‘I’ve just picked up some zero fat frozen yogurts and a re-supply of E-boost dietary supplement from the bagel cafe,’ says Ben. Gone are the days when any of us would buy curry or a pickled egg at the chippie.
‘And now we’re meeting Colleen to talk about the wedding,’ says Fern. Of course they are.
I’ve been so busy in the studio that I haven’t been involved in the planning at all. Too many cooks spoil the broth and all that. But Mark says I have to show I’m supportive and interested. ‘How’s it all coming together?’
Fern looks delighted I’ve asked. She flips open her Smythson leather-bound wedding planning notebook. ‘Colleen gave me an updated status list this morning. Should I take it from the top?’
‘Go for it.’
‘Well, we’ve chosen the diamonds for my jewellery and for the bridesmaids’ presents.’
‘All very sparkly,’ chips in Ben.
‘We’ve confirmed the venue, menu, wines and champagne,’ Fern adds.
‘All very yummy,’ encourages Ben.
‘The booklets for the service are at the printers.’
‘We’ve ordered three thousand candles.’
‘Four hundred ornate birdcages.’
‘Packed with silk butterflies.’
I raise my eyebrows ‘For?’
‘For the tables.’
‘Right,’ I nod.
‘Yesterday we earnestly discussed feathers, tea-light holders, baubles and the exact shade of icing for heart-shaped biscuits for ten consecutive hours. We all agreed it was a great Hollywood moment and Colleen opened the champagne,’ says Fern with a full-on laugh.
Ben puts his hand on Fern’s shoulders and starts to lead her out of the door. ‘Speaking of Colleen, we’re supposed to be meeting her right about now and Mark sent us to find you, Scott. He wants you to come too.’
Mark has an A-list quota he’s keen to meet and is fanatically monitoring the replies as they come in.
‘But you can’t see the dress designs,’ says Fern, looking concerned. ‘It’s unlucky.’
‘It’s unlucky for the groom to see the bride
‘Just stay by the door,’ insists Ben.
53. Fern
Jenny Packham is designing my dress. It was almost impossible to choose who should, as Vera Wang and Amanda Wakeley also showed me their sketches. My dilemma was that all the designs were heart-bleedingly beautiful. Saadi’s dilemma was which designer would cause the biggest sensation. In the end we plumped for Jenny because when one of Saadi’s assistants did the initial scouting to each designer’s studio she noticed that Jenny had Scott’s official calendar hanging in her office. Mark loved that and fed the story as a titbit to the gossip columns.
Ben, Colleen, Saadi and I sit at the dining-room table looking at sketches of my wedding dress while Joy and a couple of pretty, nameless assistants mill around. The sketches are breathtaking. Jenny specializes in luxurious bias-cut dresses with delicate, intricate beading. Her creations are drenched with a dazzling glamour and beauty that harks back to gentler, more romantic days; they are elegant and feminine. I absolutely can’t wait for my first fitting.
Mark drifts over to where we are sitting; I wondered how long he’d be able to resist interfering. He picks up a sketch of the dress.
‘Don’t go too flouncy, she needs to be rock chic,’ he says to Colleen.
Hello! I’m here! I can’t get used to people talking over
Mark goes on. ‘Don’t over-style. Loose hair. Almost dirty-looking. Was it Sting’s Trudy who arrived at the church on a horse or was that Paula Yates? That’s what we need. Something different and eye-catching.’
Ben, Colleen, the entourage and I all glare at Mark in unison. He takes a hint and goes to sit down with Scott. The rest of us turn back to the matter in hand.
‘Mark’s right about one thing. We do need a unifying USP,’ says Colleen.
‘A what?’ I ask.
‘A unique selling point,’ clarifies Ben.
‘For my wedding?’
‘If not then, when?’ says Saadi, rolling her eyes.
‘Bollywood?’ suggests Ben. ‘Bangles, spicy food, girls in saris serving lychees.’
‘French boudoir? Wide skirts, bosoms on show, garters,’ suggests Joy.
‘Oriental? Fern could arrive on a dragon,’ says Saadi’s first assistant.
‘I don’t think there are any dragons left,’ sneers Saadi’s second assistant (clearly on the look-out for a promotion).
‘What, not even in China? We could ship in.’
‘Silver ice,’ offers someone else. ‘We’d need snow machines and ice sculptures. Fern could arrive in a sleigh pulled by huskies.’
‘Flowers,’ I say firmly. My voice slices through the madness.
‘That’s your theme?’ asks Joy, raising a perfectly arched (threaded rather than plucked) eyebrow.
‘Yes, flowers and romance. I want beads and flowers, and glitter and flowers, and satin and flowers,’ I gush. ‘Mostly just lots of flowers. Romantic flowers.’
There’s a silence. After a while Colleen says, ‘Don’t you think romance has been done to death at weddings?’
I ignore her and continue to describe my vision. ‘I want inches of petals for the guests to stride through and the smell of flowers floating through the air for miles around.’
‘Or maybe fur but I’m not talking white fur, I’m thinking leopard skin,’ says another complete stranger. I glare at her.
‘And flowers threaded through my hair.’
‘I’m not suggesting real leopard skin. The animal rights activists would be all over us, mobbing the reception. I just meant –’
‘Give the lady her flowers,’ Scott shouts from the corner of the room where we banished him.
There’s a hiatus in the conversation. We’d almost forgotten he was there; a rare occurrence but his imperial power has now been reinstated.
‘Fine,’ says Colleen with a heavy sigh. ‘I suppose we can do
Then there’s complete silence. I turn to him and send out a look of pure, undiluted love and mouth, ‘Thank you’. He is so unselfish with me. He is one hundred per cent behind me. For me. My happiness is his everything. He’s wonderful. Adam was so wrong about him.
54. Scott
‘Son, you’re a pro,’ says Mark, his delight and admiration oozing from every pore as we leave the room.
‘Agreed but what are you talking about in particular?’ I ask, giving in to a wide yawn. I love yawning. And stretching’s good too. Not the sort of stretching you do in yoga – can’t be doing with that. Well, I did go through a phase where I practised ashtanga yoga but that phase didn’t last long; it gets dead fucking boring, really quickly, and hideously uncomfortable too. But a normal stretch, first thing in the morning, or an I’ve-been-sat-still-too-long stretch – well, nothing beats that.
