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

by Jennifer Joyce

  ‘I think it looks lovely. Like a pretty palace,’ LuLu said as she joined her father on the pavement. But then she would. LuLu still had a toe firmly in the Disney Princess phase, which was another difference between her and Erin. At twelve, Erin had thought anything Disney was totally uncool and babyish, but LuLu still lapped it up and Erin wasn’t in any hurry for her to lose that innocence.

  ‘We’ll pick you up later.’ Richard kissed first LuLu and then Erin on the cheek before he slipped back into the car. ‘Have fun.’

  Erin’s middle finger itched to flick up at Richard’s cheesy grin but she refrained due to the children. Plus, she needed Richard to drive her home later.

  ‘Come on, kiddo. Let’s get this over with.’ Erin looped an arm around LuLu’s shoulders and guided her into the sickly pink salon. Her eyes were assaulted by yet more pink as they stepped inside, from the pink-and-white checked flooring to the pink chairs, pink-edged mirrors and the pink uniforms of the beauty therapists.

  ‘Welcome to Sparkle!’ A beauty therapist descended on them, glossy pink lips set in a wide grin. The whiteness of her teeth was blinding. ‘Are you with Lindsay’s party?’

  Yes, unfortunately. ‘I’m Erin, one of the bridesmaids, and this is LuLu.’

  ‘I’m going to be a flower girl.’ Pride oozed from the girl. ‘Can I have my hair twisted up like yours?’

  The corners of the beauty therapist’s lips turned down. ‘I’m afraid Lindsay has already picked out all the styles.’

  Then why the hell were they wasting a perfectly good Sunday morning if all the decisions had already been made?

  ‘Would you like to come with me?’ The beauty therapist held out a hand for LuLu before turning to Erin. ‘If you take a seat over there, someone will come and collect you shortly.’

  Erin wandered over to the (pink, obviously) squashy sofa by the window and flopped down. If she’d known she was going to be sitting around, she’d have snoozed her alarm for a bit longer.

  ‘Erin?’ Another beauty therapist – this one with a cleavage up to her chin – had approached the seating area. ‘I’m Samantha, and I’m going to be doing your hair today. Would you like to come this way?’

  Erin wanted to shake her head – she wanted to do anything but ‘come this way’ – but she forced herself to her feet and followed Samantha to her station at the back of the salon. She felt like a fool by the time Samantha had finished pinning her hair into a giant bun on top of her head. With an oversized pink bow attached to the front, Erin looked like a show dog.

  Next came the make-up, the theme of which seemed to be ‘thick and swirly’. Liquid eyeliner was applied freely, looping out from the corner of her lids in an intricate pattern that was enhanced with pink sequins and glitter. Ostrich feather-sized false eyelashes had been applied. (Eyes can, like, totally disappear on the photos if you don’t wear them, apparently. Funny, not one photo of Erin – or anybody she knew – had ever turned out eyeless.)

  Erin felt like a berk.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Dena, Erin’s assigned make-up artist, said when she caught Erin’s look of horror in the mirror. ‘You look stunning.’ Erin didn’t trust a word that make-up artist Dena spouted. She was clearly as thick as pig shit, judging from their earlier conversation.

  ‘Your skin colour is gorgeous,’ Dena had gasped as Erin plonked herself in the pink seat earlier, trying to avoid glimpsing her hair in the mirror. ‘Do you use sunbeds?’

  ‘No, it’s my Sri Lankan heritage.’

  Dena’s brow had attempted to furrow (but was thwarted by her overuse of Botox). ‘Is that, like, a fake tan? Can you get it from Boots?’

  No, Erin wouldn’t be trusting Dena’s judgement any time soon.

  ‘Wow, look at you all!’ Lindsay had wandered into the centre of the salon and was turning in a circle to take in everyone’s appearance. She placed her palms as close to her cheeks as she could without smudging her make-up. ‘You look amazing!’ She clapped her hands, truly thrilled with the results. But then she would, as she looked half-normal with her subtle, understated make-up. (She didn’t want to overshadow her dress. Erin had seen the dress and, if anything needed to be overshadowed, it was that monstrosity.)

  ‘Wow, LuLu. You look like a real princess.’ Lindsay gave her niece a careful hug so she didn’t smudge her make-up or dislodge any hairpins. At least LuLu had emerged from the process looking vaguely like herself. Her hair had been loosely curled and held back off her face with dainty diamanté-encrusted butterfly-shaped clips. She was only wearing a dab of lip gloss as Lindsay had strict instructions from Amanda regarding make-up. It was probably the only point Erin and Richard’s ex would ever agree on.

  ‘I can’t wait to show Dad my makeover,’ LuLu said. ‘Can you?’

  Funny, Erin wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as LuLu was when it came to revealing her so-called makeover to Richard. She could already hear his laughter.

  Twenty-Four

  Ruth

  Quinn flipped the driver’s seat forward to allow a grumbling Erin to crawl into the back of her car. Erin hated sitting in the backs of cars, but she didn’t have much choice unless she wanted my vomit slicked down the back of her neck. I didn’t actually suffer from travel sickness, but it was a great excuse for avoiding squeezing into the back seat.

  ‘Couldn’t you find a smaller car? I feel like an elephant.’ Erin tucked herself in, her knees up to her eyeballs in Quinn’s tiny car.

  ‘You could have offered to drive, you know.’ Quinn righted the driver’s seat and slipped into it.

  Erin folded her arms and glared out of the window, shooting daggers at an innocent shrub. She couldn’t argue with Quinn on this one, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t sulk.

  Quinn pulled her seatbelt across her chest before starting the engine and checking her mirror for traffic (and smudged lipstick) before pulling away from Erin’s flat. I fiddled with the radio until I found a decent song (‘Wannabe’ by the Spice Girls, FYI). Butterflies took flight as we drove along, reminding me of the momentous day ahead of us. I’d managed to track down the wedding dress designer from the wedding fair, so we were travelling to the village where her shop was located. Luckily, Hartfield Hill wasn’t far away so we wouldn’t have to put up with Erin’s gloomy chops for too long.

  ‘I just need to make a quick detour,’ Quinn said as Mel B serenaded us. ‘I think I left my purse at Billy and Theo’s last night.’

  I caught Erin’s eye in the rear-view mirror. With the slightest head movement, she indicated that I should jump in. Erin had temporarily ceased sulking in order to intervene in Quinn’s assumed madness.

  ‘About that.’ I squirmed in my seat. Why did intervening fall under my jurisdiction? ‘Since when did you start hanging out there on your own?’

  Quinn gave a shrug, keeping her eyes conveniently fixed on the road ahead. ‘Not that long. I get on pretty well with Casey. She reminds me of my sister.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s why she hangs out there.’ Erin caught my eye in the mirror again. ‘It has nothing at all to do with Theo.’

  ‘As if!’ Quinn took her eyes – momentarily – off the road to shoot Erin an aghast look through the rear-view mirror. ‘I do not fancy Theo.’

  ‘Not even a little bit?’ I’d lived with Theo for two irritating years and even though the thought of smooching a bloke after I’d tugged his hairs out of the plughole on a regular basis was enough to make me shudder, even I could (silently) admit that he was a good-looking bloke.

  ‘Okay, I did fancy him a little bit at first.’ It pained Quinn to admit this – and rightly so. ‘But he’s such a big flirt and not my type at all.’

  ‘How long is it since you’ve had sex?’ Erin asked.

  Quinn winced. ‘Too long.’

  ‘Then you don’t have a type. Unless desperate counts. Hey, I’m kidding. Don’t crash the car or anything.’

  Quinn’s knuckles whitened as she turned her eyes back to the road, her hands gripping the steering wheel
. It was taking all her effort not to turn back around with a retort, but Erin was right – about both crashing the car and her sex drought. Still, it took a moment before her fingers relaxed and she was composed enough to speak.

  ‘Theo is not my type – shut up, Erin, or I’ll flip the car over. As good-looking as he is, I don’t go for uber-groomed guys.’

  ‘Then why all the flirting?’ I asked.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with a bit of flirting.’

  ‘But that’s how it all starts. A giggle here, a hair flick there. The next thing you know, your knickers are dangling from Theo’s lampshade and your self-respect has flown out of the window. I’ve seen it happen many times.’

  ‘You watch Theo having sex?’ Quinn met Erin’s eye in the rear-view mirror and they both sniggered, mini-squabble forgotten. ‘I always knew there was something dodgy about your relationship.’

  I wanted to gag at the thought of a front-row seat as Theo performed. Hearing it through the wall had been bad enough. ‘Whatever. Just be careful. Theo’s an all-right mate—’

  ‘Don’t go overboard with the compliments, will you?’ Quinn said, but I ploughed on with my words of wisdom.

  ‘But he’s a selfish arsehole when it comes to women.’

  ‘It’s a good job I’m not interested in him like that, then, isn’t it?’ Quinn asked as she pulled into Oak Road and parked outside Billy and Theo’s. ‘I’ll only be a minute. Do you want to come in or wait here?’

  ‘I’ll wait here.’ Erin pulled out her phone and started tapping away, no doubt texting Richard. She had – against her will – become one of those people who couldn’t go thirty seconds without some sort of communication with their partner.

  ‘I’ll come in and say hello.’ And make sure there’s no untoward flirting happening. I wasn’t usually such a party-pooper, but Quinn was a nice girl and Theo really was a pig. Unfortunately, my surveillance was compromised as I received a phone call as soon as I stepped over the threshold.

  ‘I have brilliant news!’ Mum cried as soon as I answered. I gave a quick wave to Billy, Theo and Casey and pulled an apologetic face.

  ‘Has Dad’s gym/caravan given up and crumpled into a rusty pile in the garden?’

  ‘Not that brilliant, love.’ Mum gave a long sigh, no doubt imagining the rusty pile in the garden. She’d be dancing a celebratory jig on top of it while organising a skip to take away the debris. ‘But it is good news. You know Marie McDermott from two doors down? Her niece is a florist and she said she’ll do the flowers for your wedding super-cheap. Her words, not mine, obviously.’

  ‘Really?’ That was good news. Much better than Dad’s caravan going kaput. ‘Do you have her number?’ I grabbed my ever-ready notebook and pen and scribbled down the niece’s phone number. By the time I’d finished, Quinn had retrieved her purse – thankfully not from Theo’s bedroom – and we were heading back out to the car.

  ‘Are we ready to go and find your wedding dress?’ Quinn asked once we were buckled back up.

  The butterflies took flight again, but I was more than ready.

  Libby Collinson owned a wedding dress shop in the quaint Peppersmith Square within the village. We made our way along the cobbled courtyard, with Erin grumbling about her heels suffering on the cobbles, and into the shop. The exterior was painted a sage green, and two large windows displayed flowing white dresses on shiny mannequins. A bell announced our arrival as we trooped inside, our eyes roaming around in awe. Sumptuous dresses lined the shop, with soft sofas arranged in the centre facing a large ornate mirror.

  ‘Hello, can I help you?’ Libby joined us from a room at the back, a lilac tape measure around her shoulders.

  ‘Hi, I’m Ruth. We spoke on the phone.’

  Libby’s face broke out into a wide smile. She was surprisingly young – mid-twenties at the very most – and very pretty with strawberry blonde hair and a smattering of pale freckles across her nose. ‘Of course. You wanted to see the tea-length dress with the polka dots, yes?’

  ‘That’s right.’ I was so excited at the prospect of seeing the dress again that when Libby nipped out to the back of the shop and returned with the dress from the fashion show, I had to suppress the urge to do a little wee on the spot.

  ‘Here it is.’ Libby presented the dress and I felt myself falling in love with the sweep of ivory silk and organza.

  ‘It’s perfect. I love it.’ Would Libby mind if I threw my arms around the dress and hugged it tight? Possibly. ‘The only problem is, I’m getting married in a month.’ There was no way the tiny-waisted dress in Libby’s hands was going to fit me, even if I wired my mouth shut until the big day.

  Libby placed the dress in Quinn’s arms and pulled the tape measure from around her shoulders. ‘We’d better get you measured then.’

  Taking my measurements for the dress didn’t take too long. The majority of our time in Libby’s shop was spent picking out the fabric for the sash. When Libby mentioned that I could choose the fabric to suit my colour scheme – which I had yet to make a decision on – I knew we were going to be a while. Libby took me into the room at the back, which doubled as her sewing room. A table was set up in the centre with a sewing machine and all the paraphernalia she needed, while shelves around the perimeter housed reams of fabric. I was like a kid in a sweetie shop as I moved along the shelves, finally deciding on a sunshine yellow with large white spots. Libby said she was more than happy to make a matching wide ribbon to hold my hair back instead of wearing a veil or a tiara.

  ‘I have your number, so I’ll let you know when the dress is ready for your first fitting,’ Libby said, making a few final notes. We said goodbye and – reluctantly – I left the shop with my friends.

  ‘You’re going to look stunning,’ Quinn said as we stepped back onto the cobbles.

  ‘The dress certainly will.’ I spotted a restaurant across the courtyard and linked my arms through Quinn’s and Erin’s. ‘I’m starving. Let’s go for a celebratory lunch.’

  Over a delicious lunch of chicken and avocado ciabattas followed by Black Forest cheesecake, we discussed the dress – and the wedding in general.

  ‘How do you feel about vintage for the bridesmaid dresses?’ I asked.

  ‘It depends,’ Erin replied. ‘By vintage, do you mean actual vintage or just second-hand?’

  Well, the budget was tight. ‘How can you be so picky? At least I’m not making you wear the dress Lindsay has picked for you.’

  ‘Why? What has she picked?’ Quinn hadn’t had the good fortune of seeing Lindsay’s bridesmaid dresses. I’d only accidentally caught a glimpse of a photo on Erin’s phone, but that had been hilarious enough.

  ‘Never mind that.’ Erin shot me a warning look. If I described the dress to Quinn it would be at my own peril. ‘You know I was only kidding about the second-hand thing anyway. It’s your wedding. I’d wear a potato sack if you wanted me to.’

  I screwed up my nose. ‘Nah, it won’t go with my beautiful dress.’

  Quinn scraped the last of her cheesecake onto her fork and popped it into her mouth, closing her eyes to savour the taste. ‘That was the best cheesecake ever.’

  ‘Speaking of cake.’ I looked mournfully at my empty plate. My own cheesecake had been inhaled within seconds. ‘I can’t decide what kind of cake I want for the wedding, so Linda is doing a taste test next week. Do you want to come and help me decide?’

  Quinn placed her fork on her plate. ‘What sort of a question is that? Free cake? I’m there.’

  ‘Me too,’ Erin said. ‘That cake she made for your birthday last year was gorgeous.’

  ‘So you’re both coming. Great.’ I made a note in my book and looked at the next point on my to-do list. ‘Now, wedding lingerie. Who fancies a shopping trip soon? I’ll need to go before my first fitting with Libby.’

  ‘I’m in,’ Quinn said.

  ‘Me too.’ Erin pushed her plate away, half of her cheesecake still begging to be eaten. ‘Did you know that Lindsay has
supplied all her bridesmaids with underwear? She didn’t say anything; it just turned up one day. I thought Richard was being a bit kinky when it came in the post until I read the note. I’m not sure I like the idea of my boyfriend’s sister buying me lingerie.’

  ‘How did she know your size?’ I wasn’t really asking Erin the question. My eyes were fixed on the half-eaten cheesecake.

  ‘I have no idea. How creepy is that?’ Erin shuddered.

  ‘At least somebody’s buying you underwear,’ Quinn said. ‘I have to buy my own. I don’t think I’ll ever get a boyfriend again.’

  ‘Weddings are a great place to meet men,’ I told the cheesecake. ‘I could set you up with somebody. Ooh, how about Jared’s friend, Paul? He’s so lovely.’

  ‘I don’t usually go for lovely. I always seem to pick the mean guys who treat me like shit.’

  I tore my eyes away from the cheesecake. It hurt. ‘Perhaps it’s time for a change, then. Just look at Erin. I’d have never pictured her with somebody like Richard.’ I’d never have pictured Erin with anybody for longer than an hour or two before Richard. ‘But look how happy they are. I bet I won’t be the only one getting married in the near future.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you start.’ Erin shook her head. ‘There isn’t even the slightest possibility of me and Richard getting married.’

  I grinned at Quinn. ‘I think the lady doth protest too much.’

  ‘The lady can’t protest enough,’ Erin said. ‘Why can’t people accept that I don’t want to get married?’

  ‘Because you love Richard?’ I suggested.

  ‘But love doesn’t equal marriage, though. Plenty of people are trapped in loveless marriages.’

  ‘Luckily, that’s never going to happen to me and Jared.’

  ‘Of course not. You and Jared are destined to live happily after ever,’ Quinn said.

  ‘Permission to be smug?’

  ‘Permission granted,’ Quinn said while Erin mimed sticking her fingers down her throat.

  ‘Erin?’ I asked, in my nicest voice. ‘Are you going to eat that cheesecake?’