The Wedding Shop on Wexley Street

by Rachel Dove

  James shook his head. ‘I can do a temporary fix, but realistically it needs doing now.’

  Maria stood there, biting the skin on her thumbnail, shaking her head from side to side rapidly. James stepped down from his small stepladder.

  ‘Listen, you can get a second opinion, but they’ll only tell you the same. It needs sorting, the sooner the better. I am quite quiet next week so I can fit you in. I can even start today, if you like – cut down on the days you’d have to close.’ He looked around him at the empty shop. ‘You’re closed today, right? Do you have anywhere to stay?’

  ‘I’m open today, actually, and I don’t live here. I’m living with a friend.’

  ‘Because of the power?’ James asked. Maria frowned. Why did he care?

  ‘Er, no – I don’t live here. I lived in Harrogate till recently, but I… now I’m staying with my friend. Cass.’

  He said nothing, rubbing his hand down the scruff of his facial hair.

  ‘My friend, Cass, she has a cottage here in Westfield. So it’s handy for work.’

  He kept looking at her, one brow arched.

  ‘She’s a hotshot Harrogate divorce lawyer. She’s been really great, actually, putting me up.’

  Nothing. He was looking at her like he was trying to work her out. Why do I feel the need to fill the silences?

  ‘So…’ She changed tack. ‘When can you start, and do you know how much, roughly?’

  She was half-expecting him to start showing his butt crack and sucking the air in between his teeth, but he just shook his head.

  ‘I’ll need to get some parts. I’ll shop around to see what I can get. With the rewiring, you can redo the sockets and light fittings too. Do you have any ideas?’

  I don’t even have a clue what I’m doing tomorrow, let alone making decisions like this. ‘I don’t know, do you need to know today? I don’t think I can do that today.’

  ‘You have a little time. Do you want me to come back when I have a few quotes for you?’

  Maria found herself nodding along dumbly.

  ‘You sure you’re okay? Can I call someone to come?’

  ‘No!’ she squeaked, suddenly picturing Lynn and Cassie frantically racing to the shop, having received a mumbling call from a strange, deep voice. ‘No.’ Good, that was calmer, Maria. Well done. ‘I’m fine, really, I’m just having a bad day.’ Preceded by a few weeks of total devastation.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, his head moving from side to side as he openly gawked at her. ‘You don’t look well. Are you ill?’

  Maria went and had a little sit-down on her chair, wrapping her arms around herself.

  ‘I may or may not have had enough alcohol last night to stun an alcoholic rhino.’

  He went back to work then, a grin on his face. ‘Ah, hangover and a bad day at work. That’ll do it. You own the place?’

  ‘Yep,’ she nodded, licking her lips to try to get some moisture going in her mouth.

  ‘Just you then?’

  She groaned, hitting her head on the desk. ‘Yes, just me. A tiny little woman. Don’t you read the news? It’s old hat now. I’m fine on my own, aside from the binge drinking and awkward sexual encounter. Just fine and dandy. If people can’t handle that, it’s their tough luck.’

  She was staring at the wooden counter, trying to resist the urge to slam her head against it again, when she realised the whole shop was quiet. She sneaked a peek under her arm and looked at him. He was standing halfway up the ladder, looking straight at her.

  ‘I meant in the business. Is it just you in the business?’

  Oh, holy mother of hell. He must think I’m barmy.

  ‘Oh!’ She laughed awkwardly, a shrill cackle that made her sound like she was auditioning for Wicked. ‘I thought… well, never mind what I thought. It’s fine. No, it’s my business but I employ Lynn part-time. She worked with my mother before she passed. I opened this up and she came with me.’

  What the hell are you doing! Stop telling him your life story, you bloody demented woman!

  He nodded, closing up the fuse box and stepping down the ladder.

  ‘Okay, it’s safe now for when you go home, but I really think you need to get it sorted soon. I can come tomorrow if you like. I have a free day.’

  I bet you can too, at double the cost.

  ‘I won’t charge weekend rates. I’m at a loose end at the moment myself. I have family staying with me and I’d be glad of an excuse to get out of the house to be honest.’

  He pulled a face, and she sat up.

  ‘That would be great, thanks. How much do I owe for today?’

  He waved her away as he packed up his tools. ‘I’ll let you have some quotes tonight, and we can sort the bill then.’

  She nodded, thinking of her bank account. With the honeymoon costs, and the way business was going, it would be tight. She would be living with Cass for a while at this rate, not that Cass would mind. Her liver might object, though.

  He was just finishing up when the phone rang. Thank God she had the power back on at least. She scooped to pick it up and saw Lynn’s number on the screen.

  ‘Hey, Lynn, you okay?’ She half-watched James pack up as she listened to Lynn chat about her morning.

  ‘Cool, chilled morning then, eh? That’s good. No, it’s been dead here, and…’ She went to tell her about the electrics, but stopped herself. Lynn didn’t need to be fretting about that. Hopefully things would be well underway by the time she was in next.

  ‘I’m about to head home myself to be honest. I’m going to take one of the machines to Cass’s and work from there. I haven’t had a customer all day.’

  ‘Do you think people saw the photos?’ Lynn asked tentatively. Well, she obviously had.

  ‘You mean the photos that humiliate me and show I wasted years of my life with a completely selfish arsehole? Probably, yeah. I’m guessing that this is what happened. Like people need another reason to avoid me. I mean, you don’t book a wedding planner who can’t keep a bloody man, do you?’ She spun around with the phone in her hand and saw that James was waiting by the door. He looked as though he was waiting… nay, hoping… for the zombie apocalypse to hit so he could be eaten alive by the undead. Obviously preferable to overhearing her tragic backstory.

  ‘Er, Lynn, a customer just came in. Yeah, I have to go. Speak to you later. Enjoy your weekend.’

  ‘Sorry, I wasn’t listening, honest. I just wanted to say goodbye properly. What time do you want to start tomorrow?’

  ‘Whenever, just let me know and I’ll be here to let you in.’

  He nodded and opened his mouth as though to say something further. He looked like he was struggling to think of something, so she saved him.

  ‘Listen, James, is it?’ He smiled, his amused mouth twitching. ‘I’m just having a bad day. I promise to rein in the crazy for tomorrow. If you don’t want the hassle, I understand.’ She plucked a Post-it note off her desk and scribbled down her mobile number.

  He took it, opened the door and went to leave. ‘See you tomorrow, Maria. I’ll contact you later. Stay hydrated.’

  She sank back down into her chair, watching him walk off to his van. Stay hydrated. She huffed to herself, going to pack up a machine and some work for home.

  ‘As if a glass of water will sort me out, eh, Mum? I need more than that.’

  She packed up and, making sure she’d locked up, carried her stuff to her waiting car. Getting in and cursing the crappy heating once more, she continued her conversation with her mother as she pulled away.

  ‘Stay hydrated!’ she snorted, shaking her head as she wove through the streets of Westfield. Driving past the vet’s, she passed Amanda on her way up to the house, a cat in her arms. She was walking a little strangely and, as she turned, Maria could see why as her little baby bump came into view.

  She waved, and Amanda waved back cheerfully. Cow.

  ‘Well, did you see that? Benjamin Evans, going to be a dad. I never thought I’d see the day, did you,
Mum?’ She drove down the main street, heading towards the cottage. ‘She looked well, though, didn’t she? Married bliss to the man of your dreams and a baby on the way. Own businesses. Pretty good going, isn’t it? At this rate, I shan’t even have the shop by Christmas.’ She drove the rest of the way in silence till she reached Cassie’s home. If her mother had been there, she would have told her to shut up anyway, and get on with it. So that’s what she would do. After a spell of vomiting and changing her bedsheets to rid them of the smell of the stranger she had bedded the night before. If she had to caption her life at the moment, #lifegoals #blessed wouldn’t be first choice. She would rock #epicfail #passthebarfbag, though.

  Chapter 7

  Darcy walked off the plane into the tepid Northern weather and shivered. Whether it was the shock of being back in Britain or the dread of things to come he couldn’t be sure. He had taken ill on the plane, and not even the complimentary champagne had made him feel any better.

  His social media accounts had been deactivated while he was away, and he had left his phone at home, not wanting to be contacted while he went away to escape from his nuptials, as it were. For the first few days it had worked too, once his assistant had informed the hotel that he would in fact be attending alone, and it was no longer a honeymoon. A change of room had saved blushes all round, and a lucky couple newly engaged had been jubilant to score a free upgrade, courtesy of the sad-looking man propping up the bar in a rather tragic-looking gaudy shirt. He had found it in his case when he arrived, a joke present from Maria, he guessed, who had packed his case for him. He had gone to throw it out, but had instead found himself donning it to go down to the evening meal. Penance, perhaps. He tried to think about how Maria was, what she was doing, but he couldn’t picture it. He knew she had picked up her things, or someone had. His doorman had called his office to gain permission for them to enter, and his father had told him when he had called to let them know where he was, and his room number, in case any business arose in his absence.

  ‘It’s done now, spit spot,’ his father had proclaimed down the phone, as though Darcy had just had a boil lanced, or managed to kiss off a bad blind date.

  ‘Hardly, Father,’ Darcy tried to counter, but his father was already talking again.

  ‘It would never have worked out and then where would we be, eh? You’re bound to find a nice girl when the time comes, a worthy woman, who will want the same things as us.’

  Darcy opened his mouth to argue that Maria surely did want the same things as them, for Darcy to be happy, but it was no use. What was the point in arguing now, anyway? The damage was already done. He had chickened out, hotfooting it down the back stairs before the organist had even cracked her fingers.

  So now here he was, heading for the arrivals lounge and all that would follow it. He knew he was expected to head straight to the office, but he wasn’t in a rush to race back into the cutthroat corporate tea business. His dad had already been spouting about some celebrity ad campaign that their biggest rival, Northern Tea, had produced. Darcy had been spared the onslaught for a few days but he knew his mother, father and younger sister would be ready and waiting to fill him in. It was as though they had just erased Maria from their lives, as easily as deleting a file. Darcy wasn’t sure how easy that would come to him, but he supposed he had little choice.

  As he went to stand by the carousel with the other dejected-looking holidaymakers, he caught the eye of a woman standing on her own nearby. She was looking tanned from her trip, her hair sporting a threaded braid. She turned and smiled at him.

  ‘Hi, I recognise you, don’t I?’

  Darcy nodded. ‘Probably from the flight.’

  She considered this. ‘No, I don’t think so. Maybe from England?’ She was looking him up and down now, obviously trying to remember. Then he realised.

  ‘It might be my baby pictures.’

  The woman looked confused. ‘Baby pictures?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, watching the carousel start to turn slowly. ‘I was in an ad campaign, for Burgess Teas?’

  ‘Oooo!’ she squealed loudly, making half the airport jump. ‘You’re that guy, the wedding guy!’

  She looked around him, looking disappointed. ‘Where is she?’

  Darcy looked at her in horror as the people around them seemed to come to life, murmuring and pointing. Oh God, he thought to himself, seeing his case finally coming down the carousel towards him, like a life raft in a stormy open sea. He pushed his way through the crowd, nodding at people who were now smiling and waving at him, and frog-dived onto his case. He missed his footing a little and ended up moving along the carousel with his case for a beat till he managed to pull himself and it back upright. The woman was still there, giving him a conspiratorial look.

  ‘I get it,’ she stage-whispered. ‘You have to be discreet, for the cameras. Is she meeting you later?’

  He pulled his case to him, slamming it into his own leg and wincing with pain. He looked down and noticed a thin line of blood seeping through his cream linen trousers. He rubbed at it, which only sent a fresh wave of pain searing through his calf and caused the blood to smear. The woman never noticed, having sped off to collect her own baggage. He pulled up the handle of his case and took his opportunity to leave, pulling his carry-on man-bag onto his shoulder. He was feeling very confused and sweaty. Why would she think he was on his honeymoon? Surely the media machine had got wind of the story? He might not be famous by some modern reality TV standards, but in the North he was photographed a lot, normally because of his former shenanigans in the South with various IT girls and supermodels. Drunken nights out in the right places. Or tumbling out of hotel rooms the morning after. And on one occasion, being papped jumping out of a mansion bedroom window when his date for the night’s footballer husband arrived back early from practice with a pulled hamstring. Lucky for him, because the man was livid. Even with a limp, he had been within a cat’s whisker of catching him.

  He pulled his dejected self around the corner and gasped. Held back by several security guards and the barrier was a wall of journalists. He looked behind him momentarily, but there was only a couple with a small boy behind him. He didn’t recognise them. Were they here for him? He turned back round and they started snapping away. It might be me they’re here for, after all, he thought to himself.

  ‘Darcy, mate – where’s the girl?’

  ‘Darcy, Darcy – over here, mate – can you flash your ring finger for us?’

  Bemused, he looked down at his own hand, which was still sporting the small gold ring Maria had bought him when they got engaged. She had joked that it was to chase away the skanks, but he knew it was just a thoughtful gift. Which he had forgotten to take off when he ditched her. Shit balls of fire. He went to shove his hand in his pocket, and was setting his head and body into battering-ram mode when a hand linked through his. A blonde woman, dressed in white linen trousers and a pink bustier, smiled at him, as though she expected him to just smile back in recognition. She covered his ring with her fingers and, bringing it up to her lips, dropped a kiss on it, winking at the cameras. Darcy was about to object when she leaned in and kissed him full on the lips. She had both hands rammed around his face, and it was all he could do to grip his bags and breathe. She tasted of cinnamon, which reminded him of the cough drops his grandmother sucked. He resisted the urge to gag as she pulled away, linking arms with him again and pulling him to the exit doors. Security held off the paparazzi, but they were still hollering and whooping, shouting questions at him as the pair were ushered through security.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ he asked her, incredulous. ‘Why did you do that, in front of them?’

  He recognised her then. She had done it before, on the beach. He had been walking along, minding his own business, when she had appeared, grasped his hand, said hello and then disappeared. He had seen her loitering around the place, eating dinner near to him, sitting nearby at the pool.

  The woman ignored him, gripping hi
m in one hand and her case in the other as they headed to a driver holding a placard saying ‘MR WHITE’. The bracelet she wore on her wrist jangled, annoying him.

  ‘Here, honey,’ she said, pointing at Darcy. The driver nodded and took both their cases, walking off towards the exit. ‘This is us, let’s go. We need to avoid them.’

  She pointed a pink-painted talon back towards the arrivals area, and Darcy shuddered.

  ‘Okay, okay, but I’m not Mr White. I’m—’

  ‘I know who you are, Mr Burgess. I’m under orders to take you straight to the office.’

  Darcy’s heart sank into his designer shoes.

  ‘Oh God, did my bloody father send you?’ He clenched his fists in impotent anger. ‘Argh! Will he never leave me be!’ he demanded, shouting up at the white ceiling of the airport. The woman just ignored him and motioned for him to keep walking. He followed behind her, feeling like a man on his way to a firing squad. Then he remembered. The name on the placard. Mr White. Oh God.

  ‘The driver, that sign? Was it really for me?’ She nodded, raising a brow as if to say ‘of course, dum-dum’.

  The colour drained from his face. She bloody loved Reservoir Dogs, and one too many Godfather binges had sent the old dragon over the edge.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he exclaimed in his plummy Hugh Grant tones. ‘I’m done for, aren’t I?’

  They had arrived at the waiting car now, and the driver opened the door. He looked inside, half-expecting the gates of Hades to be inside, not the plush leather interior he saw.

  ‘Yep,’ she said, bundling him into the back. ‘Your mother sent me.’

  Chapter 8

  ‘So, you going to call him, or what?’ Cassie asked, passing her a coffee and getting into bed next to her. ‘Eugh, I hope you changed your sheets!’ She wrinkled her nose in pretend disgust.

  ‘Cass, your sheets are that cruddy they’d drag themselves to the washing machine if they could. Of course I changed them. You changed yours?’

  Cassie looked embarrassed and Maria nudged her. ‘You haven’t! Really?’