“Well, don’t!”
“But it’s so incredible! To think last night you were at the Plaza, and now—” She stops in sudden alarm. “Hey, you’re not still wearing your wedding dress, are you?”
“Of course not!” I giggle. “I’m not a complete moron. We changed on the plane.”
“And what was that like?”
“It was so cool. Honestly, Suze, I’m only ever traveling by Lear-jet from now on.”
It’s a bright sunny day, and as I look out of the window at the passing fields, I feel a swell of happiness. I can’t quite believe it’s all fallen into place. After all these months of worry and trouble. We’re here in England. The sun is shining. And we’re going to get married.
“You know, I’m a tad concerned,” says Danny, peering out of the window. “Where are all the castles?”
“This is Surrey,” I explain. “We don’t have castles.”
“And where are the soldiers with bearskins on their heads?” He narrows his eyes. “Becky, you’re sure this is England? You’re sure that pilot knew where he was going?”
“Pretty sure,” I say, getting out my lipstick.
“I don’t know,” he says doubtfully. “This looks a lot more like France to me.”
We pull up at a traffic light and he winds down the window.
“Bonjour,” he says to a startled woman. “Comment allez-vous?”
“I… I wouldn’t know,” says the woman, and hurries across the road.
“I knew it,” says Danny. “Becky, I hate to break it to you… but this is France.”
“It’s Oxshott, you idiot,” I retort. “And… here’s our road.”
I feel a huge spasm of nerves as I see the familiar sign. We’re nearly there.
“OK,” says the driver. “Elton Road. Which number?”
“Number 43. The house over there,” I say. “The one with the balloons and the bunting… and the silver streamers in the trees…”
Blimey. The whole place looks like a fairground. There’s a man up in the horse chestnut tree at the front, threading lightbulbs through the branches, and a white van parked in the drive, and women in green and white stripy uniforms bustling in and out of the house.
“Looks like they’re expecting you, anyway,” says Danny. “You OK?”
“Fine,” I say — and it’s ridiculous, but my voice is shaking.
The car comes to a halt, and so does the other car behind, which is carrying all our luggage.
“What I don’t understand,” says Luke, staring out at all the activity, “is how you managed to shift an entire wedding forward by a day. At three weeks’ notice. I mean, you’re talking the caterers, you’re talking the band, you’re talking a million different very busy professionals…”
“Luke, this isn’t Manhattan,” I say, opening the car door. “You’ll see.”
As we get out, the front door swings open, and there’s Mum, wearing tartan trousers and a sweatshirt reading “Mother of the Bride.”
“Becky!” she cries, and runs over to give me a hug.
“Mum.” I hug her back. “Is everything OK?”
“Everything’s under control, I think!” she says a little flusteredly. “We had a problem with the table posies, but fingers crossed, they should be on their way… Luke! How are you? How was the financial conference?”
“It went er… very well,” he says. “Very well indeed, thank you. I’m just sorry it’s caused so much trouble with the wedding arrangements—”
“Oh, that’s all right!” says Mum. “I’ll admit, I was a bit taken aback when Becky phoned. But in the end, it didn’t take much doing! Most of the guests were staying over for Sunday brunch, anyway. And Peter at the church was most understanding, and said he didn’t usually conduct weddings on a Sunday, but in this case he’d make an exception—”
“But what about… the catering, for instance? Wasn’t that all booked for yesterday?”
“Oh, Lulu didn’t mind! Did you, Lulu?” she says to one of the women in green and white stripes.
“No!” says Lulu brightly. “Of course not. Hello, Becky! How are you?”
Oh my God! It’s Lulu who used to take me for Brownies.
“Hi!” I say, “I didn’t know you did catering!”
“Oh well.” She makes a self-deprecating little gesture. “It’s just to keep me busy, really. Now that the children are older…”