Don't Tell the Groom Page 17

  ‘I’m sure that’s why she gave birth to Ethan and Lily so close together. She was probably fearing your wrath,’ says Lou.

  I look up at Lou and now it is me that is starting to cry.

  ‘Hey, hey, don’t cry, Penny. You’re not pregnant too, are you?’

  ‘No,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I just can’t believe that my best friend wouldn’t tell me the biggest thing to happen to her because she was worried that I would be a complete cow about it. Lou, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I haven’t really told many people as even though it has been almost six months it’s taken a bit of getting used to.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re going to have a baby.’

  ‘I know Russell and me as parents – what a scary thought!’

  ‘I think you’ll be great parents.’

  They will be too. I just know it.

  ‘Ha, we’ll see. So now we’ve got that out of the way. Tell me, aside from the bridesmaid dresses, how are the wedding plans coming along?’

  Ah, the wedding. It always comes back to the wedding whenever I see anyone now. I don’t want to tell them that I’m barely anywhere with it. I’ve done all the big things, but that is it. And it’s always the little things that make weddings memorable.

  ‘It’s going OK. I’ve, um, oh I’ve sorted out the flowers since we last spoke,’ I say.

  ‘That’s great. And you’ve got the wine sorted?’

  ‘Yeah, kind of.’

  I know which ones I want, I’m just currently stalking the wine website waiting for special offers. Fingers crossed it will be soon, as the closer it gets to the wedding, the more I’m starting to develop a nervous twitch about it.

  ‘That’s great. It’s going to be amazing, I’m sure. I remember the last time I saw your mood board, and all that pretty fabric. Oh, you can tell me about your dress now that Mark isn’t here. Is it huge and princess-like? Are you going to be able to fit in the toilet?’ asks Lou.

  A tear rolls down my cheek.

  ‘Oh my God. You are pregnant, aren’t you?’

  ‘No,’ I say, shaking my head. The tears are really coming thick and fast now. ‘It’s such a mess.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The wedding. It’s all going so badly.’

  ‘But I thought you’d done all the big things. And you always knew what you were going to get and you saved so hard for it.’

  ‘That’s the problem. I spent the savings.’

  ‘Already? Well, how much more have you got to pay for? I’m sure Mark would give you a bit extra.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. I spent most of the money before we’d even got engaged.’

  ‘On what? Don’t tell me you’ve been buying shoes and hiding them from me.’

  ‘Ten thousand pounds would have got me a lot of Jimmy Choos,’ I say, laughing. For a brief moment I’m lost in a walk-in wardrobe where I’m surrounded by ten thousand pounds’ worth of Jimmy Choos, aka heaven.

  ‘So what did you spend it on?’ asks Lou. ‘Pen?’

  ‘Bingo.’

  I close my eyes tight so that I can’t see the look of disgust on Lou’s face, but all I can hear is laughing.

  ‘That’s funny, Pen. Nice joke.’

  ‘It’s not a joke. I spent just over ten thousand pounds on bingo. I was trying to get the money for a bigger wedding, and now I’m organising our wedding on a shoestring budget. And I go to a gamblers’ support group every Tuesday.’

  I can’t believe how good it feels to get that off my chest.

  ‘Fuckity Fuck. Suddenly my bump at the wedding seems quite small in significance. I think you’re going to have to start from the beginning.’

  So as Lou puts on the kettle for another cup of funky-tasting tea, I tell her the whole sordid story from A to Z. I tell her about the bingo rush, the bank account, how Mark doesn’t know, and I tell her about the gambling support group and Josh. I tell her, I cry, I eat biscuits and she cuddles me.

  When Russell comes home he gets banished to the kitchen and we go into the lounge so that we can talk more.

  ‘I still can’t believe it,’ says Lou. ‘I really can’t. I’ve been so jealous of you with your sensible saving for your wedding. But hey, you’re just as screwy as the rest of us.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Why don’t you just do what me and Russell did and put it on the credit card?’

  ‘Because Mark would wonder why I was eternally poor.’

  ‘Well, it sounds like you’re doing a good job so far coping with your budget. I would never have known that the venue was so cheap.’

  ‘I know. It’s amazing.’

  ‘But what I really don’t get is why you don’t tell Mark. He’d support you through it.’

  ‘I can’t. He’d be crushed. He’s so good with money.’

  ‘What if he finds out, though? You’re going to be married to him for the rest of your life. What if it just slips out?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter as we’ll be married by then and he doesn’t believe in divorce.’

  Lou is pulling a face in horror at me.

  ‘OK, so I haven’t thought that far ahead. But if I do a good job with the wedding then he’ll never know,’ I say.

  ‘I still don’t agree with you not telling Mark, but I’ll help you with the organising if you like.’

  This is why I love Lou. She’s not only fun to be with but she’d do anything for anyone.

  ‘Thanks. I might have to take you up on that offer.’

  ‘So what have you got left to do?’ she asks.

  ‘Favours, music, bridesmaid dresses, transportation, photographer, cake, suit hire.’

  ‘OK. Wedding favours on a budget – yes?’

  ‘Uh-huh. I’m not averse to making them. Amy, who’s doing my flowers, suggested something edible.’

  ‘OK, how about gingerbread hearts?’

  ‘Gingerbread?’

  ‘Yes, it’s practically all I’ve been eating over the last few months. I’ve been making it too. It’s pretty good.’

  ‘And easy?’ I ask, as gingerbread to me is just a little too close to the cake family.

  ‘Uh-huh. We can make it a couple of days before.’

  Done. Wow. If only I’d told Lou sooner, I bet we could have had everything ticked off by now.

  ‘What’s next?’

  ‘Music. You don’t happen to know a DJ or a band that will play for free?’ I ask.

  ‘Why don’t you just do an iPod DJ? You can make a play list.’

  I had thought about that. I didn’t think my mixing skills would be up to it.

  ‘I don’t have anything against it, but I sort of feel like you need someone to get the music going. You know, react to the crowd. Drop a big one when needed.’

  Yes, I still listen to Radio 1. I sometimes think I am down with the cool kids, and I know that I am not. I know I am too old for the target demographic.

  ‘Oh my God. I have the best idea,’ says Lou.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you trust me?’

  Now, you’d probably expect me to say yes to this question. But I’ll give you a little background. When Lou last asked me this question, I said of course; the next thing I knew I was waking up in hospital with my leg in plaster after Lou had pushed me down a hill in a shopping trolley. In her defence we were steaming drunk.

  ‘You promised you’d never ask me that again,’ I say.

  ‘Ah yeah, I forgot. But it is different now. I’m all responsible. I’m going to be a mum. I promise there will be no more broken bones or shopping trolleys on the horizon.’

  ‘OK then. I trust you. Why?’

  ‘Because I’ve had the best idea for a DJ and I’m not going to tell you. You’ve got your “don’t tell the groom”; I think we need a “don’t tell the bride”. Let’s just say it will last about an hour and will fit in perfectly in the middle of two sets of something.’

  ‘Should I be worried?’ I ask, wincing.

&
nbsp; ‘No, it will be awesome.’

  ‘It doesn’t involve you singing, does it?’

  ‘No, I don’t want to scare anyone.’

  ‘Good,’ I say. There are cats that can sing better than Lou.

  ‘So all I need to do now is find a band that will play for buttons.’

  ‘I’d play for buttons.’

  ‘Can you play?’ I ask hopefully.

  ‘No. But there must be someone we know that has a band.’

  ‘I’ve racked my brains and I can’t think of anyone.’

  ‘Ask around. Someone must know someone.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  ‘We’ll think of something. Oh, this is fun. It’s like Challenge Anneka. What else do we need?’

  I smile at Lou. I can’t believe how differently I feel from when I arrived over two hours ago. It’s like a big weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Not completely off, it’s still there, but my shoulders definitely feel lighter.

  I’ve got that little kernel of hope back that with Lou on my side I may actually pull this off after all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In three weeks time I’m going to be getting ready to become Mrs Robinson. I’m starting to practise my signature. Perhaps a bit premature as I should be sorting out the remaining details for the wedding that I haven’t organised yet, like booking a photographer, cars and a cake, but right now a new signature seems like a top priority.

  To tell you the truth, I’m avoiding doing any more organising. I’ve got £1,200 left in my budget, and although Lou has been really great at suggesting ideas for the favours and everything, there is no escaping that I’m never going to be able to plan the rest of the wedding with such a small amount of money.

  The only way that £1,200 sounds like a lot of money is if I was buying penny sweets. But even inflation has hit them since I was a child, and you don’t get much change out of five pence any more.

  So instead of trying to sort it out like an adult, I’ve gone back to primary school mode and I’m doodling my new signature.

  ‘Are you ready to go?’

  I look up to see Ted standing in the doorway. I’m so into my scrawling that I’ve forgotten that I am at the museum.

  ‘Yes, ready,’ I say.

  I jump up from my chair and follow Ted out into the car park.

  Today I’m helping out at a fête. All the volunteers are. Lilian, Betty and Nina are doing the afternoon shift and this morning I’m with Ted and Cathy. I volunteered to go with Ted, who is driving down there in one of the museum vehicles.

  ‘She’s a beauty,’ I say as we get closer.

  The green army jeep looks like it is out of an old war movie.

  ‘She’s all right. She’s a 1944 Willy’s Jeep, American,’ says Ted.

  ‘Wow, is it really from 1944 and it still runs?’

  ‘Don’t look so surprised, Penny. A lot of things made in the forties still run, you know.’

  I smile at Ted; I’m guessing he was made before the forties.

  I climb into the jeep and do up the seat belt, which is a small fabric belt that goes around my middle. I’m just hoping we don’t crash as somehow I don’t think this thing has air-bags.

  ‘Hold on to your hat,’ says Ted.

  He pulls some levers and the jeep starts as if by magic. The engine is really noisy and it sounds like it is going to conk out at any moment. Instead of being phased by it Ted revs the engine and then suddenly we’re away and I grab on to the door for dear life.

  Who knew a vehicle over sixty years old could go so fast? Or at least it feels fast. It reminds me of being in a tuk-tuk in Thailand. Overexposed to the elements and vulnerable in a motor vehicle. But it sure is fun.

  When we reach the field and pull to a stop, I clap my hands with delight and shout ‘Again, again!’, just like the Tellytubbies.

  It was so much fun. The noise, the movement, the petrol smell of the engine – it was great.

  ‘Thanks, Ted, that was ace,’ I say to him as I climb out. My legs are a bit like jelly and I’m trying to make them go rigid so I can walk on them.

  ‘You’re welcome. It’s nice to give the girl a good run.’

  ‘Is this the only time you take her out?’

  ‘Oh no, we do it about once a month. Usually around the block, just to make sure she doesn’t seize up.’

  A comedy cartoon light bulb pings in my head as I am suddenly hit with a brainwave. I notice Cathy is busy setting up shop stock and I decide this might be a good time to help her.

  ‘Need any help?’ I ask as casually as I can, when all I really want to do is beg her to let me have the jeep on my wedding day.

  ‘Thanks, Penny, that would be fantastic.’

  She hands me a box of toy soldiers and I start laying them out on the table as artistically as I can.

  ‘How was the jeep ride?’ asks Cathy.

  ‘I loved it. So much fun,’ I say. I wasn’t going to get a better opportunity than that to drop my hiring the jeep into conversation.

  ‘In fact, I really loved it. I was just wondering. There isn’t any way I could hire the jeep for my wedding, is there?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Penny, we don’t do that as we’re not insured.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’ I’m gutted. The jeep would have been perfect for the wedding. I try to concentrate on unpacking the toys as neatly as I can, all the while racking my brains over how I’m going to beat the jeep with a cooler wedding car.

  ‘You know, we do take the car out once a month for a test run.’

  ‘I know. Ted was saying,’ I say sadly.

  ‘Well, let’s say that we just happened to drive it to a church and happened to drive it back. Maybe picking you up along the way?’

  ‘I’m listening,’ I say.

  ‘Now, we can have passengers in it, as long as no money changes hands.’

  ‘I see. And if I was perhaps to give a donation to the museum?’

  ‘Or to the Friends of the Museum,’ says Cathy.

  ‘OK, to the Friends of the Museum. Do you think that the little trip could be organised for the 18th of May?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. As long as Ted agrees. But to be honest, I don’t see that being a problem; he really only needs the smallest excuse to get it out of the vehicle shed.’

  ‘So a donation of how much do you think the Friends would like?’

  ‘Thirty pounds to cover the petrol.’

  ‘How about I say fifty pounds to include wear and tear?’

  ‘Done,’ says Cathy.

  I look over at the jeep parked in the centre of the field and I smile. I can’t wait to see our guests’ faces when I pull up in that. I’m not going to think about how I’m going to get in and out of it in my lovely ivory dress, though. But beggars quite literally can’t be choosers.

  I spend the day in an old army surplus tent telling everyone how wonderful a day out the museum is, and I can’t help coming over in a warm glow when I talk about the place. It’s been great volunteering there before the wedding as I already feel connected to the building. I’m finally starting to get excited about our wedding. I have a feeling that it is going to be absolutely perfect.

  I’m still staring at the jeep, caught up in a daydream where I’ve got Mark to wear an old American GI uniform for the wedding day, when I see a distinctive blue rinse coming towards the tent.

  Nanny Violet. What is she doing here?

  OK, so it is a local fête, and technically Violet lives locally, but I just hadn’t even considered she would be here.

  I frantically look around the tent for a way out but the sides are fixed down and Violet is heading this way. I bend down. Maybe I can peel back one of the tent flaps and crawl out under it.

  Dammit, I mutter under my breath. It is well and truly pegged down. I slowly make my way towards the trestle table at the front of the tent and sit under it. I’m sure no one will notice me underneath the tablecloth.

  From my vantage point under the table I can see V
iolet’s trademark red patent shoes. I love those shoes.

  ‘Violet, how are you?’ asks Ted.

  What? Did I hear that right? Violet knows Ted. What the … ? I curl myself up into a smaller ball. There is no way that they can know I am under the table.

  ‘Hello, Theodore. I’m very well, thank you, and how are you?’

  ‘Can’t complain, really. My hip is playing up, but at our age whose isn’t?’

  I can hear Violet laugh, or at least I think it is Violet as there are no other shoes that I can see. It just doesn’t sound like her, it sounds almost … flirty. Oh no. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. They can’t be flirting, can they?

  ‘So you volunteer at the museum, do you?’ asks Violet.

  ‘Oh yes, every Saturday without fail. You should come down sometime, have a look round. I’m sure you’d enjoy it. We’ve got a whole section about this area during the war.’

  Oh no. I really hope Violet doesn’t come to the museum before the wedding. She’d definitely tell Mark if she saw me there; she’d not be able to help herself. She wouldn’t understand why I’m volunteering. It’s not like it’s really in my character. And Mark would be confused about why I’ve been volunteering and not at Zumba. Then I’d have to tell him the truth.

  ‘Perhaps one day,’ says Violet.

  Her voice has changed and there is no longer a flirty tone to it; now it just sounds sad and distant.

  ‘Bye, Theodore.’

  ‘Bye, Violet.’

  The patent red shoes walk out of my line of vision and after counting to twenty I think it is safe to leave my little cubby-hole.

  ‘What are you doing down there?’ asks Ted as I make a very ungraceful exit from underneath the table. I am starting to feel every bit the twenty-nine years I am.

  ‘I dropped a pencil,’ I say, holding up a pencil in my hand. Luckily I’d been holding one when I’d ducked under the table.

  ‘Was that a friend of yours?’ I ask casually, hoping that I can get to the bottom of the flirty tone.

  ‘Oh, Violet? She and I go way back. We were friends during the war. I was a friend of her husband’s.’

  I’m about to chip in about Mark’s granddad Albert, but then Ted would know that I’d hidden from Violet and get suspicious.

  ‘I see her around every so often and I think it makes her sad to see me as it reminds her of the war,’ he says.