by Lynsey James
‘Um… I don’t know that I’d use that exact phrase but… yeah, you’re photographing the wedding I’m covering tonight. F-Follow me.’
Smooth Ava, really smooth.
I moved to go back inside and tripped over the red carpet. Nate caught me before I banged my head on the revolving door. His strong arm was wrapped round my waist and for a second it looked like he was going to bend down and kiss me.
‘Falling for me already are you? That didn’t take long.’ He smiled and pulled me upright then went effortlessly through the revolving door.
I stared after him, my heart hammering in my chest. My mouth had gone dry and I had to remind myself to keep breathing.
After I composed myself, I followed him.
The wedding was beautiful and simple; it was the complete opposite of what I’d expected. The bride’s dress was elegant and classic: a white A-line gown with a sweetheart neckline and a layer of tulle on the skirt. The bridal party came down the aisle as a jazz singer gently crooned At Last by Etta James. Giselle and Aaron had written their own vows and, rather than being cheesy and over-sentimental, they were well thought out and sweet. Despite my hatred for weddings, I found myself dabbing my eyes in places. Rather than being gaudy and extravagant, it was a celebration of two people’s love for one another.
Max, Nate and I sat at the back; Nate snapped away happily and chatted to me while I scribbled down notes about the ceremony and Max watched. When I briefly introduced them, they talked for a minute before silence fell. As the happy couple exchanged rings, Nate took a final photo then slung his arm loosely around my shoulders.
‘Ready to go to the reception then?’ he asked with a jovial smile.
Max spun round and looked at us with a quizzical frown on his face. I couldn’t tell if it was what Nate had said that bothered him or the fact he had his arm round me after knowing me for all of five minutes. He really was like a protective older brother sometimes. As I became increasingly aware of how close Nate was to me, I realised I didn’t like him being in my personal space. It had been unoccupied for some time and I liked it that way. Even though Nate was drop-dead gorgeous, that didn’t guarantee him a free pass.
‘Yeah I suppose so. Are you coming as well, Max?’ I shrugged Nate off and went to stand beside him. His shoulders relaxed after that.
‘Certainly am, Munchkin! Lead the way!’ Placing a protective hand on my lower back, Max guided me into the crowd making their way to the reception.
Rather than opting for a sit-down meal, Giselle and Aaron had gone for a luxurious buffet, lovingly prepared by the amazing catering team they’d hired. Plates of vegetable samosas, quiches, mini cheeseburgers and tapas dishes were mixed with profiterole towers and trays of sweet pastries. The whole spread looked delightful.
As everyone pored over the buffet table, I decided to seek out the bride and groom to do the interview before the speeches started. I saw them lingering at the back of the room, drinking champagne and looking blissfully happy. I shook off any lingering nerves and approached them. Nate followed close behind, camera at the ready.
‘Hi there, my name’s Ava Clements. I’m the wedding reporter from Sleek magazine. What an amazing ceremony; I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house!’
‘Thanks, it was our dream day – wasn’t it Mr Henderson?’
Her voice had a soft Liverpudlian lilt, her husband’s name rolling effortlessly off her tongue. She stared at her new husband and fluttered her eyelashes at him.
‘Certainly was, Mrs Henderson,’ he replied.
‘Would you like to do the interview now or after the speeches?’ I asked. ‘The photographer’s here too, so we could get the photos out of the way as well. He’ll probably want one of you cutting the cake…’
I stopped as I saw Giselle’s face contort into a furious scowl.
‘Wait a second, what magazine did you say you were from?’
‘Sleek,’ I replied. ‘I-Is there a problem?’
‘You bet there’s a bloody problem, love! We’ve signed an exclusive deal with Mirage magazine; your lot aren’t supposed to be anywhere near this wedding!’
My heart sank and a cold sweat washed over me. It was every reporter’s worst nightmare to turn up at an event or function to hear another magazine had the exclusive.
‘A-are you sure?’ I stammered. ‘My editor definitely said we had the interview and photo rights…’
‘I think I’d remember which magazine I signed a £500,000 deal with, don’t you?!’
Then it dawned on me: Miranda had set me up. She’d sent me to this wedding knowing full well we couldn’t print anything about it. To confirm my suspicions, I opened up my emails and found one from Sphere Media, the couple’s PR representatives, wondering why on earth I was asking about doing an interview with Giselle and Aaron when Mirage had the exclusive. I hadn’t had time to check before; I’d been too busy doing my Cinderella routine.
‘I’m so sorry; I’ve completely wasted your time.’
I walked away from them and made for the door. I’d never felt so embarrassed in my life; I just wanted to get home and lose myself in a tub of Ben & Jerry’s.
‘Hey, where are you off to?’ Max’s voice drifted to me from the buffet table.
I turned and saw him standing with his arm round Amira’s waist. She looked resplendent in a primrose-coloured satin dress that complemented her caramel skin. Perfect, I thought, just perfect. Amira turning up put the tin lid on an awful evening.
‘It’s all gone wrong,’ I groaned. ‘I’m not even supposed to be here; Mirage have got the interview rights, not Sleek!’
Max’s nose wrinkled. ‘Surely Miranda would’ve… Ah.’
‘Yeah, she’s set me up to look a complete idiot.’ I turned to Amira, hoping she’d at least be friendly while Max was around. ‘Hi Amira, when did you get here?’
She flipped her hair behind her shoulder and tightened her grip on his waist. ‘A few minutes ago, my modelling shoot finished early. My headshots were so good my agent thinks he could land me a spot on the new Burberry campaign.’
That meant nothing to me, but I could tell I was supposed to be impressed. I raised my eyebrows and smiled insincerely.
‘Are you heading off home now?’ Max asked. ‘I can call you a cab or you could get a lift back with us.’
‘No need, my friend.’ Nate appeared by my side, grinning widely. ‘I’ve had a word with the happy couple and they’re happy for us to interview them. In fact they insist on it.’
Max’s face fell and his jaw tightened. His dislike for Nate was written all over his face.
‘Oh yeah and how did you swing that?’ A bitter note ran through his voice, like he resented his very presence in the room.
Nate tapped the side of his nose and winked at him, seemingly unaware of how much trouble he was causing.
‘It was pretty hard work, let’s just say! Not only did I have to break out the old charm and persuasion, I had to get Paddy on the phone to authorise a new deal for exclusivity on the photos and story. He wasn’t too chuffed to find out Mirage had it first and told me to do whatever I had to do to secure the deal. I might’ve brought Mirage’s questionable information gathering techniques to their attention: phone hacking, raking in people’s bins and the like.’
My eyes widened. ‘But that’s not true!’
‘What they don’t know can’t hurt them. Who’s this lovely creature?’ His eyes widened with pleasure as they met Amira’s. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Nate Walton.’
He bent low and picked up Amira’s slender, manicured hand. After holding her gaze just a fraction too long, he gently kissed her hand then released it. She giggled coquettishly and fluttered her eyelashes.
‘Amira Sharma,’ she replied with a cat-like grin.
I heard Max’s knuckles crack ominously. He looked absolutely furious. I put my hand on his arm and his features immediately softened. I recognised the anger boiling up inside him; I’d seen it before when men ap
proached Amira on a night out. He’d confided in me one night that he was sure she was going to go off with one of them someday.
‘I’m fine,’ he said quietly. He looked up and turned his attention to Nate. ‘So what brings you to Manchester anyway? You don’t sound like you’re from round here.’
‘You’re right there Maxie-boy. I lived in Paris, LA, Sydney then New York, but I’m back on home soil now. I did freelance work for an international photo agency and ended up visiting places like Vanuatu, Fiji and Antigua. It was brilliant.’
‘This must be a bit of a comedown for you then?’ Max shot back.
My heart was in my mouth as the tension rose between them. If they made a scene, it’d be splashed all over the front pages of the national newspapers tomorrow. I’d probably lose my job for not keeping a lid on the situation and no magazine would ever hire me again.
‘Why don’t you and Amira head off to have a bite to eat or something and I can do the interview?’ I suggested.
Before anyone could protest, I grabbed Nate’s arm and dragged him in the happy couple’s direction.
Giselle and Aaron were a down-to-earth couple who spoke at ease of their love for one another, despite them having once moved in very different circles. Giselle, it seemed, hadn’t always mingled with soap stars and footballers. I listened with fascination as they talked about the night they met; she’d been a barmaid at her local pub and he’d come in one night after training. After spotting her serving some regulars, he had fallen in love with her instantly. He’d stayed on at the pub until the end of her shift, flirted relentlessly with her until she’d agreed to go out with him and the rest was history.
‘He can’t cook to save his life and he leaves his dirty underpants everywhere, but I love him anyway!’
‘Says the woman who dyed my away kit pink!’
The love and affection between them was plain for all to see. You could see it in the way their eyes shone around one another, the smiles plastered to both of their faces and even the way their fingers were laced together. I even began to feel a little bit jealous, before reminding myself I had an admirer of my very own; he just hadn’t revealed himself yet.
‘Thank you so much for allowing us to do this interview. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else and congratulations again,’ I said, shaking their hands.
‘No problem chick, any time,’ said Giselle.
They happily posed for snaps while Nate clicked away furiously with his long-lens camera. Anyone who saw them could tell they fit together naturally; they were soulmates.
I felt a little ache in my heart. Would I ever find my soulmate, or would he always just be a collection of words on a page?
I was stood at the buffet table, poring over the vast array of food on offer, when Amira oozed her way up to me.
‘Having a good time then?’ Her voice reminded me of Miranda’s: syrupy-sweet to the point of nauseating when people were around, and cold and nasty when they weren’t.
‘Yeah it’s been a lovely wedding so far,’ I replied as I piled my plate high with sausage rolls. ‘How about you?’
‘It’s all a bit tacky in my opinion, but then I suppose these are just the kind of social circles Max moves in.’
That comment didn’t sit well with me. It sounded very much like she was saying my best friend wasn’t good enough for her.
‘Is this not your scene then?’ I asked, trying to keep my tone as civil as possible.
Amira scoffed loudly. ‘Um not really, love. I’m used to mixing with a cooler crowd than this. Oh by the way, I meant to say nice dress; bit cheap-looking though. A bit like you really.’
Right that’s it, no more Miss Nice Ava.
‘What exactly is your problem with me, because I don’t get it! For some reason, you’ve decided you hate me and that’s fine. I’m a big girl and I can deal with that. What I can’t deal with is you standing there making snide remarks about me and implying that my best friend isn’t good enough for you! If you can’t see what an amazing guy he is, that’s your problem.’
‘From the sounds of things, you’ve already seen what an “amazing guy” he is. Don’t get me wrong, Max is OK and I like him but I know I can do better. He, on the other hand, will never do better than me.’
‘Wow, you’re such a romantic,’ I bit back. ‘So you’re only with Max because you think you’re out of his league and he should be grateful to have you?’
‘Precisely. Girls like me always date downwards until someone who deserves us comes along. Oh, and if you’re thinking of telling Max about any of this, don’t bother. I can make your life a living hell and make sure he never speaks to you again.’
Amira picked up a vegetable samosa, popped it in her bow-like mouth and sidled away. I watched her for a second as she went to mingle with some guests. Something in her bag distracted her and I saw her pull out her phone. She moved in a sleek curve away from the group of people she’d been chatting to and I saw her jaw tighten and her eyes screw tightly shut.
As she passed by me, I heard her say ‘Mum, it’s fine… it was just a nightmare. Yes, it was. Look, Grace is calling round at seven to help put you to bed. She’s your carer, remember? You do know her, Mum…’
She said a hurried goodbye and ended the call. While her back was turned, her head dropped into her hands and I heard her exhale sharply. Sensing someone was watching her, she whipped her head round and glared at me.
‘What are you looking at?!’ she snapped.
‘I… Nothing.’
Amira snatched a glass of champagne from a passing tray and stormed off. Although I couldn’t swear to it, I was sure I saw a tear roll down her cheek.
Just to plunge me even further into the depths of despair, the first dance soon followed. The new Mr and Mrs Henderson took to the floor as Take My Breath Away by Berlin began to play. Gradually, the guests began to pair off and joined them on the dance floor to celebrate their special night. Soon, only me and a few other “spares” remained. Amira had dragged Max up at the first opportunity while Nate was getting very friendly with a bridesmaid.
‘Makes you sad, don’t it honey?’ A rich female voice lifted straight from the Deep South drifted across to me from a nearby table.
I turned to see who the mystery person was and found an old woman of around seventy sitting by herself. She was extremely beautiful; her crop of silver hair made her look full of life, as did the glint in her sparkly black eyes. Her skin was the colour of milky coffee and barely had any wrinkles, save for some lines at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. I recognised her as the jazz singer from earlier, the one who’d sung At Last while Giselle had walked down the aisle. She was wearing a long black maxi dress, accented with a teal shawl. When she saw me looking, she smiled and waved, beckoning me to go over to her.
‘Makes you sad, don’t it?’ she said again when I sat down opposite her.
‘What does?’ I followed her gaze to the dance floor, where all the couples were now swaying in time to Careless Whisper.
‘Seeing all them couples out there, happy as clams, when there’s people like you and me who just sit by and watch it all happen without us.’ It was impossible for the woman’s voice to sound truly sad but there was a definite melancholy tone to it. It struck a chord deep within me.
I chuckled awkwardly. ‘It’s just a first dance; it doesn’t bother me really.’
The woman eyed me with suspicion. Her eyes pierced through me, behind the layers of bravado I’d built up in preparation for this moment. I’d been dreading being alone for the first dance and my nightmare had come true.
‘Honey, a beautiful young thing like you should be out there with the most handsome young man in the room, spinning like a ballerina without a care in the world. Instead you’re sitting here with an old crone like me!’
My mouth dropped open. ‘Y-you’re not a crone! You look very good for your age actually. I heard you singing Etta James earlier and you were wonderful.’
She
let out a wry laugh. ‘S’all I’m good for nowadays. Fifty years ago, I was Ivy St Clair, toast of the jazz scene. Now I’m Ivy St Clair, dried-up old has-been who’s wheeled out for the odd special occasion.’
‘You were a jazz singer?’ I shuffled my seat round, keen to know more about the mysterious Ivy St Clair.
‘Indeed I was!’ Her face beamed with pride and she straightened up in her chair. ‘Back in New Orleans, I sang at every jazz club on Bourbon Street. Oh I did all the classics: Etta James, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday. Rock and roll fever hadn’t hit New Orleans yet so jazz was still flavour of the month. I still remember the atmosphere in those jazz clubs; it was like our own version of Hollywood. You could step out on that stage and feel like a star in seconds because you knew everybody in that room was there to see you.’
She cast a wistful glance around the room before turning her attention back to me. I was completely enthralled by her; I could tell she had a thousand stories to tell but nobody had ever taken the time to ask.
‘Wow, that sounds amazing!’ I breathed. ‘I don’t think I’d ever be brave enough to get up in front of a room full of people.’
Sensing she had a captive audience, Ivy continued. ‘Nothing to do with being brave, sugar. I performed because I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else and loving it as much. It was like I was born to do it, you know? It was such a wonderful time. The men knew how to be men then too; they were always sharp as tacks with their suits and ties and their hair slicked back with Brylcreem. And talk about gentlemen! Back then if a man wanted to court you, he had to ask your daddy’s permission first. The ladies were always well turned out too, with their pin curls and finger waves and pretty dresses.’
She paused as though she was remembering something and I saw her eyes drop to a gold locket that hung around her neck. She caught me looking at her and I quickly averted my gaze back to the dance floor.
‘Of course that was in the sixties: a time where things like twerking and Gangnam Style and Facebook didn’t exist!’ she added.