The Wedding Diaries (26 page)

June 30th

This is exhausting. I’m so tired. We’ve done the fighting, we’ve done the making up, we’ve done the coming-to-an-agreement-about-doing-our-wedding-my-way. With his redundancy, Thom’s got more than enough to worry about at the moment, and I don’t ever want to make him feel that he was ever just a paycheque to me … but I also know how much we
need
this wedding to start our lives together right. I want to do it properly. I don’t want some forgettable register office legality. I want us to have a
good time
. A bit of colour. I don’t want to start our lives together in some half-cocked pale imitation of a celebration.

And I think Dad’s not well either. Every time I call he’s either asleep or in the bath. Has Mum poisoned him with a bad batch of curry? I’ll go round at the weekend.

I don’t know why I’m still writing all this. It’s gone from notebook and memento to … something else. A record of all my errors. A keepsake of the people who have let me down. A souvenir of how my wedding didn’t happen. I feel like I have no one else to talk to right now. With two weeks until her due date, Suse understandably isn’t particularly interested in our wedding, Thom feels a million miles away, Alice has surely reached saturation point when it comes to my ‘wedding issues’ and I can’t bear to attempt to engage my mother in any meaningful discussion on the subject.

I don’t know if this wedding will go ahead. I don’t know what’s happened here. Like school days, these should be some of the best days of my life: all that hope and excitement ahead of me. But, like school days, this is actually completely shit.

TO DO:

Work out what any of us are doing here.

July’s Classic Wedding!

We came to the door of the suite. ‘I think I had better deal with this alone,’ he said; ‘tell me something – do you mind how soon you marry me? You don’t want a trousseau, do you, or any of that nonsense? Because the whole thing can be so easily arranged in a few days. Over a desk, with a licence, and then off in the car to Venice or anywhere you fancy.’

‘Not in a church?’ I asked. ‘Not in white, with bridesmaids, and bells, and choir boys? What about your relations, and all your friends?’

‘You forget,’ he said, ‘I had that sort of wedding before.’

Rebecca

Daphne du Maurier

July 1st

When I got home tonight, Thom had just had Susie on the phone, in all sorts of terrible moods. Apparently she’d called to report that Pete had brought home completely the wrong type of bread and Mum had been on the phone at her asking if she’d had the baby yet. ‘
Yes
Mum,’ she’d apparently said, ‘I had the baby last week and I was waiting for you to call so I could tell you.’ Thom tried to keep her on the phone until I got back, hoping I could lift her spirits, but when he told her I’d walked in that moment he was suddenly on the receiving end of a dial tone.

Me: [taking the phone] Hello?
Hello?
Oh God, what have I done now?

Thom: Oh, leave her alone. She’s probably in labour.

Me: Ooooh, Mystic Thom speaks of the mysteries of women. You’re so attuned.

Thom: She probably is.

Me: Oh, man. That would be brilliant.

Thom just nodded knowingly and went back to tapping out secretive emails at his computer. I tried to call her but she wasn’t picking up, nor Pete, nor Mum.
Oooooh
.

TO DO:

Consider calling Susie in the morning to check she’s OK

Also consider that maybe at this moment she’s pushing a baby out

If she is OK, maybe see if she’s able to look into the flowers?

July 2nd

In the end, I didn’t call Susie this morning. She called me.

Susie: Morning!

Me: Morning. What’s new with you?

Susie: Nothing. You? [sounds in the background]

Me: Suse … what’s that noise?

Susie: Which one? The banging racket or the crying baby?

Me: The crying … baby?

Susie: That, my tiny-skulled betrothed little sibling, is your new niece, Frida Emily Carlow Miller. It turns out she was in my stomach
all this time
. Who knew?

Me: Bloody hell, Suse. If any of the nurses hear you baby Frida will be off to the orphanage.

Susie: Possibly.

[silence]

Me: OH MY GOD. You’ve had a BABY. Is it yours? Can you see her from where you are? Can I visit? Is it a baby? OH MY GOD.

Susie: Yes, I thought you’d say that.

I calmed down after a while, and congratulated them all on being bonkers crafty weasels, secreting herself away like a wild animal to birth her squirming infant, and she was happy with that comparison. They’ll be home at lunch and Thom and I are permitted an hour’s visit tonight
if
we bring foie gras and apple martinis for the parents. Which seems like a totally legitimate request from a nursing mother.

I could not be more excited. That clever old sister of mine. That beautiful baby. I’m so happy for them all.

July 4th

Alice brought in a tiny Tiffany bag and a little Bonpoint parcel today, and raised them to a great height before dumping them on my desk. She said, ‘It’s a rattle for the baby and some super-tiny outfits. They better make their way to your sister, Kiki – if I catch you wearing that baby toy on a necklace like some dreadful nineties raver I’ll have Hamilton’s private police force on you faster than you can say “But it looks better on me, officer”.’

I love it when she’s all rich and masterful. And when she allows me to convince my sister, albeit momentarily, that I love her child more than I love eating food and paying my bills.

July 5th

Susie says if I visit her any more frequently I’ll have to start doing household chores round there, which I said was ironic since she certainly hadn’t lifted a finger to clean the place up for the last week or so. As soon as I said it I thought I’d set her hormones off, but it was only when I said even Norman had asked after Frida that she started weeping copiously. I offered to take the kids out so she could have a rest, but she said she was so happy not to have that wriggling baby in her womb anymore that she didn’t know what to do. I think she’s fond of Frida. I’ve said we’ll add that baby to the wedding guest list
if
Susie finds her a giant pink bow for her bare baby scalp. Susie said maybe she and Pete might be busy on that date after all, but she would ensure Mum and
all
Mum’s friends could make it.

TO DO:

Research if bridesmaids dresses are available in a ‘dressing gown’ design (as requested by Susie)

Venue – on a boat? At London Zoo?

Dress – see if Mum has any suggestions

Wedding shoes – something from LK Bennett

Music: for introducing bride & groom, first dance, cake cutting, father/daughter dance and final dance

Catch up with Dad, and check that he finds the father/daughter dance as creepy as I do

July 6th

Dad’s in hospital. He’s OK. He had a small heart attack yesterday afternoon. Mum told us they’ve given him clot-buster injections and ECGs that show he’s much better than before. He’s got to stay in overnight, but he’s OK. He’s OK.

We went to see him and stayed and chatted with him for almost an hour.

Me: [with mock indignation] You’re fine! Do you have any idea how busy I am right now?

Dad: Well, it was either now or Christmas. And who else was going to put up all the Christmas decorations?

Me: Fair enough. [bursts into tears]

Dad: Oh, love. I’m alright. Plenty of life in this ticker, yet.

Then a frazzled nurse threw us out. He really bloody scared us.

That’s all.

July 7th

God, he scared us so much.

Mum took him home today. He looked better, tucked up on the sofa, making gentle jokes with everyone, grimacing a bit but with colour in his cheeks, smiling at Mum and taking our flowers and cards with an expression which spoke perfectly of his embarrassment at the fuss. When we said goodbye I hugged him so tight.

July 8th

The phone rang as I was running out of the door to get to Mum’s, with Thom jangling the keys at me, saying, ‘Leave it, Kiki!’ but I had a sudden moment where I thought – what if this is Mum? What if we shouldn’t go to theirs? What’s happened? But, even more shocking, it was Pamela Cooper.

Pamela: Hello, Kiki. This is Pamela Cooper calling.

Me: [stunned] Er … Hello, Pamela. Is this something to do with Polka Dot? Because it would be a lot better if I could call you from the office tomorrow.

Pamela: No, no, don’t be ridiculous. My son Anthony told me about your father.

Me: Oh.

Pamela: I thought that I would call on behalf of Polka Dot management, and say that if you need any time off, any time at all, you don’t need to worry about a thing. You must be with your father whenever you feel you need to be.

Me: Er … Thank you.

Pamela: Don’t thank me. Work is just work. It’s not people. The sooner you young folk learn that, the better by far for everyone. Don’t think I don’t see you, beavering away in that office. I’m no fool. And you’ve got enough on your plate without Polka Dot making
you
ill too. D’you hear me?

Me: Really, thank you. I’m just going to see him now, actually.

Pamela: Well, stop chatting to me, silly girl. Off you go.

Thom: What was that? Is Polka Dot closing down?

Me: No. Weirder. Pamela Cooper just rang because she was worried about me.

Not sure if there’s a recent head injury that would explain all this, but I was unnerved, and touched. This phone call came from a woman whose mantra is ‘Profit Before People’ so I am mystified to say the least. Maybe she’d been mainlining tequila at 5pm. Maybe someone had a gun to her head. Maybe she had a point. Mmm. I’ll check in with Tony tomorrow.

July 10th

Oh God. Dad back in hospital.

He’d been at home and was fine.

They were watching TV, Dad asking about when Susie and I were coming over next. Then Mum said his speech went all broken. His face was off white like porridge, and he clutched his chest and stared at Mum. She said she called an ambulance and went with him. She called us and we all went to the hospital and hung around the corridors until they said we should go home. They were putting in stents to make his heart work better and there was nothing we could do for him. Thom and I are sleeping in Mum and Dad’s guest room. I didn’t want to leave her, or miss a call from the hospital.

We’d all gone to bed tonight when I heard a noise from the kitchen. I pulled on my comfortable childhood dressing gown and went downstairs to investigate. Mum was there, sitting at the table. I put the kettle on and made us both a cup of tea. Mum warmed her hands on hers but didn’t drink anything. I put my hands around hers. We sat there until our teas had gone cold, not saying anything, and then we went upstairs together. She gave me a long hug, and I felt like crying.

Daddy, please be OK. Please don’t go anywhere. Please. Please don’t die, Dad.

July 16th

I haven’t written for days; I couldn’t. I couldn’t think about the wedding at all, when all I wanted in the whole world was for my dad to be alright again. Thom’s been really sweet, checking me over each morning to see that my shoes are matching and I haven’t forgotten to put a top on, but I’ve been fairly useless at work, coming back to the hospital to see Dad each evening when he’s mostly been asleep, or completely zonked on whatever they’re giving him and not so great at small talk. Thom’s parents have been lovely too, calling each night to check on us all. Our July treat, theatre tickets, went to Alice as neither of us could face it.

July 17th

Dad looked better tonight, so much better. His skin is actually skin-coloured now, rather than wet-newspaper-coloured (which it was when he first came in), also something of a relief. Mum still hovered around him like a nervous fly but after a few minutes, he asked her if she wouldn’t mind getting us all some dreadful hot drinks, please, and Thom (recognising the international code for privacy) offered his assistance. When they’d left the room, I asked Dad if he was about to die. He laughed, thank God, which was promising. ‘No love,’ he said, ‘I’m not about to die. I hope. But I did want to give you these just in case, before you went and did anything rash like marrying.’ He’d been fishing in his bedside drawer, and came up with a little blue velvet ring box. He put it in my shaking hand, and said, ‘Open it, please.’ I lifted the lid and saw two wedding rings, one slim and pale gold, one thicker and platinum, both fashioned to look battered and scarred and beautiful. ‘Quite a special commission, this one. Hence why I couldn’t take yours, you see. Sorry, love.’ I gaped at him. ‘Yes, it turns out that fellow you’ve picked up is quite eager to keep a roof over your dad’s head too. Don’t worry – I overcharged him grotesquely.’ I didn’t know what to say. Two of the people I trust the most in the whole world sneaking behind my back. Pretty good.