Thirteen Weddings (19 page)

‘Oh, right. That will be nice.’ The flower girls on the weekend were almost as bratty as the bridesmaids. The bride indulged them by letting them wear fairy wings at the last
minute.

‘How did your birthday drinks go?’ Alex asks.

‘Stupidly,’ I tell him, not amused. ‘We ended up at Lachie’s pub doing shots before hitting a club.’

‘Guess you only turn thirty once,’ Alex points out.

‘I felt so sick on Saturday.’

Luckily Rachel didn’t mind. In fact, she was sympathetic. Sally had let her down again – flu, this time, allegedly – so I stepped in at the last minute.

‘What are you
doing
?’ I jump at the sound of Nicky’s irate voice. She’s obviously come to find me because I’ve been away from my desk for so long.
‘Simon wants to see you,’ she snaps, glaring at me.

‘Be there in a sec,’ I tell her as she spins on her heels and walks out again. ‘I wonder what that’s about,’ I say worriedly.

‘I think I know,’ Alex whispers. ‘It’s nothing bad,’ he adds with a reassuring smile.

I take my tea and return to the
Hebe
office.

‘Ah, Bronte,’ Simon says, spying me. ‘Can I have a word?’

He nods at the meeting room near my desk. I nervously follow him in there.

‘As you know, we’re doing a redesign.’

‘Yes.’

‘I need to take a small team of people out of the office for the next three weeks to work on it and I’d like you to come from the picture desk.’

My heart lifts. ‘Really? Not Nicky?’ I check.

‘No, Nicky’s got enough on her plate,’ he says smoothly.

‘Okay, great.’ Wow! I wonder who else is going. ‘Is there anything I need to do to prepare?’

‘Nope. Friday will be our last day in the office, so try to tie up any loose ends. Esther, Pete, Alex, Mike and Teagan will be coming, too.’

That’s all the department heads from Features, News, Art, Production and Style. I’m the only one who is not a department head. How weird. Not that I’m complaining.

‘Great.’

He stands up, meeting over.

I walk out of the room and catch Alex’s eye. He smiles at me, but I keep a straight face because Nicky’s watching me. I sit back down at my desk, trying to ignore the sound of her
slapping her paperwork around.

‘I don’t know why,’ Alex insists on Friday night at the pub.

Russ thinks he has the answer to why Simon has asked me to be involved in the redesign instead of Nicky. ‘It’s because she’s crap,’ he says. ‘
And
she’s
a silly bitch. I’m going to miss you guys, though. It’s going to be quiet in the office.’

‘Aw,’ I say, ruffling his hair affectionately. ‘Are you catching up with Maria later?’

‘Yeah, I’m meeting her at Lachie’s pub.’

‘Cool.’ I turn to Alex and Pete. ‘Are you guys coming out?’

‘Can’t. Sylvie’s mum is over from America,’ Pete says. Sylvie is the American girl he’s marrying next month.

‘Last-minute wedding preparations?’ Lisa asks him.

‘Yeah, just enough time for her to put her two pence in,’ he confirms.

‘What about you?’ Lisa turns to Alex. ‘Camden?’

‘Not tonight,’ he replies. ‘Zara’s parents are here from Devon for the weekend, too. Wedding dress shopping,’ he reveals.

‘How exciting,’ I say, trying to sound like I mean it.

‘So when are we going to meet this bird of yours?’ Russ asks. ‘You should bring her out one Friday night.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, noncommittally. ‘Maybe.’

I know that it would probably be a good idea for me to put a face to her name.

But it doesn’t feel like a good idea.

‘What can I get you?’ Lachie asks me with a grin when we arrive at the Camden pub. ‘Shot of tequila?’

‘No!’ I say firmly. ‘I’ve got a wedding tomorrow. Last week nearly killed me. I’ll have a lemonade, please.’

He grabs a glass down from above the bar and fills it up from the soda gun. ‘What time are we heading off?’ he asks.

‘Heading off where?’ I’m confused.

‘To the wedding.’

‘What wedding?’

‘The wedding tomorrow. You know I’m coming, right?’

‘Are you?’ I ask with surprise. ‘How did that happen?’

‘Rachel called me on Wednesday. They decided at the last minute to get a live act and she recommended me.’

‘Oh, cool. That was nice of her.’ I didn’t know Rachel even had his number.

‘So?’ He puts my drink in front of me.

‘What? Oh, what time are we setting off?’

He nods, amused. I’m still a little thrown that Rachel didn’t tell me about this.

‘Nine, I think. Didn’t she say?’ I get my purse out and hand over a fiver.

‘Yeah, but I forgot. Thought I’d ask you tonight.’ He goes to the cash register and returns with my change.

‘Are we picking you up?’ I ask.

‘Yep.’

‘What’s this?’ Maria asks, overhearing.

‘Did you know Lachie was coming to this wedding tomorrow?’ I ask her.

‘Yeah,’ she replies. ‘Rachel said.’

‘How late do you think you’ll be back tomorrow night?’ Russ asks her.

‘I was thinking about staying up there, catching up with my parents,’ Maria replies.

He looks disappointed. I guess he wants to spend time with her this weekend. ‘You could come if you like?’ she suggests.

‘What, and stay with your parents?’

‘Well, no, they’d go mental.’

‘Would they?’ Bridget asks with surprise as Lachie gets on with serving a group of girls who have just come in.

‘Yeah, they’re really strict,’ Maria says. ‘Catholic.’

‘Where are you from?’ I realise I’ve never actually asked Maria this before.

‘Spain,’ she replies. ‘Well, my parents are. I’ve lived in Britain all my life. My grandfather still lives near San Sebastian.’

‘Oh, I love northern Spain,’ Bridget says. ‘Do you have loads of holidays there?’

‘We usually get over there in the summer. They have a villa which they rent out.’

‘Nice!’

‘So if I can’t stay with you...’ Russ’s voice trails off, bringing Maria’s attention back to the weekend.

‘Well, okay, maybe I’m not really thinking properly. I only have to do this wedding in the morning, then we could go say hi to my parents and travel back down with the others. You
can stay at mine and Rachel’s. Just don’t tell my parents you’ve been doing that,’ she adds quickly.

From what I’ve been hearing since we went to the Lake District, Russ has practically moved in.

‘I’m a bit scared,’ Russ says in a small voice.

‘Don’t be scared. They’ll love you.’ She squeezes his arm. He smiles down at her and I glance at Bridget, who rolls her eyes at me. I smirk and walk around the lovebirds
so I can chat to my flatmate. I pull up a stool next to her and sit down.

‘There are far too many pheromones flying round at the moment,’ she says. ‘Check out Lachie.’

I look over my shoulder to see the group of girls at the end of the bar flirting with him as he gets their drinks. He seems to be lapping up the attention.

‘I bet he could go home with a different girl every night if he wanted,’ she muses.

‘Mmm,’ I reply, averting my gaze as I sip my drink. ‘He probably does. Can you imagine how many bridesmaids he’s shagged over the years?’

‘Too many to count,’ she agrees drily. ‘I still would, though.’

I snort with laughter at her typically casual comment.

‘Wouldn’t you?’ she asks with a smirk.

‘Becoming another notch on Lachie’s bedpost would be the last thing I need,’ I tell her with absolute certainty.

Rachel, unlike Alex, does not have a problem with Lachie singing along to the radio. I sit in the back, squeezed up against the door as Maria and Russ smooch beside me.

‘So just to give you a bit of an update,’ Rachel says loudly, and I realise she’s talking to me. ‘The groom’s uncle is a part-time wedding photographer.’

I cling onto her headrest and pull myself out of my tight corner to speak to her. ‘Why isn’t he doing the wedding?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe Nina and Seb just want him to enjoy the day,’ she replies.

Nina and Seb are the bride and groom.

‘Or maybe he’s shit,’ Lachie butts in, swivelling in his seat to look at me, then at Rachel.

‘Maybe,’ Rachel says, glancing at him. I can’t see her face, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

‘Apparently, he has vowed to make our lives difficult,’ she adds.

‘What?’ I scoff.

‘I
think
he’s joking. I
hope
he’s joking,’ she corrects herself.

He’s not joking.

‘That’s a big lens for a little girl.’

I’m assuming this is the uncle, because he’s carrying a massive professional camera around, photographing the same details in the church as I am. I’m trying not to let him put
me off.

‘Aah, a Canon,’ he says. ‘I’m a Nikon man, myself.’

I honestly couldn’t give a toss.

‘Bob,’ he says, holding his hand out.

‘Uncle Bob? Are you being serious?’ I ask with a grin. Bob’s your uncle...

‘Afraid so. What lens are you using?’

‘35 prime.’ It’s good for portraits and I’m hoping the groom is about to arrive.

‘Really?’ he pulls a face. Just then, the groom does come into the church.

‘Excuse me,’ I say, but Bob crouches slap bang in the middle of the aisle and calls for his nephew.

‘Seb! Come here, lad. Just stand there, would you? Flash us a smile. Great!’
Click, click, click.
I can’t believe the cheek of the man.

‘Sorry, can I just...’

He doesn’t budge. ‘Gorgeous, my boy. Turn a little to your right. Hand on your hip. Perfect.’

I give up. I don’t want posed shots anyway. I continue capturing the details until Bob moves on, and then I surreptitiously take some nice, natural shots of Seb chatting to his mother and
his best man before going into the chancel.

I falter at the sight of the pipe organ. It’s not as big and daunting as some of the ones I’ve seen recently. There are only two keyboards – or manuals, as they’re called
– and just over two dozen shining silver pipes. Some of the largest organs in the world have as many as seven keyboards and over twenty thousand pipes. The pedalboard, which is the wooden
keyboard played by the feet, is scuffed and dirty from use. The yellowing, curling-edged sheet music is laid out and ready for the entrance of the bride, and several of the stops – the
cream-coloured knobs that control the sounds for each keyboard – have been pulled out and are already in position.

I notice my breathing has sharpened as I stare at the instrument. I shouldn’t feel so affected by wood, metal and plastic. It’s actually faintly ridiculous. I force myself to walk
over to it and run my fingers across the keys. My pulse rate jumps up a notch, but I stay there a while longer before letting my hand drop to my side. Then I pick up my camera and start shooting.
By the time I’ve finished, I feel relatively peaceful.

As luck would have it, sunlight is streaming in through the church doors when Nina, the bride, arrives. She’s wearing a white gown of chiffon and silk with pleats over her bodice and a
halter-neck lace detail. Her floaty, chiffon A-line skirt billows out into a bell shape and is scattered with white sequins. She’s also wearing a veil and the light shines straight through
it, making her look like an angel. Her three bridesmaids, stunning in long, floor-length gowns in varying shades of pink, from pastel to rose, hover behind her, but she’s central and serene
in the shot. And then Bob bumps into my elbow.

‘Beautiful,’ he says, snapping away. I stare at him in disbelief. Is he for real? Thankfully I’ve got my shots, but what is he thinking?

He doesn’t improve during the church service. Sometimes he blocks my view and he doesn’t even turn off his focus beep, so every time he takes a picture during the ceremony, his
camera beeps and the vicar looks up the aisle at us. I want to shout, ‘It isn’t me!’ but I don’t think that would go down too well.

He’s even worse when we’re doing the group shots at the reception venue. He stands to Rachel’s right and gives directions to the wedding party. ‘Hold your bouquets like
this, girls,’ he calls to the bridesmaids. ‘Right here, just above your hips.’

Rachel is having none of it. ‘Sorry, that’s not how we work. No, just look natural,’ she calls to the group. ‘Don’t put them on your hip.’

‘Why not?’ he has the cheek to ask her.

‘It’s too formal,’ Rachel says firmly but calmly. ‘We don’t do formal.’

Now no one seems to know what to do. The bridesmaids look at each other awkwardly, not sure where to put their bouquets.

‘Throw your arms around each other,’ I call, so they do, and Rachel snaps away quickly while Bob looks totally put out.

Rachel always takes the bride and groom away from other guests for their private shoot, so we are disappointed when we see Bob and his wife sneaking off after us, his wife tottering behind him
in her heels with his camera bag and two glasses of champagne. But because Bob is Seb’s uncle, and because Seb and Nina don’t say anything, we can’t really tell him to bugger off.
So we have to make do with him hanging over our shoulders, taking his own shots and generally making our lives difficult, just like he promised he would.

‘Don’t let him get to you,’ Rachel says calmly when we retire to the kitchen for a break after the speeches. ‘He’s obviously an old-school photographer. Let him do
his thing and we’ll do ours. At the end of the day, Seb and Nina booked
us,
not him.’

I’m glad she’s so calm about it.

‘I wouldn’t even take a professional camera to a friend’s wedding,’ Rachel says later in the car on the way home.

‘Wouldn’t you?’ Russ asks, his arm draped around Maria’s shoulders. From their body language, I’m guessing their visit home went well.

‘Not unless I was asked to,’ she says. ‘I think it’s completely disrespectful.’

‘That must’ve been so off-putting having him standing over your shoulder like that,’ Maria comments.

‘I hated it,’ I admit. ‘You didn’t seem bothered in the slightest,’ I say, pulling myself forward to hang over Rachel’s shoulder.

‘There are always going to be a handful of wedding guests who have cameras as good as yours. But you’ve just got to chill out, let it go, worry about your own angles. The bride and
groom have chosen us because they like our style and the finished product. It’s always going to look better as a package than anything anyone else is going to do.’