‘How about you, Maggie?’
‘Lily, surely there’s another way. You got one job; you could get another one. Or become a nanny, or something – but don’t do this marriage thing. Please don’t do it.’
But Lily is adamant. ‘None of you have to come if you don’t want to, but I’m doing it anyway. We did the paperwork here yesterday, and we’re all set to go.’
‘What’s the guy’s name?’ Maggie asks.
‘Ryan,’ she says promptly. ‘Lance Corporal Ryan Bruckner, of the US Marine Corps. Mrs Lily Bruckner; it’s got a ring to it, hasn’t it? Speaking of which …’ She holds out her left hand to show us a vintage-looking ring with white and blue stones. ‘Ryan bought it for me in Dubai, on his way home from Helmand last Christmas. Isn’t it perfect?’
You would think that anyone with half a brain would march Lily straight off to the police, but instead we follow her back up the steps of the building, as if we’re sleepwalking. She’s completely in character now, giving us the whole backstory of her whirlwind romance with Ryan and how they met (at a bachelorette party in Miami, apparently). I grab Maggie’s arm as we’re about to enter the building, and pull her behind a pillar for a quick confab.
‘Maggie!’ I hiss urgently. ‘She’s your best friend. Can’t you talk her out of this?’
‘I honestly don’t think so,’ Maggie says. ‘I’ve known her since she was nine. Once she’s set her mind on something, it’s impossible to stop her. And I know it sounds insane, but if anyone can get away with something like this, it’s her.’
‘But we’ve got to be able to stop her. It’s three against one. You’re sporty, aren’t you? You could take her! She’s a skinny thing!’
‘You think?’ says Maggie. ‘I think if the three of us tried to carry her out of a public building, kicking and screaming, people would intervene. Then we’d be the ones getting arrested.’
‘What is she like?’ I say, suddenly furious. ‘Why did she have to put us through this? It’s a fucking nightmare!’ A mother-of-the-bride going past gives me an odd look, and I hastily plaster on an ‘Isn’t this lovely?’ smile.
‘I don’t mean to make excuses,’ Maggie’s saying, ‘but the thing is, Lily is younger than us. She’s only twenty-four.’
‘Only twenty-four! This would be a stupid stunt to pull if she was fourteen! I’m going to take her aside and try and talk some sense into her. You and Rachel see if you can come up with some kind of plan B.’ And we go inside to catch up with the other two.
We’re in a vast marble lobby, with a high ceiling and a flight of steps leading to more floors above. It’s a mixture of businesslike and bizarre: people in suits with briefcases, who obviously work here, and couples in white dresses and tuxedos getting photographed by tearful relatives. I’ve never seen so many women in wedding dresses in one place; it’s like a bridal convention. Rachel’s sitting on a bench, thumbing furiously at her phone. Lily’s disappeared.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, panicked. ‘Where is she?’
‘She’s in the loo. I’m reading up on marriage fraud,’ she says. ‘Here’s my plan so far. We interrupt the ceremony and say we don’t think they know each other well enough to get married.’
‘Would that work?’ asks Maggie.
‘I’m not sure, but it should cause enough of a diversion to stop the wedding from going ahead.’ Rachel sighs. ‘Unless we tell them that it’s a visa marriage, in which case she probably would get arrested. But that might be better, because they’d let her off more lightly if it was only attempted … I think. Oh God, this is worse than my finals.’
‘Are you sure she’s in the loo?’ says Maggie. ‘What if she’s already gone ahead with it?’
‘Shit!’ Rachel jumps to her feet and we all start scurrying frantically around the crowded lobby as best we can in our extra-high heels. We must look like such idiots, all dressed up to the nines and running in circles while dodging photographers and couples left, right and centre.
‘Too many girls in white dresses! It’s like looking for a needle in a fecking haystack!’ snarls Rachel.
‘Look! She’s over there,’ I say. ‘I think she’s made some friends.’
We hurry over to where Lily is sitting on a bench, holding court with three tiny old ladies, who are oohing and aahing over her ring. One of them has pink-rinsed hair and a pink tracksuit, and is wearing glasses with winged corners like Dame Edna Everage. The other’s got a blue rinse, a blue dress and a cane, while the third lady has purple hair and a gigantic badge with the American flag on it.
‘Oh, hi, girls,’ says Lily, looking up. ‘Meet Estelle and Marie and Dolores. They come here every week to see the weddings!’
‘Call me Dolly, dear,’ says the blue-rinse lady, in a real Noo Yoik accent.
‘I was just telling the ladies about Ryan’s medal,’ Lily continues.
‘That’s wonderful,’ says Dolly. ‘I so admire the men and women of our armed forces. You must be very proud of him, huh?’
‘Oh, I am,’ says Lily piously.
‘Are you having music at the ceremony? What’s your something blue?’ asks Purple Rinse.
‘Garter belt,’ Lily says. ‘And we’re having “Up Where We Belong” – the theme from An Officer and a Gentleman. I watched it when I was missing Ryan really badly, on Valentine’s Day.’
Maggie looks over at Rachel, and they both roll their eyes: they were with Lily on Valentine’s Day, and I take it she wasn’t watching Richard Gere films. But the ladies all love this detail.
‘Oh my! I love Richard Gere!’ says Purple Rinse. ‘That scene where he comes into the factory, and she’s wearing her little flat cap, and he carries her out … I swoon every time.’
‘These are my bridesmaids, by the way.’ Lily indicates the three of us, all standing above her stony-faced and silent.
‘Nice to meet you,’ says Dame Edna, looking at us dubiously. She turns back to Lily and says in a loud whisper, ‘They don’t seem very happy for you, dear.’
‘Why don’t their dresses match?’ says Dolly.
‘It’s the new trend,’ says Lily, going pink. ‘Maggie – will you take my picture with the ladies?’
‘Don’t, Maggie! It’s evidence!’ Rachel hisses.
‘I think she’s jealous,’ Blue Rinse says to Lily, also in a stage whisper.
‘So what’s your something borrowed?’ asks Purple Rinse.
‘These shoes,’ Lily says, holding out one silver pump. ‘Jimmy Choos. Borrowed from my cousin Alice.’
‘Does she know what you’ve borrowed them for?’ I ask her pointedly.
‘Oh! Look at the time,’ says Lily, pretending not to hear me. ‘I think Ryan might be waiting upstairs. Shall we, girls?’ And she says goodbye to her new friends, and races up the stairs before we can stop her.
‘Wait! OK, here’s our plan,’ Rachel says, grabbing both our arms. ‘We play along, encourage her, reverse-psychology like mad – and then when the ceremony starts, I’ll sabotage it. Got it?’
‘Got it,’ we reply, and hurry upstairs. Thank God for Rachel. I’m never going on holiday with Lily again without a lawyer present.
The waiting room is packed with couples of every stripe: gay, lesbian, straight, some in full-on bridal regalia and some in leggings and T-shirts. There’s a very charged atmosphere; tense yet festive. A big old-fashioned number counter hangs on the wall, and people are getting paper tickets from a dispenser, like at the post office.
‘Look, there’s Ryan!’ says Lily.
I think we all hoped, right up until now, that Ryan wouldn’t show up and somehow it would all go away. But here he is, large as life, in full uniform: black with red piping, and a black and white hat tucked under one arm. And he does indeed appear to have a medal – and a sword. Ryan himself is less impressive than his uniform. He looks about nineteen, with straw-coloured hair, angry red acne all over his face and neck, and white eyelashes.
‘God, he’s no pin-up,’ mutters Rachel.
‘I’m not marrying him for his looks,’ whispers Lily tartly.
‘No, your love goes deeper than that,’ Rachel says, just as Ryan reaches us.
‘Nice to see you again, Lily. You look very pretty,’ he says in a Southern drawl, kissing her on one cheek while shaking her hand in a very formal way. Jeez. Subterfuge much?
‘Ryan!’ hisses Lily, looking around her in a paranoid fashion. ‘We’re meant to know each other really well. And be madly in love.’
I would have thought you’d have to pass some sort of intelligence test to get into the Marines, but Ryan’s making me wonder. Still, he’s looking delighted at the opportunity to express his love for Lily.
‘Oh yeah. Right. I can’t wait to be married to you, babe,’ he says. ‘I can’t wait for our wedding night.’ And he grabs her, dips her and engulfs her in a lengthy snog. As he props her upright again, I catch a glimpse of her face. Her expression is literally indescribable.
‘I’ve got the rings, baby,’ Ryan says, patting his pockets. ‘We are good to go.’
‘Hi, Ryan,’ says Rachel, stepping forward. ‘I’m Rachel. None of your comrades able to make it today?’
‘No, ma’am,’ says Ryan, looking shifty. He obviously wasn’t expecting Lily to bring backup.
‘Let’s get you crazy kids organised,’ I say, grabbing a ticket for them. ‘Here we go – lucky three hundred and forty-one!’
‘I can’t wait to catch your bouquet,’ says Maggie.
Lily’s looking bewildered at our change of heart. In fact she’s looking generally dazed as we all squeeze on to a bench to wait our turn. Ryan is sitting with his legs so far apart, he’s squishing her and me, and he keeps fingering his acne and adjusting his trouser crotch. No wonder he needs a visa marriage. Who else would have him?
‘Three three nine,’ someone calls. ‘Three hundred and thirty-nine …’
Lily almost jumps out of her skin, then wipes her palms on her skirt, yawning.
Maggie whispers in my ear, ‘She’s terrified. She always yawns when she’s scared. Can’t we do something to stop this happening?’
‘No. We’ve got to stick to what we decided,’ I whisper back. Although I’m not sure whether Rachel’s plan is even going to work. What if they kick us out of the ceremony room and carry on regardless?
Number 340 is up now. We’re next. Weren’t we meant to be spending this afternoon sipping cocktails at a VIP event, rather than being accessories to a bloody crime? I could honestly strangle Lily. Although at the same time, I really don’t want to see her go to jail. What if she does get arrested? She’ll be thrown into a cell with a load of knife-wielding drug dealers, and they’ll cut off her hair to sell it on the black market … Here my knowledge of prisons runs out. But it won’t be good.
‘Three forty-one,’ says the disembodied voice.
Looking despairingly at each other, we all file into the ceremony room, which is small and fairly low-frills: a man with a moustache leaning on a small pulpit, a microphone and a gavel, and a short blue carpet.
‘Have you got a photographer?’ asks the officiant.
Maggie steps forward, holding her phone aloft. He shows us – the ‘wedding party’ – where to line up, and instructs Lily to take Ryan’s hand, which she does very reluctantly. And then the ceremony starts. It’s happening.
I keep looking at Rachel, but she hasn’t said a word yet. Shit. Has she forgotten her master plan? I’m really worried now. And so is Lily: her legs are shaking below her white skirt and the veil is bobbing up and down. The officiant is doing his bit with great relish, dwelling dramatically on certain words.
‘If there is anybody present who knows any legal reason why this couple should not be married,’ he’s saying, ‘speak now or forever hold your peace.’
Finally, Rachel’s opening her mouth to say something. But before she does, Lily manages to put up her hand. We all whip around to stare at her.
‘Yes, ma’am?’ the man says, looking at her. She doesn’t say a word but shakes her head a few times.
‘Are you saying that you don’t want the ceremony to go ahead?’ he says, enunciating slowly.
Lily nods frantically.
‘Are you here against your will? Is there anything else you need to tell us?’ the officiant asks eagerly. I sense his day has just got a lot more interesting. Now Ryan is the one who looks nervous.
‘I don’t want to do it,’ Lily croaks. ‘I haven’t done it yet, have I?’
‘No. This marriage has not and will not take place.’ He bangs his gavel, making everyone jump.
‘Thank God.’ And Lily runs from the room as fast as her Jimmy Choos will permit.
‘Oh, hell no!’ Ryan says, throwing down his hat in a rage. ‘No you don’t!’ He’s about to run after her when Maggie, to our amazement, leaps at him and trips him up, pinning him to the floor. All her triathlons have obviously paid off.
‘Ooh, sorry. Are you all right?’ she asks breathlessly, ruining the effect.
‘Order! Order! Vacate this courtroom immediately!’ says the officiant, banging his gavel over and over again and looking thoroughly overexcited.
‘We’re going!’ says Rachel, and the three of us frogmarch a protesting Ryan out of the courtroom, under the fascinated eyes of the waiting couples, some of whom start taking pictures. This is the second time we’ve been papped since arriving in New York; I hope it’s the last.
‘Now you listen to me,’ Maggie hisses to Ryan, once we’re out of the room. ‘You get out of here, and don’t ever go near her again!’
‘That’s right, and delete every email you’ve ever had from her – unless you want us to report you to the police right now. Don’t think we won’t do it,’ adds Rachel.
‘Get off of me!’ Ryan splutters. ‘Crazy bitch wasn’t worth the trouble anyway!’ And he shakes us off and marches away, punching his hat back into shape.
We rush over to the window that overlooks the front steps.
‘Is he gone? I won’t breathe until he’s gone,’ says Maggie, wide-eyed.
‘Yes! He’s gone. Phew. Let’s go and find Lily. What’s that?’ Maggie’s holding out a piece of paper.
‘It’s the paperwork they did yesterday,’ she says. ‘I took it from her before we went in, and now we can destroy it.’
‘Thank God for that,’ says Rachel.
Like last time, it takes us a while to find Lily, but eventually we locate her huddled on a bench downstairs in the marble-floored lobby. She looks up at us from under her veil, terrified.
Rachel says, ‘It’s the Runaway Bride!’
‘Congratulations, darling,’ I say, ripping up the paperwork and throwing it over her head. ‘There’s your confetti.’
Lily picks some scraps of paper out of her veil before saying in a small voice, ‘How angry are you all?’
‘Out of ten? Only about twenty,’ says Rachel, sitting down beside her.
‘I am incandescent with rage,’ I say, sitting on her other side. ‘I’ve always wanted to use that phrase. You’re a bloody idiot, Lily. And you nearly ruined our holiday.’
Lily looks up at Maggie.
‘Very angry,’ Maggie says simply. ‘That was really stressful.’
Lily lowers her head. ‘Is he definitely gone? And did I definitely not get married?’
‘Yeah, he left. He was waving his sword around and saying something about how he’s going to “make that bitch pay”? Was that it?’ Rachel asks me.
‘She’s joking!’ Maggie reassures Lily.
‘Don’t worry,’ says Rachel, grinning. ‘He’s left, and you’re one hundred per cent not married. Did you pay him any money, Lily?’
‘Not yet. I was meant to pay him three grand after the ceremony. But I paid thirty-five dollars for the licence. Oh, and I bought the ring.’
‘You were bloody lucky,’ I tell her.
Lily starts to cry. ‘I’m so sorry, guys,’ she sniffs. ‘I’m so sorry I put you through that. Oh God, I don’
t have a tissue.’
‘Use your veil,’ suggests Rachel.
Maggie reaches for Lily and gives her a big hug.
‘It’s OK, Lil,’ she says. ‘We forgive you. It didn’t happen.’
‘Girlfriend, he is NOT worth it,’ says an unfamiliar voice. Two stray wedding guests have stopped to look at us; they obviously think Lily’s just been jilted.
‘Mm-HMMM,’ says the other, hand on hip, before they move on.
Lily stares after them, and says, in a small voice, ‘I’m going to miss America.’
We charge out of the building, nearly hysterical with relief.
‘What do you want to do now, Lily? It’s your wedding night,’ I say.
‘Let’s not stay around here – it’ll be full of wedding parties,’ she says. ‘I’d better get de-brided.’ She switches her engagement ring to her right hand, and takes off her veil.
‘Are you crazy? Keep it on!’ says Maggie. ‘Free drinks!’
‘No thank you,’ Lily says, folding her veil up and stuffing it inside Maggie’s handbag. ‘I’ve had enough of being a bride. Can we just get a cab and drive somewhere? Quick, before he comes back!’
We end up getting a cab to take us the nearest bar, which turns out to be an old-fashioned subterranean wine bar near Wall Street. We cause quite a stir by crashing in at six in the evening in all our finery, plus there’s the fact that we’re practically the only women in the place, which is full of old men in suits. After reassuring Maggie that she won’t have to talk to any of them, we commandeer a booth, and get a round of cocktails to toast Lily’s non-wedding.
‘Here’s to the Runaway Bride,’ says Rachel, holding her martini aloft. ‘I mean Miss Havisham. Let’s see, what else can we call her?’
‘The Bolter!’ I exclaim. Looking at their blank faces, I continue, ‘Nancy Mitford? No? Oh well.’
‘But Lily, what made you decide not to do it?’ asks Maggie.
‘I just … It didn’t seem such a big deal in theory, but when I had to stand up there with him …’ She shudders. ‘And I felt too guilty. I knew that technically it wasn’t legal, but when I saw everyone else – all the gay couples especially – I realised I was making a mockery of something important. I felt like a horrible fraud.’
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