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Nice Day For A White Wedding
A. L. Michael
‘I absolutely adored this book from start to finish!’ - My Chestnut Reading TreeSometimes, Happy Ever After is where the real trouble begins…Chelsea Donnolly wasn’t supposed to amount to anything. But if there’s one thing the bad girl from the estate liked better than trouble, it was a challenge. So, to the amusement of her best friends Evie, Mollie and Ruby – and the disbelief of her teachers – this bad girl turned good.These days, Chelsea is the kind of girl people are proud to know – and, after a surprise trip to Venice, she has a ring on her finger to prove it. But to get there, she’s had to learn to keep her deepest secrets from everyone – even her fiancé. And when wedding preparations threaten to blow her cover, Chelsea can’t help but wonder: in her battle to the top, might she have left the best parts of herself behind?
Sometimes, Happy Ever After is where the real trouble begins…
Chelsea Donovan wasn’t supposed to amount to anything. But if there’s one thing the bad girl from the estate liked better than trouble, it was a challenge. So, to the amusement of her best friends Evie, Mollie and Ruby – and the disbelief of her teachers – this bad girl turned good.
These days, Chelsea is the kind of girl people are proud to know – and, after a surprise trip to Venice, she has a ring on her finger to prove it. But to get there, she’s had to learn to keep her deepest secrets from everyone – even her fiancé. And when wedding preparations threaten to blow her cover, Chelsea can’t help but wonder: in her battle to the top, might she have left the best parts of herself behind?
Nice Day for a White Weddingis Book 1 in A.L. Michael’s new series, ‘The House on Camden Square’
Also by A.L. Michael (#ulink_e1511491-5cd4-5488-9395-0ac632e00200)
The Last Word
Driving Home for Christmas
My So-Called (Love) Life
If You Don’t Know Me By Now
The House on Camden Square
Goodbye Ruby Tuesday
Praise for A.L. Michael (#ulink_6f4d0300-e58d-5811-98ea-c446e3078e4a)
‘I know it’s a good book when I shut the Kindle cover and sigh with contentment. The Last Word totally did it for me.’ 4* from Angela*
‘This is a funny, funny book.’ 5* to The Last Word from Rosee**
‘Fresh, fast and…had that magical romance feeling and a bit of hotness that you just can’t help but love. Absolutely brilliant!’ 5* to The Last Word from The Book Geek Wears Pajamas
‘I LOVED THIS. I laughed, I cried, I fell in love. All of the emotions were felt in the reading of this book and it is definitely one of the best Christmas releases that I’ve read this year.’ 5* to Driving Home for Christmas from Erin’s Choice**
‘I laughed, I cried and I was left with that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you read something wonderful.’ 5* to Driving Home for Christmas from That Thing She Reads
‘The story put a huge smile on my face and it’s just a feel-good with a bit of spark, glimmer, friendship, heart, fun and love. I couldn’t put it down!!!’ 5* to My So-Called (Love) Life from Simona**
‘My So-Called (Love) Life was one of those books I just happened to read at the right time which completely lifted my mood and made me feel and smile and want to start reading again.’ 5* to My So-Called (Love) Life from Sophie*
*Review from Goodreads
**Review from Amazon
Nice Day for a White Wedding
The House on Camden Square
A. L. Michael
Copyright (#ulink_6de8743a-63e2-5d1a-b958-e22f1929b16a)
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2016
Copyright © A.L. Michael 2016
A.L. Michael asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9781474056120
Version date: 2018-06-20
A.L. MICHAEL
is a twenty-something writer from North London, currently living in Watford. She has a BA in English Literature with Creative Writing, an MA in Creative Entrepreneurship (both from UEA) and is studying for an MSc in Creative Writing for Therapeutic Purposes. She is not at all dependent on her student discount card. She works as a creative writing workshop facilitator, and copywriter, and is currently working on her new series. She has an alarming penchant for puns, is often sarcastic when she means to be sincere, and can spend hours watching videos of corgis on Buzzfeed. But it’s all research, really.
Acknowledgements (#ulink_df5bf7b2-7fc5-50d4-ac8e-530caf0e11f0)
With thanks to Gabriella MacKenzie, who got used to me desperately scribbling down her hilarious one-liners and asking, ‘Can I use that?’
A big thank you to my mother, who took me back to Lake Garda this year and let me disappear into my own imagination, wondering where my characters might end up.
And as always, those writer pals who keep me sane and just continue to ‘get it’, offering wine, chocolate and multiple retweets - thank you!
Finally, thank you to Rachel Alltimes for being my cheerleader, wishing you and Jiri a more than nice day on your white wedding.
To anyone still trying to figure out how you can change and grow, and still be who you are.
I have no idea either.
‘Bitches are queens, boys can be mean,
He’ll tell you to own your name:
You be you, baby, all of you. And I’ll love you just the same.’
‘Sitting in the Park with Chelsea’ - Ruby Tuesday
Tooth and Nail Records 2012
Contents
Cover (#ue655cfb0-5706-5b09-8503-fe423c76275e)
Blurb (#ud0a89d23-d4ee-51ac-ab34-a039065e9fdb)
Book List (#ulink_2cd45fc7-2415-5abb-913b-79f46bcf48a2)
Praise (#ulink_7c42928c-cb98-5952-ac4a-01ca78e291fb)
Title Page (#u240109c3-80f5-50cd-bc8d-ad607f63bedf)
Copyright (#u6544c82e-b160-59d8-a8ce-f9be4df28e81)
Author Bio (#uf42f900a-22af-596d-8477-5aed0296e819)
Acknowledgements (#ulink_7760ea8f-888f-5047-a33b-7d0b44a85004)
Dedication (#u50570106-6809-5645-8d6e-035f27ffa7b5)
Chapter One (#ulink_58bc51a8-aefe-59fa-bc61-2505404b4fe6)
Chapter Two (#ulink_32ddd444-69b2-526e-83ca-fbecea4a04a2)
Chapter Three (#ulink_17d17217-eec9-50d2-a441-cf6777bd2bf3)
Chapter Four (#ulink_8808cae0-c825-5c9e-97ef-e496cf8a7884)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
End Pages (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_3775f039-7fa6-5091-ba05-223433fa5e92)
‘All right, babe?’
Chelsea shook her head, feeling foolish as the words escaped into the empty cemetery. Ruby’s grave wasn’t as bedazzling as it should have been, even as the sunflowers she’d brought brightly clashed with the black marble of her headstone. Time had passed – the flowers and teddy bears and cards from little girls who wanted to grow up to be Ruby Tuesday had gone. Rain-soaked and stinking, they had disintegrated in the summer storms, until eventually someone had cleared them all away.
Ruby would never have wanted such a drab headstone, plain and…appropriate. It should have been carved from a lump of garnet, showered with sparkle. Chelsea’s fingers itched with the need to improve it, to make it real in some way. She wanted to grab a glue gun and affix diamonds around the edges, but that would be wrong, disrespectful. At least to anyone who didn’t really know Ruby.
She could hear her friend’s voice in her head: ‘Go on, you’re not going soft on me, are you babe? You never cared about right or wrong before.’
And she was right, that imaginary voice. Chelsea had done whatever the hell she wanted when she knew Ruby. But things had changed.
The ground was damp beneath her feet, but the summer sun was bright and glaring, like Badgeley was punishing her for never coming home often enough. The whole town felt muggy, like there was no air, and the little that was left was stale. It seemed weird that Ruby should have been buried here, instead of in London, near her penthouse flat where people still left notes and flowers. No one in this little town gave a crap about Ruby Tuesday any more.
Chelsea wanted to sit cross-legged on the ground and put her head against the cool stone, conjuring memories of those teenage days resting her forehead against Ruby’s, pretending they could read each other’s minds, and freaking out the little year sevens. But the ground was wet, the air was dry, and things were different now.
She patted the cool headstone in a silent apology.
‘See ya later, babe.’
Chelsea pulled her handbag over her shoulder, clutching at the handle as she strode down the road, head held high. Confidence was everything on the road down to the estate. The hazy heat of summer had the kids of Badgeley looking for fun, evidenced by the beer cans placed on the wall of the cemetery, and piled up by the bus stop, fag ends on the floor. Summers growing up here had seemed endless, and not in a good way. Day after day of the same shit, the same life, over and over. They’d spent their time hanging around in the park, working on their tans and talking about their escape plans. One day they’d make it out, make it to London. Every sixteen-year-old in Badgeley probably had the same dream, even now.
Chelsea visualised London now, where Kit would be getting in from work, rolling his shirt sleeves up and making lasagne, singing along to some classic rock album she’d never heard of. Further across the city, Evie and Esme would be sitting at their kitchen table, whilst Mollie tried to show Killian how to make a basic meal for the hundredth time that summer. That said, Chelsea mostly subsisted on avocado on toast these days. Further down in London, there was her office, her lovely big office with a view of the river, only granted her days before, along with a raise and a new title that she had worked for the last three years to get.
And here she was, in fucking Badgeley.
Okay, so she was doing her sisterly duty, and bringing birthday presents for her little brother wasn’t such a chore. Neither was stopping by to visit a dead friend. It was just that these visits made her chest contract a little more every time, and there was a reason they became more sparse as the years passed.
Chelsea adjusted her handbag, grabbed tighter at the plastic bag of presents as she turned off of the high street, shaking her head as she looked through the window of the funeral director’s little shop. She’d dated a boy who worked there, a lifetime ago. She liked to look through the window whenever she was back, see if the names on those sample tombstones ever changed. They never did.
Chelsea adopted a strut as she turned right onto the estate she’d grown up on. She couldn’t decide if it looked smaller and harmless, or scarier and sprawling. Nothing had changed, she realised, recalling the multiples times she’d narrowly escaped trouble. She had a knack for attracting it then. You felt invincible when you were a kid. There was the time Leah Thomas decided Chelsea had flirted with her man. That’d been a big one. Chelsea had managed to head-butt her and knock Leah’s two front teeth clean out. She was called Gap Tooth from then on, and it got shorted to GT as the years went by. She probably still lived here.
She walked across the centre of the grassy verge, remembering the time one of her mum’s boyfriends tried to knock their front door down, because he was convinced Tyler had nicked his stash. He probably had too, but all Chelsea could remember was laughing and taunting him whilst he went mad outside, and they pushed a cupboard up against the front door until he went away.
So many years of screaming and squaring up and desperately being a smartarse, because if you were just funny enough, someone might give you a break.
Chelsea took it in, the light sky of summer reflecting off the concrete. A couple of boys were standing around, topless in the fading light, jeans low on their hips as they stood smoking, staring at her. She instantly recognised Ty, his pimply teenage skin and shaved head atop a skinny body. His eyes widened in warning: ‘Don’t you dare come over here in front of them.’
She hated to admit it, but Tyler was pretty much a lost cause. It might have been her fault. She got out, got a job and forgot about him. She left him with her mum and Jez and the little ones. Chelsea had convinced herself that maybe she’d inspire him, show him that he could do it too, go to college, uni, do whatever he wanted. Those first few trips home had been full of impassioned speeches about following your dreams and all that bollocks. Ty wasn’t buying it. Which was fair enough, because the person who had washed his clothes, helped with his homework and made sure there was dinner every night had up and abandoned him without a backwards glance.
