The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street

by Rachel Dove

  And what a wedding it was shaping up to be! Every man, woman and dog had been chatting about the nuptials for months, and the moony-eyed public were all rooting for the unlucky lovers to finally say I do, and prove that love really did conquer all. What girl wouldn’t want that? Even the tomboys among the fairer sex still had an odd glistening tear at the thought.

  But today, as she stood waiting in the wings of the church, missing her parents, sheltered from the view of the baying press outside, with Cassie moaning about her pale peach silk dress beside her, she was … well … disappointed. It seemed everything in her life had been leading to this point, so why didn’t it feel that way? Why did it feel like an anticlimax? She told herself it was just down to wishing her parents were there with her. More so than anxiety. She was still having flashbacks to the dream she had had the night before, when she was wheeled out into the church, dressed like a whipped-cream meringue, with make-up Gene Simmons would deem ‘trowelled on’. She had woken in a deep panic, covered in sweat and in the tight grip of fear. She needn’t have worried, though. With her designer gown, make-up artist and professional hairdresser to the stars, all hired by the Burgess family, she looked more than catwalk-ready.

  Maria felt like she had reached into the pretty chocolate box and pulled out a disgusting orange cream. She tried to shake off the feeling she was having. It was just nerves, that was all. She had been waiting for this day for ever, since she was old enough to wrap a sheet around her head and marry her teddy bears. Today was the day, and nothing was going to spoil it, least of all her own silly niggles. She felt a prod and looked around, annoyed.

  ‘What?’

  Cassie was staring at her, fixing her with a look she had never seen on her best friend’s face before, and Maria felt the emotions of foreboding all over again, in stereo.

  ‘Cassie? What … what is it?’

  Cassie swallowed hard and, looking around, Maria noticed they were alone. The other bridesmaids, on the side of the groom, were suddenly noticeably absent, and the vicar was standing there, looking very uncomfortable indeed. Maria’s heart dropped from her chest, nestling in her sparkly ivory court shoes.

  ‘Cass, what!’ She gripped her bouquet tighter in her hand, causing a calla lily to break from its stem. It fell to the floor between them, and Maria’s eyes narrowed as she focused on the lone bloom.

  ‘He’s not coming, Mar, I’m so sorry.’ Cassie’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, at odds with her usual ball-busting, divorce-solicitor persona. Maria nodded, and her head kept nodding away.

  ‘Mar, can you hear me?’ Cassie stepped forward, taking the bouquet from her and dropping it onto a table nearby. Maria kept nodding, sinking into the chair that appeared like magic from behind her. Turning around, she saw the vicar, his hand on her shoulder, a kindly expression on his face. She could hear the murmurs of the congregation outside, no doubt sensing this wedding wasn’t going off without a hitch. In fact, there would be no getting hitched today. Maria’s cheeks flamed and tears started to run down her face. She jumped when Cassie slammed her fist down hard on the table, making her bouquet flip on the wooden surface.

  ‘That utter bastard! I swear, I am going to staple his nards to the wall!’

  Maria wiped at her tears, frowning when her make-up left a smudge on the pristine, white, long-sleeved glove she was wearing.

  ‘Stay here, okay. I’ll see what I can find out.’ Cass manhandled the vicar out of the door, muttering things about God and angels and pitchforks to him under her breath. ‘Stay put, okay? Don’t come out till I know what’s what.’

  Maria nodded to the already-closed door, feeling like her head was separate from her body. It felt like it was floating somewhere, free, above her head like a balloon. Shock. It must be. Either that or she was about to pass out. A beep shook her from her thoughts. Cass’s purse was on the table. Her mobile phone! Maria leaned forward and snatched it up, fumbling through the contents to grab the phone and bring up the call display. Before she could talk herself out of it, she dialled Darcy’s number and held her breath. It must be a mistake, Chinese whispers. He was probably stuck in traffic. Last-minute nagging from his mother, perhaps.

  He picked it up on the third ring.

  ‘Hello?’ he asked lazily. He sounded a little drunk even. ‘Hello, who is this? Hello?’

  ‘Darcy?’ It came out as a cracked whisper. ‘Where are you? Are you okay?’

  A tear ran down her cheek and she went to dab at it, trying not to ruin her expensive face paint.

  ‘Maria.’ It came out of his mouth, just like that. Flat, monotone. No excitement, no rushed explanations, no desperate plea for her to wait for him. He said it like he was disappointed it was her, regretted taking the call from a number he didn’t recognise. Cass and he had never been that close. ‘It’s you.’

  ‘Of course it’s me! I’m at the church. Are you here yet? The vicar said you’re not coming? What’s wrong?’

  At first, she didn’t hear anything, and she thought the call had dropped till she heard the ching of the glass. A sound she recognised. The glass coffee table in their apartment made that noise when she filled his favourite whisky tumbler and set it down next to her glass of wine as they settled down for the evening.

  ‘I’m not coming, Maria. I’m sorry.’

  At first Maria couldn’t decide whether to cry, wail or laugh. The words sounded so absurd, so silly. She half-expected him to start laughing, that laugh she loved to hear. The one that came from his belly as he celebrated another successful prank.

  ‘Don’t be daft, of course you’re coming. We’re getting married!’

  The glass clinked again, hard.

  ‘I can’t do it, Maria. I’m sorry. I … Mother … we …’

  Maria felt her heart break. ‘Darcy, I …’

  ‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’

  The line clicked, and he was gone. She went to press the button, to call him back, to shout, to cry, to ask him why he’d said those things. Why her Darcy, the man who should be nervously passing wind at the altar, chewing the fat with his best man to stay calm, was at home, drinking instead. Leaving the woman he loved sat in a dress, in an imposing church setting. Trapped. Stranded in her very own fairy tale. Maria pushed the phone back into Cass’s purse, throwing it onto the table as she heard her friend’s loud voice coming closer outside.

  ‘Mate, that best man is a total jackass, I tell you. I almost decked the arrogant swine!’

  ‘Cass,’ she whispered.

  ‘He won’t tell me where Darcy is, or give me his number, and apparently his family didn’t even show!’

  ‘Cass,’ she tried. Harder this time. Fighting to push the words out of her mouth, amidst the mess of her scrambled thoughts.

  Her friend turned and knelt before her again. Maria looked into her eyes and swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the huge lump in her throat. The more she swallowed, the thicker it felt.

  ‘Cass,’ she tried again, her voice betraying her. ‘Get me out of here, okay?’

  Cass nodded. Marching over to the window, she wrenched it open, looking outside. Seemingly satisfied that they had an escape route, she beckoned for her friend.

  ‘I scoped this out too, just in case. Come on, my car’s outside.’ Maria nodded and five minutes later she was in the passenger seat of her friend’s Mercedes, hunched low, being whisked away from her own wedding. For the first time in her life, she was glad her parents weren’t there to see how her life was going. Cassie placed a warm hand over hers.

  ‘Stay with me, okay? I’ll arrange for your stuff to be collected from Arsy’s.’

  Maria nodded, too numb to even complain about her friend’s nickname for her would-be groom. Darcy Burgess of the Burgess Tea empire, a well-respected Harrogate institution. Currently about to corner the Yorkshire market in herbal teas, they sold everything from ginger snaps to ornamental teapots to go with their amazing tea blends. Beatrice Burgess, the head of the family, was an all-encompassing woma
n, driven and one hundred per cent committed to making sure her children, Laura and Darcy, didn’t do anything to embarrass her beloved empire. She made the Godfather look like small potatoes, and her wrath wasn’t something to seek out.

  Darcy, who had just jilted her at the altar, in front of their friends. Darcy, who, up until yesterday, she had lived with in his plush apartment in Harrogate. She started to sob quietly. Cassie swore under her breath and turned on the radio, jabbing at the buttons as though they were part of Darcy himself.

  ‘Poncey git. Who wants to marry a Darcy anyway?’

  Maria looked across at her in exasperation. ‘Millions of women, Cass. Millions. Mr Darcy, Mark Darcy? Come on, I know you have that poster of Colin Firth on your fridge.’

  Cass’s lips pursed, and she grinned at her mate. ‘Okay, okay – but seriously, Mar, you’ll be okay. Everything will work out.’

  ‘I called him.’

  Cass looked at her, but said nothing, flicking her attention back to zooming through the streets.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He said sorry.’

  Cass’s lips clamped together, as though trying to ward off something unpleasant from being rammed between them, or trying to escape.

  ‘Oh, he’ll be sorry all right.’

  Maria nodded, looking down at the engagement ring on her finger. She didn’t think for one minute he would be, but what else could she say?

  ‘I’m hungry,’ was all she could think of. ‘I didn’t eat a thing this morning, I didn’t want a podge in my dress.’

  Her friend smiled. ‘I know just the thing to cheer you up.’

  Ten minutes later, a very startled food server was taking an order from a weepy bride and a very angry woman in a flouncy peach dress. They took a booth in the back, ignoring the stares of the lunchtime crew and the mothers feeding their children a junk-food treat. Cassie put the tray down in front of them, and Maria sank her teeth into a cheeseburger, a napkin shoved into the front bodice of her couture gown, one Darcy’s mother had insisted she wear, rather than one of her own designs. A glob of ketchup dripped from the side of the napkin onto the ivory material, and Maria wiped at it half-heartedly, leaving a small red dot on the fabric. Oh well, she thought to herself. Not like I’ll be saving it for my daughter, eh? She swallowed the last of her burger and looked across at Cassie, who was shovelling fries into her mouth while barking orders into her phone. She reached for hers out of habit, before realising that her bag, containing her keys and phone, was still in the hotel. In the space of a morning, I have lost my fiancé, my home and my sanity, she thought to herself glumly. The reality of her situation dawned again, and she felt the threat of her cheeseburger coming back up. Cassie barked out a final command and stashed the phone back inside her tiny peach purse. Her face paled as she looked at the current state of her childhood bestie.

  ‘Maria, you doing okay?’

  Maria looked across at her. ‘Cass, what the hell am I going to do?’

  Cass gripped her hand in both of hers, squeezing it tight. ‘Mar, you are going to pick yourself up, get a new place, go back to work, and never speak to Arsy again.’

  Maria smiled weakly at her, looking away quickly from the builder who was looking her up and down while devouring a family-sized box of chicken nuggets.

  ‘That easy, eh? Just like that?’

  ‘Yep.’ Cass’s eyes flashed with determination. ‘You can do it. And tonight,’ she continued, smiling devilishly, ‘we are going to get you very, very drunk.’

  Maria rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t go out tonight. I don’t even have anything to wear.’ She looked down at her wedding dress, to point out the elephant in the room. Cassie smiled weakly.

  ‘No night out. PJs, boxset, and copious amounts of Chinese food and alcohol.’

  Maria nodded. Not quite the night she had planned, but it sounded good right about now.

  ‘Deal,’ she said, slurping her vanilla shake. ‘But no Colin Firth.’

  Chapter 2

  One Week Later

  ‘What the hell! You have got to be kidding me!’ Maria slammed the local newspaper, the Westfield Times, onto her desk and stomped over to the kettle. She stabbed at the button, throwing ingredients into a mug. She reached into the biscuit barrel, shovelling a triple chocolate cookie into her mouth, mumbling as she chewed, before turning to the wall.

  ‘I mean, I am the ONLY wedding planner in Westfield! The only one! How could Agatha Mayweather go elsewhere, when all she does is prattle on about community, and giving back, and fighting big corporations!’ She thrust her arms out wildly as she spun around, cookie crumbs flying from her mouth. ‘I mean, seriously! I am going to ring that woman up and give her a piece of my mind!’

  ‘Who are you talking to, dear?’ a voice at the door asked. Maria whirled around, seeing her part-time assistant, Lynn, standing there, a large flask in hand. Maria flushed and pointed to the wall, where a picture of her mother was framed and hung up.

  ‘Sorry, Lynn, I was talking to Mum. The Baxters got married again, did you know that? From Love Blooms, the florist? They had a big event on Agatha’s estate, and I wasn’t even approached to help!’

  Lynn smiled kindly, closing the door against the slight breeze of the weather. It was quite autumnal already. She put the flask down on her desk and strode over to the wooden coat rack, taking off her cream faux fur coat.

  ‘I know, dear, they seem so happy now, and about time too. I did worry about them, when they passed the shop to Lily. Idle thumbs and all that.’ She waggled her own very busy thumbs in the air.

  Maria glared at her. ‘And!?’

  Lynn sat at her desk, pouring a slurp of tea from the flask into one of the many bone china mugs she kept at work. She sighed and looked at Maria as she stirred, trying to find the words.

  ‘Darling, Agatha didn’t want to bother you about planning a wedding when your … er … when you were supposed to be on honeymoon. Your diary was full, so she didn’t ask.’

  Maria’s shoulders slumped as realisation set in. ‘She didn’t want a wedding planner who got jilted at the altar, did she?’ It came out as more of a defeated statement than a question, and Lynn’s heart went out to her. She had watched Maria grow from a tiny baby to the beautiful woman standing before her, and whenever she thought of that wretched Darcy fellow, she found herself planning grisly things against his man parts with a crochet needle.

  She waved her hand, cutting off Maria’s rant. ‘No love, not at all. No one thinks that.’

  ‘Oh no?’ Maria shouted, dashing over to the appointments diary. ‘So how come I have no bookings then, for the rest of the month? Eh?’

  Lynn sighed slowly. ‘Maria, I know you’re upset, but think about it. The diary is empty because you were supposed to be on holiday, that’s all.’ She took a sip of tea and eyed her furtively, obviously expecting horns to sprout from her head at any moment. Maria sagged over the diary, deflated. ‘Oh,’ she said softly. ‘Of course, yes … sorry, Lynn.’

  Lynn raised her hand to wave off her employer’s apology. ‘Don’t give it a thought. Why don’t you take the time off anyway – go away somewhere or something? Nice change of scene, eh?’

  Maria shook her head. ‘I should be in St Lucia now. Somehow a week in some caravan in Skegness on my tod just doesn’t sound appealing.’ Lynn opened her mouth to speak again, but the phone on her desk started to ring. She smiled kindly at Maria and dealt with the customer. Maria went to the just-boiled kettle, pouring herself a huge mug of steaming hot coffee. As she added more sugar, she had to admit, if only in her own head, that she shouldn’t be at work. She felt like the angry wedding performer in that Adam Sandler movie. A movie she loved, and now couldn’t watch for fear of murdering someone, or herself, with a noose made from the finest lace she possessed. She should be glad she didn’t own a hardware store, the way she was feeling, but Lynn was right: work was going to be tricky, to say the least.

  She listened to Lynn discussing venues and prices with th
e person on the phone as she took her coffee into the back, to her office. Once there, she closed the door and sagged to the floor behind it, the steaming beverage clutched in her fingers. She took a gulp and, setting it on the coffee table, crawled across the floor and curled up on the couch in the corner. She covered herself over with a blanket, and promptly fell asleep.

  Lynn came in an hour later, tucked her in, and pulled the phone socket from the wall so she wouldn’t be disturbed. Maria looked exhausted, even in sleep, and Lynn frowned as she looked down at her. The poor girl, she thought as she brushed a strand of blonde hair away from her face. Closing the office door behind her, she went to the diary and looked over the next three months. Christmas was coming, and with it the party season, bringing a very welcome set of clients that had nothing to do with weddings. Lynn would book the diary up with these, and try to avoid doing any events. The business was doing well – if a little stalled since the wedding as regards the bigger, more lucrative jobs – so a couple of months off the wedding circuit wouldn’t do them any harm, and Lynn was determined to protect her employer as much as possible. She bit her lip as she fired up the computer, checking for any incoming enquiry emails that might derail her plan, but it appeared to be blissfully quiet on the nuptials front so far. It was a stroke of luck that Maria had put her own wedding at the end of the main season. Had this happened in spring, it would have been even worse. She just hoped Maria would be feeling better by the time the season was in full swing again. Being a jilted bride, wedding planner and owner of wedding boutique Happy Ever After wouldn’t bring Miss Mallory peace any time soon. Men, she thought to herself, seething at her feeling of helplessness. They really did have a lot to answer for sometimes.