Don't Tell the Groom
Page 4
Which leaves me with only one other option. I somehow have to find £10,000 without Mark knowing about it. Great. Another secret to add to my ‘don’t tell the groom’. I do the maths on the calculator on my phone. I just have to save £3,300 every month until the wedding. Which would never happen, as for starters I don’t get paid anywhere near that. Unless I got a second job, but how could I do that without Mark finding out? I work full time as it is.
Too bad that Carnivore Services didn’t turn out to be a real escort agency or else I could have gone to them for a job. I am just going to have to find another way to come up with the cash.
‘Are you all right, Penny?’ says Nanny Violet, coming up behind me. She is giving me a curious look.
‘Fine, thanks,’ I reply through gritted teeth. I know it’s not her fault that I’m not going to have the wedding of my dreams, but I can’t help feeling a little bit resentful towards her and her suggestion of a May wedding.
‘I picked up a book for you,’ says Violet, handing it to me.
It’s a WI wedding planning book circa 1970.
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome, dear. Should be a doddle planning the wedding with that.’
I look at Nanny Violet and I wish that were true, but somehow I feel that my wedding planning is going to be anything but a doddle.
Chapter Four
‘So when’s the big day then?’ asks Jane.
I’m about to throttle her, but then I realise that she’s brandishing a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. I imagine in a struggle that she’d drop it and that would clearly be a waste. Instead, I restrain myself and take the bottle and give her and her husband Phil air kisses.
‘Give the woman a chance - they’ve only just got engaged,’ says Phil.
Thanks, Phil. At least someone is talking some sense.
‘Whatever, honey. After all our years of marriage you still don’t understand women, and you obviously don’t know Penny that well either. She’s been planning the wedding secretly for years.’
I clearly only have myself to blame for the fact that this is the only topic on people’s minds when they see me now. I used to talk weddings a lot before we got engaged, so people just assume that I’m steamrolling ahead with the planning, and they think it’s perfectly acceptable to press me for the details like when, where, and what I’ll be wearing.
‘Now, let me see that ring,’ says Jane, grabbing my hand before I can do the obligatory wave. I don’t need to worry about trying to make the diamond sparkle in the light – she’s pulling my hand this way and that to inspect my ring.
‘Excellent choice,’ Jane says to Mark as she walks into our hallway.
‘Thanks,’ says Mark, beaming with pride. ‘Do you want to come on through?’
We gravitate to the lounge while Mark opens up a bottle of Prosecco that’s been chilling in the fridge. I perch on the arm of the sofa and try to tell myself that Jane is not judging me. Just because she and Phil live in a fancy-pants five-bedroom house that’s practically a mansion does not mean to say she’s judging my living room or what I’m wearing. She’s the only woman that would warrant me changing my outfit three times before I settled on something, aka, ran out of time. I’m now wearing a pair of Karen Millen jeans I bought in a sale once and a chunky Warehouse knit. It’s about a million miles away from my usual Saturday slobbing of bleach-stained tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie.
‘So are we waiting for Louise and Russell?’ asks Jane, as she looks curiously at the vases by the fireplace. I bet she just instinctively knows they’re from Asda.
Yes, thank goodness, I almost say.
‘Yes, they should be here any minute,’ I say, glancing at my watch. I told them to come half an hour ago, so by their late meter they should be arriving any second now.
Please don’t think I hate Jane, as I don’t. Mark is Phil’s best mate, and therefore I’ve got to know his wife Jane pretty well over the last few years. It’s just that she’s always impeccably dressed, she never has a hair out of place and her roots never need touching up. She just always makes me feel so ordinary and like the poor relation, which means it takes me a while to relax around her when we’re the only females in the room. Lou, on the other hand, is my best friend and she’s like the anti-Jane: as down to earth as you can get.
I’m never entirely sure whether it’s a good idea to have them in the same room together, but as Phil is best-man-to-be and Lou is maid-of-honour-to-be, we thought it might make for a nice lunch. Or at least Mark did when he invited them when we were out drinking to celebrate our engagement. Personally I’m still trying to avoid all things wedding until I work out how to beg, borrow, or grow a money tree to the value of ten thousand pounds.
‘I want to hear all the details about your proposal then, Phil tells me it was at Chez Vivant. Such a lovely restaurant. I always go for the venison, what did you have, Penny?’ asks Jane.
I’m about to reply when I hear the doorbell ring. I’m saved from having to declare that I boringly went for the steak with pepper sauce. In my defence it’s one of my favourite foods, and to be fair to Chez Vivant and its mammoth price tag, it was worth every penny.
‘Be back in a minute,’ I say, dashing off to let Lou and Russell in. I take a moment in the hallway just to revel in the silence and the lack of wedding-related conversation. Unfortunately for me we’ve got a big frosted glass pane and I know that they can see me lurking out here.
‘Hey, hey, hey, lovely,’ says Lou as I open the door.
She hands me another bottle of fizz and I take them through to the lounge, where there’s more kissing and drink-pouring. Since leaving the room, much to my relief, the topic has changed to Phil and Jane’s annual pilgrimage to an exotic destination that the rest of us can only dream of. This year, they’ve apparently booked to go to the Turks and Caicos islands. Cue lots of ‘if only’ looks between me and Lou.
The lunch has passed in a haze of too much food, or in my case, too much wine. The boys are like naughty schoolboys when they are together and today they’re on fine form with banter flying around everywhere.
‘So, we haven’t talked about your wedding yet,’ says Jane.
I nearly spit out my dessert, but then I remember the fight I had to secure the last box of profiteroles from Marks and Spencer’s and I try to keep them in my mouth as a sign of respect.
‘We can’t talk about the wedding. Well, not in front of me,’ laughs Mark.
Yes! Thank you, Mark. This ‘don’t tell the groom’ thing might not be so bad after all.
‘What are you talking about?’ asks Jane. Her gaze flicks from me to Mark like she is watching Olympics table tennis.
‘Penny thought it would be fun if she organised the wedding herself. You know, like the TV programme Don’t Tell the Bride, but we’re doing “don’t tell the groom”.’
‘That is a legend idea,’ says Phil. ‘I wish I hadn’t known anything about our wedding. The run-up to it, with Bridezilla over there, was a nightmare.’
Oh no, you didn’t, Phil. Jane’s face is like thunder. She has just stabbed a profiterole with such ferocity that the cream has gone flying on to my nice clean tablecloth.
‘Well, I’m sure I’ll know some things. Like when it is, I hope,’ says Mark. He is clearly trying to lighten the mood as a veil of tension has cloaked the dining room.
‘I thought it would be a fun idea,’ I say, with a nervous laugh.
‘I think it’s a great idea,’ says Lou. ‘Why don’t we get the men to clear away the table and we’ll go into the lounge and natter about it?’
I think that was Lou’s way of creating some female solidarity for Phil’s comments on the wedding. The boys, all of them, are now in the doghouse and I can see Mark and Russell giving Phil a ‘way to go’ look.
‘Great,’ I say. I don’t actually mean it as I quite fancy hiding in the kitchen so that I don’t have to talk about our soon-to-be non-existent wedding. But as the tension between Jane and Phil is pr
actically suffocating us, escaping to the lounge seems like the only thing we can do.
‘So what venues have you been to see?’ asks Jane, clapping her hands together as she settles into the armchair.
‘I haven’t yet.’
‘Oh, well Phil said that Mark told him the wedding was going to be in May.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Surely all the good venues will be booked already?’
I almost do an air-punch. That is exactly what I am hoping for.
‘I guess I’ll have to see what’s available,’ I say.
‘So you’re seriously not going to tell Mark where the wedding is going to be? He gets no say in it?’ asks Jane.
‘Yeah, I think it will be fun.’
‘It will be a lot of work. Weddings are very laborious and stressful.’
I happen to know for a fact that Jane had a wedding planner to organise her entire wedding, in true American style. That’s what happens when you get married in a Four Seasons Hotel. They took care of everything, and I’m not just talking about the venue and the catering, but the flowers, the honeymoon, the hairdressers – everything.
I sneakily look at Lou and she is suddenly taking a great interest in my curtains. Her mouth is turned up at the side and I can see she is trying not to laugh.
‘Well, I’m up to the challenge,’ I say confidently, even though inside I am far from confident. They have no idea just how challenging it is going to be for me.
‘I know, why don’t we help you? Let’s help you draw up a list of venues that you could go and see,’ says Jane.
‘Yeah, that would be a great idea. We could make appointments and go and see them,’ Lou chips in.
‘Um, I’m sure that we have better things to be talking about. Besides, the boys will be back from the kitchen in a minute. It can’t take that long to load the dishwasher,’ I say in desperation.
‘We’ll send the boys off to the pub,’ suggests Lou.
I want to go to the pub. Maybe I can leave Lou and Jane here to discuss the wedding without me, and I’ll go and join the boys.
‘Did I hear the word pub?’ Phil asks as he walks back into the room.
‘Yes, we’re going to help Penny with the wedding,’ says Jane, sounding like an ice maiden.
Phil is definitely in the doghouse. I would not want to be in their car on the way home. Phil scurries out of the room, presumably to tell the other boys, as before we know it they’ve said their goodbyes and they’re off.
‘Right, Penny. Get your laptop and some paper.’
I feel like I should salute Jane as I pass, but instead I go ahead and do as she commands. Within minutes I’m back sitting on the sofa, trying not to weep at the places Jane is Googling.
‘Didn’t you always want to get married in a castle?’ asks Jane.
‘Yes, a castle in Scotland, wasn’t it, Pen? With a ceilidh band?’ says Lou.
Why did I tell everyone about my fantasy wedding? We’d barely be able to afford the flights and the accommodation now, let alone hiring an actual castle.
‘We’ve decided to stay local you know – make it easier for the guests. We don’t want everyone having to fork out for flights and accommodation.’
Oh, how considerate I suddenly am of other people. I’m a terrible person for telling such lies.
‘Thank goodness for that. I was secretly worried about getting all the way up there,’ says Lou.
‘Right, local then,’ says Jane.
The images of fairytale Highland castles are replaced with the Google screen again. Jane types in the Four Seasons hotel where she got married and I just manage to squeak the word ‘budget’ to her. I think Jane registers what I say as the screen is now back to Google and search results are for wedding venues in Surrey.
‘Ooh, this looks promising,’ says Jane, gasping.
‘The Manor, Surrey,’ I say, reading it out loud. It rings a bell but I’ve never been there before.
‘They have wedding packages,’ says Jane.
It’s like she’s saying to me, this place is cheap as they actually list their prices on the internet.
‘Right, Lou, here are the figures.’
Jane starts telling Lou – who has been given the job of scribe – the figures. There is much too much money flying about for my liking. But it’s hard to work it out as the packages are priced per head rather than giving separate prices for the venue and catering. But some of them do sound affordable.
‘How many guests are you having?’ asks Lou.
‘Eighty.’
‘Oh, I love a small wedding,’ says Jane.
Eighty people is not small, is it? I thought small was just the two of you getting married on a beach somewhere, or only having your witnesses in attendance. Eighty people does not sound small to me, especially not at over a hundred pounds a head.
‘Right, then. For the Diamond package, you’re looking at £13,600. That’s very good, isn’t it?’ says Lou.
‘And it includes chair covers!’ shrieks Jane.
Great. The chairs were going to be better dressed than me as with those prices I’d be in a bin bag.
‘Um, yes. What about the other packages?’ I ask.
By others I mean cheap, and Jane knows that.
‘OK. Well skipping over the platinum, the gold works out to be £130 per head,’ she says.
‘Right, so that’s £10,400,’ says Lou, using her phone to do the calculation.
‘Now, that is excellent value,’ says Jane. ‘I can’t imagine you’ll beat that in a hurry.’
A lump appears in my throat and suddenly I am finding it very difficult to swallow.
‘So that’s for the venue, the food and the drink?’ I manage to say.
‘Yes, what a bargain! I think you might have found your venue,’ says Jane. ‘Let’s phone them and see if we can go and look around.’
‘No! We can’t!’ I practically scream. Shit, I must think of a reason why we can’t go and see it right now. ‘I promised my sister and my mum that they could come with me to see the wedding venues. And I’ve been drinking wine. I wouldn’t want to get too carried away now, would I?’
‘Of course, I totally understand,’ says Jane. ‘Well, let’s see, what else can we help with? What about florists? I know a darling little florist. Let me see …’
The website loading on the screen looks beautiful and, oh my, there are examples of bouquets that they’ve made for weddings.
‘Now, look, here’s a guide price list.’
‘Holy crap! Is that how much a bouquet costs? For a few flowers?’ I shout in horror.
Jane looks alarmed that I’ve sworn. I think I might need to up my budget for flowers. A bouquet just for me alone looks like it is going to be £300. No wonder no one throws them any more.
‘Penny, are you OK? You’re looking kind of pale,’ says Lou.
Now that she’s mentioned it I don’t feel very well. In fact, I think I’m going to faint. I suddenly can’t breathe and I think I’m dying. No, I don’t think I’m being dramatic. I actually cannot breathe.
Aren’t they going to help me? Surely they can see I can’t talk. I start flapping my arms around.
‘I think she’s having a panic attack,’ says Lou, running out of the lounge.
Great, some help Lou is! She’s supposed to be my best friend and here she is allowing me to die in front of Jane, of all people. Before I know it Lou’s back and she’s shoved a paper bag into my hand; it looks suspiciously like the one that the bottle of fizz she brought came in.
‘Breathe into the bag; it will help you,’ says Lou.
Funnily enough it does seem to help, but even when my breathing returns to normal, I still can’t imagine how I am going to pull this wedding off without giving myself a massive coronary.
However inventive I was, or even if I moved it to a Monday when no one would want to come, there is no way that I am going to be able to get my dream wedding on my meagre five thousand pounds.
I’m about to give her a mean look but then I remember that she practically had a nervous breakdown during hers. Maybe she is right; maybe I’m just overwhelmed.
‘What about getting some help? You could get a wedding planner like I had,’ she says.
A list of wedding planner websites appears right before my eyes. I had no idea that they existed in the UK. I could have my very own JLo organising my wedding. But then I remember in that film she stole the groom. I wouldn’t want anyone stealing my groom.
But then again, maybe a wedding planner would be able to make my wedding budget stretch even further and it would reduce the necessity for me to carry a paper bag to cope with my hyperventilating.
‘So how much do you think one of those would cost?’ I ask. Surely it’s got to be worth a go.
‘I think usually you pay about ten to fifteen per cent of your budget.’
Ten to fifteen per cent? That would be five hundred pounds straight away. And that’s if they don’t laugh at me down the phone.
Lou must have seen the face I’ve pulled about the wedding planner.
‘Why don’t you start with a wedding checklist?’ says Lou. ‘It’ll show you all the things you need to plan.’
‘Good thinking, Louise,’ says Jane, Googling it. ‘Gosh, I envy you, Penny, getting to plan your wedding. It was one of the happiest periods in my life.’
‘Just like being happily married is?’ I say before I can stop myself. The look that Jane gives me back tells me all I need to know. Perhaps what happened at the table was only the tip of the iceberg.
‘I think we’ve done enough wedding planning for the day,’ says Lou. ‘Jane, why don’t you tell us how your extension is going?’
I smile at Lou in relief. We both know that we’ll be in for a long report on the latest update of their house renovations to make a larger office and add an extra bedroom to their already five-bedroom house. But, to be honest, right now I’d listen to anything that doesn’t revolve around the disaster that is my wedding.