Don't Tell the Groom (34 page)

‘OK, great,' he says, as he walks up the path.

I go back into the lounge and Lou has managed to pull herself together and stop crying.

‘So, how are we going to give it to Mark and how are we going to make him watch it?' I ask.

Having a video worthy of winning an Oscar is one thing; making Mark watch it is going to be quite another. Having
lived with him for almost five years I've never once been able to force him to watch
Strictly Come Dancing
.

‘Well, I phoned Kinetic-Co today,' Lou says, ‘I might have told a small lie and I might have found out that their finance department is in block 4, which uses gate B. I'm just going to hang out near the exit until I see Mark's car and then I'll follow him until he stops. I'll have a laptop with me on the off-chance he'll watch it with me, and if not I'll force him to take a DVD.'

‘You can't just hang around in the car for hours – you're pregnant.'

‘I'll be fine. It's not like it's cold outside. I'll just put the seat back a little, listen to Radio 1. Believe me, it will be far less stressful then being in the office for two hours.'

I'm really not convinced by Lou's plan. It doesn't sound like a winning plan to me. I think about doing it myself, but as Mark hasn't returned my calls I'm guessing I'm the last person that he wants to see right now. All I can do is hope that Lou's plan works, as right now I am running out of time and options.

To say yesterday had dragged would be an understatement. Yesterday was the longest day in the history of mankind.

I got up at the crack of dawn; I showered, shaved and moisturised myself in all the necessary places. I blow-dried my hair into little ringlets, which is Mark's favourite style, and I put on a full face of make-up. All before 7 a.m. All in preparation for when Mark watched the video and came running back to me.

I went to bed at midnight on the penultimate night of my single life alone, still fully dressed.

I was hoping that Mark would have come home. Lou had phoned me to tell me the sorry story. Her plan actually worked and she'd followed his car to a petrol station. She apparently waddled over to him and before he had a chance to fill up the car with petrol she started talking to him about
the video. He turned to look at her before telling her that he didn't want to hear anything she had to say and that he didn't want to watch ‘a fucking video'. Mark
never
swears. He is quite possibly the maddest I've ever known him to be.

Lou said she did manage to frisbee the DVD into his car before he got in and drove away. She said he wasn't rude to her, but I'm guessing that's because she looks pretty pregnant now. The upside of getting a pregnant woman to fight your battles seems to be that the other person isn't allowed to shout at them. The downside is that by the time Lou had waddled back to her car Mark had sped away and we still don't know where he's staying.

I was desperate for me and Mark to have this all ironed out last night as my mum is due to turn up any minute now. I didn't want to have to explain the case of the missing fiancé to her. I sort of hoped it would all come good and we'd get married, live happily ever after, and no one else would have to know.

The doorbell rings. I know I have to answer it, but it's like I'm wading through treacle to get to it. I've stopped jumping when the doorbell rings now as I know it won't be Mark. At this time in the morning it will only be my mother.

‘Hello, darling,' she says.

I go to kiss her hello and all I can do is stare at her hand because it is carrying my wedding dress in a garment bag.
The wedding dress for the wedding that probably isn't going to happen.

‘My goodness. You look, um,' she says, barging past me. I know I look a state. I've been sitting on the edge of my bed contemplating what the hell I'm going to do rather than washing off last night's make-up, which is smeared all over my face.

‘I've made a list of everything we have to do today. Now where's Mark? I need to hide the dress before he sees it.'

‘He's not here.'

‘Excellent, I'll go and put it in the spare room wardrobe. When's he coming back?'

I don't have the energy to talk any more so I just shrug my shoulders.

‘What's going on?' she asks.

Just the sight of my mum and the concerned look on her face is enough to reduce me to tears.

‘Penny, whatever's the matter with you?'

I can't face telling the story for the billionth time, so instead I lead her into the living room and plonk her down on the sofa. Pressing play on the DVD player, I take my dress from her hands and head out of the room.

This DVD thing is marvellous. Maybe I should record all my life stories and woes on to disk and then I won't have to tell the same stories over and over again.

I know I should probably be in the room watching it with her, but I can't bear to hear my pleas to Mark again. It seems so much worse now that I know he's probably watched it and it hasn't moved him enough to come to me.

I unzip the garment bag and I gasp again at how beautiful the dress is. I'm so stupid. Why did I ever think I needed to have a dress worth thousands of pounds? Right now I'd marry Mark in a potato sack. I'll tell you what, a potato sack and Louboutins would look fierce. OK, so potato sack and bare feet would be fine too. I know now, too late, that it doesn't matter.

‘Has Mark seen that?'

I look up and see that my mum is standing in the doorway of the spare room.

‘Lou gave him a copy but I don't know if he's watched it or not. He thinks I was having an affair with Josh!'

‘The guy with the gorgeous eyes from the video?'

I nod. I don't appear to be the only person fixated with his eyes.

‘And he wouldn't listen to you when you told him you weren't?'

‘I haven't spoken to him.'

‘Penny, you're getting married tomorrow. You've got your rehearsal in eight hours' time. What if he doesn't turn up?'

‘I don't know.'

Oh my God. The rehearsal! With everything going on I'd
completely forgotten about the rehearsal. Being jilted on your wedding day at the altar would be bad enough, but how am I going to get through the rehearsal? How am I going to explain the missing groom to Reverend Phillips? I don't think I'm going to be able to convince him it is part of my ‘don't tell the groom'; he wasn't very impressed with that whole idea.

We've only invited our parents and the bridal party to the church, plus Mark's brother to sort out the photography. Will Mark's family even turn up?

I've been speaking to his mum on the phone every day and she knows only slightly more than me. Apparently Mark has told her that he's OK. I don't really want to analyse what OK means; I don't have the energy.

My mum looks at her watch.

‘We've got so much to do today. We've got to sort out your cakes and drop those off at the reception venue. We've also got to get you sorted out. Look at your nails,' she says, in horror. She yanks my hand up with such ferocity that I think she is going to rip my arm out of its socket.

‘What's the point, Mum? What's the point if I can't get Mark to come?'

‘Penelope, if you thought in your heart of hearts that he wasn't going to show up then you would have cancelled the wedding. What we've got to do is focus on getting this wedding ready and getting Mark to watch the video.'

‘How come you're not shouting at me for what I did?'

‘Penny, we all make mistakes. Your gran once gambled the housekeeping money on bingo and we all had to eat bread-and-butter pudding for a week.'

Blimey, thank God that wasn't me. I hate bread-and-butter pudding.

‘Anyone would be able to see on that video how much it hurt you and changed you for the better. I mean, I'm so impressed with your wedding planning skills on a budget. I'm going to ignore the fact that you should have been able to confide in me, and that you should have told Mark. But darling, I'm proud of you.'

‘You are?'

My mum sits down on the bed next to me and puts her arms around my shoulders.

‘Yes. You had an addiction and you had a problem and you sorted them both out. You also didn't want to hurt Mark and I think he'll understand your motivations, even if they were misguided.'

I can't believe that my mum just said she's proud of me. She's never said that to me. Not when I graduated with my 2:1 from university and not when I beat off stiff competition to get my perfect HR job. I've never doubted that she was proud of me, but to hear it out loud is the boost to my confidence that I need.

It is also the kick up the bum I need to get me into the shower and to wash off last night's make-up. Within an hour I've deep-conditioned my hair, had a bath, and I'm ready to play the part of blushing bride-to-be. I don't really feel like it, but at least I look the part.

Having my mum around is just brilliant. I wish I'd had her over for the rest of this miserable week. Usually I'd take it as an insult if she came round and got the Hoover out, but today I practically smother her with a gigantic hug. Not only has she cleaned my house, helped me take everything to the reception and driven me to the flower wholesalers, but she has also deposited me at a beauty salon.

I tried to protest but she told me that my eyebrows were nearly as bad as Professor Dumbledore's. I've now had my eyebrows plucked and shaped, my toenails painted, and I'm having my nails done; I'm beginning to feel just a little bit special.

‘Are you nervous about getting married in front of all those people?' asks the woman buffing my nails.

I don't want to tell her I am nervous that I won't be getting married in front of all those people. I also don't have the strength to tell her the truth or have the DVD with me to play for her.

‘No, it's going to be totally awesome.'

Yes, I do think I'm from
The Hills
. It seems like when I lie I turn into an American reality TV star. Next I'll be saying ‘totes' and ‘amazeballs' and every other word Mark has banned from the house.

‘What's your dress like? Is it all big and princessy?'

‘No.' I laugh. ‘It's really demure and almost Grecian.'

‘I bet it's lovely.'

‘It is.' I'm trying not to think that there's a possibility that I'm never going to put that dress on.

‘So are you going anywhere nice on your honeymoon?'

‘I'm going to Mexico.'

That much is true. My name is on the ticket. I am going to Mexico. It might just mean that I am weeping into my cocktails alone all day, but I don't care. What better thing to do to mope over your wedding that never was than to go on holiday? To a couples hotel surrounded, no doubt, by newly-weds. I really hadn't thought that one through.

‘I'd love to go to Mexico. You're so lucky.'

‘Yes. Yes, I am.'

I think my mum has slipped something in my tea. I've always had my suspicions that she's on Valium, as she's always so perky and happy. How else do I explain why I'm not in tears at this Spanish inquisition the nail technician is giving me?

‘You all right, love?' asks my mum.

Thank goodness she has shown up to rescue me.

‘Hi, Mum. Did you manage what you had to do?'

‘Mission accomplished. I'll just wait for you over there.'

I don't know where my mum went. She just said she had some business to take care of. I hope that was code for she had secretly tracked down Mark and given him a smack up the arse, but I think that is probably too much to hope for.

‘Right, you are all set,' says the nail technician. ‘Just be careful you don't do too much or you might chip the polish. Now have an amazing day and don't forget to come and bring us pictures of it!'

‘Thank you so much! And of course I'll bring pictures.'

They may be of me eating the cake by myself in consolation, but I'm sure tomorrow, one way or another, there will be pictures.

‘Right then, love. Time for the rehearsal?' asks Mum.

I nod. There's no use trying to be late for that. At least one half of the happy couple should show up.