The Wedding Diary (Choc Lit) (14 page)

‘Do you, Jack?’

‘I do, my darling, my precious honeybee.’

Then Jack smiled the charming smile that Cat had always loved, the smile which had bewitched her from the start, from the night she’d met him in that grubby pub in Kilburn, where she and Tess had gone to meet two guys who didn’t turn up.

He’d been doing a set for half a dozen bored, indifferent regulars. The sort who had their special chairs rubbed smooth by sitting on them for a hundred years, who played with the same dominoes every night.

They’d more or less ignored him.

But Cat had thought, what nerve, what courage, to get up on that stage all by yourself. I couldn’t do it in a million years.

As he’d wound up his act to sparse applause, Tess had winked at Cat. ‘His stuff was rubbish, but he looks quite fit,’ she’d said. ‘I love those corkscrew curls. They make him look like Beethoven.’

‘Beethoven?’ Cat had not been able to take her eyes off him. ‘Do you mean the dog or the composer?’

‘No, I mean the poet. So maybe I mean Byron? Did he have loads of curls? Or was it Shelley? Oh, who cares? Let’s go and buy him one and cheer him up.’

‘All right,’ Cat had agreed.

So that was what they’d done.

The chemistry had been there from the start. Jack had gone home with Cat that very night. But this was months and months ago, and what had happened to that chemistry?

She didn’t know.

‘What the hell’s the matter with you now?’ demanded Jack.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You look as if you’re miles away.’ Jack’s tone grew sharp again. ‘We have to sort this out,’ he snapped. ‘So let’s call Fanny back in here and tell her we’ve made up. Then we can book a date.’

Cat dragged herself back to the here-and-now. Did she really want to marry Jack? She thought she did. She was almost sure of it, in fact. But was
almost
sure enough? Well, it might have to be …

‘You’ll sort the time off work?’ asked Jack.

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘What’s more important, your precious job or us?’

‘Of course it’s us,’ she told him. ‘You can go and call that woman, Jack. I’d feel such an idiot, standing in the passage, shouting Fanny.’

It seemed Jack didn’t want to stand there shouting Fanny either, because he went to look for her instead, leaving the door wide open.

He was away for ages.

But at last they came along the passage.

Jack was grinning like he’d won the EuroMillions Lottery. Fanny was patting at her hair and smirking enigmatically. Caspar padded silently at Fanny’s six-inch heels, giving Jack some very dirty looks and baring all his sharp, white teeth.

Fanny sat down at her desk.

Caspar chose to sit by Cat and lay his fine dark head upon her lap.

But Fanny didn’t seem to mind.

‘All sorted out, my angels?’ she enquired.

‘Yes, all sorted out,’ said Jack, giving her his special, big-eyed charm-the-ladies grin, the one that melted knicker elastic at five hundred yards, that made you want to take him home and mother him and do several other things most mothers never did. Or shouldn’t, anyway.

‘So, first of all, we have to set a date,’ said Fanny, tapping on her keyboard. ‘Cat, do you have anything in mind? Most days in November are available. Nobody gets married in November unless they’re in a hurry. Or they’re trying to do it on the cheap and they don’t want anyone to come. The weather’s always horrible, and guests don’t want to drive for miles in rain and sleet and snow. But I see December’s filling up.’

‘The fifth of January?’ suggested Jack.

‘Let me see, my angel.’ Fanny clicked and tapped. ‘It’s a Thursday, isn’t it? Why would you get married on a Thursday?’ She glanced up and smiled. ‘No, don’t tell me, children. Let me guess. It’s the anniversary of the first time you two met?’

‘I can’t remember when we met. I don’t do those sorts of anniversaries, anyway. I think they’re a waste of time.’ Jack beamed back at Fanny. ‘It’s my thirtieth birthday, as it happens. I’d like it to be a special one.’

‘Oh, it will be, darling,’ Fanny told him, and again Cat felt she wasn’t there, as if she wasn’t part of this at all. ‘We at Supadoop Promotions, we’ll make sure of that. So, the fifth of January – that date is booked, all right?’

‘Excellent,’ said Jack.

‘You could put it in your diary, Cat,’ continued Fanny. ‘Then you won’t forget you’ll have to ask for that day off. If you tell him now, your boss should manage to work around it, do without you for a day, even though you have such an important, high-powered job.’

‘I won’t forget, don’t worry,’ muttered Cat as she stroked Caspar’s head.

‘Do speak up, my darling, or don’t speak at all,’ said Fanny. ‘When you make your vows, you’ll need to make them loud and clear, otherwise the mics won’t pick them up.’

‘The mics?’ said Cat.

‘We’ll be recording, sweetheart. Long before the ink on your certificate is dry you’ll be up on YouTube and on Facebook, to trail the next instalment of the show.

‘We’ll have to think about the honeymoon. It wasn’t in the package when we first set this thing up. But once all the sponsors have seen your pix, my loves, I’m betting they’ll be willing to push the boat right out.

‘Mauritius, do you fancy? The Seychelles? Oh, everybody goes to the Seychelles. So maybe we could send you somewhere rather more exciting, like riding with the nomads in Mongolia and staying in a special bridal yurt?’

‘A bridal yurt?’ repeated Cat. ‘You mean a tent?’

‘I mean a yurt, my angel, something made of hides of yaks and lots of gorgeous ethnic fabrics like you see in Liberty, not orange ripstop nylon. If you look at Twitter you’ll see yurts are trending and nomad chic is very in right now. Or do you fancy trekking in Namibia or Nepal? Or scuba-diving off the coast of Cape Town? We’d put you in a shark cage, obviously. We wouldn’t want the pair of you to come to any harm! I’m sure we’ll find a travel firm prepared to cut a deal, especially if cable is involved. There’ll be lots of close-ups, Cat, so don’t forget to wax. But coming back to nomads – what do you think of Finland, herding reindeer? That would make great telly, wouldn’t it?’

‘It all sounds bloody brilliant,’ said Jack, and then he started fiddling with his hair, as if he were getting ready for his close-up now.

‘I’ll get darling Rosie to see about some photo shoots with nomads,’ Fanny told them, tapping on her keypad. ‘Let’s just have a little think – lots of beads and head dresses and skins and boots and folk embroidery? I’ll ring one of our stylists, we’ll discuss what she could do. Cat, my sweet, do you think you could be a Laplander? You have perfect Nordic colouring. Maybe we could get you into
National Geographic
or a similar British magazine?’

‘I don’t think so,’ muttered Cat. ‘I’m sure I’d have to be a real Laplander, and I come from Sussex.’

‘We might have to fudge and hedge a bit,’ admitted Fanny thoughtfully. ‘But anyway, my lovebirds,’ she continued, ‘now we have to make some wedding plans. Where are all the menus? Where did Rosie put them? Do you have any preferences for times? Maybe you should aim to have the ceremony at twelve, and eat at two? Then anyone who can’t afford to stay at Melbury Court can still get home again.’

‘I’ve got the menus in my bag,’ said Cat, and handed them to Fanny. ‘I’ve brought along the other stuff, as well. I didn’t know if you would want it back.’

‘Thank you, darling girl. You seem to think of everything. I can see why you’re so indispensable at work.’ Fanny started flicking through the menus, a critical expression on her face. ‘I believe we said the orangery?’

Thirty minutes later, as Cat and Jack stood on the busy pavement outside the Georgian terrace, Cat wondered if she’d dreamed the last two hours and would eventually wake up.

If not, perhaps she ought to see a psychotherapist?

She looked at Jack, the man she was supposed to love, the man she’d said she’d marry. ‘I still can’t believe you said that stuff about your birthday,’ she began.

‘What do you mean?’ demanded Jack.

‘I know you have issues, and that sometimes you feel the need to say outrageous things. But to say you wanted to get married on your birthday—’

‘Well, I do,’ said Jack. He shrugged and shook his head, as if he didn’t understand what Cat was going on about. ‘What’s so wrong with that?’

‘Jack, just think about it! A wedding is about two people, not about just one!’

‘You be nice to me, I’ll let you come.’

Cat shut her eyes for three full seconds.

But then she opened them, looked hard at Jack, and suddenly she found she hated him. Or didn’t hate, perhaps, but didn’t like.

What was this relationship about? Where were friendship, trust, respect, affection? ‘God, I’ve been such an idiot,’ she sighed. ‘Jack, this wedding’s off.’

‘It’s what?’ said Jack.

‘You heard me – off, off, off.’

‘I don’t think so, sweetheart.’ Jack shook his head again. ‘You heard the lady. You signed her little form. Terms and conditions – right?’

‘She can’t force me to marry you.’

‘But she can sue you, honeybee. She can make your life a living hell. You annoy our Fanny, and you’ll soon be cutting up your cards. Your credit rating will be rubbish. You’ll be in debt forever.’

‘You mean we’ll be in debt.’

‘No, Cat – I mean just you.’ Jack grinned. ‘You were the one who entered Fanny’s precious competition, and you were the one who signed the form. This has nothing at all to do with me.’

‘Fanny wouldn’t sue me,’ Cat said, wondering how you sued somebody, what you had to do. Get a lawyer on the case, presumably, and write a lot of threatening letters on official-looking paper, frighten your opponent half to death?

Fanny Gregory didn’t need a lawyer to frighten anybody half to death.

‘I’m sure she wouldn’t go to all that trouble,’ muttered Cat.

‘Oh, I bet she would,’ said Jack and smirked. ‘Old Fanny looks like she’d enjoy a fight.’

‘I need to think,’ said Cat, and she started walking down the street. ‘I want to be by myself a bit. I dare say you could find a room or sofa for the night?’

‘No problem, sweetheart. I’ve been thinking, too. It’s time I had a bit of space.’ Jack tossed his raven curls. ‘You know something, honeybee? You’re seriously messed up.’

Adam had messed up.

He was supposed to be in Wolverhampton this weekend, sorting out that staircase, or finding someone local who could sort it. August, he had said originally, to start on Mr Rayner’s strange but interesting old house..

But then Mr Rayner phoned, cajoled and begged and pleaded, offered to pay him twice his fee, and Adam had agreed to make a start immediately.

He was supposed to be in Dorset, too. So that was where he was right now, looking at the Venus, taking photographs and notes for when he went to Italy and could ask for some advice.

He needed to be twins.

He also needed someone who could run his virtual office, who could chase the subcontractors, source the raw materials, do the books and sort his diary out and get him to the places where he was supposed to be, when he was supposed to be there, since he couldn’t seem to manage do to this himself.

He’d never been much good at time and motion. He was always underestimating how much time it took to get from place to place. He forgot to factor in the hold-ups, the awful British weather, the motorway congestion, the dealers and suppliers who were late or didn’t come at all.

In fact, he needed someone like Cat Aston, someone who could organise his time, his work, his life.

Perhaps he could persuade her to do some stuff for him?

Or would that not be a brilliant plan?

They wouldn’t have to see each other, would they?

Or not very often, anyway?

A brilliant plan or not, now it had occurred to him it wouldn’t go away.

Jack strode off up Edgware Road, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, and going God knew where.

Cat turned east and started walking, thinking she had better start economising, and she’d better start to do it now.

Jack was probably right, she thought, and sighed. She must be really seriously messed up. How else could she have got involved with somebody like Jack, with somebody so absolutely and completely selfish? A man who thought of no one but himself?

Just physical attraction, she supposed. It had to be, for even when she was annoyed with him, even when he was behaving like a hundred different sorts of git, she was still drawn to him. Whenever he was near, her treacherous, stupid body wanted him.

Jack must be some sort of roving magnet and she must be a heap of iron filings, following where he led. Well, she wasn’t going to be a heap of iron filings any more.

How much money did she have in various old Post Office savings books and hardly-any-bloody-interest ISAs? No more than a couple of hundred, which was nothing, and she had the payments on the sofa to keep up. Unless the shop would take it back, of course, but she didn’t think this was a possibility. It was scuffed and marked in several places. So even if she cleaned it up, it wasn’t in as-new condition now.

She hadn’t kept the magazine. She thought she could remember reading that the prize was worth an unbelievable twenty thousand pounds. Or was it thirty thousand?

She didn’t have twenty thousand pounds. She didn’t know anybody who would lend her such a sum. She didn’t like to think about the sheer impossibility of raising thirty thousand.

Oh, don’t be ridiculous, she told herself.

Fanny Gregory couldn’t have spent twenty thousand pounds already. She could not have spent a tenth of that.

Or could she?

Cat really didn’t know.

But at least one thing was obvious now.

In fact, it had been obvious from the start, since Jack had first proposed. If you could call it a proposal. No woman with any sense at all would want to marry a man who had proposed like Jack. Just what had she been thinking?

Last year, they had spent a long weekend at Cat’s ancestral home, as Jack had called the fake-beamed Tudorbethan link-detached in the golf club belt of small-town Sussex.

Cat’s mother had cooked a piece of beef and made a sherry trifle. Cat had warned her in advance that Jack did not like beef. He also hated puddings, and he wouldn’t eat them.