A Beginner's Guide To Saying I Do: A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

by Jennifer Joyce

  Ingrid looked as though she was about to explode. ‘Does he at least have the address?’

  ‘I think so.’ Erin wouldn’t have been surprised if Lindsay had popped her thumb into her mouth for comfort as Ingrid gritted her teeth and fiercely scribbled something on her agenda.

  ‘I have good news,’ Ingrid went on. Somebody should have told Ingrid’s face this, as it was still pinched and lined with a scowl. ‘I’ve booked the harpist for the ceremony, plus the band have agreed to play at the reception.’

  Lindsay gave a squeal and clapped her hands together, suitably cheered after her fright just moments earlier. ‘They’re so good. They made the X Factor final a few years ago and everything!’

  Ingrid didn’t look impressed by this unnecessary nugget of information. But then neither did anybody else. The band Lindsay had been desperate to book for her wedding had long ago sunk into obscurity. No wonder they had agreed to play at the reception – they were probably in dire need of bookings to pay the rent.

  ‘Moving on, I’ve liaised with the designer. All the flower arrangements have been finalised, the seating covers and table runners have been sourced, and the favours and decorations are sorted. The only problem is with the arch for the top table, but I’ve discussed this with Lindsay already.’

  On and on Ingrid went. In the end Erin switched off. This meeting and the all the fuss that went with it was the perfect example of why she was so set against marriage.

  Seventeen

  Ruth

  Pressing print, I sank back in my chair, emptying my lungs in a huge sigh of relief. Those meeting minutes had been like a bloody albatross around my neck, but they were finally typed up and I would no longer have to concoct increasingly elaborate excuses for why Sally hadn’t received them. Gathering the document, I stapled the pages together before taking them personally, as requested, to the HR office. The HR girls were all gathered around Sally’s desk when I arrived. I handed over the minutes with a suitably apologetic look on my face.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get these to you. I don’t know what’s happening with my email. I’ve got the IT guys looking at it, but even they’re stumped.’ Lies. All lies!

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Thanks for printing it off.’ Sally took the document and it was a relief to have it off my hands. Fly, albatross, fly!

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked, pointing at the card open on Sally’s desk.

  ‘It’s card for Stuart Accrington.’

  ‘Oh? Is it his birthday?’

  ‘No, he’s getting married on Saturday so we were just about to do the rounds with a card and collection tin.’

  What? Stuart from Accounts was getting married? That was so unfair! Stuart had never committed to anything other than a favourite football team and he was getting married before me? Why should Stuart, who had never shown any interest in marriage or even a long-term relationship, get to go first? What next, Erin and Richard sprinting down the aisle? Or Jared’s little sister? It wouldn’t have surprised me if Aunt Gloria had moved on to husband number seven by the time Jared and I made our vows.

  ‘Would you like to sign the card?’ Sally held the card out to me and I could hardly refuse, could I? Or worse, throw it on the ground and put the heel of my shoe through it.

  ‘Of course.’ I smiled serenely as I signed the card while inside I wanted to puke on the sentiments already penned. ‘Send Stuart my best wishes, won’t you?’ I almost gagged as I said the words, but being bitter was not a trait I wanted to project. I left the HR office, making a detour down to reception to have a moan to Quinn. There would be no point chatting to Erin about it, as she wouldn’t understand.

  ‘You’ll never guess what.’ I slumped on the reception desk, my mouth downturned. ‘Stuart from Accounts is getting married. On Saturday.’

  ‘That’s so unfair!’

  I knew Quinn would get it.

  ‘He’s hot. Lucky cow, whoever she is.’

  That wasn’t quite what I had in mind, but never mind. Besides, Stuart from Accounts was pretty hot. Not as hot as my Jared, obviously, but it was a shame for the single population in the Greater Manchester area. Many of whom Stuart had encountered on drunken Friday nights already.

  ‘What do you think their wedding will be like?’ Quinn had the dreamy look she adopted whenever weddings – or any kind of romantic gesture – were mentioned. I found it bizarre that the girl was still firmly single. Not only was she extremely pretty and sweet, like a human-sized Tinkerbell, she was also lured towards romance like I was lured towards chocolate cake.

  ‘It’ll be a quick wedding, I should imagine. It can’t be long before his fiancée is due to give birth.’

  Quinn’s dreamy look increased tenfold. Her eyebrows almost lifted off her face while her mouth grew pouty. ‘He’s going to be a daddy too?’

  I gave a shrug. ‘Why else would Stuart from Accounts be getting married?’

  ‘Love,’ Quinn sighed. ‘The only reason is love.’

  Stuart from Accounts’ upcoming wedding played on my mind for the rest of the day, even as I attempted to reconcile myself with our longer engagement. Two and a half years wasn’t that long, if you really thought about it, and there was so much to organise in the meantime, as evidenced by Trina’s file, which was now safely nestled under my bed, where it felt a bit less daunting. I’d pretty much convinced myself of the merits of waiting for so long as I made my way into my weekly yoga class.

  ‘Hi, Mary. How did your date go with Cecil?’ I placed my mat next to Mary’s and unrolled it. Mary was already carrying out an initial stretch on her own mat, but she stopped to chat.

  ‘Lovely, thanks. He took me out to a sweet little restaurant and then we went back to his for dessert.’ Mary winked at me and I almost collapsed onto my pink yoga mat.

  ‘Dessert? You mean like cake or ice cream?’ Please let her be talking about cake or ice cream.

  ‘No, dear. I’m talking about sex.’

  Thud. ‘Sex?’ I whispered the word, hoping to all that was good and holy that I’d misheard.

  ‘Yes, sex. It’s been a while, you know, since my Gordon passed, but it was lovely. Cecil is rather good.’ Mary chuckled at my aghast expression and relief washed over me. She was only pulling my leg (and her own, as she resumed her stretches). ‘You youngsters think you invented sex. I was getting my jollies off long before you were born, and the desire is still there, you know. It was a bit dusty, but Cecil soon sorted that out.’

  Gah! She was serious, and that image wouldn’t leave my brain for a long, long time. I’d have welcomed thoughts of Stuart from Accounts and his rapidly approaching nuptials back with open arms.

  ‘Hey everybody. I hope you all had a good weekend.’ Nell waltzed into the hall, a couple of rolled-up yoga mats under her arms. From the beatific smile on her face, she hadn’t heard the Cecil story. I’d have quite happily switched brains with the woman. ‘Greg and I have some lovely news that we’d like to share with you.’ Nell hurried her husband over, clearly about to burst if she didn’t spit their news out soon. Greg reached her and looped a hand around her waist. ‘A few weeks ago, we found out that we’re pregnant!’ Nell paused while the group gave a collective aah and we offered our congratulations. ‘We’ve kept it to ourselves, but on Friday we had a scan and the baby is happy and healthy and thriving. Show them, Greg.’

  Greg pulled a scan photo from the pocket of his shorts and passed it around the class. When it arrived in my hands, I couldn’t help thinking that it looked like a kidney bean with tiny stumps attached. Nothing to get too excited about, at any rate.

  ‘At least that’s one thing I don’t have to worry about.’ Mary leaned across to look at the photo. ‘Although I did make Cecil wear a johnny. You never know what you might catch these days.’ Mary beamed up at Greg as he came to retrieve the photo. ‘Congratulations. You’re going to make marvellous parents.’

  The class began but I found it pretty difficult to concentrate, what with my r
aging jealousy of Stuart from Accounts, worry about my own wedding, and the image of Mary and Cecil going at it swirling around my poor brain. I was in the warrior pose when an upbeat mobile ringtone broke my limited concentration. With horror, I realised it was my own ringtone. I must have forgotten to put my phone on silent before the class. Oopsies.

  ‘Sorry,’ I whispered as I dodged the sea of yoga mats and made it to the edge of the room where my bag was. I didn’t recognise the number, so I ended the call before switching the phone off and tiptoeing back to my place.

  ‘Great session, everybody,’ Nell said at the end of the class as we all rolled up our mats.

  ‘We should go out and celebrate your news,’ Mary called out. ‘Who fancies a quick drink?’

  There was unanimous agreement, so we all gathered our things and trooped into the nearby pub, taking over our usual corner. We made a toast (with both Nell and Greg’s glasses filled with orange juice, which had nothing to do with the pregnancy – they were both just freakishly healthy).

  ‘To Nell and Greg.’ Mary raised her glass of port. ‘Congratulations on your pregnancy.’

  ‘Congratulations!’ we all chorused, raising our own glasses. We took it in turns to personally give our best wishes to the couple and, when it came to my turn, Greg quickly spotted my engagement ring.

  ‘What’s this?’

  I explained about my engagement and told him that I’d decided to keep it quiet as I didn’t want to steal their spotlight (and it had killed me to keep my gob shut, believe me).

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Nell grabbed my hand before turning to the rest of our group and raising her voice. ‘It looks like we have a double celebration tonight, guys. Ruth is engaged!’ Nell lifted my hand for everyone to see, and I was showered with congratulations and a toast of my own. Suddenly all thoughts of Stuart from Accounts and Mary and Cecil left my head as I finally let go and started to enjoy the fact that I was actually getting married! A few drinks later, I made my way home, my mood still jubilant, so I was more than willing to play along when Jared practically pounced on me as soon as I walked through the door.

  ‘Oh, hello. It’s like that, is it?’ Giggling, I kicked the front door shut and kissed Jared, but when I attempted to pull him towards the bedroom, his feet refused to move. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ I was hit by a sudden sense of dread, noticing the stricken look on my boyfriend’s face. How could I have mistaken it for arousal?

  ‘We need to talk.’ Jared attempted to lead me through to the sitting room, but now it was my turn to refuse to budge. This was it, wasn’t it? The moment I’d been dreading since our first kiss. Jared had realised what an utter bollocks he’d made of his love life when he’d – bizarrely – taken a fancy to me, and now he was finally coming to his senses.

  With a firm tug, Jared pulled me out of the tiny hallway and settled me down on the sofa before taking both of my hands in his. This was it. Dumpsville, here we come.

  ‘You’re wobbling again, Ruth. Stop it.’ Jared kissed me, but it was a peck and not at all like the reassuring, ‘I still fancy the pants off you’ snog I needed. ‘I know you don’t always believe it because of your past, but I love you. Never, ever, doubt that, okay?’

  Jared was right – my past did blight my relationship with him from time to time, but when you’re bullied relentlessly during your school years because of your weight, you start to believe you really are as worthless as your tormentors tell you.

  Jared gave my hands a squeeze. ‘Father Edmund phoned earlier.’

  That was it? Father Edmund had phoned? Big whoop! But then it dawned on me why Jared’s face looked so pinched as he delivered the news, and my eyes pooled with tears.

  ‘He’s cancelled our wedding, hasn’t he? Is it because we’re heathens who never go to church?’ Without pausing to allow Jared to speak, I jumped to my feet and started to figure out a plan of action. I’d thought Father Edmund had been a little unconventional when he hadn’t insisted we join the church or sign up for a pre-marriage course before we booked the date. ‘We’ll have to start attending. Quick, phone him back and tell him we promise to go to church every single Sunday from now until we die.’

  ‘Calm down. The wedding hasn’t been cancelled.’ Luckily Jared delivered the good news before I dropped to my knees and started to pray. ‘It’s the opposite, really.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’ I sank back onto the sofa and let out a puff of air, thoroughly relieved that I could continue to enjoy Sunday lie-ins. ‘I had a phone call while I was at yoga. I wonder if it was Father Edmund? I didn’t answer as we were in the middle of our session and I was so embarrassed I just switched it off.’ I reached into my bag and, bypassing long-forgotten lipsticks, balled-up tissues and crumpled receipts, I pulled out my phone. It was still switched off. ‘What did Father Edmund say?’

  ‘He phoned because somebody else has called their wedding off. The couple split up after the groom-to-be found his wife in bed with her brother-in-law. That’s her sister’s husband, by the way, not the groom’s brother. I don’t see what difference it makes who she was in bed with, but Father Edmund was keen to clarify. Worryingly, he seemed to relish passing the information on.’

  ‘And that’s why he phoned?’ I asked. ‘For a gossip?’

  ‘Not entirely.’ Jared took my hands again, squeezing with uncomfortable enthusiasm. ‘Father Edmund said he really liked us as a couple and could see that you were upset at having to wait, so he’s offered us the cancellation.’

  ‘What?’ I leaped up out of my seat, my hands covering my suddenly hot cheeks. ‘We can get married earlier? That’s brilliant news!’ For us, not the cheated-on groom, obviously. I did a little jig on the spot, while Jared remained motionless on the sofa. ‘So when is it?’

  Jared pulled a face. ‘It’s in six weeks.’

  ‘Six weeks?’ I dropped back onto the sofa, the happy jig knocked out of me. ‘Six weeks? But that’s insane.’

  Jared’s shoulders had been hunched up around his ears, but they relaxed when he saw the panicked expression on my face. ‘It’s too soon, isn’t it? I thought so too.’

  ‘Is it even possible to plan a wedding in six weeks?’ I thought about Trina’s wedding file under my bed. It would take at least six weeks to read through that alone. ‘Although …’ I thought again about the file under my bed. Yes, it was humongous. Frighteningly so. But my wedding wouldn’t be nearly as big as Trina’s had been. We could cherry-pick the bits we actually wanted, and all the painstaking research had already been done and was sitting right there. ‘This could actually work. It’ll be a mad rush. It’ll be hectic. But it’ll be worth it, won’t it?’

  Jared rose from his seat and began pacing the small sitting room. ‘We’ll be married in six short weeks, in the church we want.’ Pace, pace, pace. ‘You know what? This could be perfect.’

  ‘It could be, couldn’t it?’ A giggle burst from me rather suddenly. Married! In six weeks! ‘What do you think?’

  Jared paused in his pacing to look at me, a mixture of stomach-churning panic and ‘little kid at Christmas’ painting his face vividly. ‘I think I want to marry you in six weeks.’

  ‘I think I want to marry you in six weeks too.’ I leaped at Jared and this time there wasn’t a hint of resistance. Jared and I were getting married in six weeks. Six tiny, minuscule weeks! This was either an utterly romantic or a terribly foolish plan. I wasn’t sure which one it would turn out to be.

  Eighteen

  Ruth

  Six weeks! I was getting married in six weeks. I couldn’t quite believe it, and even feared I’d dreamed the whole thing when I woke the following morning. But no, it was true – the wedding was booked for six short weeks away. I lugged Trina’s file from under the bed, convinced it was growing by the day as it seemed heftier every time I picked it up. There were tabs for everything inside, from cake designs to make-up mood boards, seat covers to bridal lingerie, and wedding favours to buffet options. There was even a whole secti
on dedicated to sequins. Sequins!

  As lovely as Trina’s wedding was, it wasn’t the kind of gig I was aiming for as a) we didn’t have the funds for such extravagance, b) there wasn’t nearly enough time to pull off something like that, and c) a huge, flashy affair like Trina’s wedding wasn’t really me. I wanted a wedding that was simple, yet fun. I didn’t care about seat covers with matching table runners and tiny heart-shaped table confetti scattered just so. I wanted people to come to my wedding and have a blast. I didn’t want three-hour-long speeches that made you pray for death. I wanted laughter and for people to feel that they were at the best party ever.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Jared popped his head around the bedroom door. ‘We should be setting off soon.’

  Closing the file, I toed it back under the bed. ‘I’m ready.’

  We were going to Jared’s parents’ house for lunch, where we would be sharing our news. We’d already told my parents the day before, and while they’d been shocked by the sudden haste (Dad had suspected I was pregnant. I assured him I was not), they were happy for us.

  ‘You’d better get your skates on,’ Mum had told me. As though I didn’t know that already! I’d already made a dozen lists of things that needed to be done, which, quite frankly, was a scary amount.

  ‘Do you think we should do away with the speeches?’ My ever-ready notebook was on my lap as we drove over to Linda and Bob’s. Every spare second would now be dedicated to planning the wedding, including car and bus journeys and any time Kelvin was away from my desk.

  ‘You mean we won’t have any?’

  ‘They’re always a bit of a snooze-fest, aren’t they?’

  Jared shrugged as he indicated to turn right. ‘Sometimes, I guess. I think your dad might want to say something, though.’

  ‘Hmm.’ I put a question mark next to ‘speeches’ in my list. ‘I definitely don’t want a top table. I don’t want there to be a hierarchy at our wedding. Everyone should be equal.’