Nicole’s mouth opens and closes a few times. ‘No,’ she says finally. ‘I’m not going. This is ridiculous.’
‘Oh, I think you are,’ Lizzie beams. ‘Our friend Lauren works in PR so she’s already sent a press release to the media about your trip to Ghana. Everyone will be covering the story tomorrow. I can just see the headlines now.’
‘Socialite shuns public life to dig wells in Ghana,’ I say. ‘It’s got a nice ring to it.’
‘But . . . my job.’ Nicole frowns. ‘My life. Daniel will not allow this!’
‘Daniel knows all about it,’ I tell her. ‘He’ll speak to you later about it but he’s not happy about your fake charity work and thinks you could do with learning a little something about humanity.’
‘I’m not doing this!’ Nicole screams, all composure gone.
‘It’ll be good for you!’ Lizzie laughs. ‘After everything you’ve done, you’re lucky we’re giving you a chance to redeem yourself. It could’ve been a whole lot worse.’
‘We could just tell the press everything, if you’d prefer . . . ’ I say. ‘I think there might even be CCTV of you going into the hospital and then leaving five minutes later. Not very charitable, is it?’
‘I’ll get you back for this,’ Nicole spits, turning on her heel. ‘Do you have any idea what I’m capable of? You have no idea who you’re messing with.’
‘Oh yes, we do, hon – you tried your best to destroy both of our lives and failed so now it’s our turn,’ I say. ‘But I’d think very carefully before messing with us again. I’m not going anywhere. I am marrying your brother and that’s that. We’re in each other’s lives now for good. Do you want to spend your whole life at war with me? And I must warn you that despite your best efforts to separate us, me and Lizzie come as a pair, so you’ll be at war with her, too.’
‘She’s right, Nicole, and I feel obliged to let you know that I’m a bit like a racoon – I look cute but I will fight you.’
Nicole’s face is red. ‘I don’t care! I hate you both!’
‘No, you don’t,’ I say patiently. ‘You don’t even know us. You hate the idea of us and probably yourself a bit too. Go to Ghana, do some charity work, it’ll be good for you. If you still hate me when you get back, well,’ I look at Lizzie who smiles encouragingly, ‘I’ll deal with it because I don’t need you to like me. But if you have any shred of love for your brother you’ll put this stupid feud to one side and learn to tolerate me for his sake.’
Nicole is trembling with rage. ‘You . . . little . . . trash—’
‘I’d stop right there if I was you,’ Lizzie says warningly. ‘And you better get going. You’ve got a lot to sort out before Tuesday.’
Nicole throws us one more vicious look and then storms out onto the street.
‘Do you think that’s the end of it?’ Lizzie asks.
‘Who knows?’ I say. ‘But she’s out of our hair for a while and you never know, she might come back a completely changed person.’
Lizzie looks sceptical and then stops dead, staring and pointing at something in the sky. ‘Oh, my God. Did you just see that, Bex?’
‘What?’ I ask, trying to follow her gaze.
‘That flying pig that just went past?’
‘Oh, shut up, you! Come on,’ I say laughing. ‘Let’s get back inside and get a drink before they send out a search party.’
‘Here they are!’ Dad calls out as we walk back into the room. He’s standing by the DJ booth, microphone in his hand. ‘You two almost missed my bloody speech!’ He chuckles. ‘Anyway, as I was saying. I just wanted to say thanks to Jill and my two best girls for organising this knees up. I am a lucky man.’ His face turns serious. ‘These past few months have been tricky in more ways than one for us, but mostly for Bex and Liz Wiz but you got through it, girls. And I don’t say this enough but I’m proud of you two, of the strong and kind women you’ve become. You’ve not had it easy, but it’s always been family first and I love you for that.
‘My Ashworth girls won’t be Ashworths forever, but they’ll always be my girls and I’ll always be their dad. I will always protect them, no matter what.’
He says it lightly but there’s a note of steel in his voice that makes Rupert Balfour shift slightly in his seat. I think he gets the message. Don’t mess with my children, you pompous old twat.
Dad finishes up by thanking everyone else in the room and then the music starts up again. Lizzie drags me onto the dance floor and we’re quickly joined by all our friends and family. Even Elena and Rupert leave their seats and Daniel and I exchange a glance when we see Dad and Rupert talking and then shaking hands. Some kind of fatherly truce? I hope so. Or maybe Dad just scared the shit out of Old Rupe! I wouldn’t be surprised.
Daniel grabs my waist and starts spinning me round the dance floor. I catch Lizzie’s eye and we share a sisterly smile. She has her arms wrapped around Justin and looks happier than I’ve seen her in weeks. I have no idea what the next few months, years, decades have in store but as long as I’ve got my sister by my side I know I can get through anything.
Epilogue
Six months later
The bride and groom make their way into the marquee to greet their guests as man and wife and all the guests are on their feet. Daniel’s expression is one of pure joy. He can’t believe that he just married the woman of his dreams. No one gets this lucky in life, do they? His studies are going well and he even has a part-time job at a local stables to help pay for the small flat he and his now-wife rent in Twickenham. He doesn’t miss working at Balfour Industries and has never regretted his decision to leave. His sister Nicole was set to take over, but after volunteering in Ghana for the summer, she decided to stay there and train to lead the Clean Water project in other places that need help. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to make it to the wedding. His parents, currently sitting at the head table wearing stiff smiles, are taking a while to get used to all of the change in their children’s lives. But they’ll get there. Eventually.
The top table is decorated with lavish cream and pink flowers and hundreds of tiny, lit candles, and as the newlyweds take their seats, no one is cheering louder than Jay. He squeezes the hand of his boyfriend Carter. Carter doesn’t know it yet, but Jay is planning to propose to him next weekend during a romantic weekend getaway in Budapest. He never thought he’d settle down but, as it turns out, when you meet the right person, you don’t really have a choice in the matter. It just sort of happens.
As the toastmaster calls for everyone to raise their glasses to the new Mr and Mrs Balfour, Lauren dashes around to make sure everyone’s flutes are full. She may not have found the love of her life yet, but she’s at the top of her game at work, has great friends and is happy being single. Beside her, Seffy pops two fingers into her mouth and whistles at the happy couple. Lauren throws her a look. She’s still not sure about Seffy, but Lizzie is. Ever since Seffy turned up at Lizzie’s that day and put herself on the line to help her take Nicole down a peg or two, the two of them have become firm friends. Seffy couldn’t be any more different to raucous Lizzie but they make each other laugh and Seffy seems to be a good friend. Lauren’s keeping a close eye on her, though.
As the waiters start to bring around a wonderfully prepared dinner of beef Wellington, Big Steve can’t help but lick his lips. Being father of the bride is an emotionally tiring job and he’s starving. Beside him, Jill straightens his tie, wondering how she got so lucky to have met such a wonderful, loyal man. Steve smiles back at Jill, his heart swelling with happiness. His two daughters are happy and now he’s found someone who’ll stay by his side to make him happy as well. When Tracy left and his girls moved to London, he resigned himself to a bachelor lifestyle up north filled with miserable, microwaved meals for one, but life had more in store for him. All you have to do is have your eyes open (and maybe your heart) and be ready for it when it turns up.
As the guests eat their way through course after course, a quartet of violinists plays in
the background. Justin peers at them with interest, wondering if they’d be open to coming to the recording studio and laying down some tracks for the album he’s working on with The New Design. It’s only been a couple of weeks since they landed their record deal, but he’s got so many ideas he can’t wait to get started. He’s never felt so inspired. And that has everything to do with the scoundrel of a woman who’s currently neglected her beef Wellington so she can take pictures of all the wedding guests.
Lizzie weaves in between the tables, snapping away. This is her fifth paid job in as many months. OK, it’s her sister’s wedding but the other four were legit commissions and she’s still getting paid for this so it counts. After she finished working on the London Parks campaign, things started picking up and she was inundated with requests. She hasn’t been able to take on everything – she’s busy with her photography course – but she finally feels like she’s found her passion. With a happy sigh, she turns her camera on Justin, and takes a picture of him when he’s not looking. He’s more than made up for his past mistakes and she’s so grateful to her sister for making her see the light. Speaking of her sister, Lizzie notices that Becky is about to make a speech and so she scoots back towards the top table, smooths out her dusky pink bridesmaid dress and looks at her sister with anticipation.
Becky has never looked more poised, happier or more beautiful. She smiles at the guests, throwing a little wave to Darla Merchant, whose second novel currently sits at number one in the bestsellers chart. Becky thanks everyone for coming, thanks her husband for being the kindest, sweetest man she’s ever met, thanks her dad, Jill, Lauren and the Balfours for all their help in the run-up to the wedding. Then she becomes a little tearful as she thanks Lizzie. Her wonderful little sister who showed her how to love life and be true to herself, no matter what. She wouldn’t be half the woman she is today without Lizzie in her corner.
She leans down and kisses Daniel tenderly before raising her champagne flute. ‘To family!’ she calls out happily.
‘To family!’
And we’ll leave them there for now, celebrating until the early hours of the morning with more than a few guaranteed to be waking up with sore heads. This big, crazy, dysfunctional, sometimes happy, sometimes not, always interesting, totally-in-love-with-each-other family.
And what, in life, is better than that? Maybe free Ice Blasts, but that’s it.
Now read on for the beginning of Vicky Pattison’s
Chapter One
Beep. Beep. Beep.
An incessant beeping interrupted my dreamy sleep. I reached for a pillow and buried my head under it. Sshh, man. I’m sleeping.
‘Amber,’ a familiar voice said.
Nope.
‘Amber, get up.’
Definitely not. If I stay really still and pretend to still be asleep maybe she’ll go away.
‘AMBER!’ the voice shouted.
I sat bolt upright.
‘What the hell?’ I said to Jess, my flatmate, rubbing my eyes. ‘For God’s sake, Jess! I was sleeping! What’s your problem?’ I am not a morning person. Through bleary eyes, I took in Jess’s immaculately fitted suit, her neatly styled long red hair, her perfectly applied make-up.
She tutted disapprovingly. ‘Mate, didn’t you hear your alarm clock?’ She waved it in my face.
‘No. Now kindly go away and let me go back to sleep. I was dreaming that Tom Hardy took me to the cinema. He was just buying me Haribos and Ben and Jerry’s when you interrupted.’ I screwed my eyes shut, pulled the pillow back over my head and willed my subconscious back to the confectionary queue at the cinema with Tom.
‘What flavour were you going for?’ Jess was not giving up.
‘Cookie dough, obvs.’ Ridiculous question, but I thought I might as well humour her.
‘Amber, now that I have your attention through the power of ice cream . . . ’
I started to drift off again. Jess grabbed my pillow and hit me over the head with it.
‘What the—’
‘AMBER!’ Jess interrupted. ‘You need to get up. Now. It’s six-thirty a.m.!’
‘WHAT?!’ Suddenly, it hit me. How could I have slept through my alarm? ‘Oh shit!’ I jumped out of bed, stubbing my toe on the bedside table in the process and shouting more expletives. Balls! I tore out of my bedroom and ran straight to the bathroom, Jess’s laughter ringing in my ears.
Ten minutes later I was back in my room. I threw on the outfit I’d picked out the night before, and grabbed my make-up bag. I’d have to do my make-up in the cab. I couldn’t really afford a cab, but it was the only chance I had of making it to work before Diana, my boss. I rushed into our open-plan living area and Jess handed me a mug of coffee and a piece of toast. While throwing things into my huge, but somehow already full, bag, I shrugged myself into my jacket, ate a few bites of the toast and washed them down with as much of the coffee as I could – burning my mouth. More balls! I ran to the door, flung it open and I was about to run down the stairs and into the street when I heard Jess calling my name.
‘What?’ I said impatiently. ‘What is it?’
‘You’ve only got one shoe on,’ Jess said, holding up my other wedge. ‘You’re going to need this, I think.’
I looked at my feet. How can a person not realise that they are only wearing one shoe? Who does that? I need to get my life together. I’m a twat and Jess is a wedge-wielding angel sent by God. Balls again!
‘What would I do without you?’ I said to Jess. ‘Thank you!’ I threw the last comment over my shoulder as I ran down the stairs, hurriedly putting the wedge on, so of course, I fell over. Balls. My fourth set of balls for the day and I wasn’t even out the front door yet.
‘You OK, Ambs?’ Jess called down the stairs through stifled giggles.
‘Yip! Yeah, just fine. Bloody shoes. See you tonight!’ I scrambled to my feet and ran out the door.
‘Good luck!’ she called after me.
A crisp February sun was shining. I love wintery sunny days like these. I glimpsed the golden light of a free cab, waved my arms and sent a silent prayer of thanks to the taxi gods when it stopped immediately.
‘Where to, love?’ the driver asked as I clambered into the back of the cab.
‘Somerset House, please,’ I replied.
‘You off to London Fashion Week?’ he said. ‘Are you a model then?’
‘Nope,’ I replied, ‘Just a fashion assistant.’
As the cab wound its way with snake-like skill through the London traffic, I started applying my make-up. I’d mastered how to do this in taxis, on trains, on buses, without blinding myself with a mascara wand or painting my cheeks with lipstick years ago. It was a CV-worthy skill that saved me time on mornings like this one, of which, I’m not going to lie, there are many. Did I mention I hate mornings?
I smiled as the cab driver chatted about all the models he’d had in his cab since London Fashion Week had kicked off. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked me if I was a model; whenever it happens I always roll my eyes and tell them no. It’s probably my height that does it – at just under six feet, I’ve got long enough legs for it. Though not the grace: my ankle was still slightly sore from the tumble down the stairs. I scrutinised myself in my compact mirror. My eye make-up made the most of my chocolate-brown eyes, I’d pulled my long caramel-coloured hair into a messy bun so I slicked on a bit of MAC nude lipgloss to complete the look. A model I was not, but I’d do for backstage at today’s shows – hopefully. The adrenalin, the running around, all those beautiful clothes, amazing new prints and trends – I couldn’t wait. This was what I lived for. I’m a total clothes perv. And I am not ashamed.
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My Sister's Wedding: For better or worse, two families are about to become one . . . Page 27