Don't Tell the Groom

by Anna Bell

  ‘That’s sweet. I’m Rebecca.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Rebecca.’

  ‘It’s strange this, isn’t it? I was terrified I was going to come here today and bump into one of the mums from the school run.’

  Up to that point I hadn’t considered that these people here have proper families and children. What are we all doing?

  ‘I wasn’t too sure what to expect either,’ I say.

  ‘I’m glad I came, though. I’ve got a nice mentor. I think I’m going to try and go cold turkey.’

  ‘That’s great, Rebecca. I’m hoping to as well. I just need to figure out how to stick to a budget for the wedding.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right, you’re the one that’s getting married. How exciting.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it would have been. I haven’t got the money any more and I’m terrified that Mark – that’s my fiancé – is going to find out.’

  ‘You haven’t told him?’ she asks.

  I shake my head. ‘I keep hoping I’m going to fix it somehow. You know, plan it with five grand and make it our dream wedding.’

  ‘You still could.’

  I almost laugh at her, but then I realise that, just like the woman from the Citizens Advice Bureau, she’s serious.

  ‘I know things are a bit different from when I got married. But you know, it isn’t all about the money. I’m sure if you got creative you’d figure out a way. And no matter what the wedding is like, it will still be the best day of your life.’

  I wish that was true. All the brides I’ve known have said it was the best day of their life, but then all the brides I’ve known have had the wedding of their dreams.

  ‘Anyway, I’ll see you next Tuesday. I’ve got to get home to the babysitter.’

  ‘Good luck with the cold turkey,’ I say, realising I’ve got my fingers crossed together in some cheesy motion.

  Luckily Rebecca must have taken it to be sweet and she does the same.

  The rest of the room is starting to thin out and I have the familiar feeling of palpitations rushing over me as I realise the magnitude of the task I have ahead of me. I decide to quit while I am ahead.

  I wave at Josh and his beautiful eyes as I leave. He waves back and I hope I’ll have a reason to call him. No. I must stop thinking like that.

  I do not want to call him this week or else that means I’ll have been a dirty little gambler.

  No, I will not call Josh.

  At all.

  No matter how blue his eyes are.

  Now I’m going to go home and see my fiancé. Wonderful, wonderful Mark. And I’ll try not to look too guilty as once again I tell him nothing about what is going on in my life.

  Chapter Six

  Today is the day that I am sorting out the wedding venue. I am. Really. Just because I’ve now been engaged for almost a month and I haven’t booked anywhere, despite it being three months to the potential wedding, does not mean I’ve been burying my head in the sand.

  No, I’ve been sorting myself out. I’ve deleted the bingo apps from my phone, yes, occasionally I used to use them. And I’ve also put parental locks on my laptop and put all the bingo sites I could remember the names of on the banned list. The bingo sites were already banned by our firewall at work, along with Facebook, external mail sites and Net-a-Porter. I made IT add the Net-a-Porter site, telling them one of our workers had an addiction to it. In reality it just means that I now actually leave my desk at lunchtimes and don’t drool over handbags and clothes I can’t afford.

  So far blocking bingo out of my life has been working. I haven’t lunged for the virtual dabber pen and I’ve managed to stay on the straight and narrow. Although I did nearly go and play actual bingo when I took a trip into town this morning. I had a moment of weakness as I walked past the bingo hall and then I saw an old woman with a blue rinse and it scared me that Mark’s nan Violet might be there.

  I also had a bit of a moment on Thursday when I nearly gambled but that was more to do with remembering how blue Josh’s eyes were and I just wanted to see them again. But then I remembered that with only five thousand pounds left I couldn’t risk losing any more.

  ‘You surfing for wedding stuff?’ asks Mark, sitting down in the armchair. I have a quick smell under my armpits just to make sure I’m not smelling really bad, as why else would he choose to sit on the opposite side of the room from me?

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Thought so; you’ve got the furrowed brow look. Don’t worry, I’m not looking. I just wanted to watch the footie. Is that OK?’

  ‘Yeah, fine.’

  Phew. I don’t smell after all. He’s right about the furrowed brow, though. I’ve got to make sure that the wind doesn’t change or else I’ll have a permanent state of confusion plastered across my face.

  I’m looking at those lovely, gorgeous wedding venues that Jane found. I’ve been trying to be all sensible and do my sums but the only way we could afford to spend £125 a head would be to only have forty guests. And the venue has a sixty-guest minimum. And then we’d have no money for anything else other than the venue and the food.

  There has to be a cheaper way. Perhaps I could do some inventive Googling:

  CHEAP WEDDING ABROAD

  Oh, abroad. Just me and Mark. How romantic, just us on a beach at sunset. I’m starting to get so swept up in the fantasy that I can feel the sand beneath my toes, the warm water lapping at my feet. But the daydream stops after the ceremony. What would we do after? I know what we would do later - I have a lot of fantasies about that. But I’m talking immediately after. Would we have dinner, just the two of us?

  ‘How open are you to the idea of a wedding abroad?’ I ask as nonchalantly as possible, so that he doesn’t think it is our only option.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was just thinking, you and me on a beach together. Just the two of us.’

  ‘What about our parents? And Nanny Violet? I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  Stupid family ruining everything. Mark is of course, right. I do want our family to be there. Or else imagine what my mum would write about me in the Christmas card. Not to mention I’d probably get written out of the will if I deprived my mum of the opportunity of being able to buy a new hat for the wedding.

  Time for a change of approach. I Google:

  BUDGET WEDDING IDEAS

  Bingo! Oh, that is a poor choice of words. I just wanted to express that I seem to be on to something. There are absolutely loads of forums full of suggestions.

  BRIDGETJ123

  I’M GETTING MARRIED IN OUR LOCAL REGISTRY OFFICE AND THEN WE’RE HAVING A PARTY AT OUR VILLAGE HALL. MY MUM’S DOING THE FOOD AND MY AUNT’S MADE MY DRESS. TOTAL COST £1,500.

  This is more like it. Although I don’t think the community centre where I’m currently going to my gambling meetings would really cut it. For that to work I’m imagining a twee village hall with bunting and fairy lights. Croquet on the lawn. Afternoon tea. Make that champagne afternoon tea. With a barbershop quartet.

  Nope. I can’t imagine that I could get all that for five thousand pounds, especially not around here.

  CASEYGOGO

  I’M GOING TO GRETNA GREEN WITH MY HUBBY TO BE AND A MINI BUS FULL OF MY NEAREST AND DEAREST!!!! HOPE WE CAN HAVE A MEAL OUT AFTER. OUR BUDGET IS £1,000.

  See, there are loads of people doing this kind of thing on a budget. I just need to start thinking outside the box.

  ‘What about Gretna Green for our wedding?’

  ‘Too tacky. Look, is the pressure getting to you? Do you want me to help you organise this wedding?’

  ‘No!’ Oops, that was practically a scream. ‘No, I’m fine thanks, honey. I was just trying to throw you off the scent.’

  There we are, there’s the side head-tilt that is fast becoming Mark’s signature move. He’s been doing it a lot lately. He thinks I’m deranged. Who can blame him?

  Perhaps the budget wedding search term is taking me down the wrong path.
/>   UNUSUAL WEDDING VENUES HAMPSHIRE SURREY

  I’m amazed at how many sites are popping up in the Google listing. There are a number of blogs alone that are dedicated to unusual venues. Seems from my scan reading that doing something unconventional is the trendy thing now.

  Maybe that’s what I can say to people. I didn’t want a princess wedding as I thought it was all a bit too clichéd. I’m just uber trendy and ahead of my time.

  The website I’ve landed on is perfect. There are loads of suggestions about where you can have the wedding reception. Old discarded railway stations, steam trains, boats. Sensing a theme here at all?

  There’s even a whole tab for museums. Who would want to get married in a museum? What with all the scary mannequins and old stuff? I click on the tab anyway, just to see what kind of a wedding you can have among the glass showcases.

  Hello! I’ve spotted a massive website fail. I secretly love spotting errors on things like this. It’s a bit of a howler as next to the text about the Surrey Military Museum, which sounds like a stuffy old museum, there’s a picture of a beautiful old manor house.

  Where is that manor house? It looks lovely. Maybe if I click on the picture it will take me to the right website.

  There must be some sort of broken link as I’ve ended up on the website for the Surrey Military Museum.

  This is a museum dedicated to telling the diverse and interesting military history of Surrey, including the story of those regiments stationed in the county during the Second World War …

  Yada, yada, yada. Where’s the bit about weddings? Ah, here we are.

  Housed in an old officers’ mess, the museum now caters for exclusive wedding receptions.

  Oh, my goodness. The museum is the place in the picture. That place is gorgeous. Nearly as gorgeous as The Manor that Jane showed me.

  I just want to find out how much it costs, but it’s one of those annoying websites where there are only two pages and all it really tells you is how to get there.

  ‘Hot lead?’ asks Mark.

  I look up and he’s laughing at me. I guess my furrowed brow has turned into a look of desperation mixed with happiness. I’m just hoping this place is cheaper than The Manor.

  ‘Possibly.’

  I look down at the museum’s ‘find us’ map. It is probably only about twenty minutes away by car, and they are open on Saturdays. I could go today. I could go right now. Who knows, maybe I could even have this wedding venue booked by this afternoon.

  ‘I’m off to see a venue.’

  The excitement in my voice must be evident as I’m rewarded by a lovely smile from Mark.

  ‘Want me to come?’

  ‘Nope, I’ll be fine. I’ve got a good feeling about this.’

  And I have; a very good feeling.

  Pulling up outside the museum, it is every bit as pretty as it was in the picture. You had to go over a little moat to get on to the site and through a narrow set of gate posts that I have to hold my breath to get through in the car. Not that I drive a tank, but my Beetle is wider than I think it should be.

  It reminds me a little bit of the family outings we had to go on as kids. Parking on a makeshift stony grass car park. Walking past the little museum shop filled with rubbers and pencils. I never could resist stocking up my pencil case with museum shop stationery. And my mum would always buy it for me as it was practically educational. It had come from a museum, after all.

  This place would be perfect for the wedding. Please, please let it be in my budget.

  There’s a staircase at the front of the building which I can imagine walking down in my dress, the train trailing behind me. Oh, wait. I probably won’t be able to afford a train. I can just imagine walking down here in my dress, swishing away. I’m sure I can still afford a dress that swishes.

  I’m not entirely sure what is going to lie beyond the entrance. I hold my breath and pray that it is equally stunning on the other side.

  ‘Hello, there,’ says a beaming woman as I step over the threshold. She’s just a little bit keen to see me.

  ‘Hi.’

  So far, so good. The reception desk is an old mahogany wooden desk and the rest of the inside looks … well, it looks like a National Trust Property.

  ‘Something tells me that you’re here to talk to us about weddings.’

  The woman is pointing at me; I hope she’s not pointing to my belly. We did have a massive fry-up for brunch this morning. I hope she isn’t mistaking my pot belly for a baby bump. This isn’t a shotgun wedding.

  But then I realise she is probably looking at my engagement ring. Yes. That’s where her finger is pointing. Phew.

  ‘Yes, I was just wondering if I could talk to someone, you know, about costs. And maybe availability.’

  ‘OK. I can help you with that. I’ll just get Ted. Ted?’

  An old man appears who looks like someone’s granddad. He’s so cute and smiley that I have to resist the urge to go and give him a hug and sit on his knee. Although that makes it sound pervy, like I’ve got a granddad crush. I’m just trying to say that he looks cute.

  ‘I’ll show you the room first then, shall I?’

  ‘OK, that would be great. Thank you.’

  In all my giddiness at the outside of the venue, I’d forgotten that there would have to be a reception room too. What if this is the room that is full of the showcases and scary mannequins?

  But as the woman opens the door any doubts fall away from my mind. This is the room. It is perfect. It is woodpanelled in a nice, not cheesy seventies, way. There is a long mahogany table and chairs running along the centre and oil paintings adorning the walls.

  The windows look out to the Surrey downs and I can’t believe that anywhere this beautiful exists, and especially not in a museum. That will teach me for not going to anywhere vaguely cultural.

  ‘We reserve this room for weddings and events. It’s how we keep the museum going,’ says the woman.

  ‘It’s just wonderful. Oh, look at the ceiling!’

  There are chandeliers! This place is so going to be out of my price range.

  ‘Now, depending on how many guests you have, you can either have the long table – that seats thirty – or, for a bigger wedding, we can move it out and you can have round tables. How many guests were you planning for?’

  ‘We did have a hundred, but I think eighty is more realistic.’

  ‘Eighty is fine in here; a hundred gets a little cramped for the sit-down meal. But for the evening anything up to one hundred and fifty is fine. Now, this is probably where the stage would go for a band or a DJ.’

  A swing band would go really well in here. It would just fit the whole tone of the place. Maybe we could have a vintage wedding. I could put my hair in rags the night before to give me a curl and I could get a vintage wedding dress. A vintage couture wedding dress. I’m sure that would be lots cheaper than a brand new dress.

  ‘Are you OK, dear?’ she asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  ‘Yes, sorry, just planning it in my head.’

  The woman is smiling at me and nodding.

  ‘Of course, if you want anything like a string quartet during the wedding breakfast then we have the little balcony up there. It also makes for a wonderful photograph if you get the photographer up there and your guests down below.’

  I’m nodding like the nodding dogs I hate. I bet it would also make an excellent point to do a bouquet toss from. Although it could be a bit lethal if it hit someone from that height.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ I say. ‘But I’m on quite a tight budget, so I think before I get too carried away we should talk costs.’

  ‘OK, that’s very sensible. Take a seat.’

  There’s something unnatural about sitting at the table. I don’t know whether it is because we’re in a museum where you’re usually barked at if you even breathe on an object, or whether it is because it looks too old and beautiful to disturb. But either way I’m terrified of sitting down, even though the woman to
ld me I could.

  ‘Right. I’ll just get straight to the figures, then.’

  For once in my life, I had listened to the little voice in my head that sounds an awful lot like Mark, and I’ve brought a notepad and pen. Getting it out, I feel like a journalist as I hold my pen over the pad eagerly.

  ‘The room hire, which is this room and the museum grounds for the day, is £3,000.’

  Hooray, this sounds like it might be in my price range.

  ‘Then you’ve got the catering. We’ve got a number of different caterers you can choose from, which range from a cheaper option to the more expensive.’

  ‘Can you tell me roughly what their costs are per head?’

  ‘Yes, the cheapest option is about £35 per head and the most expensive is £50.’

  I start to take deep breaths, because this is actually affordable. Now, I admit maths has never been my strong point. That’s usually where Mark comes in handy. But I think we may be able to afford it, if we don’t buy anything else and we have no entertainment and no wine. But people would like that, right? It could be a theme wedding, the theme being no fun.

  If only I hadn’t gambled away the money then we could have afforded to have had a lovely venue like this which is half the cost of the other places and with tons more charm and character. I know that I can’t go back in time and change what I did, but right now I’m furious with myself.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  The woman has a very concerned look on her face. I’m not sure whether she can see actual steam coming out of my ears.

  ‘That all sounds very reasonable. It’s just I’m still not sure that we’re going to be able to afford it. I don’t suppose …’

  No, I can’t do it. I can’t get the words out of my mouth.

  ‘You don’t suppose what, dear?’

  ‘That you offer any discounts on the hire fee. You know, if we got married on a Monday or something?’

  There, I’ve said it. I’m officially mortified.

  ‘I’m afraid not. And we’re closed on Mondays. I know it probably seems steep but if you go round the other venues in the area I’m sure you’ll find that they’re much more expensive.’