Four Weddings and a Fiasco

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I slip up the side of the room to the altar, feeling horribly self-conscious knowing that Runner Man could be watching me – and having a good chuckle to himself about me snagging my privates on the fence and bizarrely asking him if he wanted to buy my piano.

A blush creeps into my cheeks at the memory.

Mind you, it’s him who should be ashamed of himself, turning up at a wedding dressed in scruffy jeans and T-shirt. If I were the bride, I’d feel quite insulted. At least he’s no longer attempting to muscle in on my patch by posing as the unofficial photographer! I suppose I should be thankful for that, at least …

I’m suddenly aware of Mallory gesticulating to me on the other side of the altar.

Oh, shit!

I dart forward and manage to snap the ‘I do’ kiss just in time. And as Ron and Andrea break apart and share a joke, I keep on snapping, to make up for the fact that I almost missed the main event.

I’m hot and sweaty all of a sudden. And annoyed with myself. I never lose concentration like that.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to focus on the task in hand.

Andrea and Ron move to the little table in the corner, and as the guests chat amongst themselves, I take shots of the happy couple signing the register.

I’m so busy, at first I don’t notice that the light falling on my subjects has altered slightly. When I turn, I see that the hotel manager has swished back the curtain and is now opening the patio doors. Then she turns with a smile towards … Runner Man!

I stare in stunned disbelief.

He’s walking out onto the terrace and nabbing the shot I wanted!

What the hell’s going on?

She wouldn’t open the doors for me. So how come he gets preferential treatment?

I’m tempted to walk away in disgust but that would be shooting myself in the foot, so I make sure I get out there and take even more shots from the terrace than Runner Man does. Ha! That will show him …

‘The light’s great from out here,’ he has the nerve to point out.

I smile stiffly and check out his camera.

Expensive.

He’s obviously one of those amateurs who thinks buying the best equipment will make him an expert in no time.

I take a few more shots of them signing the register, then walk to the back of the room in order to take the all-important shots of Ron and Andrea walking back down the aisle together.

Mallory sidles up and says, ‘What’s up?’

My frown deepens. ‘Him.’

She grins. ‘But all he’s done is take a few photographs. In common with about ninety-nine per cent of the other guests in the room.’

‘Yes, but how come he gets the shot I wanted?’ I snap. ‘I hate bloody amateur photographers at weddings!’

She gives me a puzzled look and I know what she’s thinking. Normally I’m fairly gracious and understanding of happy snappers at weddings. It’s just most of them don’t rub me up the wrong way like Runner Man.

I move to the centre of the aisle, ready for the perfect shot. And Runner Man finally stops flirting with the manager, making her giggle like a silly schoolgirl, and goes back to his seat.

Who is he anyway? Probably a friend of Ron’s. This often happens. The bride and groom start to worry the professional photographer might cock it up, so they appoint a friend or relative to take back-up photos. Just in case.

Andrea and Ron are walking happily back down the aisle towards me.

And then – oh, here we go! – Runner Man is back on his feet, snapping away, totally blocking my view.

Probably sensing my daggers look, he turns a brief apologetic glance my way. And I might have forgiven him had it not been for The Hand