The Importance of Being Married (38 page)

“So everything’s okay?” Helen asked.

I swallowed awkwardly. “Absolutely,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as anything.

“And if it doesn’t work out, you can always get divorced,” Helen pointed out, just as Vanessa walked back in.

“Divorced,” I mumbled. “Of course.” I was beginning to feel sick again. Divorced. Grandma used to say that
divorce
was another word for
failure.
She used to say it was better not to marry at all.

“Divorce?” Vanessa asked uncertainly. “Who’s getting divorced?”

“No one,” Helen said quickly.

“Me,” I blurted out. “If it doesn’t work out. If I have a failed marriage.”

“A failed marriage? What way is that to talk?” Vanessa tutted.

“The realistic way,” I said flatly.

“You know,” she said, eyeing me cautiously, “weddings can be a very stressful time. But you see, it’ll all be fine in the end.”

I looked at her doubtfully. “I’m not so sure,” I said.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that,” Vanessa said, putting her hand on my shoulder then moving over to the rail to separate the dresses I’d tried. “Everyone has doubts at some point.”

“Exactly,” Helen said. “You just have to stop thinking about everything so much.”

I shook my head. All the vague thoughts and doubts that had been circling in my head suddenly seemed very real. “The truth is that Anthony only proposed because I was following instructions. Because I changed my hair and started wearing high heels. Because of Sean, who we made up.”

Vanessa turned and looked at me uncertainly. “Sean?”

“Her ex.” Helen shrugged.

“Not my ex. Ivana’s husband who pretended to be my ex,” I said, folding my arms across my chest.

“Ivana?” Vanessa said weakly. “I see. Well, actually I don’t see. But I’m not sure that really matters here. What about your prospective husband. Does he love you?”

I frowned. “I think so,” I said uncertainly. “I mean, he’s looking at a house in the country, even though he hated it there.”

Vanessa nodded. “And you,” she asked, “do you love him?”

I shrugged helplessly. “I like him. He’s great. I mean, he’s charming, we have fun. But is that love? I don’t know. I don’t think I really know what love is.”

“Well, that’s okay,” Vanessa said soothingly. “Anyway, love is quite overrated when it comes to marriage.”

“It is?”

I stared at her in surprise, and she nodded conspiratorially. “Look, you won’t read this in magazine articles, but in my opinion, for what it’s worth, the truth is that in marriage you should either love someone completely, or not at all. If you love them completely, you’ll forgive them anything; if you don’t love them at all, you won’t expect anything. Not loving someone provides a perfectly sound footing for marriage. Particularly if he loves you. It’s better that way.”

“Really?” I asked dubiously. “That’s not what Max said. He said it was the most important decision I’d ever make.”

“Max?”

“A…a friend,” I said awkwardly, as Helen raised an eyebrow.

“Right. And this friend, he’s married, is he?” Vanessa asked.

I shook my head.

“Marriage counselor?”

“No.” I shrugged. “No, he knows about as much about marriage as I do.”

“Well, then,” Vanessa said sternly. “You listen to me. Blissful ignorance or sensible realism, that’s your choice. Both work, but for very different reasons. It’s the ones who aren’t sure that come unstuck. The ones who think they’re in love then realize they’re not—they can’t adjust their expectations, you see.”

“Exactly,” Helen said, clapping her hands together. “There’s nothing to worry about, Jess. Nothing at all.”

I bit my lip. “I thought marriage was about being in love, about being best friends, inseparable.”

Vanessa laughed. “That’s the problem with romantic books and films. They’ve got people confused,” she said matter-of-factly. “Used to be that marriage was about money, land, gene pools, even international diplomacy. People knew where they were then, wouldn’t you say? Now they expect thunderbolts—no wonder they’re disappointed.”

I frowned. “I suppose. So, marrying someone for the wrong reasons…it’s not necessarily the wrong thing to do?”

“Marrying someone for the right reasons can be just as precarious,” Vanessa said.

I nodded thoughtfully.

“So, do you want to try on some more dresses?” she asked kindly.

I looked at her for a moment, then I shook my head. “No, I think I’ve made my choice.”

“The organza?” Helen asked, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, get that one. It’s lovely. It’s the best of the lot.”

“No,” I said. “The organza deserves a romantic wedding. I’ll take the lace.”

“The lace?” Helen’s face twisted into a grimace. “Really?”

“Really.” I nodded.

“The lace…,” Vanessa said, frowning to hide her disappointment as she thumbed the rail. Then she drew out the dress, the dress that said
any old bride,
the dress that scratched my skin slightly. “This one?” she said, brightly.

“That one,” I said, nodding firmly, taking it from her to try on one last time. “I think this dress is just the ticket. I think it’s going to be perfect.”

Chapter 26

PROJECT: MARRIAGE DAY 34

To do

1. Avoid Fenella.

2. Avoid Max.

3. Avoid Mr. Taylor.

I have no idea how people organize weddings without the help of Party Party Party, or while holding down full-time jobs. It was a full-time job just keeping pace with Fenella and her constant demands for information; I barely saw Helen and barely had time to speak to Gillie about the various ideas she had for the big day (doves was her latest one. Lots of white doves. I wasn’t convinced; Fenella went into a tiz about the potential for bird droppings and eventually the hotel manager put his foot down and said that no livestock were permitted on the premises). The only way I could keep in touch with everyone was by text message—even Anthony. As for Max, well, I didn’t seem to have much time to talk to him at all; it wasn’t like I was avoiding him, it was just that I had a lot on. As Vanessa so wisely put it, weddings are very stressful things.

And being busy was good. Getting everything organized felt good and productive, like I was achieving something, like getting married wasn’t a big deal at all but just the culmination of a huge long to-do list. I’d gotten used to the sound of Fenella’s e-mails pinging into my inbox, demanding answers, confirmations, approvals. And I stopped worrying about the bigger picture because I was too busy thinking about concepts, colors, designs, personalized vows, menu plans, vegetarian options, the first dance…

“Have you seen Marcia?”

I looked up distractedly to see Max with a worried expression on his face.

“Marcia? No.” I turned back to my computer screen, where an e-mail had recently arrived from Fenella.

“You don’t know when she’s coming back?”

“I have no idea,” I said, barely looking up this time. Fenella wanted to know whether I wanted to arrive at the ceremony in a Jaguar, a Bentley, or a London Taxi painted in white. And whom I would be arriving with. And whether I wanted the driver to wear a cap or not.

“Right,” Max said. “I see.”

He didn’t move. Eventually I forced my eyes away from Fenella’s latest list of demands and looked up. “Sorry, Max,” I said, with a little sigh. “I wish I knew where she was, but you know Marcia. Is everything okay?”

Max shook his head. “No. I mean, yes, I’m sure it’s…fine…”

“You don’t sound very fine,” I said, then kicked myself. I’d realized that the less time I spent with Max, the happier I felt about my impending nuptials, and vice versa. Having a conversation with him was really not a good idea. I should have just closed him down, made it clear I wasn’t interested in whether or not he was fine.

“Chester’s going to be here for a meeting,” he said. “In five minutes. Anthony’s not here and now I can’t find Marcia.”

“I’m sure she’ll turn up,” I said, as another e-mail pinged into my inbox. What color bow ties would we like the ushers to wear, she wanted to know. And had we assigned them each individual jobs or were we happy for her to manage their workload?

Max nodded. Then he looked at me seriously. “For the record,” he said, “I think you were right to concentrate on the wedding instead of Project Handbag.”

“Yes, me too,” I said brightly, then frowned as I scrolled down to the end of Fenella’s message.
And the flowers are sorted, I presume. Can you fax me the proposed designs so I can make sure everything coordinates?
Immediately I went white.

“And everything’s going okay?”

I looked up in alarm. The flowers. I’d forgotten the bloody flowers. One job. One job that was mine and I forgot all about it. “Okay?” Panic started to rise up within me. “God yes,” I managed to say. “More than okay. Everything’s just great!”

Max nodded. “Well, I’m pleased to hear it. Weddings are…well, they’re…”

“A big commitment, a huge deal, yes, I know,” I said defensively, bringing up Google and typing in
wedding florist London.
“They’re also hell to organize, so if you don’t mind…”