Shopaholic Ties the Knot

by Sophie Kinsella

  “Looks like they’re expecting you, anyway,” says Danny. “You OK?”

  “Fine,” I say — and it’s ridiculous, but my voice is shaking.

  The car comes to a halt, and so does the other car behind, which is carrying all our luggage.

  “What I don’t understand,” says Luke, staring out at all the activity, “is how you managed to shift an entire wedding forward by a day. At three weeks’ notice. I mean, you’re talking the caterers, you’re talking the band, you’re talking a million different very busy professionals…”

  “Luke, this isn’t Manhattan,” I say, opening the car door. “You’ll see.”

  As we get out, the front door swings open, and there’s Mum, wearing tartan trousers and a sweatshirt reading “Mother of the Bride.”

  “Becky!” she cries, and runs over to give me a hug.

  “Mum.” I hug her back. “Is everything OK?”

  “Everything’s under control, I think!” she says a little flusteredly. “We had a problem with the table posies, but fingers crossed, they should be on their way… Luke! How are you? How was the financial conference?”

  “It went er… very well,” he says. “Very well indeed, thank you. I’m just sorry it’s caused so much trouble with the wedding arrangements—”

  “Oh, that’s all right!” says Mum. “I’ll admit, I was a bit taken aback when Becky phoned. But in the end, it didn’t take much doing! Most of the guests were staying over for Sunday brunch, anyway. And Peter at the church was most understanding, and said he didn’t usually conduct weddings on a Sunday, but in this case he’d make an exception—”

  “But what about… the catering, for instance? Wasn’t that all booked for yesterday?”

  “Oh, Lulu didn’t mind! Did you, Lulu?” she says to one of the women in green and white stripes.

  “No!” says Lulu brightly. “Of course not. Hello, Becky! How are you?”

  Oh my God! It’s Lulu who used to take me for Brownies.

  “Hi!” I say, “I didn’t know you did catering!”

  “Oh well.” She makes a self-deprecating little gesture. “It’s just to keep me busy, really. Now that the children are older…”

  “You know, Lulu’s son Aaron is in the band!” says Mum proudly. “He plays the keyboards! And you know, they’re very good! They’ve been practicing ‘Unchained Melody’ especially—”

  “Now, just taste this!” says Lulu, reaching into a foil-covered tray and producing a canapé. “It’s our new Thai filo parcels. We’re rather pleased with them. You know, filo pastry is very in now.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yes.” Lulu nods knowledgeably. “No one has shortcake tartlets anymore. And as for vol-au-vents…” She pulls a little face. “Over.”

  “You are so right,” says Danny, his eyes bright. “The vol-au-vent is dead. The vol-au-vent is toast, if you will. May I ask where you stand on the asparagus roll?”

  “Mum, this is Danny,” I put in quickly. “My neighbor, remember?”

  “Mrs. B., it’s an honor to meet you,” says Danny, kissing Mum’s hand. “You don’t mind my tagging along with Becky?”

  “Of course not!” says Mum. “The more the merrier! Now, come and see the marquee!”

  As we walk round to the garden, my jaw drops. A huge silver and white striped marquee is billowing on the lawn. All the flower beds read “Becky and Luke” in pansies. There are fairy lights strung up in every available bush and shrub. A uniformed gardener is polishing a new granite water feature, someone else is sweeping the patio, and inside the marquee I can see lots of middle-aged women sitting in a semicircle, holding notebooks.

  “Janice is just giving the girls the team briefing,” says Mum in an undertone. “She’s really got into this wedding organizing lark now. She wants to start doing it professionally!”

  “Now,” I hear Janice saying as we approach. “The emergency rose petals will be in a silver basket by Pillar A. Could you all please mark that on your floorplans—”

  “You know, I think she’ll be a success,” I say thoughtfully.

  “Betty and Margot, if you could be in charge of buttonholes. Annabel, if you could please take care of—”

  “Mum?” says Luke, peering into the marquee incredulously.

  Oh my God. It’s Annabel! It’s Luke’s stepmum, sitting there along with everyone else.

  “Luke!” Annabel looks round and her entire face lights up. “Janice, excuse me for a moment—”

  She hurries toward us and envelops Luke in a tight hug.

  “You’re here. I’m so glad to see you.” She peers anxiously into his face. “Are you all right, darling?”

  “I’m fine,” says Luke, “I think. A lot’s been going on…”

  “So I understand,” says Annabel, and gives me a sharp look. “Becky.” She reaches out with one arm and hugs me, too. “I’m going to have a long chat with you later,” she says into my ear.

  “So… you’re helping with the wedding?” says Luke to his stepmother.

  “Oh, it’s all hands to the deck around here,” says Mum gaily. “Annabel’s one of us now!”

  “And where’s Dad?” says Luke, looking around.

  “He’s gone to get some extra glasses with Graham,” says Mum. “Those two have really hit it off. Now, who’s for a cup of coffee?”

  “You’re getting on well with Luke’s parents!” I say, following Mum toward the kitchen.

  “Oh, they’re super!” she says happily. “Really charming. They’ve already invited us down to stay in Devon. Nice, normal, down-to-earth people. Not like… that woman.”

  “No. They’re quite different from Elinor.”

  “She didn’t seem at all interested in the wedding,” says Mum, her voice prickling slightly. “You know, she never even replied to her invitation!”

  “Didn’t she?”

  Damn. I thought I’d done a reply from Elinor.

  “Have you seen much of her recently?” says Mum.

  “Er… no,” I say. “Not much.”

  We carry a tray of coffee upstairs to Mum’s bedroom, and open the door to find Suze and Danny sitting on the bed, with Ernie lying between them, kicking his little pink feet. And hanging on the wardrobe door opposite, Mum’s wedding dress, as white and frilly as ever.

  “Suze!” I exclaim, giving her a hug. “And gorgeous Ernie! He’s got so big—” I bend down to kiss his cheek, and he gives me an enormous gummy smile.

  “You made it.” Suze grins at me. “Well done, Bex.”

  “Suze has just been showing me your family heirloom wedding dress, Mrs. B.,” says Danny, raising his eyebrows at me. “It’s… quite unique.”

  “This dress is a real survivor!” says Mum delightedly. “We thought it was ruined, but all the coffee came out!”

  “What a miracle!” says Danny.

  “And even just this morning, little Ernie tried to throw apple puree over it—”

  “Oh, really?” I say, glancing at Suze, who flushes slightly.

  “But luckily I’d covered it in protective plastic!” says Mum. She reaches for the dress and shakes out the frills, slightly pink about the eyes. “This is a moment I’ve been dreaming about for so long. Becky wearing my wedding dress. I am a silly, aren’t I?”

  “It’s not silly,” I say, and give her a hug. “It’s what weddings are all about.”

  “Mrs. Bloomwood, Becky described the dress to me,” says Danny. “And I can honestly say she didn’t do it justice. But you won’t mind if I make a couple of teeny tiny alterations?”

  “Not at all!” says Mum, and glances at her watch. “Well, I must get on. I’ve still got to chase these posies!”

  As the door closes behind her, Danny and Suze exchange glances.

  “OK,” says Danny. “What are we going to do with this?”

  “You could cut the sleeves off, for a start,” says Suze. “And all those frills on the bodice.”

  “I mean, how much of it do we actually ne
ed to keep?” Danny looks up. “Becky, what do you think?”

  I don’t reply. I’m staring out of the window into the garden. I can see Luke and Annabel walking round the garden, their heads close together, talking. And there’s Mum talking to Janice, and gesturing to the flowering cherry tree.

  “Becky?” says Danny again.

  “Don’t touch it,” I say, turning round.

  “What?”

  “Don’t do anything to it.” I smile at Danny’s appalled face. “Just leave it as it is.”

  By ten to three I’m ready. I’m wearing the sausage roll dress. My face has been made up by Janice as Radiant Spring Bride, only slightly toned down with a tissue and water. I’ve got a garland of bright pink carnations and gypsophila in my hair, which Mum ordered along with my bouquet. The only remotely stylish thing about me is my Christian Louboutin shoes, which you can’t even see.

  And I don’t care. I look exactly how I want to look.

  We’ve had our photos taken by the flowering cherry tree, and Mum has wept all down her “Summer Elegance” makeup and had to be retouched. And now everyone has gone off to the church. It’s me and Dad, waiting to go.

  “Ready?” he says, as a white Rolls-Royce purrs into the drive.

  “I think so,” I say, a slight wobble to my voice.

  I’m getting married. I’m really getting married.

  “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?” I say, only half joking.

  “Oh, I think so.” Dad looks into the hall stand mirror and adjusts his silk tie. “I remember saying to your mother, the very first day I met Luke, ‘This one will keep up with Becky.’ ” He meets my eye in the mirror. “Was I right, love? Does he keep up with you?”

  “Not quite.” I grin at him. “But… he’s getting there.”

  “Good.” Dad smiles back. “That’s probably all he can hope for.”

  The driver is ringing the doorbell, and as I open the door, I peer at the face under the peaked cap. I don’t believe it. It’s my old driving instructor, Clive.

  “Clive! Hi! how are you?”

  “Becky Bloomwood!” he exclaims. “Well, I never! Becky Bloomwood, getting married! Did you ever pass your test, then?”

  “Er… yes. Eventually.”

  “Who would have thought it?” He shakes his head, marvelingly. “I used to go home to the wife and say, ‘If that girl passes her test, I’m a fried egg.’ And then of course, when it came to it—”

  “Yes, well, anyway—”

  “That examiner said he’d never known anything like it. Has your husband-to-be seen you drive?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he still wants to marry you?”

  “Yes!” I say crossly.

  Honestly. This is my wedding day. I shouldn’t have to be reminded about stupid driving tests that happened years ago.

  “Shall we get in?” says Dad tactfully. “Hello, Clive. Nice to see you again.”

  We walk out into the drive, and as we reach the car I look back at the house. When I see it again I’ll be a married woman. I take a deep breath and step into the car.

  “Stooooop!” comes a voice. “Becky! Stop!”

  I freeze in terror, one foot inside the car. What’s happened? Who’s found out? What do they know?

  “I can’t let you go through with this!”

  What? This doesn’t make any sense. Tom Webster from next door is pelting toward us in his morning suit. What does he think he’s doing? He’s supposed to be ushering at the church.

  “Becky, I can’t stand by and watch,” he says breathlessly, planting a hand on the Rolls-Royce. “This could be the biggest mistake of your life. You haven’t thought it through.”

  Oh, for God’s sake.

  “Yes, I have,” I say, and try to elbow him out of the way.

  But he grabs my shoulder. “It hit me last night. We belong together. You and me. Think about it, Becky. We’ve known each other all our lives. We’ve grown up together. Maybe it’s taken us a while to discover our true feelings for each other… but don’t we deserve to give them a chance?”

  “Tom, I haven’t got any feelings for you,” I say. “And I’m getting married in two minutes. So can you get out of my way?”

  “You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for! You have no idea of the reality of marriage! Becky, tell me honestly. Do you really envisage yourself spending the rest of your days with Luke? Day after day, night after night? Hour after endless hour?”

  “Yes!” I say, losing my temper. “I do! I love Luke very much and I do want to spend the rest of my days with him! Tom, it has taken a lot of time and effort and trouble for me to get to this moment. More than you can possibly imagine. And if you don’t get out of my way right now and let me get to my wedding, I’ll… I’ll…”

  “Tom,” puts in Dad. “I think the answer’s no.”

  “Oh.” Tom is silent for a moment. “Well… OK.” He gives an abashed shrug. “Sorry.”

  “You never did have any sense of timing, Tom Webster,” says Clive scornfully. “I remember the first time you ever pulled out into a roundabout. Nearly killed us both, you did!”

  “It’s OK. No harm done. Can we go now?” I step into the car, arranging my dress around me, and Dad gets in beside me.

  “I’ll see you there, then, shall I?” says Tom mournfully, and I raise my eyes heavenward.

  “Tom, do you want a lift to the church?”

  “Oh, thanks. That’d be great. Hi, Graham,” he says awkwardly to my father as he clambers in. “Sorry about that.”

  “That’s quite all right, Tom,” says my father, patting him on the back. “We all have our little moments.” He pulls a face at me over Tom’s head and I quell a giggle.

  “So. Are we all set?” says Clive, turning in his seat. “Any sudden changes of heart? Any more last-minute protestations of love? Any three-point turns?”

  “No!” I say. “There’s nothing else. Let’s go already!”

  As we arrive at the church, the bells are ringing, the sun is shining, and a couple of last-minute guests are hurrying in. Tom opens the car door and dashes down the path without a backward glance, while I fluff out my train to the admiring glances of passersby.

  God, it is fun being a bride. I’m going to miss it.

  “All set?” says Dad, handing me my bouquet.

  “I think so.” I grin at him and take his outstretched arm.

  “Good luck,” says Clive, then nods ahead. “You’ve got a couple of late ones here.”

  A black taxi is pulling up in front of the church, and both passenger doors are flung open. I stare ahead incredulously, wondering if I’m dreaming, as Michael gets out, still in his evening dress from the Plaza. He extends a hand back into the taxi, and the next moment Laurel appears, still in her Yves St. Laurent with the sleeves rolled up.

  “Don’t let us put you off!” she says. “We’ll just sneak in somewhere—”

  “But… but what the hell are you doing here?”

  “Language,” says Clive reprovingly.

  “What’s the point of being in control of a hundred private jets if you can’t fly wherever you want?” says Laurel as she comes over to hug me. “We decided we wanted to see you get married.”

  “For real,” says Michael into my ear. “Hats off to you, Becky.”

  Dad and I wait until they’ve disappeared into the church, then make our way down the path to the porch where Suze is excitedly waiting. She’s wearing a silvery blue dress and carrying Ernie, who’s wearing a matching romper suit. As I peep inside the church, I can see the gathered faces of all my family, all my old friends, all Luke’s friends and relations. Sitting side by side, happy and expectant.

  The organ stops playing, and I feel a stab of nerves.

  It’s finally happening. I’m finally getting married. For real.

  Then the “Bridal March” starts and Dad gives my arm a squeeze, and we start to walk up the aisle.

  Twenty-three


  WE’RE MARRIED.

  We’re really married.

  I look down at the shiny wedding band that Luke slid onto my finger in the church. Then I look around at the scene before me. The marquee is glowing in the summer dusk, and the band is playing a ropy version of “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” and people are dancing. Maybe the music isn’t as smooth as it was at the Plaza. And maybe the guests aren’t all as well dressed. But they’re ours. They’re all ours.

  We had a lovely dinner of watercress soup, rack of lamb, and summer pudding, and we drank lots of champagne and the wine that Mum and Dad got in France. And then Dad rattled his fork in a glass and made a speech about me and Luke. He said that he and Mum had often talked about the kind of man I would marry, and they’d always disagreed on everything except one thing—“he’ll have to be on his toes.” Then he looked at Luke, who obligingly got up and turned a pirouette, and everyone roared with laughter. Dad said he’d become very fond of Luke and his parents and that this was more than just a marriage, it was a joining of families. And then he said he knew I would be a very loyal and supportive wife, and told the story of how when I was eight I wrote to Downing Street and proposed my father as prime minister — and then a week later wrote again to ask why they hadn’t replied — and everyone laughed again.

  Then Luke made a speech about how we met in London when I was a financial journalist, and how he noticed me at my very first press conference, when I asked the PR director of Barclays Bank why they didn’t make fashion checkbook covers like they have for mobile phones. And then he confessed that he’d started sending me invitations to PR events even when they weren’t relevant to my magazine, just because I always livened up proceedings.

  (He’s never told me that before. But now it all makes sense! That’s why I kept being invited to all those weird conferences on commodity brokering and the state of the steel industry.)

  Last of all, Michael stood up, and introduced himself in his warm, gravelly voice, and spoke about Luke. About how fantastically successful he is but how he needs someone by his side, someone who really loves him for the person he is and will stop him from taking life too seriously. Then he said it was an honor to meet my parents, and they’d been so friendly and welcoming to a pair of complete strangers, he could see where I got what he called the “Bloomwood bloom” of good-hearted happiness. And he said that I’d really grown up recently. That he’d watched me cope with some very tricky situations, and he wouldn’t go into details, but I’d had quite a few challenges to deal with and somehow I’d managed to solve them all.