Revenge of the Wedding Planner (28 page)

Oops! Shouldn’t have said ‘shag’.

Julie’s face was a picture.

Not a nice picture, mind. A horrible one.

‘What is happening here? This is totally out of order. I don’t believe this! You mean, you
saw
them together? When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me, Mags?’

‘I’m so sorry, Julie. But what good would it have done?
It was only the once, honest. I only saw them together once. It was in March and there’s been no hint of anything since. I didn’t tell you because… because I
couldn’t
tell you! You would have thought I was making it up, anyway. Because I didn’t like Jay from the start. You know I never thought he was good enough for you. You know I never liked him, Julie.’

But Julie’s reply was drowned out as the car door opened and the groom stepped onto the lawn and waved to the cheering crowd, before offering a hand to his reluctant bride. She finally emerged to face the music (quite literally) and there were audible gasps at her sheer beauty and fabulousness. Her make-up had survived and there was a huge smile on her face that looked positively painful to Julie and myself but utterly convincing to everyone else. They clapped and cheered even louder and the puppeteers got a bit carried away and they ‘released’ the bats too early. The yellow spotlights followed the bats’ progress as they jerked and flittered their way to the top of the tower and disappeared into a plume of red smoke. The applause reached deafening levels. I tried to think it was all going to be okay. And not just a sad and pathetic gathering of slightly overwhelmed extras got up in fancy dress, not knowing quite how to conduct themselves. I prayed for the ceremony to be finished and for the fireworks to go off. I just wanted the day to be over. I’d have given my right arm for it to be over.

But it wasn’t
nearly
over. It was only just beginning.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Julie wept. ‘He told me he loved me, over and over again. He had my name tattooed on his arm.’

‘But you don’t really love
him
, do you, Julie? You said you didn’t love him. So what does it matter if he had a fling with your woman there?’ I nodded towards the bride who was now making her way, albeit falteringly, towards the altar.

‘It doesn’t matter if I
love
Jay or not, that’s my business, Mags. But he’s gone and let me make an utter fool of myself, not to mention the fact he could have compromised this entire project. We’re lucky that spoilt bitch turned up here at all this evening. How did I let this happen? My God! Me, the original control-freak! How did I let this happen?’

‘Julie, listen to me. This is going to be all right, trust me. I
am
your best friend, or one of them. And I’ve told you from the start that Jay was trouble. I told you, you were far too good for him. Maybe it’s better that you know the truth? We’ll wrap this gig up and put the lot of it behind us.’

‘I can’t
believe
he said all those lovely things to me and he didn’t mean any of them,’ she persisted, looking at me with bewildered eyes.

‘Maybe he did mean them at the time, Julie? But then he changed his mind? You know, like you changed your mind about Gary Devine? It’s just life, Julie, these things happen. Please don’t let this turn of events upset you. This is no reflection on you. It’s him! It’s Jay that can’t be trusted.’

But Julie was looking at me with such hurt and sadness on her face it was frightening. I did honestly think she was going to start sobbing uncontrollably. Which for Julie would have been unthinkable. She’s not the sobbing type. Her fists were all balled up with frustration and as white as her ballgown.

‘Months and months I’ve been chatting to that woman on the phone about the wedding arrangements, and all the time she was sleeping with my boyfriend! How could she?’

‘Look, Julie, I’m so sorry to have to change the subject but I really think we should hurry up this wedding? Yes? The magistrate should be told to begin.’

‘The sneaky little cow,’ Julie gasped, and her face was scarily drained of all colour.

‘Oh, Julie, I’m begging you, will you pull yourself together?’ I pleaded. ‘He’s only a toy boy you were amusing yourself with in the afternoons. Talk this through with Jay when the wedding’s over, but right now we have work to do. They’re getting plastered in the marquee and the head chef has gone home. Come on, we still have a wedding to direct!’

‘Stuff the wedding!’ Julie sobbed and she literally crumpled onto the grass in floods of tears.

At that moment, thank God, the magistrate roused himself and took control of the proceedings for us. He tapped the microphone, warmly welcomed everyone to the wedding and quickly began the brief service while the Druid began to limber up for the pagan blessing that was to follow. One of the press photographers toppled over the guy ropes in sheer excitement and set off his flash bulb prematurely. And that’s not a double entendre. I tried to put my hand under Julie’s arm and help her to her feet, but she pulled it away and refused to look at me.

‘I’ve been a fool,’ was all she said.

‘No, you haven’t,’ I told her. ‘Go easy on yourself.’

‘An utter fool. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. An absolute fool!’

‘Get up, Julie. The ground is damp. You’ll ruin your dress.’

‘I don’t care, Mags. What’s the point of anything, any more? What’s the point of Dream Weddings, of the sex war? It’s all a waste of time. Men are all the same. And so are women.’

‘Please, Julie? People are looking.’

A small crowd had turned their backs on the bride and groom and were staring at Julie as she lay on the grass quietly dissolving into sobs that actually overlapped each other. I crouched down beside her and put my arm round her shoulders. Her skin felt cold as ice.

‘It’s going to be all right, Julie,’ I said. ‘He didn’t deserve you and you’re better off without him. Come on now, where’s the old Julie we all love and admire? Eh? What would the Coven say if they saw you like this?’

She didn’t reply. She just went on crying. I willed my husband to come gliding into the middle of the crowd and carry me off in his arms. And Julie too.

‘We’ll go back to my house when this night is over,’ I said, ‘and we’ll have a big wedge of quiche and we’ll laugh about it. Honestly, we will.’

It was then I saw Jay lurking round the back wall of the castle. How he got past security I’ll never know, but then he
was
reared in the middle of nowhere and I expect he’s pretty light on his feet over rough terrain. He was looking rather pale, I have to say. Rather tired and washed-out, as if he hadn’t slept all night. Come to think of it, he hadn’t been hanging around the lighthouse much the day before when we’d been going over the finer details of the wedding. He did look wonderfully in keeping with
the surroundings in a pair of amber-coloured jeans and a white shirt open halfway to his waist. A light smattering of chest hair and a perfect torso, his blond hair tousled and hanging in his eyes. His cheekbones catching the evening light in such a way you’d think it was all planned in advance. I thought he looked a bit spectral, like a ghost, to tell you the truth. Jay gazed at the bride with tears of longing in his eyes, and when she saw him standing there all alone against the moon she began to cry too. A lot of tears at this particular wedding, I noted.

‘I’m sorry, but no, no, no,’ she said to the magistrate. ‘I just can’t do it, okay? I’ve changed my mind.’

‘Could you repeat that, please?’ the magistrate said, dropping his papers and his spectacles over the edge of the wooden decking and looking totally confused.

‘Honestly, baby, you’ll thank me some day,’ the supermodel said to her pint-sized partner, kissing him tenderly on the cheek and letting her posy of blowsy white roses fall to the smooth-swept gravel.

‘Jay!’ she cried. ‘Jay, my darling, I’m coming to you! Wait for me!’

The crowd gasped as one.

The bride fled across the low stone walls of the outlying ruins towards her lover while Julie and I were paralysed with shock. It was so like an overblown 1980s stadium-rock-anthem video. I half expected Bonnie Tyler to emerge from the dungeon on a forklift truck and start rasping and power-ballading about poisonous love affairs and broken hearts in the night. I’m sure Dream Weddings could have arranged it, now I come to think of it, if we’d been given enough notice. I’ve always had a soft spot for
Bonnie Tyler even though she wasn’t a Goth. You can’t deny she had passion and dignity in abundance, compared to some contemporary pop tarts I could mention.

‘I’m so sorry, baby,’ Jay called out to the French model, wrapping her in his arms and squeezing her very tightly as they finally met up and hugged. Embracing so tightly her cleavage swelled up in the tight black corset and threatened to spill over the edge of it. Her almost-bare breasts were touching Jay’s exposed chest in a very erotic way. Their faces were so close together it was a romantic painting come to life. Cheekbones? His and hers. Forget about it. I was almost turned on myself, though usually I’m strictly opposed to soft porn in all its various forms. Thin end of the wedge, and all that. We could see everything that was going on, perfectly backlit by the multicoloured spotlights. I thought they were going to have sex right there and then. They might as well have, mind you: things couldn’t have got any worse for Julie and me if they’d stripped off and got it on, on the damp grass.

‘I’m so sorry, baby, but I just had to see you getting married with my own two eyes,’ Jay wept into her fabulously braided hair. ‘I had to see it for myself to believe it was happening.’

‘What the
fuck
is going on here? Is this a joke or what?’ The poor old rock star stumbled a little and his red top hat fell off and rolled away into a patch of specially planted white roses. ‘Who the hell’s this Jay guy? Is this a set-up? Is this some TV thing? I didn’t ask for this. Where the hell is Julie Sultana? I demand this prank be stopped right now!’

Julie was in full agreement there. Her misery at Jay’s
infidelity somehow transformed itself into a ball of pure anger.

‘Stop it!’ she cried, pulling off her dainty tiara, leaping to her feet and sprinting across the lawn. Straight into the ruins in her virginal ballgown. ‘Don’t you dare think you can do this to me, Jay O’Hanlon! Don’t you dare think this is going to happen! It’s not over between us until I
say
it’s over. Nobody finishes with Julie Sultana. Do you hear me?’

Well, Gary Devine had, but she’d forgotten that, obviously.

And now, so had Jay. It was excruciating to witness.

Oh, dear.

The toy boy and the supermodel.

They were kissing and kissing, melting into one another.

I don’t think they’d even registered Julie’s presence.

The beautiful bride and our Jay were in each other’s arms and they were kissing and clinging to one another as if their lives depended on it. A crack team of surgeons couldn’t have parted them at that moment. All tears mingling, and shiny hair braids coming loose, and his arms locked round her impossibly tiny waist. And love, so much love, in the air. The stunned crowd didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, clap or shout encouragement to the (new and improved) happy couple. So they did all four. I daresay the sheer extravagance of the day had backfired a little and the guests had grown weary of their capes and cloaks and a five-foot-tall wedding cake with lights blazing in all the ‘windows’. The bride (oh, let’s call her ‘Sophie’) finally saw Julie standing there and dashed into the marquee for cover, dragging Jay with her as the cameras went into overdrive.

In a desperate attempt to draw attention away from Julie and Jay and the whole fiasco that was taking place before us, I gave the signal for the fireworks to be ignited. The two technicians were right on it. They couldn’t wait to get started, God bless them.

Suddenly, the air was split with the thunderous cracking and exploding of a thousand white fireworks. The sky was filled with light and white firework ‘rain’ drizzled down from the ramparts. It was fabulous.

And Julie?

Well, Julie flipped.

Flipped out in a big, big way.

It was a long time coming, I suppose. Forty-one years of being polite and in control can be very draining on the psyche, and now the moment of eruption had finally arrived it was like a dam breaking under the weight of winter floods. Maybe Julie was grieving for her lost childhood (that’s the way I like to think of it now) or maybe she simply wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Jay O’Hanlon’s mighty love-truncheon. But, honestly, I’ve never seen a woman get so upset. She howled in pain like a wounded elephant, making a noise that wasn’t remotely human. I tried to stop her but it was useless. She had the strength of ten men. Julie stormed into the elegant white marquee like a heat-seeking missile, punched Jay to the ground with one swipe, got Sophie’s exquisite head in a sweaty armlock and plunged the poor woman into the middle of her own wedding cake. Right up to the neck. Held her down in it, I have to say. Like she was attempting to drown the sorry creature in vanilla frosting and apricot jam. Bits of cake and boxes of wiring came tumbling out
at the sides as Julie gave herself up to a tide of naked rage.

‘You rotten slag, you dirty slut, you skinny whore, you two-timing liar, you filthy bitch, you gold-digging tramp, you greedy tart! You grubby tart! You…
tart
! You –’

But no, that was it. She’d run out of insults.

‘Stop it, Julie,’ I cried in panic, trying to pull her off the other woman. ‘Julie, stop it. They aren’t worth it, Julie. It takes two to tango and all that. Julie, stop it! She can’t breathe! Stop it, for pity’s sake! You’re going to kill her! Julie! Help me!’

I’m sure Sophie inhaled half a pint of whipped cream and vanilla crumbs before the security staff and Jay managed to pull her out of Julie’s clutches. And even then my crazy boss got her hysterically waving hands all caught up in Sophie’s elaborate hairdo and pulled out clumps of it by the roots. And as a parting gesture (as two buff young Rambo-lookalike security guards bore her away, struggling and screaming blue murder), she lashed out with her foot and kicked Sophie right in the eye. Oh, yes. Julie gave our French supermodel a shiner so big and, well, shiny, she’d definitely be off catwalk-duty for a couple of months.