Marrying Mr Valentine

by Laura Barnard

  ‘No, Sir,’ he says with a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. ‘Just a bit stressed out with work. That’s all.’ Now I look at him closer he does seem stressed, his jaw tense and those glorious eyes troubled.

  Clara's father rolls his eyes. ‘You see, Nadine,’ he explains, swilling his whiskey around, ‘Hartley here insists on being a schoolteacher.’ He scoffs, as if the very idea is hilarious.

  No way. He’s a teacher? How have I not bumped into him over the years?

  I look at Hartley with new admiration. He might be marrying this piece of work, but he’s a teacher. He must have some good in him.

  ‘I understand, actually,’ I say with a smile. ‘I used to be a teacher too. It’s a very demanding job.’

  Hartley frowns. ‘You were a teacher?’

  Why does he sound so astonished? Why the hell wouldn’t he think I was ever a teacher? Am I not maternal seeming or something? I can’t help but be offended. He might as well have called me unfeminine.

  ‘Yep,’ I nod, rocking awkwardly on my heels. ‘I only gave it up just over a year ago to do this job.’

  Clara shakes her head. ‘I have no idea why Hartley insists on spending time with those little twerps.’ She curls her lip up as if she’s smelt bad fish. ‘Kids are disgusting.’

  That’s a pretty broad statement.

  ‘Do you not want kids of your own, Clara?’ I can’t help but ask. I know it’s nosy, but I just find it unusual for a woman to talk about kids with nothing but contempt.

  ‘God, no!’ she laughs. ‘If I wanted something that cries and poops I’d have got a dog. At least you can put them in kennels without being reported.’ She laughs hysterically, slapping her thigh, clearly finding herself hilarious.

  ‘Well,’ her father says, eager to change the subject, ‘I keep telling him that he should come and work for my company. Earn some real money, but will he listen?’

  Hartley’s jaw tenses further, but he forces another insincere smile. ‘Why would I need to earn lots of money, when you have enough for both of us?’

  I burst out laughing. Clara looks appalled. We both look to her dad for his reaction.

  He slaps Hartley on the back. ‘There’s that fun sense of humour I know my daughter loves.’ He seems to wave at someone away from us. ‘Anyway, I have to go. Just seen an old business associate.’

  He walks off and I watch as Hartley’s body physically relaxes. He clearly doesn’t like the dude. God, imagine having him as a father-in-law? Him and Florence will definitely bond after marrying into this nightmare family.

  ‘So what year do you teach?’ I ask him, glad I’ve been handed a subject I excel at.

  ‘I teach drama at a high school.’ Ah, that would make sense as to why I’ve never bumped into him before. Different age group. You couldn’t pay me to teach hormonal adolescents. I’d take the whiny five-year-olds any day.

  ‘Hugh!’ Clara squeals, opening her arms wide, looking behind me.

  I turn to see Hugh rushing towards her.

  ‘Hi, Clara,’ he says, giving her an affectionate hug. He’s smiling, but I notice it doesn’t meet his eyes either. Those creases I’m used to seeing whenever he smiles affectionately at Florence just aren’t there.

  Could it be that he can’t stand her either? It would make sense. Hugh is nothing like her.

  He shakes Hartley’s hand, slapping him on the back.

  ‘Hi, Hartley.’ He nods a hello at me. ‘Sorry to interrupt you guys. What were you talking about?’

  Clara puts her hand on Hartley’s shoulder possessively. ‘Hartley was telling us how stressed he is at work. I keep telling him he should come work for Daddy.’

  Hartley rolls his eyes.

  ‘Well,’ Hugh says with a smile, ‘I can understand him wanting to stay in a job he has a passion for.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Hartley says, pointing at him as if to show Hugh gets it. ‘I’m normally not as hard-pressed, but the teacher helping me put on a play has just been signed off on early maternity leave.’

  ‘That can’t be helped, darling,’ Clara says, inspecting her nails as if bored. ‘Although if these breeders stopped for a minute and thought about other people, maybe they’d have fewer children.’

  I ignore her comment. I wouldn’t know where to start with a response to that. I’d probably just headbutt her.

  ‘Must be a big workload for one person though,’ I sympathise to Hartley. It’s hard enough being a teacher, it’s even worse when under-staffed.

  ‘Wait!’ Clara says, clapping her hands together, her eyes lit up. ‘Why don’t you help him?’

  ‘Sorry?’ we both say at the same time.

  She beams, as if she’s had the best idea ever. ‘You used to be a teacher. I’m sure you’d love to see some kids again, to get involved with a school production like this one. And it’ll help you two to get to know each other.’

  ‘Babe,’ he warns with a tight smile. ‘I’m sure Nadine is very busy with weddings.’

  I’m just about to agree and say 'thanks, but no thanks' when Hugh steps forward. Bless him, he’s going to stand up for me.

  ‘Nadine would love to!’ he says, grinning at me with warning in his eyes. What the hell is he doing?

  ‘Oh... I mean...’ I start. Hartley looks at me hopefully. I should really say no. But... well, the people pleaser in me is desperate to help. ‘I suppose I could spare a few hours this week. I’ve done most of the prep for this weekend’s wedding.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ Hugh agrees enthusiastically.

  Hartley doesn’t seem too sure. Maybe he doesn’t want my help? I am, after all, just some random woman he’s just met.

  ‘But I mean, only if you’re desperate.’ I want to give him the chance to turn me down and you know… get out of it.

  ‘I am,’ he nods. ‘But only if you don’t mind. I feel bad taking up your time. Don’t feel you have to say yes.’

  I open my mouth to speak but Clara jumps in for me. ‘Of course, she doesn’t mind.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ Hugh says with a definite nod.

  I nod too, already dreading it.

  ‘Ah, and here is my grandma now,’ Clara says. ‘My namesake.’

  I turn to see an elderly woman with rosy cheeks and tight-set brown curls walking towards us in an elegant mint blouse and black trousers. I recognise her from Hugh and Florence’s wedding last year.

  ‘Grandma, this is Nadine. She’s planning our wedding at The Duck and Goose.’

  Her face lights up in recognition. ‘Ah, yes. Nadine, best friend of our Florence.’

  Florence has always talked highly of the woman, so there’s no need for me to be scared, but there’s something about her regal presence that intimidates me.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ I say, doing a ridiculous curtesy. Jesus, Nads, she’s not the queen.

  She smiles kindly. ‘I’ve heard you’re a wonderful wedding planner. The day should be gorgeous.’

  I suddenly worry that Florence will have told her my history. The air in here feels limited, like the oxygen is being sucked out. I need to leave. Get outside and force a bit of fresh air into my lungs.

  ‘Anyway, it was lovely to meet you, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to go,’ I say with an apologetic smile. ‘I have another event I have to go to.’

  An event at club bed with DJ pillow.

  ‘Ah, well, you’ll be missed,’ Clara says, already waving to someone else she sees. Yeah, right.

  ‘I’ll walk you out,’ Hugh says, taking my arm.

  He obviously wants to talk to me. As soon as I’m outside, I gasp in a lungful of air and sit down on the step.

  ‘Shit, Nads, are you okay?’ he asks, rushing to hold my shoulder back.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I insist, counting back from ten in my head. ‘Just a bit smoky in there.’

  He raises his eyebrows.

  Oh yeah, I keep forgetting I can’t use that excuse since the smoking ban. It’s been over ten years, Nadine. Get the fuck wi
th it.

  ‘What the hell is going on, Hugh?’ I ask, as soon as my breathing has started to go back to normal; my heart no longer feeling like it’s trying to escape my ribcage. ‘Why are you volunteering me to work in a school?’

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he says, a slight sheen of sweat I hadn’t noticed before on his forehead. ‘But I need to keep Uncle Charlie sweet.’

  ‘There’s keeping him sweet and then sucking his arse. I mean, of course we’ll give them the best wedding we can in a month, but why are you acting so jumpy?’

  He sighs, a frown marring his face as he sits down on the step next to me. ‘Look, my uncle invested money in the company.’

  ‘Huh? Clara’s dad? He’s a partner?’ How is it I didn’t know this before?

  ‘Not so much a partner, as an investor. I didn’t want to ask my dad for the money and I needed it quickly, so they didn’t sell the pub to the other developers.’

  Ah, yes, I do remember the reason he bought the pub in the first place. They were planning to sell it to developers who were going to knock it down and build flats. Something Hugh normally does himself, but he couldn’t see the place he got married be destroyed, so he bought it instead.

  ‘So, Uncle Charlie lent me the money. I’ve got a repayment plan with him, but he’s been extremely reasonable with his interest rates. He’s told me he expects the red carpet rolled out for Clara.’

  ‘Why are you so scared of him?’

  He rubs at his eyes as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders. ‘Because I don’t want him to tell my dad he leant me the money. He’d probably disown me from the shame that I didn’t go to him.’

  ‘Okay,’ I nod. ‘I’m starting to get it. But can’t you just take out another mortgage and pay him back?’

  He sighs. ‘No. You know I’m mortgaged to the hilt, what with our place and the latest flat development. They should all be sold in the next few months and then I’ll be able to pay him back, but until then I need to keep him sweet.’

  Shit. I had no idea they were in such a scary financial situation. I always just thought of Hugh as rich.

  ‘So that means us pulling out all the stops, including making sure Hartley is not stressed.’

  ‘Meaning I’m on babysitting duty,’ I nod with a sigh.

  ‘Afraid so. But don’t worry.’ He takes me by the shoulders. ‘I have every faith in you.’

  Saturday 6th January

  I’m lucky enough that I have responsible staff I’ve managed to train up and mould into trustworthy employees, but that doesn’t stop me coming to every wedding and checking everything is in order. Call it the control freak in me. You could call it me having no life, but I take my work seriously.

  Florence is always ribbing me about it, and Hugh’s always on my case to take more of a step back, but I just can’t. I’ve only been working here a year and I know that if I wasn’t such a control freak, it wouldn’t have won that award. There’s no way it would have gone from such strength to strength.

  So many people in the wedding industry seem to be replaced within a couple of months as they’re on internships from universities. I’ve even had three brides willingly lose their deposits in order to change their venue to us because they’ve heard about the sincerely personable service we offer.

  Anyway, that’s how I find myself with my clipboard checking off everything to make sure this wedding is running perfectly. The bride is in the bridal suite which is basically what used to be the flat above the pub. Only now we’ve re-decorated it into a fabulous shabby-chic penthouse with enough room for the bride to get ready, along with her bridesmaids.

  With only an hour before the wedding I decide to check in on the bride. I walk up the stairs and knock on the door. There seems to be a lot of commotion coming from the other side. I find this a lot. Bridesmaids seem to bicker just before walking down the aisle. I think it’s caused from the fear of all those people staring at them.

  The door finally opens, revealing a distressed looking bridesmaid in a lavender, silk dressing gown, her hair in curlers.

  ‘Hi. I’m just checking in to see if everything is going okay?’ I ask and follow with a professional smile.

  ‘Ugh.’ She grabs me by my forearms and drags me in. ‘We’ve had a fucking disaster!’

  Oh Jesus. Just what I want on a Sunday. Thank God, I came in.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I ask as I’m dragged into the main room.

  The bride is stood next to her dress, hysterical, with tears rolling down her face. The bridesmaids are hurrying around the dress attempting to wipe at it with a wet cloth.

  ‘What’s happened to the dress?’ I ask, already going in the emergency cupboard for the baby wipes. There isn’t much that these bad boys won’t get out. Not my first stained dress situation.

  The girls disperse so I can see the damage done to it.

  My mouth drops open of its own accord. Sweet mother of all that is holy!

  The bottom half has bloodstains all over it. What the hell has happened?

  ‘Shit, did...’ I look from bridesmaid to bridesmaid, gulping down the bile. ‘Did... someone die here?’

  One bridesmaid doubles over laughing. Oh, okay, hopefully that means they haven’t. That or she’s a dark bitch who finds murder funny. I’m faithful to my clients but covering up a murder is a step too far.

  ‘I came on my period,’ the bride explains in between sobs. ‘God, I shouldn’t have been due on for at least another two weeks. And now my whole wedding is ruined!’

  Well this is a first. I’ve never even had to lend a bride a tampon before. Mother nature is a right bitch.

  I quickly open my phone and type in ‘how to get blood out of fabric'. An article pops up straight away. Thank god for Google. How did people ever cope before the internet?

  ‘Okay, we need to wash it with soap and cold water. Then dab on some ammonia.’

  ‘Ammonia?’ the bride repeats. ‘Where the hell are we going to get that?’

  She’s right. I have no idea what ammonia is, let alone where to get it from. Not that I can show them I’m panicking.

  I smile assuredly. ‘I’ll go into town and buy some. Meanwhile call around all of your friends and family and see if they can get any.’

  The bride stands in front of me, her lip trembling. ‘But what if you can’t get any?’

  I scoff confidently. ‘I’ll be able to find some. Don’t worry about a thing.’

  I run down the stairs, grab my coat and get into my car, dialling Florence. Thank God, she’s my number one on speed dial.

  ‘Hey, babe,’ she says down the phone, munching on what sounds like toast. ‘You okay?’

  ‘No.’ I cry dramatically. ‘The bride has bloody had her period on her dress, so I’m headed into town to try to buy some ammonia.’

  ‘Bloody hell! Pun intended.’ She collapses into giggles.

  I roll my eyes. Real bloody helpful Flo.

  ‘You don’t have any, do you?’

  She scoffs. ‘Ammonia? As if! I couldn’t even tell you if it’s a liquid or a powder.’

  ‘Fuck.’ I sigh, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. ‘Would you meet me in town? I have to somehow find it. Or I’ll have to find something else for her to wear.’

  ‘Fuck.’ I hear the panic in her voice for me. Bless her. ‘Of course. I’ll quickly get dressed and meet you there.’

  I feel bad for causing her to rush on a Sunday, but I’m desperate at this point. Every staff member here needs to stay to get on with their jobs, so she’s literally the only one capable of helping me.

  By the time Flo finds me, I’ve already gone into three shops looking for ammonia. Each time a bewildered shop assistant asks me what that is. Fucking morons. That’s what happens when you employ fourteen-year-olds with no knowledge. Read a book for Christ’s sake!

  Okay, so it’s fair to say I’m a little fraught and sweaty. I’ve been gone for twenty minutes and I still have no solution to the wedding takin
g place in forty minutes. This woman cannot cancel her wedding just because mother nature has decided to fuck her over. I refuse to let it happen. She’s paying us enough to make this my problem too.

  ‘What the hell are we going to do?’ Flo asks, her eyes darting from side to side.

  I think for a minute, pinching my temples as if to help pull my thoughts together. Sometimes I really wish I had superpowers.

  ‘Okay, we’re gonna have to go to a bridal shop and hope to fuck they can help us.’

  ‘Right,’ Flo nods, but I don’t miss her large gulp. ‘That’s totally doable.’ She takes my hand. ‘Come on.’

  We practically run into the first shop, my hair now stuck to my head with sweat.

  ‘I need a dress!’ I shout at the lady behind the till.

  Her eyes widen to twice the size.

  ‘Of course you do,’ she says with a smarmy smile, ‘but I’m afraid that you need an appointment.’

  I don’t have time for this basic bitch right now.

  ‘I want to speak to your manager. Now. We’re in a hurry.’

  She scoffs but goes out back. Thirty-three seconds later—yes, I counted—a lady with auburn hair tied up in a tight bun comes walking out. She’s so lithe she must have been a ballerina earlier in life. Her shoulders are squared, as if ready for a fight.

  I put on my nicest smile.

  ‘Hi. I’m Nadine Roberts, wedding organiser from The Duck and Goose, winner of Best Wedding Venue 2017.’

  This seems to get her attention, her eyes widening a fraction for a split second before she quickly covers it with an impassive face.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Nadine. We’ve had many a recommendation here from you.’

  ‘Yes, you have,’ I nod. ‘Only I have a problem. An emergency really, and I need you to pull out all of the stops to help me.’

  ‘Okay,’ she nods, suspicious. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I need a wedding dress to take right now.’

  ‘Right now?’ she repeats in horror. ‘By the end of today? Are you serious?’

  ‘Nope.’ She relaxes slightly. ‘As in something I can take in the next ten minutes.’