The Wedding Date (14 page)

‘You’re not doing work.’ Justin grins at me and then he lunges, making a grab for the laptop. Once upon a time I could have fought him off. I was his big sister, after all. But Justin is fifteen and almost six feet tall and his skinny frame is broadening by the minute. ‘Let me see!’ We’re struggling, both tugging at the laptop. I cannot let him see what is on my laptop. I will never live it down.

‘Gimme!’ With one final tug, the laptop slides from my fingers and Justin leaps off the bed. I leap up as he opens it up but I can’t move fast enough. ‘Online dating? Oh my God, you saddo!’ Justin is chuckling as I make a grab for the laptop. ‘Delicious Delilah!’

Justin doubles over as he laughs at my user name and I finally grab hold of the laptop but it’s far too late. Justin concedes and allows me to retreat to my bed with it. He’s seen everything he needs to make my life miserable so it’s pointless me closing the window. I do anyway.

‘Wait till I tell the others.’ Justin rubs his grubby hands together with glee.

‘Don’t you dare.’ I eye him, warning him, but Justin knows I have no defence. He tears off down the stairs to share his newfound knowledge. I want to stay upstairs forever, in my bedroom, safe from the humiliation that will unfold when I face my family.

But I can’t and may as well get it over with.

With the laptop switched off, I wander down to the kitchen, where Mum, Dad, Clara and her boring boyfriend Graham are sitting around the table. Justin is perched on the counter and grins at me when I join them.

‘Online dating,’ Clara says as I step into the room. ‘Isn’t that for desperate people?’

‘It’s for ugly people,’ Justin says with a snigger.

‘I think it’s marvellous.’ Mum gets up to kiss me on the forehead. ‘Well done, love.’

‘For being ugly? Or desperate?’ Justin asks.

I want to tell him to get bent, but there’s no point. Mum will take his side and I’ll get a ticking off.

‘I think it’s marvellous that you’re finally getting out there.’ Mum leads me to the table and pushes my shoulders so I plop onto a vacant seat. ‘It’ll do you good to meet new people, and you never know.’ She gives my shoulders a squeeze. ‘You might even find love.’

‘There’s bound to be a freak on there who’ll find her attractive,’ Justin says.

‘What’s your girlfriend called again?’ I drum my fingers against my bottom lip. ‘Pam? And let’s not forget her five sisters.’

‘Delilah.’ Mum tuts as she crosses the kitchen and fills the kettle. ‘Leave your brother alone.’

Typical. Just typical.

‘I don’t see why you need to try online dating.’ Clara sounds annoyed and she’s frowning at me across the table. ‘Our friend Patrick would love to meet you. Wouldn’t he, Graham?’

Graham nods slowly. ‘Oh, definitely.’

‘They’d get on so well, wouldn’t they, Graham?’

Graham nods again. ‘Like a house ablaze.’

‘Shall I set up a date?’ Clara has already taken out her phone and is tapping away at the screen. I leap across the table and snatch it. My sister is always trying to set me up with her knobhead friends and I’m having none of it. I may be on the lookout for a date but accepting a date with one of Clara and Graham’s pals would be truly scraping the barrel and I’m not quite there.

‘Don’t you dare!’ I delete her message and glare at Justin. If I end up on a date with one of Clara’s friends – prison or no prison – I will end that boy with my bare hands.

Chapter 15

The Photo Booth

Text Message:

Lauren:
Please tell me that bloke I pulled last night wasn’t as bald, sweaty and toad-like as I remember

Delilah:
I’m afraid he was Toad of Toad Hall

Lauren:
Really???

Delilah:
Go on Facebook if you don’t believe me. You’ve been tagged in a photo with him

Lauren:
Nooooooooooo!!!

I’m pacing in front of the sitting room window when Adam pulls up in one of Brinkley’s work vans. I’m not usually this eager to get to work but today Adam and I are off on a special work project out of the office. Naturally, Katey-Louise wanted in on the action, but Neville quickly vetoed any notion of his daughter helping Adam out.

‘Have you filled in the registration form for the Durban Food Festival yet?’ Neville asked yesterday as Katey-Louise made a last-minute attempt to usurp me.

‘Not just yet but I have found the perfect dress to wear.’ Katey-Louise went on to describe the outfit but Neville – funnily enough – wasn’t interested.

‘You are not helping Adam out tomorrow and you’d better have filled in that registration form by the end of the day or so help me.’

Katey-Louise had moaned and whined and even stamped her feet but Neville remained strong, which came as a shock to his spoilt daughter.

‘Morning.’ Adam helps me up into the van, waiting until I’m settled and buckled in before he sets off towards the city centre. ‘I made us some breakfast.’ He nods at a tinfoil-wrapped package on the dashboard. ‘I wolfed mine down while waiting at the traffic lights along the way though.’

Inside the package is a bacon butty made with a wholemeal muffin and lashings of brown sauce. We were talking about breakfasts a few days earlier (one of many scintillating and important chats we’ve had in the office) and I mentioned that this was my favourite.

‘You star.’ I grin at Adam before tucking in. It’s delicious and exactly what I need to start the day.

The drive from Woodgate to Manchester takes less than half an hour. Adam pulls up at the edge of Piccadilly Gardens and we unload the van together before Adam heads off to park it. Luckily it’s a warm, sunshiny day with a cool, refreshing breeze and the weather forecast predicts little change over the course of the day. Adam and I will be outside all day so this is good news.

Adam returns and we set up our photo booth, which is Adam’s latest social media baby. The booth consists of a backdrop depicting an array of Brinkley’s biscuits with our logo emblazoned in shimmery gold lettering. Beside the booth are boxes containing more props than you can shake a selfie stick at.

‘Fancy a go?’ Adam asks once everything is set up.

‘Why not?’ I have a rummage through the boxes and choose a pink tutu, which I pop on over my clothes, a pair of glittering fairy wings and a plastic wand with pink trailing ribbons.

‘Strike a pose!’ Adam directs me to the backdrop, where I stick out my hip and wave my magic wand. Adam takes the photo on his phone and posts it across our social media platforms. The idea is for the general public to take part, snapping a photo of themselves and their friends at the booth and uploading their photos to Twitter, Facebook and Instagram, tagging Brinkley’s and using our hashtag for the chance to win a luxury weekend in Paris and a year’s supply of Brinkley’s biscuits.

‘Do you think I’ll win?’ I ask, peering over Adam’s shoulder to take a peek at my photo. I look ridiculous but in a fun, kooky way.

‘I hope not. I think that would constitute cheating, don’t you?’

I stick my bottom lip out and place my hands on my hips. I’m still wearing the tutu and wings so I must resemble a big-baby-sulking fairy. A good image to portray, I think. ‘No fair.’

‘Sorry.’ Adam shrugs, giving me an apologetic look. ‘It’s the rules.’

‘Do you always follow the rules?’ My voice has taken on a strange, wispy quality. The kind I adopt when I’m in serious flirt mode. I must stop. Right now. I have no right to be flirting in this way with this incredibly, eyes-popping-out-of-my-skull gorgeous man who makes my work life even remotely bearable. My heart isn’t on the market.

Is it?

‘I’m afraid I’m a big rule follower.’ Adam shrugs again. ‘But can I offer you a biscuit as an apology?’

As well as the photo booth, we have a ton of biscuits and leaflets to give out. I’m sure the public will pounce on the biscuits but getting them to take a leaflet will be a bit tougher.

Adam arranges some of the biscuits on a tray and we tuck in while we wait for the footfall to pick up. It’s still pretty early, with the market traders having only just set up themselves. There are no shoppers yet, just the odd person wandering to work. I decide to keep the tutu and wings on as:

a) it may encourage others to take part; and

b) they’re cute.

Under the tutu and wings, I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt with the Brinkley’s logo instead of my usual work attire. Because of this – and the fact I’m scoffing biscuits instead of answering emails or filing – it feels like a bit of a skive. As such, the camaraderie between Adam and myself is on top form and we spend the early morning messing and joking around until the footfall picks up and we attempt to engage the public. The biscuits, as I suspected, are extremely popular, especially with toddlers shopping with their parents, but the leaflets are looked upon with disdain and the idea of taking a selfie in front of a giant picture of biscuits isn’t much more appealing. By late morning we’ve had three participants – including me.

‘This seemed like such a great idea when I was sitting at my desk,’ Adam says when there’s a lull in activity. ‘Shall I go and grab us a couple of coffees while it’s quiet?’

Adam places his tray of biscuits and leaflets down on a folding table by the photo booth and heads across to the nearby coffee shop for takeaway coffees. Suddenly, as though on cue, hordes of people arrive just as Adam disappears from view.

‘Hi, would you like to try one of our biscuits?’ I thrust my tray at the crowds and several hands reach out to grab a biscuit as they pass. ‘Please take a leaflet. There’s a money-off voucher on there. How about a go of our photo booth? Take a snap, upload it and you could win a luxury break to Paris.’ On and on I go, repeating my little speech until, miraculously, somebody agrees to have a go. The woman is in her mid to late twenties and already has a fuzzy, multi-coloured wig and bright orange tutu on. On her t-shirt is a giant pink heart with the words ‘Kel & Jay 4 eva!’ in swirly white print. She drags a couple of similarly dressed girls with her and they pose, using one of the selfie sticks we’ve provided for the occasion.

‘We’re on my hen week,’ she tells me as she grabs a fistful of biscuits and passes them around to her friends. ‘I don’t even know what day it is any more. Oi, you!’ She waves a hand at a couple of lads passing. ‘Come and have your photo taken with my mate. She’s single!’ Grabbing one of her friends, she pushes her towards the photo booth before grabbing one of the lads and positioning him next to her. She does this several more times so that by the time Adam returns with the coffees, we’ve had eight more participants.

‘Can I have another biccie?’ she asks once she’s run out of willing partakers.

‘Sure.’ I push the tray towards her. She can have the lot as far as I’m concerned. She’s been a great help and has created a small crowd who are waiting their turn for the photo booth. ‘Enjoy the rest of your hen week.’

‘I will.’ She winks at me before gathering her hens and marching away while singing Beyoncé.

‘Wow, look at this.’ Adam takes my tray off me and hands me a coffee. ‘I leave you alone for five minutes and you drum up all this business.’

I feel myself glow under Adam’s praise but it’s misdirected. ‘I wish I could take the credit but that would be lying. It was her.’ I point ahead, to where I can just about make out the multi-coloured wig bobbing away.

‘Whoever did it, we have work to do.’ Adam puts his own coffee on the folding table and heads into the crowd to offer biscuits and leaflets to those waiting and to explain the rules. I take a quick sip of my coffee and join him.

Lunchtime provides our busiest time and Adam and I are rushed off our feet. We run out of biscuits but still people come to take part in the photo booth. A real buzz is created, which is replicated online with our Twitter and Facebook feeds going mental. Adam tries to keep up with our online presence while I concentrate on the booth.

‘I’ll have a go if he poses with me,’ one girl – tall with legs that practically reach my chest – says while pointing to Adam. Adam is more than happy to oblige, sliding his arm around the girl’s waist while smiling cheekily at the camera.

‘Don’t forget to tag us,’ Adam says as she uploads the photo there and then.

‘How about you give me your number and I’ll call you instead?’ I’m gobsmacked by the girl’s confidence – and her audacity. We’re trying to do a job here and she’s on the prowl!

‘We’re not actually allowed to give out our personal details,’ I say, shrugging in an it’s-not-my-fault way. ‘It’s in the rules and Adam here is a rule follower.’

‘Rules are meant to be broken,’ the girl says and I look on in horror as she grabs Adam’s bum. Her hand remains on his peachy cheek as she winks at him. Hussy! How dare she manhandle him uninvited like that?

‘Who’s next?’ Grabbing a passer-by – who wasn’t actually waiting to use the photo booth – I elbow the girl out of the way, dislodging her wandering hand in the process – and replace her with the unsuspecting shopper.

‘She was a bit full-on, wasn’t she?’ The little minx has moved on, but not without planting a smacker on Adam’s cheek. He’s now sporting a bright red pair of lips on his face, which I’m not sure he’s aware of. I wipe them off for him.

‘I think she was just having a laugh,’ Adam says with a shrug. ‘And she entered the competition, so that’s the main thing.’

‘I suppose.’

‘You weren’t jealous, were you?’ Adam asks and I bat away the suggestion with a wave of my hand.

‘Nah. She wasn’t my type.’

The rest of the afternoon is a lot of fun but I’m exhausted by the time Adam brings the van back around and we pack up.

‘Fancy grabbing something to eat?’ Adam asks as we load the last of our equipment into the van. He points across the garden to a pizzeria and my stomach rumbles in reply. We did manage to eat lunch along the way, sneaking bites of our sandwiches whenever there was a lull but that seems like such a long time ago now.

‘Yes please.’ We head across Piccadilly Gardens and head into the restaurant, which is warm and welcoming after being outside all day. Although the day has been dry, it’s turned quite chilly.