Wedding Belles
Authors: Sarah Webb
For Mags Walsh with love and respect.
A true champion of children’s books.
Dear Reader,
When my sister Emma got married, I was one of her bridesmaids. I wore a turquoise lace dress and, over my shoulders, a little white cardigan with sky-blue flowers embroidered around the neck.
It was a wonderful day, full of joy and laughter. At the reception my two sisters and I (Emma, and Kate, who was also a bridesmaid) sang into champagne bottles along with the ABBA tribute band and then danced till our feet hurt. Weddings are very special events, and it has been so much fun writing about Sylvie and Dave’s wedding (Amy’s mum and stepdad).
This is the very last book about Amy and all her friends and family. I’ve loved every minute of writing her story, and I’ll treasure Amy and Clover in my heart forever. It’s hard to say good-bye to characters that you love, but it’s time for me to invent some new characters and to bring
them
alive.
Thank you for reading Amy and Clover’s adventures. I hope you have enjoyed reading them as much as I have enjoyed writing them. Thank you to everyone who has written to me over the past few years. I treasure all your letters and e-mails. And look out for my brand-new series in the future.
“What about white doves?” Clover taps her pink gel pen against her teeth. “No, I’ve got it — butterflies! When Dave and Sylvie are saying their vows, we open a box and
voilà
! Out flutter hundreds of real live butterflies. I saw it in a movie once.” Sylvie is my mum, and Dave is her fiancé, soon-to-be husband, if we ever manage to get through our mega-long wedding to-do list.
We’re sitting on the small red sofa in my crazy aunt Clover’s “office,” which is basically a glorified shed at the bottom of her garden. Clover’s waving her hands in the air and getting completely carried away with this whole wedding-planning thing. Her large pink notebook is jogging up and down on her knee.
“Clover, that’s really cruel,” I say. “And where would we get butterflies in April exactly?” Mum and Dave’s wedding is on Tuesday, April 30, my fourteenth birthday. Mum asked whether I minded them hijacking my special day, as it was the only day between April and June that the hotel was available, and I said of course not. I mean, what else could I say? At least I’ll never forget their wedding anniversary!
“The Internet, of course,” Clover says simply, as if it’s perfectly normal to buy insects online. “But maybe you’re right — it is a bit cruel. And doves might poop on the guests’ heads.” She pauses, her eyes twinkling. “I wonder if you can train birds to do droppings on particular people’s heads. Can you imagine Shelly’s face?” She acts out Shelly being pooped on, her eyes popping wide, her mouth pulled into a dramatic wail. “My hair,” she squeals, doing a take-off of Shelly’s high-pitched, slightly breathy voice perfectly. “Art, I’m being attacked. Save me!” She clutches my arm.
Clover was dead set against Mum inviting Art, my dad, and Shelly, his newish wife, to the wedding, but Mum said that in the “spirit of reconciliation” they both had to be there. Dave just shrugged and said whatever Sylvie wanted was fine by him.
I agreed with Mum. Shelly isn’t that bad these days, and my little sis, Gracie, just has to be there. Shelly has already bought Gracie’s outfit, and I can’t wait to see her in the adorable teeny-tiny pink-taffeta dress.
“Dad’s terrified of birds,” I remind Clover. “He’d be straight out of the church screaming as soon as he spotted one.”
Clover grins. “Doves it is, then.” She’s never had much time for Dad. I know he can be a bit self-obsessed sometimes, but he’s still my dad. I frown at her.
“Only kidding, Beanie. Settle your tights.” She gives a raggedy sigh. “This whole wedding business is tougher than I ever imagined. Who knew there were so many persnickety details to decide on?” She stares down gloomily at her notebook.
“I hear you,” I say. “But at least Mum moved the date forward. I know the olds keep saying we can’t possibly arrange everything in two months, but are they crazy? Eight weeks is forever.”
“True, but after everything that’s happened, I want it to be practically perfect in every way. She is my only sis, after all.”
Mum and Dave were supposed to be getting married in February, on Valentine’s Day, but the date crept nearer and nearer, and Mum still hadn’t organized her dress, the food, the invitations, the flowers, the cake. . . . The list was endless. When Clover finally confronted her about it, Mum broke down and admitted that she was freaking out about the wedding plans (not for the first time either) and needed more time to get everything sorted. So Clover offered to help, and she dragged me in as her matrimonial assistant. Now Mum is leaving everything, except choosing her wedding dress, to us. And Clover has cake and pink champagne on the brain. I’m well used to Clover’s madcap schemes, though.
As well as attending college to study English and art history, she works as an agony aunt for the
Goss
magazine, answering all the problem letters that readers send in, sometimes solving them in person. We’ve helped readers with boy dilemmas (Wendy), parental problems (Romie), brother worries (Dominique), and bullying (Alanna). It feels good to be able to help people, and I love spending time with Clover. Mum says that Clover is a force of nature, and I know exactly what she means. Life is never boring with Clover around.
“There’s only one thing for it, if we want to get this wedding organized soon,” Clover says, sitting up a little. “I was hoping to avoid dragging you into this, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Bean Machine, what are you doing on Saturday?”
I narrow my eyes. What’s she up to now?
“It depends,” I say carefully.
“Coola boola! Bridal Heaven, here we come.”
“Bridal Heaven? What’s that?”
“Only the biggest wedding fair in the country. Nuptial nirvana, Beanie, old girl. I have free tickets through a contact at the
Goss
. We’ll blitz the place and get the final details of this wedding-schmedding settled once and for all, including Dave’s groom’s outfit.”
I put my head in my hands and groan. “A wedding fair sounds appalling, Clover.”
“You could always drag Seth along for the ride.”
“Are you bonkers?”
“Frightened he might propose, Love Bean?”
“No! He’s fourteen. As if.”
“You’re right. Seth’s too young to be of any use — and he’s not Dave’s size. But don’t worry. I have a dastardly plan, Batman.”
“Why does that make me very, very nervous?”
She hoots with laughter. “You love my dastardly plans, Beanie, admit it.”
I sigh, then smile. She’s right. Even though her plans sometimes hit elephant-size glitches, largely they rock. As I said, life’s a lot more interesting with Clover around!
