How To Marry Your Husband (6 page)

Olivia hopes this is true when, one week later, she opens the door of the poshest hair salon in town and makes her way uncertainly over the threshold. Her request for help will surely cost her a whole year’s salary if not two, and she and Kieran will have to live in a campervan for the rest of their lives, if they can afford one. But the sign on the outside of the salon caught her eye and drew her in:

Hair problems or disasters? Let us help you!

Okay, the sign was tiny compared to all the others around it, but Olivia felt it offered her a lifeline and she made her decision there and then.

Inside, Olivia can see four or five super-slim women, mainly blonde (her worst nightmare come true!), dealing with clients, and a couple of even younger girls sweeping up hair. The reception desk is empty and she’s just about to change her mind and make serious plans for getting married with a bag on her head when a dark-haired medium-build woman in her twenties pops up from behind the desk where she must have been hiding and gives her a bright smile.

“Good morning, madam! What can I do for you?”

Before Olivia can reply, the brunette steps out from around the desk, wide-eyed.

“You poor thing,” she says. “What on earth has happened to your hair?”

Olivia has the whole explanation rehearsed in her head concerning what she is going to say and how to make any potential hair saviour understand what may need to be done. It’s a tour-de-force of monologue, but she doesn’t get to say any of it. Instead, to her own surprise, she bursts into tears and begins to sob.

“Hush there,” the girl says, and gives Olivia an unexpected hug.

Olivia finds herself whisked away into what must be the staff room at the back and handed a box of soft tissues. Moments later, as she is still sobbing, a mug of sweet tea is thrust into her hand and she takes a grateful gulp.

“I just wanted everything to be perfect,” she wails but as quietly as she can, bearing in mind the salon’s customers. “I’m getting married in September and I just wanted everything to be okay! Then I get my hair done by a mad woman and now look at me. I can’t get married like this, I just can’t!”

Then Olivia collapses into yet more sobs whilst yet more tissues are gently pushed into her grasp. She blows her nose and takes a gulp of tea. She isn’t holding out much hope that either of these activities will make her feel any better but, in a totally strange way, they do the trick. Or as near as makes no difference.

She blows her nose again and wipes her eyes. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to get all emotional like this. I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a total idiot.”

“Not at all,” the girl replies. “We get a lot of brides in here and it’s a very stressful time. People don’t realise. When my sister got married a couple of years back, she almost killed her fiancé twice before the wedding and they’re totally crazy about each other. But don’t worry about your hair. There’s plenty of time to sort it out before September so you’ve done right to come in and see us. My name’s Gemma, by the way. I specialise in hair situations.”

“Hello, Gemma. Nice to meet you,” Olivia says, smiling weakly and thinking that ‘hair situations’ is the best understatement she’s heard so far this year. “And thanks for the tea and tissues.”

Ten minutes later when Olivia has finished her tea, Gemma somehow manages to fit her in for a brief consultation. A few minutes after this, Olivia is having her hair washed with the most glorious-smelling coconut shampoo. Even the smell makes her more hopeful that maybe – just maybe – she may not look like a battered old loo brush at her own wedding. She really doesn’t want to have to wear a veil. After towel-drying her hair, Gemma applies a thick layer of conditioner – which again smells of that amazing coconut aroma – and tells Olivia she’s going to leave it in for ten minutes before washing it out again.

“This stuff works wonders,” she says. “You’ll be totally surprised. And the good thing is – though I can check it out when I blow dry it – that the cut you’ve had already is pretty decent. With a little help from us and these products, you’re going to look fantastic on your Big Day, I promise you!”

Olivia still isn’t sure but when Gemma holds up the obligatory hairdresser mirror, she gasps. “Goodness, that looks a million times better!”

The other woman just smiles as Olivia runs her fingers gently through her hair. It feels better and far less itchy too. Result! Okay, not how it was before That Woman tried to ruin it, but certainly better, so a result still. But the real question is: will it last?

She glances up at Gemma. “It’s wonderful, thank you. You’re a total miracle-worker, but is it going to stay like this or do I have to do something to make it how it was?”

“Good question,” Gemma replies, grabbing a chair and whizzing it across the floor to sit next to Olivia. “So here’s what I think you should do.”

Five minutes later, and Olivia has been given strict instructions concerning using the commercial range of the emergency shampoo and its matching conditioner which Gemma used today. Bearing in mind the totally gorgeous coconut smell which now wraps itself round her, Olivia is more than happy to follow instructions. She doesn’t even mind the price of the treatment and the products – which are far beyond what she usually pays for shampoo and even a hair cut, but not as crippling as she’s feared, thank goodness. She would have paid four times as much to grab a decent chance not to look like a drowned rat at her wedding. Maybe even five times …

From that time onwards, Olivia uses the salon shampoo and prays her hair will be up to the job come September. She hopes her prayers will be answered.

Chapter Seven: The Problem of Presents

Not long after the engagement, Olivia and Kieran discover the problem of presents is far more challenging than they imagine. Not that they’ve imagined very much, as it isn’t high on their list of things which are important. They are more focused on where to get married, who to invite and what to wear to give more than a passing thought to what guests may like to give them.

Olivia isn’t convinced it matters. “Surely we have more than enough of everything?” she says idly to Kieran when she comes off the phone to her mother for the third time that evening. “Why do we have to expect anyone to bring gifts anyway?”

Kieran looks up from his book about American warfare and gives her a quizzical glance. “Did I miss the start of this conversation or were you just speaking very, very quietly?”

Olivia raises her eyebrows. “No, just thinking aloud. Mum keeps asking about gifts and what the family should buy us, but I’ve not paid it much attention. Maybe we should be super-good and ask them to give something to charity? A goat, or even a cow? We have all the stuff we need.”

Kieran purses his lips and puts down his book. Heavens, Olivia thinks, it must be serious. He’s obviously thinking about his response, which may – or may not – bode well.

“Wouldn’t that be cheating a bit?” he asks after a couple of moments.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, people like to give an actual gift when they come to a wedding, don’t they?” Kieran replies. “They can do good at any time, but we’re only going to get married once.”

Olivia can only agree. It’s no to the goats and cows then.

“So what do you suggest?” she asks him. “I don’t want to faff around with wedding lists in shops – they’re all the same as everyone else’s lists and anyway I hate posh shops. They’re full of blonde women at least twenty years younger than I am, who stare at me as if I don’t belong in their silly shops.”

“That would make them less than ten years old,” Kieran says, with unquestionable logic. “Which would be illegal in this country, and should be illegal everywhere else too. Anyway, those blonde women are only jealous of that curvy redhead they’ve just met and that’s why they’re staring.”

With that, he lunges at her, and Olivia giggles as she pretends to fight him off. The discussion is shelved for the moment.

A few days later, she judges it the right time to raise it again. Kieran is halfway through his bottle of beer and they are idly watching television – some wildlife programme though neither of them is particularly keen on nature. Olivia is a country girl and hasn’t much truck for animals, having had her fill of them in her girlhood, and Kieran feels the same, though his reasons as a townie are lack of familiarity.

“So,” Olivia says, tickling Kieran’s leg with her bare foot. “Wedding lists, what do you think?”

He glances at her, before taking another sip of his beer. “Any chance of distracting you somehow?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “Sorry, no. We need to talk about gift lists so I can cross it off my Things To Do sheet.”

“You mean: cross the lists off your list?”

“Something like that. According to Mum, people are starting to ask so we might as well give them something to go on.”

Kieran sighs and then sits up and grabs a sheet of paper and a pen from the coffee table drawer. “Okay, but let’s offer cheap stuff, and not all the crazily expensive stuff you see on other people’s wedding lists.”

“Good idea,” Olivia agree. “We’ll do it our way.”

With that, she snuggles down next to Kieran and they begin to consider the options. The first and very surprising disagreement arises quickly. Olivia has already discussed the possibility of a few key pieces of nice china with her mother for whenever she and Kieran begin to hold posh grown-up dinners rather than the casual suppers or takeaways they invite their friends to share in. The two women have picked something floral from the Royal Doulton range, which Kieran starts to flick to in the brochure she’s brought him. She’s convinced he’ll be happy with the choice.

“I know it’s got flowers in the pattern,” she says. “But they’re green and blue – not to girly at all. It’ll be different from the usual plain stuff everyone seems to have these days. I mean we don’t want to be like everyone else, do we?”

Kieran laughs. “There’s no danger of that. Even our friends think we’re pretty weird. Ah, here it is.”

Olivia sits back with a smile and waits for his agreement. It doesn’t come. Kieran is gazing at the glorious picture on the page and frowning.

Surely that can’t be right. Is he ill?

“Are you okay?” she asks him. Mind you, she isn’t entirely sure what to do if her fiancé has suddenly taken a turn for the worst. Kieran is never ill.

He gazes at her. “It’s a bit garish, isn’t it?”

For a moment, Olivia has no idea what he’s talking about as her mind has already raced on into all sorts of terrifying scenarios, and she blinks at him before she understands.

“You mean: the china pattern?”

“Pattern?” he says. “You mean the bunch of fake flowers that someone has thrown at this innocent plate?”

She mock-punches his arm and he pretends to squirm. “What are you going on about, you idiot,” she says but she is already starting to laugh, the battle all but lost for sure. “It’s a beautiful choice for our list – everyone will sit up and take notice of something like that.”

“I’m sure they will, but for all the wrong reasons. Anyway, they’ll definitely think we’ve gone mad – everyone knows we don’t like gardens and flowers and that kind of stuff. Have you been chatting to your mother again?”

Olivia has to concede the point. The trouble with getting married and having a fiancé is that – if you’re doing it right – they know you too well and you are therefore less likely to get away with anything.

“Okay, then,” she says. “No floral china patterns. We’re getting presents for us, not me and my mother. What sort of pattern do you like, darling? We could always get some more Denby’s if you don’t fancy any china.”

She and Kieran have a soft spot for Denby’s crockery and have already stashed away twelve dinner plates, five side plates (one sadly broken) and quite a few mugs in their time together just for everyday use. The sheer number of the collection also means they don’t need to wash up quite as often which is always a plus point. The pattern is fairly plain – white with a dark blue trim – but Olivia doesn’t mind that.

Her fiancé nods. “Yes, we could. But wouldn’t it be nice to have something not for everyday use that we could bring out occasionally? I’ve been thinking about this for a few days and I’ve found some options I like. I’ll get the brochure.”

He rummages in his briefcase and pulls out a Wedgwood brochure. Olivia is impressed. He then turns to page 42 which shows the plainest set of crockery she’s ever seen – nothing but white on white, with a touch of white just to add a bit of excitement to the whole thing. She can’t help but laugh. Not because of the sort of style her fiancé likes – he’s nothing if not subtle and the utter opposite of herself – but Kieran never
ever
does any pre-planning so the fact he’s thought about wedding lists at all is astonishing. “You mean you’ve actually been compiling a present list anyway! How long have you been doing that without telling me?”

He has the grace to blush a little. “For a few days. Like I said. And I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

“I know! I was just teasing you. I’m glad you’re getting involved. It’s your wedding too.”

He smiles at her. “Really? I thought weddings were all about the women, and the men were just along for the ride.”

Olivia knows he’s joking – his smile tells her so – but what if underneath he truly means it? She knows she can be – or rather definitely
is
– a loud-mouthed kick-ass tyrant, but she loves him, and she desperately wants him to be happy.

“Oh darling,” she hugs him impulsively, all but causing his glasses to fall off. “I don’t want you to think that, not even if you didn’t really mean it! I honestly don’t want you to think it’s all about me. I know I’ve got an ego the size of Manhattan, with a voice to match, but this wedding is about
you
and me, and nobody else. And I want you to be happy with what we do. I love you so much.”

Kieran pushes his glasses back on, and hugs her back. He isn’t a natural hugger but he’s got used to it over the time they’ve been together.

“I know,” he says, “and I love you too. And you don’t have a big ego. You just have a huge lot of enthusiasm, and I love that about you. But, yes, it’s nice to do things together so let’s start from scratch now when it comes to posh china. Why not look at what we both like and see if we can compromise?”

Now
this
sounds like a plan.

Half an hour later, the two of them have a pretty good compromise. It’s a Wedgwood option, and combines just the right amount of plainness for Kieran and floral touch for Olivia: it’s a white pattern with a dark blue floral trim which looks even better than the one Olivia has chosen with her mother. Who needs Royal Doulton anyway? It’s so last year! Wedgwood is the way to go.

However, what makes Olivia happiest – and in a way that surprises her – is how delighted Kieran is with their crockery choice. Maybe their engagement course was right; this is what marriage is about in the long run – less to do with togetherness or romance, and more to do with having discussions together and thrashing things out in as decent a manner as possible. Though obviously, having both is the best way!

“There,” Olivia says, writing their first present choice down on the list. “Go, us! We’ve begun.”

An hour or so later, they have a full list. It isn’t the usual run of wedding lists, but it expresses them, who they are and all their oddities. It includes the crockery, a Wellington boot holder, a subscription to the Penguin classic library collection, a book on photography, a set of tablecloths with non-matching napkins, a doorstop, and two hot-water bottles. Kieran is against electric blankets on some kind of moral grounds, though Olivia is never sure what these moral grounds are.

One thing the list doesn’t have is any kind of kettle or toaster. They both have a perfectly good kettle already, plus a spare. And neither of them likes toast. Such a quirky list will probably raise some eyebrows, especially from Olivia’s wider family (not known for their liberal minded attitude at any level) but they will just have to get used to it.

When Olivia shares the list with her mother on her next visit, her mother glances at it and then turns it over.

“Is that it?” she asks, lips pursed. “No toaster, no kettle, no towels?”

Oh. Towels. Now there’s a thought. Olivia will add those to the list as soon as she’s spoken to Kieran – once they’ve decided on a colour. But she laughs at the other items her mother assumes are missing.

“We already have several kettles,” she protests. “There’s no need to make people buy another one, and we don’t like toast, so we would only hide it away in a cupboard.”

“Yes, I know, dear. I’m not completely mad – not yet anyway. But a wedding list isn’t only about the couple, you know. What if you have visitors to stay and they ask for toast. You don’t want to look mean.”

Olivia smiles and pours her mother a fresh cup of tea from the pot. “We wouldn’t look mean. We’d toast the bread under the grill.”

Her mother laughs. “That’s what your grandmother used to do before they invented toasters. I always said you and my mother were alike.”

“Maybe. But without her northern accent – you know we lost that when you moved south to marry Dad.”

“That’s it. Blame me,” her mother replies. “But don’t think you can change the subject so easily. I want to make sure you understand the purposes of a wedding list. It’s there so you can buy all the basics, either as new or as spares for the ones you already have.”

As she’s talking, Olivia’s mother takes the list again and peers over her glasses at it. This is serious, Olivia can tell, so she braces herself for whatever motherly advice is about to come her way. Sometimes she may even act on such advice. Though this is something she will never admit to anyone, not even Kieran. Whether this is one of those occasions remains to be seen.

“I mean,” her mother continues. “I’m not sure if people will know what a welly bag is, let alone a hedgehog shoe scraper. Are you planning on lots of walks in the countryside when it’s raining? I thought you usually kept the outdoor life for when it’s sunny.”

“Yes, that’s true. But you know how much Kieran likes to be tidy – I think he’s planning to take a firmer stance against me throwing my stuff all over the place once we get married. He also hates mud on the floor, so I imagine he’s hoping that if we get a cute shoe scraper, it might encourage me to leave the mud outside.”

“Hmm, I see,” her mother says. “Tell him from me: good luck with that! I never succeeded in house-training you during the first eighteen years of your life so I’m not convinced he’s going to succeed now. Time will tell.”

Olivia rolls her eyes. She’s sure her mother will never forgive her for treading mud over the new living room carpet when she was just fifteen years old. It had taken several weeks, two hires of the carpet cleaning machine, plus a fair amount of Olivia’s pocket money before it was restored to its original state again. Almost. Setting that low point of her childhood to one side. Olivia has to admit her mother may be right. All the boot scrapers and bag-tidies in the world won’t be enough to clear up after her, probably.