The Wedding Diaries (29 page)

July 31st

Just less than three weeks to go. Having utterly abandoned Martha Stewart’s wedding checklist (Book master of ceremonies! Check bridal gifts have been sent! Order monogrammed thank you stationery!) I thought I’d browse some forums for any last-minute tips. (If you’re looking for some affordable foliage for your wedding day, why not try the back of a funeral home! Can’t afford favours? Ask every guest to pick up a bag of sweets from a petrol forecourt shop!). Error, error,
error
. Rather than helpful tips, these forums have opened up a world of pain, a world I don’t ever, ever want to face again. I have truly looked into the heart of darkness. There’s a certain tone on there that is remarkably reminiscent of Rose’s planning emails – It’s My Day, And I Can Basically Do What I Want. And If Any Of You Call Me On It, I Won’t Speak To You For Years And I Will Always, ALWAYS Feel Like I Have The Moral High Ground. Between our grandmother’s generation and ours it’s like something slipped – something that was originally ‘Oh, poor thing, of course the bride might be nervous on her wedding day, being unlikely to have seen this many people, having never been let out of the schoolroom/kitchen before’, has somehow become ‘The Bride is absolutely, positively allowed – nay –
encouraged
– to behave as if this party is the only thing anyone will ever be invited to, and she can be a total monster to everyone who has ever passed five words with her because that adds to the magic of the day so much more than if she somehow was just relaxed and happy albeit a bit worried that there might not be enough drink for everyone’. How did this happen? How did we let ourselves get into this state? There are women on these forums asking if their sister, who’s recently had a miscarriage, has a right to be upset that the bride’s asked her to sit at the children’s table. Women who have had arguments bad enough for the grooms to cancel the wedding because she didn’t want his parents on the top table, because it was
her
parents who paid for the event.

I read one woman’s story, about her fury and crushing disappointment (‘all I can do is cry’) that her husband made the mistake of booking their honeymoon in her current, actual name, rather than her imaginary married name. She grieves that her honeymoon, while enjoyable, will always be slightly ruined by that name on her ticket being not magically transformed into that of the man she’s marrying. Obviously –
obviously
– a completely legitimate complaint. A complaint akin to one’s families being torn across a religious divide, or one’s husband being sent to war, or being forbidden from marrying the person you’re in love with by your own government. The nightmare of a bridesmaid getting pregnant out of step with your plans, or a mother pleading to wear a hat she likes despite the fact that the one you’ve chosen is
all
you want to make your wedding perfect … These are all equal concerns. Definitely equal and totally valid.

Enough. My best friend, who I want to spend the rest of my life with, lost his job and his first concern was my tantrums, over a dress I’ll wear for a few hours. My dad was hiding his heart medicine and having minor heart attacks while all I could think of was the crockery I needed or the candles I wanted or how to match the napkins to my fake eyelashes. The wedding I was inspired by and jealous of was a complete lie, and that strong, funny woman is crushed by the twin weights of betrayal by the man she loved and the expectations and assumptions of an audience baying for more – more glitter! More glamour! More expense! More wedding!

Can I be human again? Can I forget everything that’s happened? Is it too late to have a great party for everyone we love and who is kind enough to come and see us promise that we’ll try to be nice to one another for as long as we both shall live? Oh, that could be a
really
good time.

I’ve got someone I love more than anyone else in the world, and he loves me too. How could I want a single thing more than that? What is it that’s really important?

TO DO:

Convince the man I’m trying to marry that I’m definitely not a dick

Plan a wedding

August’s Classic Wedding!

The wedding was very much like other weddings, where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own. ‘Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business! Selina would stare when she heard of it.’ But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union.

Emma

Jane Austen

August 2nd

So many lovely responses to our invitations already. My adorable and very, very funny (and very much favourite) cousin Emma says she and her boyfriend can now come, as the baby can manage that journey no problem, plus her parents will be there to help out with him so they can let their hair down; Other Tom says it sounds like this is a bash he can get behind and he will be delighted to join us; and lovely-Greta-who-was-the-best-thing-about-the-Noses-marrying says that she has recovered enough from previous weddings this year to attend our spousal picnic-bash. Alan and Aileen are really excited about travelling for three days to get to their only child’s wedding, going from their hilarious almost-daily calls to us. Mum wrote a really, really nice card too, saying that they’re looking forward to it so much. She’d also written:

It’s a tough job to organise a party for so many people when you have such a lot of other things to think of at the same time, but you’re doing it so well. This will be a wonderful event just perfect for you two, and we’re so honoured to be invited.

Which was nice.

And last night, while we were watching a very old
Quantum Leap
episode, Thom turned to me with the air of one who doesn’t really want to know the answer, and said, ‘Out of curiosity, how much are the Orders of Service costing us? I know that nice letterpress stuff you like isn’t particularly cheap.’

I was glad to be able to turn to him with a triumphant air.

Me: Oh, Thom, how little you know me. I have found Orders of Service that will cost us approximately £3.

Thom: Each? Oh, boy.

Me: Oh, no no
no
, in total. And a coffee cake.

Thom: This seems like some weird new internet bartering thing. Are we going to suddenly be in the middle of a banking scam?

Me: No. Dan in our Art department is using those designs from our invitation to throw together an Order of Service. The £3 is for card to print them on, and the coffee cake is the only payment Dan would take.

Thom: I might actually be able to go halves on that.

Then he looked at me thoughtfully.

Thom: Kiki, how did you pay for your dress?

Me: Credit card. Don’t. I know. I’ve only paid off half.

Thom: [laughing] But the shop’s completely closed down?

Me: Yup, gone. Like a bride in the night.

Thom: But your money, Bride-in-the-night, is not gone. If it’s on your credit card, you can get it back.

Me: [takes a moment to dance around the kitchen] Wait. You couldn’t have mentioned this a little sooner?

Thom: Do you mean while I was being made redundant or when your dad had a heart attack?

Me: Oh, you kidder.

We toasted our luck with mugs of tea and my heart felt so much lighter. Then I baked the cake and brought it to Dan with the air of one who knows someone is about to do them a favour worth several hundred pounds in return for one small gateau. But he was on fine form, and once he’d located the artwork from the invitations, simply bashed out the Order of Service in half an hour, while I hovered over his shoulder like a nervous client. Have I ever been as interested in a book’s jacket as I was in this? To be fair, probably – and nobody is going to be paying for one of these, so even if it looked like it had been thrown together with some ClipArt, no one was going to refuse to be involved with our wedding. But it did look lovely, thanks to Dan, with some text on the back to entertain the crowd while we’re getting our vows out at the front. They were printed off in twenty minutes and completed before my lunch hour was even over. Now
that
, my friends, is Wedding Efficiency.

Thom gave them the thumbs up this evening, and we celebrated their success with a jug of sloe gin and a Thai takeaway from round the corner. This is totally the life.

Speaking of which, I really look forward to the hen on Friday. It’s not huge – me, Susie, Alice, Rose, Greta, my old boss Fiona and Eve. Susie’s found us a great restaurant which serves Brazilian food (she’s never really got over her two months ‘travelling’ there after university) and a club nearby where we’re on the guest list. I’ve picked out my finest dress, my tallest shoes and my glossiest handbag, and we shall enjoy tomorrow night with some sparkling conversation, fine food, sophisticated wine and some hip-shaking to the best tunes around. Oh yeah.

And speaking of cake – Eve has sent me the most helpful of offers, via Mike’s job: baker. Baker! He’s offered us any dessert we’d like. Will talk to him next week about possible plans. Delight!

TO DO:

Music – pull together all our favourite songs for a playlist at the reception

Alcohol – Calais run?

Make list of photos we’d like on the day for Susie

Check how Dad is

August 5th

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! Lovely time with lovely freinds and dancing alllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

August 6th

Oh God. Call off wedding. I’m dying.

August 7th

Slowly.

Shh.

I can just about see now.

I spent all day yesterday crying at every advert on TV but now I remember … I remember Friday morning. I remember my working day on Friday, and I remember going to Alice’s to get ready for our night out. I remember dinner … no. Wait. I remember the starter, and most of the main. I remember Rose offering everything from her own wedding that we wanted, and any help she could give. That made me feel even worse about being so mean about her. Oh God. I
don’t remember dessert
. There was something … aflame? Did we have crêpes Suzette? No. Thom tells me that apparently Susie knocked over the candle and set fire to the tablecloth. Then we were asked to leave. OK. I remember walking to the club – the air must have sobered us all up a bit, because I have a clear image of Greta giving us all bottles of water in the club, then realising they were £5 each and taking them all back off us. We had our heads under the taps in the toilets for ages, and I remember dancing, feeling much better. Then … oh. Then Eve arrived late and bought us all tequila shots to apologise. Then … I have a memory of Alice taking the mic from the DJ, and giving a shout-out to everyone in publishing … I can remember the silence after that, and I remember hearing a song Thom and I danced to at an indie club when we first met, and texting him … Thom doesn’t remember. What? I’m telling him that it was about half midnight. He didn’t get it, he says. I’m checking my phone.

Oh.

Fuck.

I sent this:

I LOVE YOU! They playing Olivers ARmy and I THINK OF YOU I LOVE YOU FOREVER no words how i much love love love xxxx

To:

Clifton Black.

TO DO:

Find out about changing name after wedding. And before wedding. And changing jobs. And face.

August 9th

I met Mike today at lunchtime, to talk about our cake. I asked Thom if he wanted to come too, but he said that if he couldn’t trust me with arranging a free cake from a master baker, I wasn’t worth marrying anyway.

It was nice to meet Mike on his own. The more we talked, the more I understood why Eve was with him. He wasn’t
charming
in a serial-seducing way, but was just very good company; kind, thoughtful, witty. My brain instinctively thought:
If I was single
… before it veered away at the ironic horror of that joke. I’ll wait a while before I expect Eve to find that thought funny. She’s clearly talked about us a lot, as he seemed to know everything.

Mike: So are you sure you’re happy to leave it all up to me? I’ve got your major dislikes here … [points to notes, reading only: NO ANIMAL-SHAPED CAKES]

Me: Yee-es. There was one other thing …

Mike: [picking up pen again] OK, go ahead.

Me: [taking a deep breath]

I’veneverseenEvelikethisandifyouhurtherI’llhuntyou-downand destroyyou. [exhales]

Mike: Do you mean that?

Me: Not really. But you know what I mean.

Mike: I do. And I’m flattered.

Phew. I thought for a moment I’d lost my free wedding cake.

August 12th

At 8.45 this morning when I definitely should have been getting ready for work, the phone rang and Thom leapt out of bed to answer it. I would probably have preferred him to stay at that particular moment, considering what we’d been doing at the time of the phone call, but his face when he came back was (almost) enough to make up for it.