The Wedding Diaries (32 page)

Inside the school kitchens, I peeped my head around the door and saw her being taught by Mike, with infinite patience, how to ice the cinnamon buns for one of the desserts. She looked at him with such sweetness and … gratitude … that I thought maybe she’d actually be nice to this one, and maybe we
all
might be a bit grateful. They were so happy together, so sweet that I wanted to creep off without breaking their moment, but Mike saw me and waved, and Eve smiled shyly at me, caught being happy in love. ‘Eve,’ I said, coming towards her, ‘that is one
nice
tent. Thank you.’ She threw her arms around me, and we swung one another round and round, giggling like anything, until I saw the cake over Mike’s shoulder. I gasped: a giant multicoloured three-tiered Greek-pillared monster cake of chocolate gateau at the base, coffee and walnut in the middle and a light, pale yellow lemon and poppy seed on the final level, topped with a bright golden crown. It couldn’t have made me happier, and it must have shown because when I looked over, Mike and Eve were beaming at me. Eve said, ‘Mike did that,’ as if I didn’t know, but she was so proud of him that I gave her another hug and she hugged and hugged me back. I gave Mike a hug too and Eve said, ‘Get a room, you two,’ but when I looked at her she was smiling and happy, and we all hugged until Mike said, ‘Much as I’m enjoying this, don’t you have plans today, Kiki?’ and I laughed at how happy I was for everyone and for myself and left them to it.

Susie found me and grabbed my arm, insisting if she didn’t start on my hair and makeup soon then I’d only have myself to blame if I looked like Ken Dodd when I walked down the aisle. She walked me back over the road to Mum and Dad’s house and plonked me in front of the dressing table in her old room and covered the mirror, so I couldn’t see what she was doing until she was done. She sprayed my hair and combed it, feathering it upwards and sticking hairclips in slowly and steadily, occasionally standing back to admire her work. Then she told me to close my eyes, and began slathering my face in all the unguents and pastes in her bag, using fingers and brushes at a brisk, confident speed. Far sooner than I’d expected, she smiled beatifically at me and told me I was ready. When she whipped away the cloth on the mirror, I saw she’d transformed me hastily but effectively into a perfect jungle-ready tiger.

Me: Thank you, Susie, this is perfect.

Susie: You are
more
than welcome.

Me: MUM! It turns out Susie won’t be coming to the wedding as she’ll be too busy falling down the stairs.

Susie: [shocked]
Kiki!
And me, a mother of two! Wait. Three!

Me: Fine. Redo my face or I’ll put Lily in a frilly pink bridesmaid’s dress. It’s not too late. You
know
Mum has one.

Susie: I’m doing it I’m doing it I’m doing it …

She did a wonderful job in the end. Fortunately I have all the good genes anyway, but she covered the blemishes that had stress-bloomed overnight and made me glowy and dewy in all the right ways and smoothed my hair back down, and bundled it up into a scrappy bun into which she stuck some tiny rosebuds. She was just patting (or rubbing or dabbing or whatever it is you’re supposed to do) some highlighter onto my browbones when there was a scuffle behind the door, some muttering, the sound of Mum twittering and Dad laughing, then the door opened to reveal a smiling Jacki, and Pedro looking sheepish.

Jacki: Happy wedding day! I’ve brought you a present.

Pedro: [waving like a member of the Royal Family] Hello! Sorry I was such a shit! I’m here to take photos of your special day and make everyone look wonderful but you most wonderful of all.

Susie: Aren’t you …?

Pedro: You must be Susie! My delight knows no bounds.

Within moments, Susie was won over by his charm and I was won over by his working for free (or at least that’s what Jacki insisted – heaven knows how much she shelled out for him) so we were all friends, and he snapped away madly while Jacki brought out a bottle of champagne from her giant Mulberry handbag and foamed it into four paper cups they’d snatched from the kitchen on the way up. Jacki wouldn’t be in any of the photos, but instead made Susie and me laugh wildly by telling us stories of all the famous people she’d met so we’d look like laughing cover stars in all Pedro’s shots. Then he said he wanted a photo of me with my dress before I’d got into it, so we squeezed into Mum and Dad’s room where the dress was hanging in Mum’s best dress bag on the outside of the wardrobe. We were all giggling by then – having Jacki Jones and Pedro in my childhood house was weird enough, but a glass of champagne on an empty stomach made me giddier than would be legal if someone had the sense to legislate these things. The others were giggling even more than me. Then Susie unzipped the dress bag with a huge flourish and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. That wasn’t my dress. The dress Mum had found was fine enough now I’d got used to it – strapless, clean-lined, not hugely memorable. But this wasn’t that dress. This was THE dress. It was beautiful. Susie told me that Mum had been up all night rejigging that classic strapless dress into my beautiful dream; she’d layered a frosting of organza and tulle over one shoulder and down to the floor, to create an asymmetric frock with a huge flower on one gathered hip. It was so clean, so perfect. I gave a giant sob and Susie had to grab me in a Chinese burn to stop me from ruining all her good makeup work, but Pedro kept snapping away so I was laughing too. He paused long enough to get me out of the dressing gown and into most of the dress (with Jacki shouting, ‘Stop shooting for a minute, Ped! This isn’t bloody
Heat
magazine – we’re not after a cellulite snap. Sorry, Kiki’) then got more of Susie positioning the wide soft strap on one shoulder and adjusting the flower, putting the shoes on my feet (I mime kicking Suse, she mimes rolling over on the floor, yelling, we both find ourselves hilarious and laugh even harder) and tidying my messy-chic hair (cost: £0.50, for one hairband and Mum’s can of hairspray).

Then suddenly it was noon, and Dad was poking his head around the door saying, ‘You ready, love?’ and I could hear Mum in the background shooing Thom and his gang out of the house and over the road, and everything seemed to suddenly be very quiet. Jacki said, ‘We’ll see you outside, yeah, Kiki?’ and shoved Pedro out in front of her, while Susie fished into the bedside drawer for a folded paper choice-maker. She made me pick a colour and a number, then worked it and lifted my chosen flap to say, ‘You will have a wonderful day and a brilliant marriage.’ Blimey. That’s weirdly apt. ‘Come on, time to hit the crowds.’ She gave me a peck on the cheek and a wave, and she was gone too. Dad came and took my shaking hand. ‘It’s not too late, love. You don’t have to marry him. I’m sure we can find you a rotter that I can worry myself sick over, rather than some fellow who loves you and wants to treat you right. What do you say, Katherine? Shall we jump in my car and I can drop you off at the station?’ I gave him my best smile, then thought of Thom waiting for me and gave him an even better smile, and said, ‘Thanks, Dad, but I really do have plans. But I’m incredibly glad you’re here to offer.’ We walked downstairs together and he gave me a bear hug at the front door, then Susie and Eve and Dad and I crossed the road to the school.

Over the way, the school had been transformed still further. The paths were lined with more multicoloured helium balloons at waist height, tied to the ribbons along the path edges. They bobbed in the breeze, and in the distance I could hear some Nina Simone. A few latecomers were sprinting onto the school fields, and gave me a wave. Pedro poked his head around the edge of the building, then must have given Jim a signal, because as we turned the corner onto the pitches, the music changed. It was ‘Cheek to Cheek’, picked out on the school piano by Jim, at the front of the gathered crowd. Thom was at the front, next to Rich, standing with his back to me. Everyone was watching my end of the aisle, so when he turned round to face me no one saw the fake fangs he’d put in at the last moment, but – hugely gratifyingly – his mouth fell open when he saw me. I smiled at him, so happy, worried that I might just fall down or fall over or fall back into the arms of those people around me who loved me, all because it was overwhelming to realise how much the person in front of me loved me too.

Dad took one arm and Mum the other, and Eve and Susie linked arms and walked ahead with Edward leading them while Lily stood with Jim, turning the pages. We walked down the aisle, this procession of fondness, and smiled and smiled (or at least I suspect they did – I could do nothing else but smile and smile and smile at Thom ahead of me). They led me to the front, then stopped, and I walked the last few steps to Thom on my own, and thought of everything that had happened, how we’d met, where we’d been, how we’d changed, and I thought that more than anything – more than Louboutins and designer cakes, more than toastmasters and the perfect favours – I wanted to wake up every morning next to him, and make him laugh for the rest of our lives. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Touché,’ I said, which didn’t really mean anything but still made us both laugh a bit. Then the service began.

Considering how many hours of my life I’d spent thinking about this event, I don’t really remember anything of the ceremony. It was a happy blur. I know Alice welcomed everyone, and Susie read a poem she’d written herself that was unbelievably sweet and funny, and we all sang ‘God Only Knows’ by The Beach Boys as Jim played along on the piano, and I couldn’t stop laughing, and I know Thom and I promised to be nice to one another As Long As We Both Shall Live, and I know everyone cheered when we kissed, which was lovely but a little bit unnerving like being in a pantomime, and Thom’s mum and dad said a lovely little blessing speech, and the next thing I knew we were walking back down the aisle, and Jim was playing Billy Idol’s ‘White Wedding’ in the hilarious style of a lounge singer, and we were all being handed glasses of champagne by Mum’s lovely friends who didn’t seem to mind at all that they weren’t proper guests as it meant they could be Useful and Appreciated, instead of glaring at one another’s hats. I saw Carol and Norman together, holding hands and looking like they’d just discovered sliced bread. My Aunt Pepper and Uncle Joe were playing with their grandchild while Emma and Rocky chatted to Zoe, Alice and Greta. Thom’s hand didn’t stay in mine for long as we chatted to different people around the field, but I kept feeling a hand at my waist or on the small of my back, or would hear, ‘Don’t you publishers scrub up well,’ muttered in my ear and see him drifting away from me again, deadpan, and it would make my face-splitting smile creep back on. Then Rich tapped a glass and let everyone know that Dad and Thom wanted to say a few words, so we filed into the tent and stood around under the balloons with glasses of champagne while they gave short speeches, brief and full of love, thanking everyone and making me incredibly proud of both of them and of myself. They were lovely.

Everyone had a few minutes of milling around, then Thom called us all back outside, and we saw that he and Rich had laid out a rounders pitch on the sports field. He announced that they were the team captains, and that he picked me. Thank God. Rich called Pete, then Thom called Greta and Rich went for Suse. Norman and Carol pleaded old age, and sat in deck chairs with Mum, Dad, Rich’s girlfriend Heidi (looking from her shape as if she might go into labour any minute) and Alan and Aileen, sipping fruit punch and calling out suggestions. The picking went on for a couple of minutes until we were all divvied up, while Thom tucked my skirt into the dipped neckline at the back for me to take up first base. Jacki was bowling, and it came as a fantastic surprise to find that she and Pedro (as backstop) made a killer pair, with me as an only-slightly-weaker member of the vital fielding trio. Uncle Joe, Mum’s younger brother, was caught out almost instantly, but Rich made it to second before being run out by Pete. Thom’s old colleagues were astoundingly good, but other Tom and my old boss Fiona managed to nearly knock each other out trying to catch a high ball. We managed a whole innings fielding and batting before we realised that more important than the score was the fact that we were absolutely starving, so Mum declared we were now free to tuck into the food: plates of tomato salads and potato salads and pasta salads, and piles and piles of sausages and hamburgers and tuna burgers and veggie burgers, and trayloads of bread rolls and little iced bowls of butter. Oh, that was
one
good-looking spread
, suitable for the most fairytale of weddings. Thom and I stood back for seven whole minutes until we agreed that if anyone hadn’t taken their fill yet it was completely and totally their own fault, then we piled up our own plates with the feast before us. Salad niçoise with tiny anchovies! Filo parcels of feta and mint! Asparagus quiche cut into little squares!
Miniature burritos!
Yes. You understand. Once everyone had eaten most of their meal, Rich stood up, tapped his glass with his knife and opened: ‘I can’t begin to tell you what an honour it was when I was asked to be best man at the wedding of Tim and Kelly. I enjoyed it so much – and figured the names were close enough – that I thought I could probably use the same speech for this occasion too. Keep me posted with how this goes.’ He went on for twenty minutes and – as with the best captive and willing audiences – we had tears of laughter running down our faces by the end. He gave away none of our dark secrets, but instead said that while most people find organising a wedding a living nightmare, ‘Thom and Kiki have brought everything everyone loves about them to make a magical party for all of us that we’ll never forget.’ High praise indeed from someone with one-and-a-half eyebrows.