The Honeymoon Hotel (18 page)

‘So?’ Dominic slapped the table. ‘What happened? Where are they taking your tiny little car? Did they just pop it into the boot of their own?’

‘They’re not taking it anywhere,’ Helen marvelled. ‘Wynn talked them out of it.’

‘What?’ said Dominic and I at the same time. Dom sounded more disappointed than I did.

Helen shook her head, amazed. ‘They’re … they’re not even going to fine me. Apparently the notice wasn’t hanging in the right space, so it’s not a valid ticket …’

‘Very basic error,’ said Wynn, settling back into his seat and ruffling his hair modestly. ‘Quite a reasonable chap in the end. Anyway, now we’ve got that out of the way … Have you two had a look at the specials? Can you guide me? I can’t say I’ve ever eaten …’ He checked the back of the menu. ‘Um, French-Scottish fusion. But first time for everything, eh?’

He glanced up to see three pairs of eyes staring in astonishment at him.

Well, two pairs astonished; one pair adoring.

This weekend
, I thought, staring with fresh determination at the list of crêpes stuffed with deep-fried things,
Dominic and I are going to find a flat we both want to buy, and he is going to make me an omelette. Or wire a plug, or something. Something that’ll give me that baffled but proud glow that Helen’s wearing right now
.

Then I looked over at Dominic, making Wynn laugh with some witty observations about the menu and knew for absolutely certain that whatever else he brought to our relationship, the omelette-making and plug-wiring were always going to fall to me. And so would the reminders about flowers and I-love-yous.

In the kitchen in Dominic’s flat, above the toaster, was a
Star Wars
calendar, marked up with our personal and joint comings and goings: my weddings in red, Dominic’s meals out in blue, hotel events in green, our personal joint commitments in black. There weren’t many black dates. We never seemed to have time at the
same
time. In fact, it was only down to the benevolent secretarial help of Darth Vader that we each knew where the other was, half the time.

Tonight, though, even Darth had let us down, and I was annoyed, because it was one event that I really hadn’t wanted to miss: Dominic’s
London Reporter
Quiz Night.

I’d only remembered over breakfast, when I found Dominic revising last year’s Michelin-star winners for the food round.

‘I’m
really
sorry, Dom,’ I said for the third time, checking my work bag and my emails at the same time. ‘I’ll try to get away by ten. Half past ten, possibly. The groom wants to get the bride out of there by nine thirty so they can catch their flight to Dubai.’

‘Don’t bother,’ said Dominic. ‘And I mean that in a very
non-passive-aggressive way. Seriously, there is
no need
to bother. It’s fine.’

‘But I
want
to bother,’ I insisted. ‘I want to be there for you. And I’m very good on the pop music round,’ I added with a smile. ‘I really want to meet your friends, too.’

We’d both been making more of an effort lately – and it wasn’t just me. I’d been leaving work by six, and we’d actually been to look around a couple of flats, neither of which, sadly, met Dominic’s very specific requirements. But it was a start, as I’d told everyone at work. In fact, if anyone had been working late, it had been Dominic. He’d booked a couple of review meals lately with colleagues from work – ‘It’s an easy way to pay back favours,’ he’d explained. ‘And you don’t like Thai food.’

‘No, no. It’s
my
fault, I should have checked the calendar.’ He buttered himself a third slice of toast and started digging around in the marmalade jar with his buttery knife. ‘Don’t know why I didn’t write it down. Anyway, you’ll see people at the Christmas party,’ he went on. ‘You’ll see them all, since you’re organizing the party. For which, many thanks.’

‘No, many thanks to you. I’ll be working,’ I reminded him. ‘Just because you’re my boyfriend doesn’t mean that I can skive off to sip champagne and mingle with the stars. Anyway, I want that evening to be the best ever. I want all the star columnists talking about what an amazing night they had.’ I grabbed a piece of toast for myself. ‘And I want you to be proud of me,’ I added.

Dominic looked up.

I wasn’t sure why I’d said that. Maybe it was my nerves over
today’s wedding. Maybe I’d just got used to seeing the way Wynn looked at Helen, and wished Dominic would do the same.

‘I’m always proud of you.’ He gave me an uncertain smile. ‘Are you feeling okay? You were doing your sleep muttering again.’

‘I’m just … a bit tense. This wedding’s been a bit on and off, Helen’s still in her Welsh love trance, and I can’t rely on Joe not to have one of his attacks of honesty. And Laurence is on some new liver diet.’ I stuck my hands in my hair. ‘And I said we’d get back to that estate agent about the flat in Paddington, which is bad because I should be prioritizing
us
—’

‘Rosie, I keep saying – it’s fine. I don’t mind about tonight. You just go and make that wedding amazing for … whoever it is.’

‘Natalie and Peter,’ I said automatically. Teacher and stockbroker, afternoon tea wedding, buffet reception, swing band. Don’t let the bride’s mother near the punch.

‘For Natalie and Peter,’ Dominic repeated. ‘You are a miracle worker. I appreciate that. Now, aren’t you going to be late?’

‘No, I’m – oh, nuts.’ I glanced at the kitchen clock. It was already ten past eight, and the florists needed to start dressing the reception room at half past. I shouldered my bag. ‘I’ll see you later, then?’

‘You just concentrate on making their day,’ said Dominic, and stuck the now-crumby knife back into the marmalade.

*

I knew something was up when the first person I saw in reception was Laurence. He had a jacket and scarf on, but something
about them wasn’t convincing. They weren’t his usual floppy scarf and fedora – he looked like someone pretending to be about to go out with the first things that came to hand.

‘Rosie! I’m so pleased to see you,’ he said, with so much emphasis tiny bits of spittle flew out. ‘There’s been a surprise development.’

‘Really?’ I said, heading towards my office. I didn’t need a surprise development, not today, not even for Laurence.

He followed me, keeping one eye on the foyer, as if he wanted to stay within sight of the big revolving door. ‘It’s Ellie. She’s had to go to Dublin on some urgent business, and she’s, um …’

We were halfway down the corridor, but I clearly heard a distant thud come from my office, followed by a high-pitched howl, followed by another thud, and then the screech of a personal attack alarm.

I stopped and spun on my kitten heel. ‘Laurence,’ I said, ‘you’re not going to tell me that she’s left Otto and Ripley here again, are you?’

He winced. ‘There was a crisis this morning, apparently …’

Another crash and some giggling. My heart sank. It was the kind of giggling that said ‘cake for breakfast’.

‘You’re not going to tell me that they’re in my office … and you’re about to go out?’

‘Gemma’s with them,’ he added. ‘And she’s told them not to touch anything.’

‘But Natalie’s wedding flowers are in there!’ I yelped. ‘And all her favours!’

‘Gemma said she needed to get going with something, and
I have to get weighed,’ he said apologetically, inching back towards the foyer. ‘If I don’t get weighed before lunch, Dr Harris can’t tell if the serum’s working.’

It wasn’t even half past eight. I blocked his way. ‘They’re your children,’ I protested. There had to be health and safety regulations about this. ‘Ellie specified that only you should take care of them.’

‘Don’t I know it? That woman can be surprisingly vindictive.’

I went to run a hand through my hair and stopped myself; already my fringe was standing up. ‘Laurence, I can’t look after them. I’ve got a wedding today, and there’s loads still to do. And I need Gemma, before you ask. Ah!’

It dawned on me with all the comforting shoulder-squeeze of a truly perfect idea.

‘Joe!’ I nearly punched the air. ‘He’s their half-brother. He can babysit.’

‘What?’

‘Joe. Has he met them?’

‘Um, I think he was at their christening – it’s a bit of a blur …’

‘Good. He can get to know them now. Where is he?’

‘I haven’t seen him this morning,’ said Laurence, just as a messy-haired Joe came yawning round the corner from the direction of the restaurant, half a croissant in one hand and his phone in the other.

I ignored my irritation that he clearly hadn’t got my email about being ready for an early start, supervizing the final arrangements for the 2 p.m. ceremony, and fixed my brightest smile.

‘Good morning,’ said Joe, then saw my smile. ‘Oh, God. What have I done?’

‘Laurence has a job for you,’ I said. ‘And if you get stuck for ideas, Sam, our concierge, can get you tickets for
The Lion King
. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and have a word with the kitchens about the buffet.’

And I went off to find Helen.

*

The rest of the morning passed in a hustle: checking the hairdresser and make-up artist into the bridal suite; making sure the chief bridesmaid, Lucy, didn’t hog said hairdresser and make-up artist; checking the rooms; liaising with the registrars; and all the other million and one tiny details I worried about so the bride didn’t have to.

My bad feeling was about the best man, Steven.

I’d been outside by the service entrance, making a discreet call to my friend in the lounge at Heathrow to see if we could swing an upgrade for the honeymooners, when I bumped into him, also on the phone. He was laughing in that smirky, lads-together way that set off my Best Man Alarm Bells.

‘… seriously, you lot are going to piss yourselves when you see what I’ve got lined up for Pete’s speech … Yeah … Yeah, I hope Nat’s got a sense of humour …’

When he saw me, he hung up swiftly, and his guilty look only confirmed my suspicions. But even though I told Gemma and Helen to keep their eyes and ears open, we were so busy that none of us had time to hang around in the hope of overhearing something else.

‘You could send Joe to get the goss from the ushers,’ Helen suggested as we helped the temp staff finish off the airy ballroom, which had been given a warm autumnal glow with orange and cream roses, speckled ivy, and tiny pumpkins with tea lights ready to be lit when dusk fell.

‘Joe’s busy with his half siblings.’ I straightened a heavy silver knife so it was perfectly parallel with the gold-rimmed plate. ‘And will be until well after this wedding’s over.’

‘Are you sure you’re not missing a trick there?’ suggested Helen. ‘He’s your man for infiltrating lads. They’d tell him anything. Give him a call, send him undercover in the bar.’

‘What? So he can upgrade the prank to a disaster? No way. While the wedding’s happening, I prefer Joe where I can’t see him,’ I said. ‘Babysitting.’

Helen looked me straight in the eye. Now Seamus, and the post-split gloom, was ancient history, she’d gone back to her usual precision operating. ‘Aren’t you just cutting off your nose to spite your face there? I’m telling you, ask Joe to find out what’s happening, because you need to nix the surprise for the groom, whatever it is. I’ll get one of the girls to babysit the kids while they’re napping. This is something he’s
good
at.’

‘Fine,’ I said. I hated it when Helen was right about Joe. ‘But when this descends into a total farce, I will be blaming you.’

I didn’t even have time to think about it, because at that point, Joe himself strolled in. On his own, not a blond-haired wrecking ball in sight.

‘Chill,’ he said, raising an annoying hand before I could speak. ‘They’re having a nap. I popped them in that big room,
with the big bed … the honeymoon suite? Ripley’s been eating the chocolates on the pillow.’

My mouth dropped open, and he laughed. ‘You are too easy,’ he said, doing unspeakable double finger-gun jabby-jabby movements. ‘They’re in Dad’s flat. With Dad. They’re all asleep.’

For someone who’d had London’s demon children for several hours, I thought Joe looked surprisingly unruffled. I was even more amazed he’d wrangled Laurence back to look after them.

‘Sounds like you’ve got the knack,’ said Helen, impressed.

‘They’re no bother. Well, Ripley’s going through a song and dance phase – she won’t take her tap shoes off.’

‘Tap shoes are an improvement,’ I said. ‘Last time they were here, Ripley refused to get off her tricycle. She rode it through the restaurant like the kid from
The Shining
, then rammed the kedgeree cart until they filled up her breakfast bucket. Otto didn’t even ram the cart. He just stood in front of it, freaking out the server.’

Joe laughed. I wasn’t joking.

‘Listen, Rosie needs a favour,’ said Helen, glancing at me.

I glared at her, then said, ‘Um, I think something’s going to happen with the best man. I need you to keep an eye on him.’

Joe folded his arms and looked ‘patient’. It was an improvement on ‘confused’ but only just. ‘Do you actually know that?’ he asked. ‘Or is this just you extending the iron fist of bridal control again?’

‘No, she knows. Rosie’s like one of those dogs who can tell when a tornado’s coming,’ Helen explained. ‘Or one of those horses who can predict earthquakes.’

‘Nice image. Does she tap out warnings with her hooves? One tap for, “He’s lost the rings”? Two taps for, “He’s shagging the bridesmaid”?’

‘Can we be serious for a moment?’ I demanded. ‘I overheard the best man talking to someone on his mobile, and he’s definitely planning a surprise at the speeches. And Natalie
really
doesn’t like surprises. She bought her own engagement ring, and made me brief Peter about what to say in his speech.’

‘We’re run off our feet here,’ said Helen, ‘so we need you to keep an eye on him.’

Joe looked more interested. ‘What? Like, track him? Or do you want me to try to talk him out of whatever he’s doing?’ His expression turned questioning – the annoying kind of questioning. ‘Maybe it’s just banter, though? Should we really be interrupting the last man-to-man moments for the groom and his mate? What if there’s something Peter needs to know?’

‘No!’ I surprised myself with how forcefully it came out.

Helen and Joe both looked shocked.

‘No,’ I repeated, nettled by Joe’s lack of concern for the rest of the wedding party. ‘That’s what the stag night’s for. This is Natalie’s day, and she’s really not going to appreciate some embarrassing slideshow of … of the groom’s bits, or whatever he’s got lined up. Never underestimate what a sense-of-humour failure some people can have at weddings. Oh, God.’ I clutched my head. ‘I
knew
I should have checked Steven’s speech …’

‘Nothing’s perfect, Rosie,’ said Joe, with a rather patronizing head tilt.

‘My weddings are as close to perfect as the Met Office will allow,’ I said through gritted teeth.

‘No one remembers perfect,’ said Joe. ‘But they do remember fun. And little things that go wrong. It makes it personal,’

I gave Helen a look which I hoped said,
Thanks, Helen. Great idea
.

‘Just keep an eye on this guy.’ Helen remained unruffled by the potential additional chaos now being unleashed. ‘Find out what he’s planning if you can. Offer to help. And then nip it in the bud.’

‘Quietly,’ I added. ‘And tell me what’s going on. And don’t let Natalie know.’

He grinned. ‘I appreciate your trust, ladies. Leave it with me.’ Then Joe managed to pull out an irritating gesture beyond anything he’d done so far: he did a mock salute, spun on his heel, and left.

I turned to Helen and opened my mouth. No words would come out.