by Lindsey Kelk
It was the first time I had ever executed my own event from beginning to end, and I had to say, it looked bloody brilliant. And that was before you took into consideration that, on top of two-thirds of the event having been pulled out of my arse inside twenty-four hours, I still had a black eye, my left knee had seized up and my heart had been taken out, torn up, freeze dried and then shoved in my pocket for safe-keeping.
I was on my hands and knees winding an audio cable round a whimsical hat stand in the middle of the garden when I heard Sharaline yelling my name across the lawn. I blinked up into the sun, still on all fours, when a large, three-headed silhouette appeared in front of me.
‘Andrew! Christopher!’
Brilliant. The baby daddies, two hours early.
‘And this must be Audrey! Look at her, she’s beautiful.’
‘Isn’t she?’ Andrew cooed as Christopher thrust a tiny baby in my face. ‘Isn’t she the most beautiful little girl you’ve ever seen?’
‘She is,’ I agreed. ‘Well, apart from my niece.’
Their faces fell.
‘Actually she might be cuter than my niece. All she does all day is shit herself and throw up.’
Their expressions turned black.
‘Did I tell you my sister is gay?’
‘Why don’t I show you inside?’ Sharaline raced down the garden and rested her hands on the baby daddies’ backs, leading them away before things could turn nasty. ‘You have to see what a beautiful job Maddie did with the ceremony room.’
‘Has she got a black eye?’ Andrew whispered to Christopher in his not terribly quiet at all voice. ‘I could swear she has.’
‘She’s very pretty,’ I shouted after them. ‘Best baby ever.’
I definitely had a bright future as an event planner, as long as I never had to actually talk to the people who were paying for them. Perfect.
The ceremony itself went without a hitch.
Andrew and Christopher looked spectacularly dapper and baby Audrey barely made a sound, officially promoting her to the top of my favourite baby list. The guests all made the appropriate effort, and my roving photographers clicked away, capturing every moment of Audrey’s official welcome to life as a Dickenson. And as the party moved outside, guests were handed paper parasols to protect them from the sun and ate themselves into a sugar coma at the candy bar, while the babies were ditched with the team of childminders or dragged off to pose in a field full of rabbits.
‘The band are going on break.’ Sharaline’s voice crackled through my headset from the other side of the party while I liaised with the caterers in the kitchen, preparing to bring the cake outside. ‘I’ve got the DJ ready to go.’
‘Great, I’m bringing the cake out in five,’ I told her, standing back to admire the incredible creation. Our cupcakes were pretty, but this was remarkable. The cake was three feet of deliciousness: amazing red velvet cake covered with a swarm of peach sugar roses tumbling all the way from the top to the bottom and accented with glittery pink ribbon woven all around the blooms. Part of me wanted to take it home and put it in my living room forever, and part of me wanted to stick my face in it and eat the entire thing. ‘Can you clear a path?’
‘Done,’ she replied. ‘I’ll get Big Daddy and Little Daddy to the table.’
Given that it had been quite the twenty-four hours for surprises, Sharaline proved to be one of the biggest of all. She was quick, she was intuitive and she was incredibly helpful. Most importantly of all, she hadn’t asked me about my face all day and she was constantly making me laugh. Actually, that wasn’t brilliant because my cheek was still pretty painful, but it turned out we both much preferred laughing through our days than crying in the toilets.
I heard the band wrapping up their set and gave the waiters their cue – no penguin or panda waitresses today, only very attractive out-of-work male models in need of a few quid – and it took four of them to pick up the cake and carry it out to the garden. I watched them like a hawk. Every second it was in the air was a second I thought I was going to faint.
‘Today our family is complete.’ Christopher was halfway through his speech when I tiptoed into the back of the crowd.
‘We’d like to thank Colton-Bryers for bringing our vision to life today.’ Andrew waved his arm with a flourish, not at me, of course, but at his party. ‘And to all the staff who have made things go so smoothly.’
Whatever, Andrew, whatever.
‘But just because we’ve got a baby doesn’t mean we don’t still know how to have a good time,’ Christopher announced.
‘Fountain is go,’ I whispered into my headset. ‘I repeat, fountain is go.’
‘Let’s get the party started,’ Andrew crowed as the enormous stone fountain in the middle of the lawn sprang into life, spurting out frothy pink liquid. ‘Who wants a drink?’
‘That’s disgusting,’ Sharaline crackled into my ear. ‘Are they really going to drink from it?’
‘I think they are,’ I said, watching the guests line up with their plastic margarita glasses. ‘I had them run it through with disinfectant and then distilled water for a couple of hours, but still. Gross.’
‘Totally,’ she agreed. ‘Also, I just got a weather warning that there are showers on the way. Should we start moving people inside?’
I looked up at the clear blue sky and frowned. Everything looked fine, but this was the middle of summer and we were in England, so you never could tell.
‘Let’s get the canopies up over the petting zoo and the fountain,’ I directed. ‘And I’ll let Andrew and Christopher know we might need to move things back in.’
‘Done and done,’ she replied. ‘It’s all going so well.’
‘Famous last words,’ I warned. ‘We’re going for the biggest drink after this.’
‘As long as it’s not from that fountain,’ she replied.
I slipped through the crowds to find the baby daddies enjoying their first margaritas now that their nanny had taken baby Audrey off their hands. Something I imagined she’d need to get used to.
‘Hey, guys,’ I said, leaning in to give each a brief hug. ‘Great speech.’
‘Thanks,’ Andrew beamed. ‘It’s all going so well. We’re so pleased. And these drinks are very strong.’
‘The whole thing was such a great idea,’ Christopher said to his husband, ignoring me completely. ‘Maybe you should go into event planning.’
‘You totally should!’ I agreed, a great big fake smile plastered across my face. It was a typical reaction whenever anything went well − the client always gave themselves credit, and every time something went wrong, it was our fault. But there would be time to make voodoo dolls of them later.
‘Now, I don’t want to spoil the fun but we’ve had a weather warning, so we need to get some tents up to cover the food and drink and the animals, and if we get anything more than a shower, we’ll need to move everyone inside.’
‘Oh, boo,’ Andrew complained. ‘I think partying in the rain sounds like a great idea.’
‘It does,’ I said, nodding enthusiastically. ‘Unfortunately, if it rains and someone slips and breaks their neck, I’m going to get sued, so we we’re going to pop up some canopies just in case.’
‘I’m sure it isn’t going to rain,’ Christopher said, draping his arm over his husband’s shoulders. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘It’s my job to worry,’ I reminded them brightly, resisting the urge to slap the backs of their heads, ‘so you don’t have to. Just wanted to give you a heads-up. Now, get back to enjoying your party.’
For the first time in a long time, Siri had the weather forecast dead on. Not fifteen minutes later the sky was turning a threatening shade of purple-grey, not unlike my left eye, and I helped shepherd the very drunk people back towards the house while Sharaline supervised the canopies.
‘I’m going to have a fag, love,’ a short, unpleasant-looking man informed me, sparking up as the first rain began to fall. ‘And then I’m going h
ome. Are there goody bags? Do you want to pop off and get me one?’
‘You can’t actually smoke out here,’ I said. ‘You’d need to go outside onto the street. Sorry, it’s a non-smoking venue.’
I wasn’t sorry. I was quite clearly not sorry.
‘You’re not serious?’ he said, ignoring me and flicking his lighter again,
I was serious. Definitely serious, definitely not sorry. Wanker.
‘If you wouldn’t mind putting out your cigarette and moving inside, that would be great,’ I said. ‘Thanks so much.’
The man levelled his bloodshot blue eyes at me, took a deep drag on his Marlboro Red and then chucked it behind him, shoving me shoulder to shoulder as he pushed past to get inside.
‘I didn’t ask him to murder his mother,’ I muttered under my breath, looking for the dog-end to put it out. ‘I asked him to put out a cigarette.’
And that was when I learned something new, something everyone at that party will take with them to their deathbed.
Strawberry margaritas are incredibly flammable.
Now, this is a great life hack if you’re ever trying to light a barbecue and you haven’t got any lighter fluid to hand, but it’s not that brilliant when you have a six-foot stone fountain suddenly spurting fire instead of sticky strawberry liquor in the middle of a children’s party.
The screaming started even before the canopy caught on fire, and they should have waited until that happened because that was when things really started to get out of hand. The storks, unnerved by all the running and screaming and occasional yell of ‘we’re going to die’ all turned at once and caught sight of the flames. In spite of their handler’s assurances that nothing could startle them and that they were quite tame and hated flying, they immediately began flapping their enormous wings and took off into the sky. Storks are quite scary when they’re flying, you know.
And then people started to really panic.
And panicked people and panicked storks meant panicked rabbits. And panicked rabbits can easily jump over a two-foot fence. Like, incredibly easily.
Less than one minute after asking a man − very politely, mind − to put out his cigarette, I was standing alone in front of a flaming fountain of death, surrounded by circling storks and madly hopping pink rabbits. It was like being in a Lady Gaga video. Did you know rabbits make a high-pitched squealing noise when they’re distressed? No, me neither. They do. It’s loud and it’s scary and I don’t like it.
I’m still on the fence as to how thankful I am that Sharaline came tearing across the lawn with a fire extinguisher, covering me in anti-flammable foam as she attempted to put out the fountain fire, but I suppose foam is preferable to flames. And of course seconds later, in one of those fun ‘the universe hates me’ moments, the instant she unleashed the extinguisher on the fountain, the heavens opened and the rain put out the fire in a heartbeat, leaving the two of us standing in the middle of the garden in front of two hundred terrified guests, wet, miserable and surrounded by patchy pink and white damp rabbits.
Now there’s something I never thought I would say.
The bridal shower is a time-honoured tradition among brides, where the bride’s best friends and family come together to celebrate this special woman and the journey on which she is about to embark.
As the bride’s mother and future mother-in-law are often in attendance at a bridal shower, these tend to be a less risqué event than the bachelorette party, although it is not uncommon for the bride to be showered in gifts that include lingerie for her wedding trousseau!
22
Sunday July 26th
Today I feel:
Today I am thankful for:
As you can imagine, once you’ve set the garden alight halfway through a party, it sort of kills. Once I’d talked to the fire brigade and the police and everyone else who ‘wanted a quick word’, the breakdown was actually pretty swift. No one was really in the mood for a chat and a drink while they took the tables apart, not like they usually are. I was mostly relieved that no one, rabbits and storks included, had been hurt in the production of this party, although I imagined the RSPCA might want to reappraise the situation if they caught wind of it. That was the last time I ever had animals at one of my parties.
If I ever had another party.
After Lauren’s bridal shower, of course.
‘There.’ Sarah took a step back to survey her handiwork. ‘You can hardly see it now.’
I peered in the mirror and she was right − her impressive make-up prowess had covered up my black eye magnificently, but I still looked like death warmed over. Even though it was almost twenty-four hours since the Dickenson debacle, I couldn’t move on. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard those rabbits screaming. One of the guests had referred to it as a live-action remake of Watership Down only more distressing, and he wasn’t far off.
For some reason I couldn’t quite put my finger on, I hadn’t slept very well.
‘I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,’ she said, chucking her make-up back in her handbag and smacking her lips together to redistribute her gloss. ‘It was hardly your fault.’
‘Maybe.’ The flames from the fountain were burned into my retinas, regardless. I was happy it was just my retinas and not my actual face, but it was still a concern. ‘The clients were quite upset. That’s not a good thing.’
Upset didn’t really cover it. Christopher had done a lot of shouting while Andrew ran around his guests, hugging them and smothering sobs as though we’d all just lived through the actual war as opposed to enduring a freak accident that was over faster than it had begun. As far as I was aware, no war had ended in its participants being given goodie bags and a cupcake to take home with them.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Sarah said again. ‘No one got hurt and nothing got damaged. Now if we can say the same at the end of today, we’ll both deserve a prize.’
‘Did you buy prizes?’ I asked.
‘I bought gin,’ she replied. ‘Secret gin I’m not going to offer to anyone else. That’s a prize.’
‘Do me a favour and don’t mention any of it to Lauren?’ I asked, receiving a quirked eyebrow in response. ‘I haven’t talked to her yet, and since she stuck her neck out to let us use her dad’s house … you know how she is. She’ll overreact. There’s nothing wrong, anyway − by the time the cleaners left, you couldn’t even tell we’d been there.’
‘The plan is you’re just not going to tell her?’ she asked. ‘Ever?’
‘Not right now,’ I said. ‘Maybe after the wedding, when it’ll all seem hilarious.’
‘I’ve got to be honest, it seems pretty hilarious to me now,’ Sarah said. ‘I wish there were pictures.’
‘Oh, there are,’ I said, closing my eyes. ‘We were quite the social media sensation for five minutes yesterday afternoon. Thank God whats-her-face went out without her knickers on this morning.’
Sarah smiled, positioning a peony.
‘Everything looks great,’ I said, looking round the living room. ‘Honestly, it looks like a pro set this up.’
‘Well, if I get the job at your place, I will be.’ She arched her eyebrow and smiled. ‘It was fun putting it together.’
Sarah’s flat had always been very East London hipster chic, but for today she had transformed it into a bridal-shower fantasy. The furniture had all been moved to the edges of the room and covered in baby-blue blankets, one of Lauren’s wedding colours, and there were different stations set up for the guest book, the gift table, food, drinks, sweets, all accented with bundles of pink peonies and oodles of tealights. Naturally, after yesterday, I was very nervous about the tealights.
‘She doesn’t deserve us,’ Sarah said, beaming with pride at her production. ‘I cannot believe she set up a gift registry for her own surprise bridal shower.’
‘Yes you can,’ I replied. ‘And better that than someone get her the wrong thing and then have to endure her “this is brilliant but I hate it” face.’
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‘Why can’t she just be over-polite like an English person?’ she asked, fiddling with a vase of peonies. ‘And take it back to the shop afterwards?’
‘Hey, you guys!’ On cue, Lauren burst through the front door, laden down with bags and a great big smile on her face. ‘Oh my God, look at this place, Sarah − it’s, like, the cutest.’
‘No, you’re the cutest,’ Sarah replied, leaning in for a half hug and cheek kiss. I approached for mine and got battered in the boobs by half a dozen bakery boxes for my efforts. ‘What’s in the bags?’
‘I brought some snacks.’ She unloaded five boxes carefully onto a table I knew Sarah had set up especially for the lovingly designed homemade cookies that she had waiting. And when Lauren opened said boxes, they were full of cookies, iced with L M. ‘Aren’t they adorable?’
‘Yeah,’ Sarah said, raising her eyebrows. ‘But so are the ones I’ve got in the kitchen, because I’m supposed to be organizing this, not you.’
‘There can never be too many snacks,’ Lauren said with a wave of her hand. ‘I’m just helping out. I thought, after we sat up icing cupcakes until stupid o’clock in the morning on Friday, you’d appreciate the help.’ I couldn’t help hearing a note of steel in her usually sunny voice.
‘Perhaps if you’d told me before I sat up until stupid o’clock again on Saturday?’ Sarah replied in her super-polite voice. ‘Everything is already organized.’
Lauren shrugged. ‘I know cooking isn’t your thing. I wanted there to be something, you know, else.’ With my eagle eye, I noticed she looked tired.
‘You think my cooking is shit so you brought your own cookies?’ Sarah looked over Lauren’s shoulder where I was opening one of the boxes and sneaking a cookie. ‘Thanks.’
‘Are you OK?’ I whispered. Lauren ran a hand through her very slightly less than perfect hair and nodded.