Four Bridesmaids and a White Wedding: the laugh-out-loud romantic comedy of the year!

by Fiona Collins

  Sal lowered her arm and nodded, tears suddenly in her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed.

  ‘Rose,’ said Wendy. ‘My clumsy and beautiful friend. I don’t think you realise just how lovely and gorgeous you are. What a brilliant mum you are. What a loyal and amazing person you are. Thank you for always being there for me. Jason, you look after her, do you hear? Tell her every day you love her, because she deserves it.’

  Jason nodded and squeezed Rose’s hand. She returned his look of love. They would be OK, thought JoJo. They would be one of the lucky couples who would make it.

  ‘And JoJo. For those of you that don’t know, JoJo made my wedding dress.’ A chorus of ‘wows’ and a smattering of applause went round the marquee. ‘Just three days ago I was at her beautiful shop in Little Venice – Boutique Brides – just google it, you’ll find it . . .’ laughter rippled through the room ‘. . .for my final fitting – you get champagne and everything. Seriously, you should check it out.’ She smiled, and paused, touching the central pink flower on her necklace with her left hand. ‘JoJo,’ she said, looking over at her. JoJo could feel all eyes on her and was blushing. ‘Your attention to detail, and to life, is second to none – I have always loved that about you – but you also showed us, last weekend, that you can also do glorious imperfection rather beautifully.’ Wendy winked at JoJo; JoJo laughed and winked back at her, leaving most of the marquee looking quite bemused, but they cheered anyway – it was getting to that stage of proceedings when they would cheer anything. ‘I wish you everything that you wish for yourself. You know what I mean.’

  JoJo wasn’t sure she quite did, but she thanked her wholeheartedly for the sentiment and blew Wendy a kiss.

  ‘Oh, and enjoy your Fridays off!’

  JoJo grinned. She had decided, earlier this week, that something had to give. She truly had been all work and no play; she realised she needed to let go of the reins occasionally and put her trust in others, who were perfectly competent to take care of things for her. From September onwards, when Constance was back at school, Tinks and the other members of staff would take care of the shop on a Friday and JoJo could have some time for herself. She planned to potter – an alien concept at the moment, but she could grow to love it – go to the cinema, browse around the shops, maybe go on lunch dates . . . with men. Yes, men. You never knew, she might meet someone . . . she would look, at least. She wanted to look.

  And Constance wouldn’t go to the childminder’s on a Friday after school any more; JoJo would pick her up and they would do things together. They would go to the park, or for a spot of girly shopping, or they would walk along the canal in Little Venice, waving to jolly people on boats. In the winter, they could go for a hot chocolate or, at Christmas, go ice-skating at Somerset House. She might even take the odd Saturday afternoon off, too, if Millie and Constance let her, but she would work up to that: one step at a time . . . there was no need to get carried away. And for the rest of the school holidays she was cancelling Holiday Club and would work two hours in the shop in the mornings, with Constance with her, and take every afternoon off.

  ‘So, thank you to all my bridesmaids,’ Wendy was saying. ‘For looking out for me and seeing me up the aisle, in all senses of the word and—’

  ‘Stop waffling!’ heckled Sal.

  Wendy laughed. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘I’ll shut up now. But I love you. I love you all.’

  ‘We love you, too,’ they all chorused back. ‘You silly cow,’ added Sal, making everyone fall about laughing.

  ‘And that’s it!’ said Wendy, tucking a red ringlet behind her ear. ‘No more speeches! But just a final, quick word about one of my favourite things . . . dessert. Frederick and I decided on a last-minute switch to the menu and now we have everything on the menu!’ She pointed to a table in a far corner of the marquee, which was groaning under the weight of cake stands, and dishes and bowls, and a multitude of sweet treats all in different colours. ‘May I now declare the dessert buffet . . . open!’

  Quite a few people immediately rose from their tables and made a scramble for the dessert buffet. Three scientists immediately collided and had to extricate themselves from each other with assistance from a fourth. And a gentleman tripped and had to be helped up by his wife, who called him ‘Greedy Nigel’, patted him on the bottom and told him to bring her back some chocolate mousse.

  ‘Do you want to go up?’ JoJo asked the other members of her table. She was amused by the post-speech scuffle and how relieved guests were that the real fun of the evening could get underway.

  ‘I will in a minute,’ groaned Sal, holding her stomach, ‘when I get my second wind. The first one’s still got me in its grip.’

  ‘Not just yet, thanks, JoJo,’ said Rose. She was virtually on Jason’s lap and stroking a loving hand down the side of his face. JoJo remembered how, at their own wedding, Jason’s speech had consisted of telling Rose how much he loved her, over and over again, until it had become quite embarrassing. Rose must have forgotten that, thought JoJo, in recent years, but she was pleased to see Jason had the same soppy look on his face now. JoJo wouldn’t mind seeing a face like that, once in a while. She wondered if it was out there somewhere, for her.

  ‘Maybe later,’ chimed in Tamsin. ‘Thanks, JoJo.’ She was sitting back in her seat and sipping contentedly on her champagne, people-watching, while Hugo unwrapped a favour and stared at her lovingly. JoJo was happy to see there wasn’t a gadget in sight.

  ‘I’ll go and see what there is,’ said JoJo, ‘and report back.’

  JoJo walked to the buffet. Wow, there really was everything under the sun here: cakes of every variety; mini crème brûlées; meringues with fresh cream and strawberries; cheesecakes draped with fruit and sauce; chocolate mousses and raspberry panna cottas; divine-looking miniature cream cakes; and even a huge bowl of rice pudding with a glistening, crusted brown sugar top. She grabbed a plate from the pile and reached for a mini chocolate eclair. As she did so, a man’s arm – in crisp white, double-cuffed shirtsleeves – reached forward and did the same. JoJo quickly retracted her hand.

  ‘Sorry!’ she said.

  ‘Sorry,’ he echoed.

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’ It was the handsome man, from across the room. The man who had smiled at her. He had looked at her before as though he knew her and he was doing the same now; his head was slightly tilted to the side, his eyes – surprisingly, startlingly blue – were staring at her. They were gorgeous eyes with flecks of green in them. And it was so weird but now she was close to him, he was familiar to her, too – his face, his mouth, the way he smiled. Although she knew with absolute certainty she had never met him before, it felt like she had.

  ‘And it’s you,’ he said, gazing at her. And, chocolate eclair forgotten, and like a couple of absolute idiots, they just stood there looking at each other, JoJo’s heart racing, until a lady with an enormous bottom and a gruff ‘Excuse me’ pushed between them to get to a fondant fancy.

  The man stepped back; JoJo stepped back, too. The man grinned; JoJo returned that grin. Then, once the lady had moved on, they stepped towards each other again.

  ‘Hello, I’m Chris,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, I’m JoJo,’ she said.

  And he held out his hand and JoJo took it. She forgot she was supposed to shake it; she just let her hand be held in his and allowed the lovely frisson she felt from it course around her body. This was so strange; she felt quite giddy, and a single thought shot into her head like a cartoon arrow and stayed there, reverberating. That’s him, said the thought, flashing with a big, red light. That’s him.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, JoJo,’ said Chris. He gently tightened his fingers around hers and said, ‘We met over an eclair. That’s a nice story to tell the grandchildren. Would you like to share a plate of desserts with me? Over at my table? If that’s not too cheeky of me, of course . . .’ He paused. ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said JoJo. And, looking at each oth
er in smiling disbelief that they’d found each other, they turned towards the buffet and Chris placed his plate gently back on the pile and they started filling up JoJo’s with eclairs.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sal

  Sal had eaten everything: the starter, plus three extra rolls donated by others at the table who didn’t want theirs; the main course, plus Rose’s potatoes – she was all in love, now Jason was returned and they were reconciled, and was barely eating anything; and her second wind had carried her three times to the dessert buffet where she’d had a bit of everything several times over. She’d also demolished numerous petits fours and a massive plate of cheese and biscuits. It was hungry work, this baby-growing business; she really hoped her appetite didn’t continue like this or she’d have to be pushed round in a pram in nine months’ time.

  The tables had been cleared away – Sal had tried to grab a lone McVitie’s digestive from somebody’s plate, last minute, but was thwarted by a heartless waitress who had whipped it from her reaching paw – and everyone had been ushered over to the bar whilst staff got the dance floor ready. It was boring not drinking at a wedding, Sal observed; everyone else was getting nice and merry, and both conversation and laughter were getting louder and more inane, while she stood nursing a sparkling water and wishing she were tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle and a tube of Pringles.

  ‘How’s the water?’ asked Tamsin with a grin. She’s sussed it, thought Sal, she’s sussed how bloody bored I am.

  ‘It’s sparkling,’ replied Sal. ‘And that’s as far as its attraction goes. I’d kill for a gin and tonic.’

  ‘Ha,’ said Tamsin. ‘You’ll get used to going without, I’m sure.’

  ‘Will I?’ grimaced Sal. Going without . . . now there was a phrase! She’d be going without a lot of things, wouldn’t she? she thought, as she took another sip of water. Without the father of her baby, without Niall. And going it alone . . . She knew it had never been easy for JoJo, doing it all by herself, and she was under no illusion that it was going to be anything less than bloody hard work for her. But she could cope with the hard work; she was not a stranger to it. Single motherhood was doable, but single motherhood with a broken, shattered heart was something she wasn’t sure she could bear.

  ‘As Wendy said in her speech, you’re a strong person,’ added Tamsin softly. ‘You certainly seem that way to me.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sal nodded, but she didn’t feel like doing the flexing bicep routine again. Tonight, she didn’t feel that strong. Tonight, she saw love all around her, and in unexpected places; she had never seen Rose and Jason as touchy-feely as they were tonight, and JoJo had been sitting with a strange but very handsome man since dessert . . . and none of it was for her. Damn Niall! she thought. Damn him for making her feel this way and then buggering off. If only she didn’t love the bastard, it wouldn’t be quite as bad. If only she hadn’t been so bloody stupid as to imagine a nice cosy future for them – her, Niall and the baby in some sort of domestic bliss (ha!) – she wouldn’t be hurting like she was at this very moment.

  She wasn’t like Rose, who Sal had spotted looking to the back of the church during the ceremony, and glancing over to the car park numerous times, outside the chapel, obviously for Jason. Rose must have known, deep in her subconscious, that Jason was going to show up for her, and he had. Sal knew Niall wasn’t going to turn up like a knight on a white charger saying he’d changed his mind – ever – and there was no point looking out for him. He hadn’t even tried to call her again. During the speeches, she had turned his place card face down and had plonked a big jug of water and a couple of wine glasses where his plate would have gone, in the pretence of making more room.

  There was a crunch and a crackle from the head of the dance floor. The Master of Ceremonies for the reception – a dapper elderly gentleman in a town crier-style red suit – was shuffling into position behind a mike stand and tapping on a shiny, silver microphone.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he coughed into the mike, his voice low and hoarse but ever so distinguished. ‘Please make your way to the dance floor in a circular fashion as we anticipate the bride and groom’s first dance.’

  They had to walk in a circular fashion? wondered Sal; that could get complicated. Ah, she realised, he wanted them in a circle around the dance floor. Well, that they could do – even the most inebriated could be herded into a circle with a prod and a poke from their friends.

  There was a raised platform behind the microphone stand, where a drum kit, guitar and several more – less glittery – mike stands were waiting unmanned. Once the guests were in a decent-enough circle, a band bounded up to the stage, in the way that bands do, and a rather hot lead singer, who looked a bit like Adam Levine from Maroon 5, began swaying to the opening bars of Eric Clapton’s ‘Wonderful Tonight’. Over the music, the MC spoke again.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, once again, your bride and groom, Mr and Mrs Donnington-Black.’

  Wendy and Frederick, hand in hand and grinning like crazy, appeared in the flapping open doorway of the marquee to loud applause and a few whistles and made their way swiftly to the floor, where they wrapped themselves in each other’s arms as Adam Levine began to sing. They both looked wonderful tonight – just as the song said. They really were the perfect couple.

  Sal turned to her left to comment to Tamsin how great Wendy was looking and how perhaps she and Frederick should be actually dancing instead of just hugging each other and snogging, but Tamsin wasn’t standing next to her any more. Niall was. He was in black jeans and a dark grey shirt, his hair neatly Mohican-ed, his green eyes intense-looking. If she’d never seen him before she probably would have swooned and thought how bloody good-looking he was; as she was already fatefully in love with him, she felt surprise and sorrow, and her heart started beating alarmingly fast.

  He turned to face her. ‘Hello, Sal,’ he said simply.

  ‘Hello, Niall.’ She couldn’t manage anything else. Why was he here? What did he want? He didn’t want her and the baby, did he? He’d said so.

  ‘You didn’t answer any of my calls last night.’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘And I’ve been trying to text you, all day. I didn’t mean to get here so late. Car trouble…again…look, I really need to talk to you,’ he said, those green eyes boring into hers and making her feel quite weak. ‘Can we go outside somewhere?’

  Oh God, he wanted to explain himself, didn’t he? Why he didn’t want her. Why he didn’t want the baby in his life. She didn’t want him spelling it out. She understood him already. She really wished he wasn’t here, yet at the same time – annoyingly! – she felt like she could look at his face for ever.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, making her voice strong and firm, although it was a bit of a struggle for her. Her insides felt like they’d just been chucked into a mid-cycle washing machine. ‘Not just yet, though. I want to watch until the end of the first dance. I want to be here for Wendy and Frederick.’

  ‘OK,’ said Niall and Sal stood there, her heart beating wildly, as Wendy and Frederick whirled and twirled on the dance floor (they’d stopped the hugging and kissing now and were getting on with the dancing), caressed each other and gazed into each other’s eyes. Her mind was whirring. What did Niall want? What had he come to say? It was an awfully long way to come to say whatever it was, wasn’t it? She sneaked a look at him; he was facing forward, his face impassive. He was so gorgeous, in profile, it almost gave her physical pain. She loved him, but she hated him – he didn’t want their baby.

  The song came to an end, the audience applauded; Wendy and Frederick hugged each other and launched into a long, lingering snog. And Niall took Sal’s hand and led her out of the marquee and across the grass and through the arched wooden door at the first entrance of the walled garden, where he sat her down on a bench overlooking a circle of manicured lawns and paths, divided into segments like a Dairylea t
riangle. He was still holding her hand as they sat down and she glanced at their entwined hands, desperately trying to ignore the feelings they ignited in her and wondering why he was even touching her.

  ‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said, taking his hand from hers and pulling out a small, folded piece of green jersey fabric from his back pocket. ‘Please don’t look at it until I’ve said what I have to say.’

  She took it and held it in her hands. What was it?

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Please,’ he said, ‘please just hear me out.’

  ‘OK.’ Sal waited.

  For a few seconds Niall didn’t say anything, then he spoke. ‘The thing is,’ said Niall. ‘I got spooked.’

  ‘Spooked?’

  ‘Yes, spooked. I’ve got no other excuse. I got spooked and I ran.’

  ‘Right.’ Sal wasn’t impressed. This wasn’t Britain’s Most Haunted. Her life was not a horror story or a bloody ghost train, at the end of some pier.

  ‘You’re not impressed, so far, are you?’

  ‘Not really.’ Spooked – what the hell did that mean?

  ‘Let me start from the beginning,’ said Niall. He looked nervous suddenly. Sal had never seen him look like this before. She would hear him out. She would hear him out then she would say goodbye. For good. ‘I’m someone who usually takes things pretty slowly – I’ve had a few girlfriends, but then again, too few to mention,’ he added, with a cheeky Niall, heart-breaking smile. ‘Sorry, bad Sinatra joke. I like Sinatra – you probably wouldn’t know that yet.’

  Sal didn’t say anything; she waited for him to continue. What did he want? What was he trying to say? What was this strange bit of material in her hands? She really wanted to open it up; her fingers were almost itching to do so. Was it his apron or something, that he was returning, even though she had never given him one?