The Winter Wedding (12 page)

I was caught out by the beep, and it was a second until I composed myself enough to leave a message. When I did speak the words came out haltingly.

‘Ben, hi, it’s me. Hazel. I wanted to . . . I guess I just wanted to say. If you . . . I hope you’re OK. Anyway, I’m here. If you ever want to talk, I mean. You can call
me.’

I hung up before I could make any more of a mess of it. I don’t know what I’d really intended to say but it had definitely come out wrong.

Ben wouldn’t ring back. I knew that already.

An hour or so later I climbed in bed, pulling the duvet up over me, taking a paperback from my bedside table to read. Everything felt quiet now that the wedding was over.

I was so immersed in my novel, I barely registered my phone buzzing with a new message. I got to the end of my chapter, and picked it up. My heart lifted when I saw there was a new message from
Lila. I hadn’t expected to hear from her, given that she was on her honeymoon.

The joy in Lila’s voice seemed to come right into the room with me. She sounded like herself again.

‘So – how was the big day?’ Josh said on Monday morning, leaning over the edge of my desk. ‘Don’t tell me you had all that cake and no
leftovers.’

‘Nothing,’ I said, laughing. ‘I’m sorry, Josh. You haven’t met my family – they are animals when it comes to baked goods. And Amber’s cake was a
triumph. Utterly impossible to resist.’

He smiled. ‘So – tell me, how did it go? Did all your planning pay off?’

‘Spectacularly, if I do say so myself. Have a look at this.’ I passed him my iPad, showing the unofficial photos that Amber and I had taken.

Josh swiped his finger over the screen. He nodded, impressed. ‘Woah, it looks great,’ he said. ‘What a brilliant venue. Did your sister and Ollie enjoy themselves?’

‘They had the best day of their lives.’

‘The place looks fantastic – and her dress is great too. I’ll have you know I’m not normally good at saying stuff like that – but that really is a great
dress.’

Laughing and talking with Josh again felt good. Things were back to normal between us, with not a trace of the strangeness that had come about when I was worried about Lila.

‘Do you think you’ll ever do it?’ I asked.

He shrugged, and smiled. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘OK, I’ll stop prying.’

‘There’s no big secret,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Sarah just seems keen one minute, dead against it the next. It’s not always easy talking about the future with
her.’

‘She’s better with the present?’

‘Yes. She’s a free bird. Lives moment to moment.’

‘Maybe we could all benefit from being a bit more like that,’ I said.

After lunch, I saw there was a personal email in my inbox, alongside the work ones. It was from Eliot, with Gemma CCd in. I opened it, curious.

I felt a burst of excitement as I read the email – they were offering me work – for money – doing something that for me was a pleasure.

Keen as I was to do it, I held myself back from pressing reply. This was someone’s wedding day – if I said yes, I had to follow through properly. I should think about this, over a
cup of tea at least.

As if she’d read my thoughts, an instant message from Amber popped up in the corner of my screen.

I looked over at Amber and she gave me a smile.

I got up and walked over to the kitchen.

Wedding planning. It made such good sense, I don’t know why I hadn’t considered it earlier. I’d been enjoying planning Lila and Ollie’s big day – it was really just
like decorating another set. So why shouldn’t I look at doing it professionally? So many people in London were money rich, time poor – but didn’t want to compromise on the most
important day of their lives. I could help make it easy for them. OK, so there were plenty of people doing it already, who had more experience . . . but perhaps last-minute weddings could be my
USP?

‘Cinnamon and raisin,’ Amber said, as I arrived at the kitchen.

‘Yum.’ I picked one up and took a bite.

‘How’s your morning going?’ Amber asked, as she poured tea for us both.

‘Good, thanks. Just had a bit of a surprising request, as it happens.’ I lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘Eliot – Ollie’s best friend, has just asked if I’ll
plan his wedding for him,’ I said, feeling instinctively that this was something I could share with Amber.

‘Interesting,’ she said, tilting her head. ‘Flattering too. So you’re thinking of going into business, on the side?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t replied.’

‘It’s only one wedding,’ Amber said. ‘You could carry on working here, as normal, and just see how it goes.’

I took in the suggestion and mulled it over.

‘It’s completely doable,’ Amber reassured me, sensing my unvoiced doubts. ‘Have a chat and see how it all fits. What have you got to lose?’

When I got back to my desk, ten minutes later, a stampede of our colleagues headed into the kitchen as word of the muffins spread. I took the moment of quiet as an opportunity – and tapped
out a reply to Eliot saying that I’d love to meet. As I did, my neck prickled with anticipation. I was going to do this. And I was going to do it well.

I met Eliot and Gemma after work the next day, in a café near Liverpool Street. I’d stayed up until the early hours the night before, trawling through the websites
of the UK’s top wedding planners and seeing how they did it – from contracts to pricing structures. After squinting at the calculator on my phone for what seemed like hours, I’d
settled on a rate that seemed right, with a deposit upfront and more to pay after the event. I hoped that Eliot and Gemma would agree.

We greeted each other and sat down at a booth in the corner, away from the loud chatter of the other customers.

‘Thanks for coming over to meet us,’ Gemma said. She was wearing a bright red dress, and her hair was expensively highlighted. By her side, Eliot looked far more conventional, a pale
grey shirt, his dark hair clipped short, with sideburns. He might have been Ollie’s best friend, but they were from different worlds – Ollie’s the Mac-tapping world of flat whites
and sofas, as he wrote screenplays, Eliot the early mornings of life as a trader.

‘You too. Take a seat. What can I get you to drink?’

‘A coffee, please,’ Eliot said.

‘Same for me,’ Gemma said.

‘So – a few formalities to get out of the way first,’ I said. ‘I hope you are OK with the paperwork and pricing structure I sent over?’

‘Oh yes, fine,’ Gemma said breezily. ‘No probs at all. I’ll transfer you the deposit this morning and put the signed copies in the post.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. Relief swept through me. ‘Now, to the interesting bit. I remember that when we spoke, you hadn’t quite made your mind up about when you were getting
married. Have you reached a decision on that yet?’

‘ We have. Finally,’ Eliot said. ‘The thing is, it’s—’ He glanced at Gemma and smiled, then looked back at me. ‘It’s going to be soon.’

‘This Christmas,’ Gemma said. ‘And we want it to be big, glitzy and sparkly. No holds barred.’

‘We’re not doing that badly, actually, Hazel. We’ve already got a few venues in mind – this is our ideal one.’

Eliot swiped his iPad then passed it to me with the image of a stunning castle taking up most of the screen.

‘Mackleford Castle,’ Gemma said, proudly. ‘Classic, traditional – everything I want this wedding to be. God, I’m all about this place. Look at it, Hazel. It’s
gorgeous. So romantic. Hidden away up in the Highlands – don’t you think it’s perfect?’

‘I’ve heard of it,’ I said, casting my eye over the images. I remembered making a few phone calls, scouting it out on behalf of the locations department – in the end
we’d judged it beautiful but too expensive, and too remote. It was located up in the Scottish Highlands and wasn’t an easy place to reach. ‘It’s lovely.’

‘My parents would like it,’ Eliot said, taking another look.

‘That matters,’ Gemma said, in a tone that was only half-playful. ‘You don’t think it’s too expensive, though?’ she looked at Eliot.

‘I’ll be getting a bonus soon. That’ll cover it. Don’t worry, Gemma – I want to do this.’

‘You know I’m not bothered about money,’ Gemma said, softly. ‘I mean that.’

‘I want to pay for somewhere perfect for us to get married,’ he insisted. ‘Let me do that much.’

Gemma gave a resigned nod and a smile.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Well, it sounds like you’ve set your heart on the place. Let’s see what we can do.’

That evening, Amber and I ate our dinner together at the flat. I told her about the meeting with Gemma and Eliot, and my plans for their wedding.

‘I seem to have encountered my first setback,’ I explained. ‘So they already have a very specific venue in mind – and it has to be at Christmas-time. But unfortunately
when I called the castle up they’re already fully booked – which I’d half expected.’

‘Oh no,’ Amber said, furrowing her brow.

‘That’s what I thought, at first,’ I said. I brought my iPad up to show her a new image. ‘But look at this baby.’

‘Castle Belvedere,’ Amber read. ‘Nestled in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands – an exclusive and unforgettable experience. Wow. That looks incredible.’

‘Doesn’t it?’ I said proudly. ‘I knew I’d struck gold, and I called them up right away to discuss availability – thankfully, perhaps because they are just a
little bit remote – they still have a weekend wedding space available before Christmas.’

‘That’s great news. In another world I’d get married there,’ Amber said, dreamily. ‘Not that I have anyone to marry right now – but for the sake of a damn
good party.’

‘The budget they’ve given me is really generous. I was hoping I might have a bit more cash to work with than I did for Lila and Ollie’s wedding – but this is something
else. I guess it’s just not an issue for them.’

‘Can you imagine what that would be like,’ Amber said.

‘Nope.’ I shook my head. ‘And I don’t expect it to ever be my life – which is what makes all of this such a treat. It’s like someone sending you out with
their credit card, and telling you to fulfil your wildest dreams. And to commission the best wedding cake baker you know,’ I said, with a smile.

Amber narrowed her eyes at me in suspicion. ‘Don’t tease,’ she said.

‘I’m not!’ I laughed. ‘I mean no guarantees – Gemma and Eliot will get the final call, but once they’ve tasted the cakes you make I can’t imagine
there’s going to be much of a contest.’

‘Oh God. That would be amazing,’ Amber said, her usually loud voice barely more than a breath. ‘You’re serious, right?’

‘Of course I am.’

‘A Christmas wedding,’ she said. ‘All those delicious spices, ginger, cinnamon, some of my favourite flavours. I can think of one recipe already.’

My phone rang, and a little reluctantly, as I was enjoying the conversation, I got to my feet to answer it.

I checked the screen: Sam.

My heart thudded in my chest when I saw the name. I don’t know what I’d expected to happen after we met up again at Lila’s wedding, but this had caught me off guard. We were
talking again. At the very least.

‘I’d better get this,’ I said to Amber, excusing myself. I hadn’t told her the backstory. As far as she knew, Sam was simply an old friend, nothing more, nothing less.
And in a way, that was all that he was.

‘Hey, Sam,’ I said, nipping into my bedroom quickly and answering the phone as breezily as I could.

‘Hi Hazel,’ he replied. That laidback, sleepy voice I’d heard so many times, long evenings hanging out at my house or his, days in the park, skating and drinking cheap cider.
Then one day that voice had shifted from simply being part of the soundscape of my life to being the sound of everything I wanted.

I settled on the sofa to talk to him. I could hear Amber clattering around, tidying up the dishes after dinner, and was glad that she wouldn’t be able to overhear us talking.

‘It was good to see you at the wedding,’ he said.

I opened my mouth to reply, but no sound came. It had been good. Better than anything. He carried on talking.

‘We shouldn’t leave it so long next time.’

‘You’re right,’ I said, thankful that my voice seemed to be in working order again.

‘In fact that’s why I’m calling,’ Sam continued. ‘I know things got kind of weird . . .’

I held my breath, and silently prayed he’d stop there. I didn’t want to talk through all of this, least of all on the phone – the humiliation still felt fresh.

‘Anyway, it’s simple,’ he continued, seemingly thinking better of having the conversation too. ‘I don’t want to wait another six months before we see each other
again, Hazel. I’ve been meaning to come and see you in London for ages, I’ve just never quite got around to it. But why don’t we make it happen? Next weekend?’

I thought of the things I’d pencilled in to my calendar – a swing dance class, a night at the cinema. They weren’t important. Not really. ‘Next weekend would be
great.’

‘I can stay over, right?’ he asked.

‘Of course you can. Amber’s in the other room now, but there’s a sofa. We can go out for a pint locally on Saturday night, then head out to the market on Sunday
morning.’

‘Sounds great. I’ll see you on Saturday in that case,’ he said brightly.