The Winter Wedding (23 page)

‘No.’ I wondered if it wouldn’t be better if I just kept quiet.

‘You do, don’t you?’ Josh bit his lip.

‘I have no idea. But obviously you have to find her.’

Josh called round Sarah’s friends and family, and I got us some flapjacks as we waited for news.

‘No one knows anything,’ Josh said. ‘But no one seems that worried either – which I suppose is something. I mean this is what she does, Haze. She disappears. I know that
– I’ve always known that.’

I tried to ignore the thought that was nagging at me. Why, if you had Josh, would you ever want to disappear?

Josh went home eventually. The next morning, he called by.

‘She’s back,’ he said, with a smile. ‘Sarah. She came back to our house at midnight last night.’

‘And she’s OK?’

‘She’s fine. Can I come in?’

‘Of course, take a seat,’ I got up and had a token attempt at tidying and hurriedly shoved some of the mounting paperwork on my desk to one side.

‘So what happened?’ I asked.

‘She panicked, apparently,’ Josh said, running a hand through his dark hair. He had dark circles under his eyes. ‘She said she had a picture of herself at the end of the aisle,
and suddenly felt it wasn’t the right thing after all.’

‘What exactly wasn’t the right thing, marrying you?’ I said, realising I was feeling a little hopeful that the answer might be yes.

‘No . . . she says it wasn’t to do with me. It was getting married full stop. She’s got all these ideas about how once she’s settled she’ll never be able to do all
the things she wanted to – go travelling, learn to read tarot cards . . .’

‘Tarot cards?’

‘I know . . .’ Josh squinted up at me, then rubbed his eyes. ‘I didn’t even know she was interested in that stuff. You haven’t got any coffee, have you?’

‘Of course,’ I said, getting to my feet and putting the kettle on. ‘Sorry. So I’m guessing you didn’t get much sleep last night then?’

‘Hardly any. We stayed up talking.’

‘And?’

‘I think we can work things out. I mean, everyone has last-minute nerves, don’t they? I’ve definitely had a few moments of wondering whether we’re doing the right thing .
. . But you work through that, don’t you? And I guess that’s good preparation for being married – we’re going to have a lot of things to work through.’

‘Sure,’ I said, pouring the coffee and adding milk. I put a mini chocolate Yule log on his saucer and passed it to him.

‘I wish I was the right person to give you advice on married life – but I’m afraid I’m not.’

Josh shook his head. ‘No one really knows the answer, do they?’

‘So where do you two stand now?’ I asked.

‘We’re OK. So that’s why I really came by. To tell you everything is back on. Sarah and I are working through this hiccup, and we still want to have the wedding just as before.
Thanks for being patient with us.’

‘Great,’ I said, with a smile. And it was, wasn’t it? Josh and Sarah, two of my clients, who loved each other very much, were going to tie the knot on a Caribbean beach, at a
wedding they would remember for the rest of their lives. So why was I having to force this smile?

‘Great,’ Josh said. His brown eyes met mine and it was a while before he looked away.

A week later, I met with Lila at her local bakery, the Sweet Tree.

‘How are Sarah and Josh?’

‘Fine, yes. Everything’s sorted. It’ll be the most fantastic Caribbean wedding ever. We had a bit of a hiccup when Sarah went AWOL, but she’s back now.’

‘A bit of a hiccup?’ Lila said. ‘Sounds like more than that. Are you sure everything’s OK?’

‘Yes. Josh said they’ve talked everything through and they’re surer than ever that this is what they want.’

‘Right,’ Lila said, unconvinced.

‘Although I guess I do wonder,’ I said. ‘I mean, if she was really that unsure about marrying him –’

Lila looked at me sternly. ‘Stop right there,’ she said.

‘What?’ I said, innocently.

‘My God, Hazel. You’ve got a crush on him, haven’t you?’

‘NO,’ I said, aghast. ‘No way. I haven’t.’

‘I thought that was what was going on,’ Lila said, shaking her head. ‘You actually
want
them to call off the wedding, don’t you?’

‘Of course not,’ I protested. ‘I just spent the morning making sure there would be rose petals on their bed in the honeymoon suite, and a private boat to take them out to the
island hotel. Why would I do that, if I didn’t want them to get married?’

‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

Back at home, I opened the folder for forthcoming weddings, and there on the top were Josh and Sarah’s details. I felt a pull at my heart. I hadn’t heard from
either of them for a while, so I could only assume that everything was going ahead as normal after Sarah’s brief wobble.

It nagged at me – that Lila was right. I missed Josh. I missed talking to him, missed joking with him. It was wrong. I knew that. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t happening.

I went out to the shops and called Josh’s mobile on the way. No answer. He must be busy. He hadn’t answered all week. But then . . . a gut feeling kicked in. Josh
didn’t do this. He always picked up, even if it was just to say he’d call back later.

I tried him one more time, then called Sarah.

Sarah came and met me at a café between our two flats. Her hair was swept up into a loose topknot, and she looked relaxed.

‘It’s over,’ she said bluntly.

‘What?’ I gasped.

‘Me and Josh. Finito.’ She gave a nonchalant little smile.

‘Are you serious? What happened?’

‘Oh I think it’s been coming for a while. We were burying our heads in the sand, both of us. I mean, surely you noticed that we couldn’t agree on a thing when it came to the
wedding . . . hardly the most auspicious start to a life together, is it?’

‘I suppose,’ I said, hesitantly. ‘But lots of couples disagree on the details, it can be a very stressful time . . .’

‘Come on, Hazel. You know as well as me it wasn’t just a case of the details with us.’

‘Are you OK?’

‘I’ve never felt better,’ she said lightly.

‘You just decided, then?’

‘Yes. Woke up, looked over at the man on the pillow next to me – and well, you either know you’re meant to be together for ever, or you realise your relationship’s past
its sell-by date. In our case it was the latter. You know – when you booked the wedding for us, all I could think was – this is a perfect holiday . . . but for someone else.’

‘Right,’ I said, still struggling a little to take it all in.

‘Don’t worry about the money,’ Sarah said, misreading my expression. ‘We know we’ve incurred some costs, and I’m happy to cover them, including your fee.
Small price to pay really, if you think that we’ve just escaped a lifetime with the wrong person.’

Sarah got up to leave. She got as far as the door, then turned around. ‘And thanks, Hazel. I know this isn’t quite the way things were meant to turn out.’

I glanced across at her empty chair, and the full cup of coffee she’d left. She’d walked out of the café just the way I remember her arriving at our first meeting, in a swirl
of coloured fabrics, her feet so light on the floor she could have been floating. The sparkle in her eye told me she was already past the point of no return.

Maybe some people were better on their own. She certainly seemed freer and happier than she had at any point while we’d been planning the wedding.

There was one thing I hadn’t asked. Josh was out there somewhere, alone – and quite possibly devastated. I had to find him.

I walked down to the canal, and back through the park. I continued to call Josh on my mobile, even though each time it rang through to voicemail. There was something comforting
in hearing his voice, so calm and normal – and I wondered if the mood of that recorded message was even close to how he might be feeling now.

I didn’t know what Josh’s regular hang-outs were. But this park was where we had sometimes gone for lunch, which was as close to a starting point as I had here in the mist and tangle
of the city.

I jumped a little as my phone buzzed with a message.

Haze. I’m on the bandstand. Come over. Josh
.

I looked up and saw a silhouetted figure just metres away. He was there. I picked up my pace and closed the distance between us.

I greeted him with a hug. ‘Found you.’

‘Sorry I didn’t pick up when you called.’

‘Don’t worry. I understand.’ I paused for a moment. ‘I spoke to Sarah this morning.’

‘Right,’ he said, his eyes downcast. ‘So you know.’

‘Yes.’ We sat down together on the concrete of the bandstand, leaning against the intricate steel railings.

‘What a mess we’ve made of everything.’

I looked him in the eye. ‘I’m sorry. It must be hard.’

‘I wanted to do the right thing, Haze. But this is where it led to. Us breaking up.’

There was a sadness in his eyes that made me want to reach out and touch him.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Honestly? Like I’ve let everyone down. My family . . . God, I’ve no idea how I’m going to tell them. Then our friends, the guests who’ve already booked flights . .
.’

‘I can help to sort some of that out,’ I said.

‘No.’ he shook his head. ‘This is our mess to clear up now. We’ve already dragged you into enough of this.’

‘People will understand,’ I said. ‘Or at least they will in time.’

He looked at me again and let out a sigh. ‘I guess.’

‘Anyway, that wasn’t really what I meant. I was asking how you’re feeling. About what happened, about breaking up with Sarah.’

He paused. ‘This seems like an awful thing to say.’

‘Go on.’

‘But I think I feel OK. More than that. I’m pretty sure I feel relieved.’

On Friday evening I went around to Lila’s, and we baked together using Grandma Joyce’s recipe for Christmas biscuits; we always ate those in the final days of
Advent. It was the only time Lila baked, and I treasured these moments together. Tonight it was just what I needed, the time and space away from the drama of Josh and Sarah’s break-up, and
the fact that out of three weddings on my books one had dissolved right in front of my eyes.

‘How are things coming along with Eliot and Gemma’s wedding?’ Lila asked, as she pressed out Christmas tree shapes with a biscuit cutter.

‘Better than they were. Eliot and Gemma are pretty much all set, I called the venue this morning to make the final arrangements, and I’ve found a great caller for the Ceilidh. Glad I
won’t have to spell that in an email ever again.’ I smiled.

‘Well, we’re really excited about it. I bought my dress the other day, and we’ve booked the train up. It’s miles!’

‘I know – but it will be worth it, I promise.’

‘I can’t wait. It’s such a relief to know there are only a couple of performances left, and then it’s time to relax and party.’

‘You deserve it. What an amazing show.’

‘You know, I was thinking something,’ Lila said, pausing with the cookie cutter held aloft. ‘You should talk to the art director. He’s really nice.’

‘Me. Don’t be silly,’ I said, feeling my face flush.

‘I’m serious,’ Lila said. ‘The designer they worked with this time had great vision but was really unreliable. Xander, the art director, was talking about trying someone
new, or pairing the designer up with someone for the shows in the new year. We get on well and I couldn’t resist talking about how talented you are. He’s interested in meeting you. If
you’d like to, that is?’

‘Erm, yes,’ I said, struggling to believe this was really happening.

‘No guarantees, but it’s worth a try, surely?’ Lila said, with a smile.

‘Definitely,’ I said, sounding surer than I felt. I thought of the sets in my cupboard, and my portfolio of work – neither of which I’d shared in a professional sense for
years. The thought of showing them to someone at the Royal Opera House was surreal and terrifying. But when I thought of Josh’s encouraging words when he’d seen my work, it all, at
somehow, felt possible.

‘So back to Bidcombe we go this Christmas,’ Lila said, jolting me out of my thoughts.

‘Yes. Back to the cottage.’

‘How do you think Ben’s getting on there?’ Lila enquired.

‘He seems well,’ I said. ‘No job yet, so I guess there’s always the risk he could end up staying there for ever . . .’

‘Like Sam?’

‘God, yes.’ I felt a pang of guilt saying it. Sam was still my friend, after all, even if we weren’t really talking to each other at the moment. ‘I suppose so. But I
don’t think he’ll stick around that long. You know how ambitious Ben’s always been. I think he’s just having a bit of downtime.’

‘Ollie’s looking forward to it,’ Lila said. ‘With the requisite dose of trepidation.’

‘His first Delaney Christmas, poor guy,’ I laughed. ‘Well, part of the deal now that you guys are married, I guess. I’ll go easy on him. Can’t promise the same for
Mum and Dad, though.’

After talking with Lila, I’d sent Xander at the Royal Opera House an email and he’d replied immediately suggesting I come in for an informal meeting. I could barely
sleep that night thinking about it. As the sky brightened outside, I took out one of my sets from the cupboard – a model for Swan Lake that I’d made, just for pleasure, while Lila had
been performing it a couple of years back. I decided to take it with me today, along with my portfolio.

I got a taxi over to Covent Garden, remembering the journey with Josh, and walked beneath the twinkling Christmas lights in Wellington Street, clutching the set tightly. I was nervous, but I was
ready.

I came out of the side entrance an hour later. A light snow had dusted the pavements and taxi roofs. I waited less than a second before getting out my mobile and calling
Lila.

‘Good news,’ I said, when she picked up. ‘He’s going to give me a chance. Starting on a project in January.’

Lila’s squeal was so loud I held the phone away from my ear, and laughed.

‘Congratulations,’ she said.

‘I can’t really believe it.’

‘Believe it!’ Lila said.