Don't Tell the Groom (15 page)

I'm right back to needing the bag to breathe into again.

Looking around the decorated room I feel like I'm about to weep. Whoever's wedding this is, is one lucky bride. It really is the wedding of dreams. The favours seem to be lottery tickets in those fancy lottery ticket holders that I've seen on the internet. There are beautifully decorated table numbers and place settings that look like they've been designed and printed specially.

This must have cost a fortune. Or at least it probably cost what I lost.

This is the closest I've felt to wanting to gamble since I went cold turkey. I'm trying to ignore the little voice in my head that is trying to get me to steal all the wedding favours. This wedding must have over one hundred guests. That means there are one hundred lottery tickets here. What
are the odds that somewhere in this pile of lottery tickets there is a winner?

My hand hovers over one of the favour envelopes and just as I'm about to take it, I'm snapped back into reality by my mobile ringing.

I pick it up and wave to Ted at the front desk as I walk out of the main staircase and away from the lottery ticket temptation, as quickly as I can.

‘Hi, honey.'

‘Hi, Pen. I was wondering if you're nearly done. I feel like going to the cinema. Do you fancy it? Thought we could grab dinner out after.'

‘That sounds nice.'

‘My treat. I just thought you've had a long day organising our wedding, which I'm sure is going to be amazing.'

My heart sinks. If only Mark knew the truth about my excellent organisational skills.

‘What do you reckon?' asks Mark.

‘Sounds perfect,' I say, trying to hold back the tears. ‘I'll be home in half an hour.'

‘Half an hour, you say? I'll just draw a radius on the map.'

‘Ha, very funny, mister. See you soon.'

I hang up and stare at the phone. Even if I do pull off the wedding of our dreams by some sort of miracle, am I always going to feel this lousy every time I think about it?

Getting engaged, aka stage four of our life plan, is much harder than I expected it would be. Before I was engaged I thought it was going to be the most wonderful time of my life. Going food-tasting at wedding venues and sipping champagne in bridal shops. But my stage four is not panning out that way.

This morning I went to the post office to post our beautiful invitations and it cost me a small fortune. Since when did stamps get so expensive? And I'm not even going to talk about the paper cut I have on my tongue from when I licked the envelopes last night.

I also know I have to go dress-shopping at some point soon. My mum keeps phoning and texting me, trying to get a date in the diary. It's funny as before I got engaged, the dress was
the part of stage four I was most excited about, but now it is the bit I'm dreading the most.

What if I have a dress made of awful synthetic material instead of the bundles of lace and silk that my dream princess dress is supposed to be made of?

I can't bear to go through that trauma just yet. I'm telling my mum that I need a few more weeks to shift some pounds. But, as she keeps telling me, I'm leaving it far too late to order a dress from a wedding shop as that can take months. And it is now two months until our big day.

Even Lou's got in on the act of forcing me to get a wedding dress. I keep suggesting we go looking for her dress but she tells me that it would be much better for me to get my dress sorted as that will impact on the type of bridesmaid dresses I pick.

But enough about the wedding. I'm giving myself a weekend off. It's Easter and there's no Saturday volunteering club. The weather, considering it is a British bank holiday, is not atrocious so I'm going to spend the day in the country with Mark.

I've started to realise that I've hardly spent any quality time with Mark since we got engaged. I'm always at the gym aka gamblers group/flower arranging/the museum – delete as applicable. I'm also exhausted most nights as I've worked the full day at work, and I've had to squeeze the gym into
my lunch break so that I don't gain too much weight and lose my alibi. Then, if I'm not too tired when I get home in the evening, I'm scouring the internet trying to turn myself into a budget bride.

But today, it is going to be all about Mark. We're going for a nice walk on the North Downs and then we're booked into this great little pub in a small village for a very late lunch.

It's going to be perfect. And the best thing about Mark knowing nothing about the wedding means that it won't be a topic of conversation and I'll be able to forget about it
all day
.

By the time I'm starting to climb the walls in the house, Mark appears from golf and after a quick shower and change, we're in the car. There was some whining from one of us that Man United were playing Liverpool, but that was pretty short-lived. And now we're on our way to the country. Where the air is clear and all that.

‘My mum wants to know if you want any help with the wedding,' says Mark.

Aagh, the W word. Does Mark not know I'm taking a break from it today?

‘You can tell her I'm fine. All under control.' I say it with such conviction that I almost believe it myself.

‘OK. Well, she said nearer the time if there was anything she could do, you just have to let her know.'

‘That's really sweet of her. Tell her I might need to take
her up on that. But no more wedding talk. Have you spoken to Phil lately?'

‘I spoke to him on Monday.'

‘Are things, you know, OK?' I ask tentatively.

‘I think so. Apparently they're trying for a baby.'

‘Well, I hope they keep their legs crossed until after the wedding, or all we're going to hear about is her pregnancy.'

I wouldn't usually be that mean about people announcing they're trying for a baby, but I can just tell what Jane will be like. Three hours we listened to her talking about her extension when she was round at our house last month. I could probably have built the extension for her in that time.

‘I think that Phil is hoping it will give Jane something to focus on.'

Obsess about more like. I actually feel a little sorry for Phil; he's probably having to have sex with military precision until he impregnates her.

Looking out of the window, I'm surprised that we haven't hit the countryside already. Our town isn't that big and there are an awful lot of houses still.

‘Where are we going?'

‘Oh, I forgot to tell you. I spoke to my brother yesterday and when I mentioned that we were off for a walk he wondered if we could take Bouncer.'

Bouncer is the loveliest Labrador in the world. And yes, he is named after Bouncer from
Neighbours
. I should have thought about taking him before. This means we'll be going for a proper walk in the country.

When I said I loved Bouncer, I think I meant I love him when he's not splashing me with muddy puddles or dropping his ball for me every five minutes, like he has been for the entire walk. Not to mention what he's just done. Mark and I have been standing in the same spot on a path for the last two minutes and every so often we glance down at the pile of dog poo that looks like a Mr Whippy ice cream.

‘I'm organising the whole wedding by myself, therefore you should pick it up,' I say.

‘Hey, you offered to do that so you can't play the martyr card. I do all the cleaning at home.'

I open my mouth and close it again. Mark does do all the cleaning at home.

‘But I do the laundry and the shopping.'

‘Neither get your hands dirty.'

‘Well then, I'm not used to doing this. You are obviously well practised and you'll be used to this kind of thing,' I argue.

‘Maybe you need some practice in it.'

‘You've got bigger hands.'

‘What's that got to do with anything?'

‘Well, your sleeves are going to be further away from the poop when you bend down to pick it up.'

Mark leans over and rolls up my sleeves.

‘There you go. You're ready for anything now.'

‘But, Mark,' I pout, using my little-girl voice.

‘Stop pouting. Pen, you're going to have to get used to this when you have kids.'

‘Hey, just because I'm the woman does not mean to say that I'm always going to be in charge of the poop. And it's when
we
have kids, not when
I
have kids.'

Mark sighs. ‘As I see it we've got no other choice than to bring out the big guns. Thumb war or rock, paper, scissors?'

‘Rock, paper, scissors.'

With Mark's mutantly strong thumbs I lose every time at thumb wars. With rock, paper, scissors there is an element of luck. Although I usually lose at that too. But at least I know that it will not due to my puny thumbs.

‘One, two, three,' says Mark.

Scissors. We both have scissors. Now do I stick with scissors and hope he'll go for paper, and at the same time hope he thinks I'll go for rock, or do I go for rock? This game is so taxing on the brain.

‘One, two, three,' says Mark again.

I put my hand out again for scissors only to have it blunted by Mark's rock.

‘Ha, ha,' he says, and he plants a kiss on my cheek. ‘You might be needing this.'

I look at the black plastic bag in his hand and remember just why we were playing the game. He has such an adorable smile on his face that if we weren't standing next to a pile of Bouncer's finest then I would give him a good long kiss in the woods.

‘That's it. We're
never
having kids. That is
the
most disgusting thing I've ever done.'

‘I think that baby nappies are going to be worse than that,' he says.

‘Really? Nope. We're stopping at stage five.'

‘Fine by me. Means I won't have to give up my Saturday-morning golf.'

‘You'd give up golf when we have kids?'

‘Well, not completely, but I'm not going to be able to do it every Saturday, am I?'

‘But you love golf.'

‘I know. But I also love you. And as long as the kids don't look like the milkman then I will probably love them too.'

This time I do reach up to Mark and pull him by the scruff of his hoodie and snog his face off. Bouncer whines in horror and goes bounding off into the bushes, and it is only when we hear the ringing of a bicycle bell that I remember that we're standing in the middle of the path.

‘Maybe I'll be able to change the baby's nappies then. You know, if you're willing to give up golf.'

‘Um, remember I said play
less
golf, not give up golf. It's a bit different.'

There we go. That's the Mark I know. But still less golf is just as big a sacrifice.

By the time we make it to the pub I am absolutely starving. We must have walked at least ten miles and even Bouncer is exhausted. I've definitely earned myself the right to have a big fat burger and a sticky toffee pudding for dessert.

Before we go into the pub, we wait for Bouncer to have the world's longest drink of water from the dog bowl outside. It seems to take him ages as every time he starts to slurp he gets distracted by people walking past him, in or out of the pub.

‘Come on, Bouncer, drink,' I say, bending down and pointing at the bowl of water. That seems to have done the trick. I'm clearly a dog whisperer.

As I get to my feet I notice the feet of the person walking out of the pub. Those big Timberland boots look really familiar to me. It isn't until I've reached eye level that I realise I'm looking straight into the bluest eyes I have ever seen.

Josh
.

My smile goes up in an instant and I blurt out a hello
before I realise what I've done. Mark is standing right next to me.

Josh looks at me and his eyes slightly pop out of his head; he looks unsure as to whether he should say anything.

I turn to Mark and he is looking between me and Josh like he is trying to connect the dots.