nowadays – I really don’t. Italians have the best cuisine in Europe, but there are American fast food outlets everywhere. When I was last in Rome, there was one right opposite the Pantheon – talk about putting diamond buttons on a pair of ghastly chain store jeans. I was so relieved when someone told me it’s not there any more.’

  ‘What’s the Pantheon?’ Tess asked Fanny, making Fanny sigh again and roll her big blue eyes.

  ‘Google it, my angel,’ she told Tess.

  Cat was hoping coffee would help her to relax a bit before she started painting. But before she and Tess had finished drinking, Fanny was on her feet again.

  ‘My darlings, we must dash,’ she said. ‘We need go to Marks and Spencer straight away.’

  ‘Do they sell paint?’ asked Cat.

  ‘I don’t think so, sweetie pie.’ Fanny frowned and looked at Cat in puzzlement. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I thought – why are we going, then?’

&n
bsp; ‘I need to buy some food,’ said Fanny, in the tone of voice some people used when talking to the stupid, very young or elderly bewildered. ‘Luckily for us, the biggest M and S in Europe’s down the road in Camberley. You girls can come and help me. You can push the trolleys, angels – that’s if you don’t mind?’

  She stroked her dog’s dark head then took his face between her hands and gazed into his amber eyes. ‘Caspar, darling heart,’ she whispered, ‘they won’t let you into Marks and Spencer. So you’ll have to stay and guard this place for us. We won’t be very long.’

  ‘We’ll bring you back a treat, mate,’ promised Tess.

  ‘You said she was a cow,’ said Tess, as they got out of Fanny’s gorgeous purple BMW and headed for the trolley park.

  ‘I never, ever told you that,’ hissed Cat. ‘So keep your voice down, can’t you?’

  ‘But you made me think she was a bitch.’ Tess released a mega-giant-size trolley and pulled one out for Cat. ‘I was expecting some horrible old vampire, with yellow teeth and hair like frizzy orange candyfloss and liver-spotted hands like rotting claws. But she’s really pretty and she’s very nice as well.’

  ‘I dare say even Stalin had his less psychotic days.’

  ‘She calls us angels, too.’

  ‘She calls everybody angel, darling, sweetheart, love, even when she’s tearing out their throats, my loves, and barbecuing their livers on her flash new high-speed grill, my angels, sweethearts, darling girls.’

  ‘I say Fanny Gregory’s all right. I like her dog, as well.’

  ‘We’re not in dispute about her dog.’

  ‘I think you’re over-sensitive,’ said Tess. ‘You should be less defensive and less prone to take offence. You should have done that psychic test and analysed your personality. If you could only understand yourself, you would be less likely to have such extreme reactions to everyone you meet.’

  ‘Okay, have it your way,’ muttered Cat. ‘Come on, she wants to get her shopping.’

  So Tess and Cat pushed trolleys round the store, and Fanny filled them up with food and wine and bunches of delicious-smelling white and pink and cream and purple flowers.