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Thom: Then it’s yours.
Me: But how much is it?
Man at stall: To you two? £400.
Thom was grinning at me, but something in my stomach had shrunk from that figure. Yes, it was lovely, but it was also only £400. Weren’t engagement rings the one thing that you’d wear forever and ever? I pulled him a little bit away from the stall.
Me: Shall we look at some shops in town?
Thom: But you love this! [laughing] Do you think it’s too much?
Me: [queasily] It’s just … aren’t engagement rings supposed to cost one month’s wages? It’s got to be an extra-special piece of jewellery, to show how much … your husband … loves … you …
Thom: If that’s what you really want, Kiki. [turning to vendor] Sorry mate. Looks like I was wrong.
It turned out that Thom had snuck over to the market a few days before, spotted the ring and, knowing I’d love it, asked the guy to keep it for me. Thom told me all about how special he knew I’d find it, with its own personal history and a unique story that no ring in a jewellery shop would ever have, of how it was originally made for a young wife by her new husband, with stones to signify passion and constancy for their life ahead. Unfortunately, he didn’t tell me this until he’d turned off the light after finally coming up at midnight; he’d driven us home without talking and had been watching the TV in a terrible silence, until I’d lost my nerve and slunk off to bed alone. I’m writing this now in the bathroom by the shaving light, wondering whether my dearly beloved is tempted to call off the whole thing. Oh God. What have I done?
TO DO:
Dress – still needed?
Venue – as above?
Honeymoon – see if Susie is available to accompany me on the solo holiday I may need to get used to, in my new single life
September’s Classic Wedding!
Everybody was asked to the fêtes of the marriage. Garlands and triumphal arches were hung across the road to welcome the young bride. The great St Michael’s Fountain ran with uncommonly sour wine, while that in the Artillery Place frothed with beer. The great waters played; and poles were put up in the park and gardens for the happy peasantry, which they might climb at their leisure, carrying off watches, silver forks, prize sausages hung with pink ribbon, etc. at the top.
Vanity Fair
William Makepeace Thackeray
September 2nd (#ulink_b23c2d4d-ce55-5242-95a0-ad148013d0d7)
Thank bloody God. Thom went back to the market the next morning and bought the ring without telling me. I hadn’t said one word to him since we’d left the market the day before (besides a whispered but heartfelt apology when I finally got into bed with him after writing this last night) and felt nauseous all the next day – what a horrible way to behave! When he came home last night with a poorly hidden smile and a tiny parcel of ring, I was full of promises and apologies, leaping at him like an overexcited puppy.
When I wore the ring to work today, Alice was in raptures over it, and even Norman raised an approving eyebrow. Carol could only muster, ‘Couldn’t afford a new one?’ which earned a guffaw from Norman. He might not give two figs about your weekend plans or the small talk of an office, but I have my suspicions that he may actually be human after all.
Tony gave me Jacki Jones’s email address so I could get in touch with her to start planning the book. Her agent is also her fiancé so I’m to avoid letting him know anything about the book, which, I have to say, is probably just about the worst business sense I’ve ever heard. Still, her wedding has been set for April next year, and the book will be rushed out to hit the shelves three weeks afterwards. Tony’s promised me a definite promotion if this book works out. Not only a whole new job title (not Editorial Assistant – oh no – now I would be Assistant Editor. Woop!) but more money too (which in publishing terms probably means only enough money that I can switch from ‘takeaway’ to ‘eat in’ at the café at the corner, but still). And if I ever want to make it out of Polka Dot’s hallowed doors and into the world of the big hitters, I need something like this under my belt.
TO DO:
Find out what we need to do for ceremony and reception
Guest book and photo albums?
Ceremony music – piano?
Wedding cake – classic cake? Something different?
Ultimately treat someone else’s wedding as a great deal more important to me than my own
September 4th
Right, time to think about the engagement party. With some brief research (three bridal magazines and asking around the office) the trend seems to be for garden parties and gift lists. I think we’ll just try the Queen’s Arms: it’s close to us and Susie, and it’s nearish enough to the tube that people can roll around after work without too much labour. We’ll try for next Friday, and allow a few rounds to be bought if the Moneybags Crew turns up from Thom’s work. Thom can tell his lot, I’ll tell mine, and we can flip a coin for anyone who falls into both or neither camp.
September 8th
Dress day! What joy, what raptures! Who would have known that white floor-length dresses are the most flattering thing ever? Well, maybe Elizabeth Taylor. I thought it best to hedge my bets by booking us into an affordable place, as well as a more expensive option. We thought we’d work our way up, so started just off Oxford Street at the cheap place. And when I say cheap, I mean the wedding dresses are a bit less than £1,000. £1,000! Hahahahahhahaha! £1000! The absolute most I have ever spent on a single piece of clothing is £210, on a beautiful Jigsaw dress that was the most stunning thing I’d ever seen but in practice made me look like a gammon with the string left on. The ‘Cheap Dresses’ were even more lovely than that, and I was hugely surprised by trying on – and loving – the most Bridey McBriderson dresses, strapless and flouncy and lacy and glittering, like big white cakes. Oh, they made me so happy (them, or the champagne they gave us. One or the other). I felt like a royal-iced angel, and wanted more than anything for the walls to drop away to reveal Busby Berkeley dancers that would high kick and lift me around and around in a bridal wonderland. Maybe that was the champagne. I came out in one dress like a tulle snowball.
Susie: Oh, to have and to hold.
Me: For richer, or for poorer?
Susie: I’m sickness for how in health you look.
Me: Death will not part me from this dress.
We were sniggering so much by then that the nice lady encouraged me to maybe take off the dress, so I did just that, waving goodbye to the beauty as we headed off with light, giddy hearts to the Pricey Shop, sure that we’d already seen our winners and only anxious over convincing Thom that his salary honestly could stretch to £950 for a dress I’d sport for ten hours. But then … Oh, then. The Pricey Shop wasn’t just full of the most beautiful dresses, but the most beautiful everything. The carpet. The chairs. The changing rooms. Even the women in white gloves who helped me in and out of each dress. They only laughed politely when I asked if I could move in with them there. I, however, sighed piteously when, after three dresses, Susie said she didn’t have much time left in town – Pete had something on in the evening so she had to get back to get the Twins in bed.
Susie: I’m sorry, Kiki, but he did ask me yesterday, and I have been out all afternoon.
Me: All afternoon? Bloody hell, move over Emmeline Pankhurst.
Susie: Don’t, Kiki.
Me: What?
Susie: Don’t give me a hard time. He needs some time to himself too – while we’ve been gadding about like bridal pixies, he’s been slaving over a hot desk. Give the poor lad a break.
Me: [swallowing rage, sitting down next to her and slinging an arm around] Of course. I’m only sad that we don’t have time for the post-wedding-dress-try-on paintballing I had booked.
Assistant: Excuse me, madam, we have one more that may be what you’re looking for.
Susie: Ah, the old ‘one more thing’ trick. Worked for Columbo.
Me: I don’t think that’s the same trick as Columbo’s.
Susie: Your mum doesn’t think that’s the same trick as Columbo’s.
Me: That doesn’t work either.
Susie: Shhhh. Look. They’re bringing it.
Then … The Dress. It was Perfection in the form of Fabric, like music you only hear in your dreams, like food you remember from your childhood; familiar yet foreign. A simple white asymmetric sheath dress, with an organza overlay gathered at one hip in a large flower, and a matching silk tulle veil with a satin trim. I’m trying to not weep as I write this, but it was so beautiful. When Susie saw me in it, even she said, ‘Wow. If it had been a toss-up between that dress and the Twins, Pete and I might have a house with fewer crayon scribbles right now.’ The only fly in this Ointment of Delight is the price. £2,300.
I haven’t quite mentioned the price to Thom yet.
TO DO:
Sell kidney (or even better – see if Thom needs both of his) for wedding dress
If that fails, see if can barter one of the Twins instead
September 13th
God, I feel sorry for Thom sometimes. How does he bear working there? He told me, laughing, that when he’d been inviting people from his office, the reactions varied from ‘Where’s your list?’ to a baffled ‘What kind of venue is it?’ I despair. It’s A PUB. You might have heard of them? What a strange bunch they truly are. So we shall just wait and see which of them shows up, but in the meantime we’ve got a yes from Suse (although Pete may be in Malaysia, lucky guy), from everyone at work, from my lovely old friend Jim, Rich and Heidi, and Nick and Rose, friends from uni. Eve says she’s got a hot date that night, but will swing by if it all falls through. I’ve dug out my gorgeous blue dress (dry clean only – number of times worn previously: one) and Sheila the Landlady has put some extra champagne on ice for us. Done.
September 15th
I finally got in touch with Jacki today. She hasn’t worked out how to put hearts underneath each of her exclamation marks, but I do slightly feel like I’ve been molested by a giant glittery bunny nonetheless. This was her final email of the day:
From: Jacki Jones
To: Carlow, Kiki
Subject: Hey!!!!!
Hi Kiki!!!
I hope you don’t think I’m loopy, but I’m totally completely excited about this project!!!; I know we can sort out all these questions you’ve got. Let’s meet up!!! You’re such a gem to be helping me (I think I’ll have loads of questions) and I’m sure we can make this book as brilliant as the wedding itself!!!! Bring a list of everything you’ve been asking me and we’ll find an answer for all of it!!:
I’m free tomorrow 10–12 – do you want to come to Leon’s office?! How exciting!!!!
See you then,
J xxxxxxxx : )
I’m sure this will all be fine.
: (
September 16th
Today’s meeting went well, but I take it all back. It wasn’t a fluffy glitter bunny; it was a fluffy glitter bunny ROBOT. Jacki is the most amazing machine – which is no great surprise, given her swift and inexorable rise from catalogue model to TV soap actress nobody to household name. She is efficient and professional, and incredibly, unbelievably fond of (shudder) All Things Girly. But she’s lovely. It’s just that conversation with her is slightly unnerving, like your washing machine suddenly insisting you deserve a pedicure.
TO DO:
Actually start looking at some ceremony and reception options
Check whether Jacki has her own staff for this wedding, or whether Polka Dot are expected to plan it for her as part of our ‘publishing’ deal
Start thinking about guest list
Discuss with Dad while Mum isn’t about who we absolutely have to invite
Get Thom to ask Alan and Aileen who needs to be asked from the Sharpe branch
Do I have to invite the whole office? Does Thom?
Florist – visit local florist on high street, get rough estimates
Save the date cards – necessary?
Wedding cake – start collecting images of cakes I like from magazines (this may turn into a slightly food-porny book of cake pictures)
September 18th
Heyyyyy! Great
September 19th
Sorry, I may have slightly fallen asleep writing last night. It was such a great time, is what I think I was probably saying. Three people from Thom’s work turned up – Paul, Robert and a really sweet girl called Luisa who’s just started there as an intern. She looked about fourteen but was incredibly nice and bought us a bottle of champagne because she felt so bad for ‘crashing our party’. Susie was unbelievably drunk (having slugged most of that bottle) and started the dancing at 10pm, in which she was joined by Alice, Jim and Heidi. Someone had brought party streamers and we were all tangled up in them. Purely due to not wanting her to feel like I wasn’t in the spirit of things, I eventually joined in too, grabbing Sheila the Landlady’s hand and doing the Twist. Suse and I set that place on fire! Not literally. But we Carlows can certainly shake it. That’s all I’m saying.
At one point, Thom and I found each other in the crowd, and managed to get out into the fresh air together.
Thom: This all seems like good fun, doesn’t it.
Me: Are we really doing this wedding thing?
Thom: Looks like it.
Me: I’m really happy.
Thom: Me too. I’m glad you said yes. If you hadn’t, I’d have had to go with my backup girl. And she isn’t too bright. [taps head]
Me: You are so romantic.
Thom: [picking me up, hugging me really tight]
Me: Hulk happy.
Thom: Yeah, I suppose Hulk happy. And if you buy me a drink I’ll show you how easy I am when we get home.
God, I ache today. Hulk dance.
September 25th
I haven’t spoken face to face with Eve since I told her about the engagement – I thought she took it well (for her), but she didn’t take it well enough to make it to the party (that hot date was a success, apparently). But I don’t blame her. Weddings are never particularly heart-warming when yours is still broken, and I know she isn’t really over Louis (soul of a cockroach, hair of a god); they’d been together for three years by the time she finally woke up and realised love doesn’t mean trying to make your loved one go completely mental with jealousy. She dumped him on her birthday last year when he turned up to her party with a drunk girl on his arm. God, he was good looking, though.
When she rang yesterday asking if I was free at the weekend, I had to tell her we had plans at Susie’s. But she was eager to see us all, and asked if she could tag along and bring her new squeeze, the date she’d missed our party for; someone she’d met through her work as a fast-rising star in the charity world. Eve’s so utterly charming that although she started as an intern at her charity for London’s vulnerable people only two years ago, she’s rocketed up the ladder and now has her own assistant (who she says is so useless it’s more of a curse than a blessing), business cards, and even gets to travel for work (mainly to other UK cities, admittedly).
Susie knows her of old, and it was only a barbecue, so there we were: huddled around the grill in Susie’s back garden with Susie’s lovely friends Maggie and Eric, trying to pretend summer hadn’t entirely given up on us, as Suse tried to remember which country Pete was in today. Then Eve arrived, carrying a giant bunch of peonies for Susie in one arm and her date on the other. When she pulled him into the back garden, my mouth fell open, and when I swung my gaze towards Thom, his had done exactly the same. Eve’s new boyfriend – oh, how does she find them – was the very man we had witnessed proposing in Bath. Steve. Jilted Steve. Dr No. The Refused. How was that possible? How could fate be so kind/unkind as to bring him to us again? We just goggled at him for a while, but Steve, thank God, had no idea we’d seen him at the site of his knock-back. By his fifth bottle of beer, however, it was clear that Jen’s rejection had caused him to jettison his social skills entirely. Susie and Maggie were really enjoying him in a car-crash sort of way until the conversation took a fatal turn.
Steve: That’s all well and good, guys, but you can’t really trust women, can you? I mean, I’m sure you had your reasons, Eric, but you can’t say that you don’t realise what a huge mistake it was to marry. Every day, right? [roars with manic laughter]
Eric: Actually, Steve—
