Daniel leans over the kitchen table to kiss me. ‘Don’t ever be sorry about that, Emma. You’re the most loyal person I know. And honest and very caring about people’s feelings. We’ll just have to figure this out together. I don’t suppose you’ve got any rich uncles waiting to give you your inheritance?’
I think of Uncle Colin and Uncle Barbara. We come from a very long line of un-rich people. ‘Unfortunately not. But if you can take care of the rings and the suits for your side, I’ll worry about my dress and the dresses for the bridesmaids. Everything else needs to come out of Mum and Dad’s budget.’ I study his face. ‘I really am sorry that we might not have the big fancy wedding your mother wants. You should have fallen in love with a rich girl.’
‘That would never have worked, because she wouldn’t be you. I’ll take a perfect life with you over a–’ He makes air quotes with his fingers. ‘–“perfect wedding” any day.’
He grabs some paper and a pen from the worktop to make a list. ‘Right, yah, what we need is a dose of practicality, and we’ll find ways to save money. I’ve already found a bargain, just today, in fact. The car that takes you and your wedding party to the ceremony can also drive us to the wedding breakfast after we’re married. That’s two journeys for the price of one. My colleague said his driver could do it.’
I kiss his expectant lips, since he seems to think this kind of economising deserves a reward. ‘Daniel, I hate to break this to you, but there’s nothing practical about a chauffeur.’
He looks honestly surprised. ‘Well, how will you and your family get to the ceremony, then?’
‘A bus or taxi, or maybe we could walk if our heels aren’t too high. And Dad’s already got wheels.’
He laughs like I’m joking. ‘Seriously, Daniel. A chauffeur will be too expensive. Maybe you should leave the bargain hunting to me. You’re not very good at it.’
But he looks so disheartened by my rejection that I want to take the words back. It’s not his fault that he didn’t grow up worrying about spending. Besides, we shouldn’t be having arguments over money already. Hopefully we’ll have fifty years of marriage for that. I find myself saying, ‘Okay. We should keep track of all the expenses in one place. If you give me the chauffeur’s details, I can look at booking him.’ The lie slips out before I can stop it. There’s no way we can book that car, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings when he’s only trying to help.
Half an hour later our list covers both sides of the paper. ‘There’s a lot to do,’ I say.
‘Yah, but if we prioritise,’ he says. ‘We can do this.’ He scans the page as I pull my kitchen chair round to sit beside him. ‘Right, most important is–’
‘The ceremony,’ I say.
‘Definitely number one, and it’s all I rahly care about, marrying you.’
‘Me too. Everything else is a bonus.’
Of course we have to have a snog to seal the sentiment.
‘The town hall is cheaper than a church,’ I say when we’ve definitely finished snogging. ‘We could do it at Bromley Public Hall. It’s close to us and it’s where my parents were married.’
His expression goes all mushy. He is possibly even more sentimental than I am. ‘I love that we’ve already got a connection to it,’ he says.
‘Then I guess the party venue is next most important.’
But Daniel shakes his head. ‘What about your dress? Isn’t that next?’
‘I have an idea for my dress. I might wear my mum’s.’
‘You’ll be beautiful,’ he says.
I just have to get Mum to find it. She’s been very vague every time I’ve asked her. Maybe Dad knows where it is. ‘Next is the party.’
‘Is there somewhere we could use for free?’ he wonders. ‘If only my parents hadn’t put in the pond, we could have used their garden.’
Ha, pond. More like a lake. They’ve got ducks. Migrating swans would fit back there.
‘I don’t suppose your back garden…?’ he asks.
I picture the washing lines that crisscross the small patches of grass behind our houses. That wouldn’t work, unless we could string tarpaulins between them like Kelly and I did with blankets in our lounge as children. ‘I don’t know what the council rules are, but I’m guessing they wouldn’t like us throwing a huge party on their land.’
He takes my hands into his. ‘One step at a time then, darling. We’re going to figure it out together.’
Sitting there with Daniel holding my hand, I do feel like we can pull this off.
I don’t get home from uni till late the next afternoon. I don’t often spend the night at Daniel’s, but I have to make an exception when I’ve got exams. Auntie Rose raises the roof when she snores, and that’s one time when I need my sleep.
That’s what I tell myself, and my parents, and we all pretend it’s not just an excuse for a sleepover at Daniel’s.
The exams went okay. I didn’t have a panic attack or anything when I read the questions. I’ll be married by the time I get the results, but honestly, my coursework doesn’t seem nearly as important as this wedding right now. Even though passing means I’ll officially be a university graduate. First in the family. Sometimes it feels like everyone’s counting on me.
To be honest, I never thought I’d get to this point. Back when I signed up for the first class I promised myself that I would do my very best to finish it. I didn’t dare look beyond that single course.
Dad’s home when I get in. His keys are hanging on the low hook by the door, so he can grab them even when his hands aren’t working properly.
‘There’s another package for you,’ he says, wheeling in from the kitchen. ‘It’s on the table.’
‘Not more serviettes, I hope.’
‘It’s smaller than the last one,’ he says.
He’s right, it’s only a titchy little box, but it’s heavy, and the smell hits me in the face as I open it. What has Philippa done this time? There must be thirty bars of chocolate wrapped in beautifully printed paper, some milk chocolate and some dark. ‘It’s chocolate,’ I shout to Dad. ‘There’s mint, coffee, sea salt. Vanilla…. Olive oil, smoke! Thyme, lemongrass, basil!!’
‘Auntie Rose?’ I shout. ‘There’s chocolate down here.’ Auntie Rose doesn’t like to miss out on chocolate.
But there’s silence instead of thundering feet.
‘Is she here? Where is she?’ I ask Dad.
The alarm flashes on his face too. ‘I don’t– She was here.’
I’m just about to head for the stairs when Auntie Rose rushes down. ‘Pass me a Cadbury Roses.’
‘I’m afraid they’re not Cadbury’s, but there’s a plain milk chocolate bar. Do you want to try that? Where were you?’
Her jowls jiggle when she laughs. I used to love stroking them when I was a child. She was less fond of the practice than I was. ‘Fat lot of good your education is doing you, considering I just came down the stairs. Where do you think I was?’
She sniffs at the chocolate as I go to ring Philippa from the lounge. There’s no note in the package, but it’s her MO, all right.
‘Yah, hellair!’ she booms. ‘I thought for wedding favours, chocolate would be a fun and inexpensive gift for everyone. I’ve found a chocolatier based in Shoreditch. That’s local to you, yah?’
I’m touched that she’s done this.
‘Do try them all,’ she says. ‘I got through several samples in the shop. Have you tried the goat’s milk one?’
‘Not yet, but I will. Thank you so much, Philippa, that’s very thoughtful.’
‘Yah, no, yah, it’s nothing. A little local flavour is just what you should have at your wedding. I’ve got to dash now, darling. Friends are coming for supper and the cook’s just arrived.’
Dad’s wheeled himself in while I was on the phone. ‘Philippa strikes again, then? Pass one here.’
‘Sure. Sheep’s milk or lavender?’
‘Don’t be cheeky,’ he says. ‘Give me a regular one.’
‘There aren’t any regular ones.’
‘What about you, Elaine?’ calls Dad as Mum lets herself in the front door. ‘Do you fancy some goat-hair chocolate? They’re from Philippa.’
‘What’s all this?’ Mum picks over the chocolate bars. ‘Does she really eat these?’
‘I have no idea. She seems to have bought one of everything in the shop. She’s ridiculously generous to keep sending us things like this.’
Mum gets a funny look as she hands something to Dad. ‘Actually, your Dad and I have something for you too. Jack?’
He clears his throat. ‘This is for your wedding.’
There can only be one thing in the envelope he’s holding. ‘You’ve already given me money.’
‘Emma.’ The way he says it silences me. ‘Your mum and I want to give this to you.’
I count eight fifties in the envelope. ‘I know you can’t afford this!’
As soon as I see Dad’s face I wish I could take that back. ‘I mean, thank you very much, but this is a lot of money. You need it.’
‘It’s extra money, Emma,’ Mum says. ‘We aren’t going without.’ She puts her arms around me. ‘Please take it. Your father and I want you to have a bit more for the budget. Please. We’re not going without, believe me.’
‘Where did it come from, then?’ I know my parents’ situation. There’s no extra money just lying about.
Mum’s rubbing her hands. No, not her hands. Her fingers. ‘Not your ring!’
‘I want to do it, Emma. Your dad and I want to do it for you.’
‘No way!’ I nearly shout. ‘You didn’t sell it!’ Dad bought her that ruby and diamond ring for their fifteenth wedding anniversary.
‘We wanted to,’ Mum says, sounding less sure in the face of my anger.
‘Where did you sell it?’
‘Calm down, Emma,’ Dad says. ‘It’s not sold. It’s at the shop.’
The pawnshop. In other words, as good as sold.
‘Which one?’
‘Never mind which one,’ Mum says. ‘Will you just accept it and say thank you?’
But I’ve already got my bag over my shoulder. ‘I’ll be back.’
‘Emma, don’t!’ shouts Dad.
That ring represents fifteen years, no, nearly twenty-five years of a happy marriage. They’re nuts if they think I’d let them pawn it so that I can hand out chili chocolates to a bunch of wedding guests.
My neighbourhood has no shortage of pawnshops, so it takes me a while to find the right one. I go blurry-eyed more than once, but I can’t wipe my eyes with my scooter helmet on.
The pawnshop owner, Steve, starts speaking as soon as he sees me coming through the door. ‘You’re so predictable,’ he says. ‘I told Elaine you’d be in here.’ He hands me my mother’s ring. ‘I don’t blame you.’ He takes the envelope back and puts it under the counter. ‘I wouldn’t have sold it.’
‘I appreciate that. Do you want to count it?’
He laughs. ‘Emma, I’ve known you since you were in nappies. I know it’s all there.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what they were thinking.’
‘They’re thinking they want their daughter to have a nice wedding. I’d do the same for my two.’
‘And they wouldn’t let you, either.’
‘No, probably not. I’d still do it, though. You’ll understand someday when you’re a parent.’
I’ve calmed down by the time I park my scooter back at home. Mum’s face appears for a second in the window. I smile at her, but I don’t know if she sees me.
They’re only doing what they think is best for me, but I don’t want them to have to. I don’t want to cause anyone any trouble over a stupid wedding.
‘Mrs Ishtiaque, hiya.’ She’s cutting back some flowers next door in her front garden. Her saree is the same shade of pink as the hyacinths that run along one of the borders.
‘Ah, hello, I was wanting to talk to you,’ she says, coming to the low brick wall that divides our properties. ‘Please will you tell me how to help you, for your wedding? We’ve had three, you know, and I know how hard it is to do.’
‘That’s very kind, Mrs Ishtiaque, thank you. We’re working out some of the details now so I can let you know what we need, okay?’
‘Okay, dear. Anything you want, you’ll be asking me, yes?’ She raises her fingers. ‘Three weddings. Three. I can help.’
‘Yes, Mrs Ishtiaque, thanks.’
Mum and Dad are waiting for me in the lounge. ‘You understand why I can’t let you do this, don’t you?’ I ask when I hand Mum back her ring. ‘I know how much you want to help. Just not like this.’
‘We’d do anything for you, you know,’ says Dad.
I kiss the thick brown hair on top of his head. ‘I know you would.’
If I didn’t understand before why Dad won’t let Daniel’s family give us money for the wedding, I do now. It’s horrible to feel like someone else has to do something for you because you can’t do it for yourself.
Chapter 7
If I squint my eyes and pretend the noisy four-lane road isn’t here – with its buses and the drunks arguing over their cans of lager – then the Bromley Public Hall could look beautiful. Or it would have a hundred years ago before all the characterless council buildings grew up around it.
‘It’s rahly nice,’ says Daniel, taking in the two-storey white stone building’s Corinthian columns and the wedding cake balustrade running along the rooftop. I could be wrong, but I think he’s squinting too.
‘Not exactly the leafy square where your parents’ church is, though.’
We both look over our shoulders at the enormous building opposite. It’s an interesting piece of thirties architecture when you notice the sculptures and mosaics that decorate it, but it does hulk over the road.
At least the Bow Bells is just next door, so I’ve got a better chance of getting my side to the ceremony on time and hopefully not too drunk. I can always send Mum and Auntie Rose over to round them up if I need to.
The registry is busy filing life’s paperwork. A few other couples are there, some with tiny babies that need the council’s official stamp of approval.
My parents would have registered me here after I was born. And my grandparents probably registered my parents and their parents registered them.
I wasn’t very curious about my ancestors before meeting Daniel. He can practically trace his family back to the Dark Ages. We haven’t got a family bible like he does, that records all the marriages, births and deaths through the centuries, so what history I know comes from hearsay. Someone from Mum’s side was transported in Victorian times for being on the wrong side of the law, so technically our family has travelled across the world. I haven’t mentioned this to Philippa.
The fifty-something registrar who deals with us has the resigned air and dress sense of a lifelong civil servant, with his nondescript suit trousers and pale blue shirt and his slightly too-fat yellow striped tie. He takes us into the Vestry, where their weddings are held.
Big brass chandeliers hang from the high vaulted ceiling and the sun shines in through large arched windows. It’s got a really sumptuous feel, from the pale yellow walls to the deep blue carpet. It reminds me a little bit of Daniel’s parents’ house in its grandeur, though it’s missing their priceless artwork. ‘I can see us getting married here,’ I tell him.
‘Me too. It’s perfect.’ He kisses me.
‘As you can see, it’s set up for a wedding today. We can move the chairs around to accommodate your guests. How many will there be?’
‘Around sixty,’ I tell the Registrar as Daniel smirks. ‘What?’
He shakes his head. ‘There’ll be more than sixty.’
‘We can seat up to a hundred and twenty with the partition open,’ the registrar says. ‘There’s an extra fee for that, so you’ll need to let us know before the final balance is due. Would you like to go ahead and book the room?’
We look at each other and
smile. ‘Yes please,’ we chorus. ‘I can pay you now,’ I say, drawing out my purse. I’ve got Dad to thank for my intense fear of debt. If you can’t pay for it right now, then you can’t afford it and shouldn’t have it, Dad always says. It comes from all his years driving a taxi when he was only paid in cash.
‘Though not the extra fee,’ I say, carefully counting out the money for the registrar. ‘We’re only having sixty guests.’
Daniel looks like he’s about to contradict me but kisses me instead.
When we step back outside on to the busy road, it looks the same – minus the drunks – but it feels different. It feels like it’s a little bit ours now.
‘So, July fifteenth,’ says Daniel. ‘It’s officially official.’
I can’t wipe the smile off my face, though I’m starting to sweat. Now the clock really is ticking. In eight weeks and three days we’ll say ‘I do’. That’s fifty-nine days to pull together the perfect wedding for all our family and friends. ‘I feel a bit sick,’ I say.
Daniel puts his arms around me. ‘It’s a lot to organise, but don’t worry, we’ll do it.’
He’s making me feel claustrophobic. ‘No. I mean I really feel sick.’ All I can smell are the bus fumes from the road. My head feels light and my saliva glands have gone into overdrive.
A look of worry crosses his face. ‘Come, sit here.’ He leads me to a picnic table in front of the Bow Bells. ‘I’ll get you some water. Will you be okay sitting here for a minute?’
‘I think so–’
My lunch hits the pavement beside the table. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Oh bugger, that’s vile. You poor thing. Right, stay there, I’ll get you some water.’
As if I’m in any state to run away.
I don’t usually vomit from excitement, but then I’ve never booked my own wedding ceremony before. Taking deep breaths seems to help.
The Big Little Wedding in Carlton Square Page 9