Wedding Belles

by Sarah Webb

  “Let’s hope so,” Dad says. “Or else we really are in trouble.”

  Later that evening, I get a phone call from Bailey. At least it’s Bailey’s number, but it’s certainly not Bailey’s voice.

  “Amy, it’s Finn, Bailey’s dad. Remember me?”

  “Of course I do.” How could I forget Finn Hunter, the Irish Surfing Chef? He’s always popping up on radio and TV chat shows.

  “Mills has been talking to Bailey and I hear you need a chef for your mum’s wedding on Tuesday. I’d like to offer my services. You’ve been a really good friend to Bailey, Amy. I’d like to repay the favor.”

  A celebrity chef cooking at Mum’s wedding? Things are looking up. And Mum adores Finn Hunter — she still kisses the telly screen when he comes on. She’s going to be over the moon! Maybe this wedding isn’t going to be such a disaster after all.

  I turn out to be right. Mum is thrilled that Finn is doing the catering. “Finn Hunter? At my wedding? Are you serious? I love Finn Hunter!” is the first thing she says when Clover breaks the news about the change in venue and everything over dinner the following evening. She and Dad spent the whole day getting the new wedding details sorted.

  It looks like wedding Mark II is a-go-go!

  When I wake up on Tuesday morning — Mum and Dave’s wedding day — I jump out of bed, throw back my curtains, and nearly cry with relief. Clover and I have been checking out weather apps obsessively all week, terrified that Mum’s big day would be spoiled by buckets of rain. Or even hailstones or snow — the weather has been so weird lately. But it’s sunny, and there’s not a cloud in the sky. Sun, in Ireland, in April — it’s a miracle! I sigh with relief. It’s a good omen — it just has to be. Plus, it’s also my birthday. Another good omen.

  “Happy birthday, Amy,” I whisper to myself. We’re celebrating next weekend on account of the wedding, and I can’t help feeling a little down. It’s not every day that you turn fourteen. Fourteen! It sounds so much older than thirteen. Like the difference between seventeen and full-on-adult eighteen, the biggest jump there is. Still, it’s Mum’s special day and I don’t really mind waiting to celebrate my birthday. Well, only a bit.

  I check my phone. Two “happy birthday” messages — from Dad and Mills. I’m glad they’ve remembered. Then I hear a scuffling sound and low, hushed voices outside my door, followed by Alex’s frantic giggling. He’s probably doing his hideous new naked dance, wiggling his bum, slapping it with his hand, and yelling “Yee-ha!” He saw the move in some music video on the telly and has been doing it ever since. He added the “Yee-ha!” bit all by himself, odd little troll that he is. The more we all tell him to stop, the more he keeps on doing it.

  I put my mobile down, yank open the door, all ready to let him have it — and get the fright of my life when I find Alex, Mum, Clover, and Evie outside.

  Clover yells, “Surprise!” and waves a huge silver helium balloon in my face. It has 14 TODAY printed on it in rainbow colors.

  Mum’s in her dressing gown with Evie in her arms and Alex at her feet. And, yes, as I suspected, Alex is naked. Evie, however, is wearing her fluffy pink sleep suit with the hood and the floppy ears. She looks all cute and cuddly, like a little pink bunny.

  “Happy birthday, love,” Mum says, smiling at me, then leans over to give me a kiss on the cheek. She smells just-out-of-the-shower fresh. Her hair’s wet, in fact, and is hanging down her back in a sleek wave. She had it highlighted and trimmed last week and the ends are still sharp. There are dark circles under her eyes, though, and her face is a bit pinched and tense. I guess it is a big day for her, and she’s probably been worrying all night about something going wrong.

  Dave spent last night at his friend Russ’s house — apparently it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride on the night before the wedding.

  “Let’s go downstairs and have some breakfast together before the day starts to get even more manic,” Mum says, yawning. Which sets me off.

  I yawn so deeply that my jaw cracks. “It’s not even eight yet, Mum.”

  “I know, but it’s a busy day. There’s still a lot to do.”

  “All you have to worry about this morning is being beautified, Sylvie,” Clover says firmly. “Gramps will be here any minute to take the kids off your hands. And my very able assistant and I have everything under control, don’t we, Bean Machine?” Clover checks her watch. “In fact, our fabulous hair and beauty professional will be here very soon.” Saffy was coming along to the wedding anyway, but when Clover asked her to recommend a last-minute makeup artist who wouldn’t cost the earth, Saffy offered to do it herself. She worked on the MAC counter in Brown Thomas department store during college and loves making people look their best.

  “So let’s eat, people. Chop-chop.” Clover practically pushes me down the stairs.

  I get another surprise when I walk into the kitchen. The breakfast table is beautifully set and decorated with table confetti: tiny baby-blue 14s wink up at me. Alex grabs a handful and throws them in my face. One of them nearly lands in my eye.

  “’Appy birf-day, Mimi,” he says, giggling away to himself.

  “Thanks, Alex,” I say, wiping away the confetti.

  After popping Evie into her high chair, Mum wrestles a fresh diaper and Thomas the Tank Engine pajamas onto Alex. He’s not happy and squeals and wiggles so much that she has to scold him several times. He loves being naked; he’d spend all day in the nip if Mum let him. When he’s decent, she lifts him into his high chair and finally flops down on one of the kitchen chairs.

  “If that child starts stripping during the ceremony, I’ll have a nervous breakdown,” she says. “Keep your eye on him, Amy, will you? And Alex, you have to keep your clothes on today, buddy, understand?”

  Alex gives Mum one of his angelic smiles. With his blond curls and bright-blue eyes, he looks like a little cherub, but he’s more like a tiny Tasmanian devil.

  “I love oo, Mummy,” he says.

  She laughs and pats his head. “I know you do, you charmer, but none of your tricks at the wedding, got it?”

  Alex nods and says, “OK, Mummy” with such a serious little face that we all start to laugh. He grins, lapping up all the attention.

  “Take a pew, Beanie,” Clover says, pointing at a chair with a pink helium BIRTHDAY GIRL balloon attached to the back of it. There’s a pile of wrapped presents and envelopes on the table. I’m so pleased that I almost start to cry. I thought everyone would be too caught up in wedding fever to remember my birthday. Clover’s eyes are twinkling, and I realize that she must be behind the extraspecial treatment. Mum and Dave always remember my birthday, but I’ve never had table confetti or balloons before.

  “Go on,” Clover says. “Open your presents.”

  “I think I’ll wait until after breakfast,” I say, trying to keep a straight face. Clover has no patience whatsoever when it comes to presents. She always tears into the wrapping paper, ripping it off like there’s a bomb inside that will explode if she doesn’t extract the present within three seconds flat.

  “Beanie!” she groans.

  “Only kidding.” I pick up the first present in the pile, a large square one covered in red-and-gold Christmas paper.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t find any birthday paper in the house,” Mum says sheepishly. “I did buy some, but Alex used it as a sword, and it unraveled and ended up all over the garden.”

  “That’s OK,” I say with a smile. I tear off the paper to reveal a white shoe box. I open the lid and peer inside. Brand-new Converse — black high-tops covered in shiny black sequins. Mum has also tucked a Benefit eye shadow compact into one shoe and an iTunes voucher into the other.

  “Thanks, Mum.” I beam at her, delighted. She has been known to buy me the oddest presents, like a cricket set (and I don’t even play cricket — she said the point was that I could learn) and bed linen. I mean, come on, who wants bed linen for their birthday? No, this is pretty much the best present Mum has ever given me. “Ca
n I wear the Converse today?”

  “I’m glad you like them, Amy, but I’m not sure they’d go with your bridesmaid’s dress.”

  The second present is from Alex and Evie — a summer scarf in light-gray cotton with black butterflies printed all over it. Again, pretty cool. Dad has given me a card with money tucked inside as usual — 100 euros this time. Yeah! And, for once, Mum doesn’t sniff and comment on it being a “cop-out present.”

  There’s a gift card from Gramps and, surprisingly, a pretty photographic card with a beach scene on it from Pauline, Shelly’s mum. We haven’t always seen eye to eye, Pauline and I, so it’s nice that she’s remembered my fourteenth.

  The last envelope, a plain white one, is much bigger than the others. My name is written on the outside in shiny pink letters. I look over at Clover.

  She nods. “That’s from me, Beanie. Part one of your present. I’ll give you part two later.”

  I open the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper with “Look in the living room” written on it.

  “Go on,” Clover says. “It’s waiting for you.”

  “I’m going, I’m going.” I grin at her, then Clover and I march off to the living room. I hear Mum tell Alex to stay put, that she’ll only be a second, and then she joins us. There’s a huge rectangular present, the size of a car windshield, resting against the sofa. It’s covered in red paper dotted with white hearts. I make a careful rip in the paper and laugh as I realize what’s inside: a montage of photographs of me and Clover printed on glossy canvas.

  Me and Clover in the kitchen wearing swimming goggles, making funny faces for the camera (Clover always wears goggles while cutting up onions); me and Clover wearing Santa hats last Christmas; me and Clover swimming on Killiney beach with Granny before she died; me, Clover, and Mum at Mum’s Sex and the City bachelorette party in our costumes. . . . It’s amazing. It must have taken her ages to pull all the images together.

  “I love it, Clover!” I say, grinning up at her.

  “Coola boola,” she says. “Now let’s eat, I’m starving. You promised me scrambled eggs with posh smoked salmon, Sylvie. Not to mention Buck’s Fizz. And a wee taste for Beanie too — bridesmaid’s privilege.”

  “OK,” Mum says, “but just a tiny sip. I’ve got enough to be worrying about today without a tipsy teenager on my hands.”

  “I bet Dave and Russ aren’t breaking out the bubbly and the smoked salmon,” Clover says. “Greasy fry-up for them, I’d say. Men!” She rolls her eyes. “No sense of occasion.”

  The phone rings as I’m sitting in the living room, our wedding-planning headquarters for the morning, checking our to-do list.

  “Amy, can you hear me?” It’s Dave. Ah, the groom himself.

  “Hi, Dave. Just about, the line’s very bad. Where are you?”

  “In a lift at the Dublin Airport Hotel.”

  “What?”

  “Look, it’s a long story. I’m meeting . . .” The line goes all crackly.

  “Say again?”

  “I can’t get through to Clover. Can you give her a message?”

  “OK, sure. Go ahead.”

  “If I’m a little bit late for the service, don’t panic. I’ll definitely be there. I’m finally meeting Rolf Grant. His PA rang first thing this morning, said that he had a cancellation. I know it’s terrible timing. . . .” I lose him again. “Once-in-a-lifetime chance, Amy, and I’m sure Sylvie . . .” The line goes dead.

  I try ringing him back, but there’s no answer.

  Luckily Clover walks into the living room then, clicking her own phone off. “OK, Sue and Mills are in the tent. Sue’s already dropped off Sylvie’s bouquet. It’s in the kitchen. You all right, Beanie? You look pale.”

  “I just had a call from Dave. He wanted to give you a message. He said he might be a bit late for the service. But he said not to worry — he’d definitely be there.”

  “Where is he exactly? He’s supposed to go straight to the ceremony from Russ’s house.”

  “Now, don’t shoot the messenger, but he’s at the Dublin Airport Hotel, meeting Rolf Grant.”

  “What? How could he? It’s his wedding day. Is he crazy?”

  “It wasn’t planned, Clover. He’s been trying to get a meeting for ages and Rolf had a cancellation today, apparently. Dave said it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “So is marrying my sister!” Clover gives a strangled scream. “I could kill him. After we managed to salvage the wedding, he could ruin everything. We have the town hall for an hour only. If he’s late, there will be no ceremony — it’s as simple as that.”

  “He promised he’d make the wedding. And Dave always keeps his promises. He’s a good guy, Clover. He’s doing all this Dinoduck stuff for Mum too.”

  Clover sighs. “I know. It’s just such horrible timing. And my nerves are shattered as it is.”

  “He’ll be there,” I assure her. But I hope I’m right. And I thought the sun this morning was a good omen. How wrong can you be?

  “You’re very quiet, you two,” Mum says. We’re all in an ultra-smart black limo — Mum, Clover, Monique, and me: the bride and her bridesmaids. We’re on our way to the town hall for the wedding ceremony. If Dave turns up in time, that is!

  “Just having a little time out,” Clover says, giving Mum a big smile. “It’s been a busy morning.” She squeezes Mum’s hand. “I know I’ve said it before, but you look beautiful, sis.”

  “Thanks,” Mum says happily and then goes back to chatting to Monique about Monique’s latest acting job.

  My eyes meet Clover’s and she gives me a gentle “It’s going to be OK” smile. I nod back at her, but I’m so worried I can barely breathe. My iPhone is clutched in my sweaty palm. It’s on silent, and every few seconds I swear I feel it vibrate against my skin, but when I look down, the screen is always dark, dead. Come on, Dave. Contact me or Clover. Please. We’ve tried ringing him and Russ dozens of times, but both their phones are going straight to messages.

  I know Clover’s just as frantic to hear from him as I am. She’s just better at hiding her anxiety. Mum thinks I’m waiting for Seth to text me back, to confirm that he won’t be at the wedding. He was invited before we broke up, and he still hasn’t sent an RSVP, which is messing up our table plan. We don’t know whether to set a place for him or not. I sent him a text this morning: PLEASE CONFIRM THAT YOU’RE NOT COMING TO THE WEDDING. AMY

  There’s no way he’s going to turn up. Why would he? We’re not together anymore, and he’s made it quite clear that he has no interest in me other than being friends. I told Clover not to include him on the seating plan, but she has this crazy idea that he’s going to appear at some stage today. She’s still convinced that he loves me and has just been having a major emotional wobble because of Polly’s illness. She’s deranged! I let Mum think that it’s Seth’s text I’m waiting for, though. If she knew the truth, she’d freak out.

  I look at Mum again, trying to keep my mind from thinking the worst — that Dave will be so late we’ll have to cancel the whole wedding. It would be such a waste. Clover and I have put so much work into it, and Mum really does look beautiful, all thanks to Saffy. She’s given Mum a lovely natural look: light foundation, a dusting of pink blusher on the apples of her cheeks, warm golden-brown eye shadow on her eyelids and a honey-colored lip stain on her lips, with a slick of gloss on top to make them shine. Her hair is swept back in a loose chignon and fastened with diamanté star clips. She’s holding a simple round posy of the palest pink tea roses (they match her shoes perfectly), bound together with cream ribbon and tied off in a pretty bow. Sue did a brilliant job with the flowers. Mum is thrilled.

  We’ve been blown away by how amazingly kind everyone has been since we heard about the hotel going bust. Even Seth’s mum, Polly, is helping out, which makes it really weird that Seth hasn’t replied to my text. Finn told Polly the news — they’ve become friends through the boys. Mills is convinced that they’re secretly dating, but I thin
k they just enjoy each other’s company. Anyway, Polly rang me and offered to do the photography. It had been yet another thing that the hotel had arranged. Both Gramps and Russ had offered to take some photos, but Polly is a professional, and I know Mum and Dave would love some nice images of the day to frame.

  “Thanks, Polly, that would be brilliant,” I told her.

  “I’d be delighted to help,” she said. “I miss you, Amy. Look, I shouldn’t be saying this, and Seth will kill me, but I’m sorry about you guys breaking up. You were good together. He’s been so down lately. He shouldn’t be worrying about me, though — the new treatment’s going well, and Dr. Shine is really pleased with my progress. I’m going to be fine. Anyway, my mouth is running away with me as usual. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry and I hope you’re OK. I’ll see you at the wedding. Let me know what time suits.”

  After the phone call, I sat very still with a big lump in my throat, thinking about what Polly had just said. If she was doing well, Seth had no reason to keep me at arm’s length anymore. And if that was the case, he’d clearly just gone off me. Simple as that. Even though it was hard, I realized it was something that I’d just have to accept. I’d have to move on. At least I had plenty to think about — the wedding, for starters. Mum has been so stressed out about it. Looking after her has been a full-time job for me and Clover — and now Dave’s gone missing! If he doesn’t turn up, I think Mum will self-combust.

  We arrive at the Dun Laoghaire town hall at ten to three. As Dave’s family is Jewish and Mum is Church of Ireland, they decided to get married in a neutral setting, somewhere local that means something to both of them. They first met in Dun Laoghaire, when Dave was playing at a music festival in the People’s Park.

  The wedding ceremony starts in ten minutes, and wedding guests are piling into the building. I spot Dave’s sister, Prue, carrying baby Bella in her arms. Ollie and Denis are following behind her, looking like kids from a Ralph Lauren ad in chinos and sky-blue shirts, with their hair neatly combed. Denis, who’s ten, is holding Ollie’s hand, and they look so cute.