Thirteen Weddings (12 page)

‘How’s Rachel?’ I ask Maria.

‘She’s good,’ she replies. ‘She’s got a wedding tomorrow.’

‘You’re not doing the make-up?’

‘No, the bride is using her friend.’

‘Uh-oh, big mistake!’ I exclaim, tipsily.

‘Tell me about it.’

‘How’s Sally getting on?’

Maria pulls a face. ‘She’s alright.’

‘Oh?’ That didn’t sound too promising.

‘Between you and me, I don’t think she’s really cut out for this wedding photography business.’

This fact shouldn’t make me feel happy, but it does.

‘Well, tell Rachel that I’m happy to step in if she ever needs me.’

‘I will,’ Maria promises. ‘She thinks you’re amazing.’

My heart swells. ‘Does she?’

‘Absolutely!’ Maria enthuses. ‘Much better than Sally.’

‘Has she said that?’ I ask with surprise.

‘Not in so many words. Rachel’s far too nice, but I know what she thinks.’

I ponder this for a little while, before asking the question I’ve resisted for so long. ‘Did she tell you she’s doing Alex’s wedding in December?’

‘No?’

Damn. That means I can’t ask about Zara.

‘How do you feel about that?’ she asks carefully.

I shrug. ‘It’s fine. I suggested he call her. She’s great and he’s a friend, so why wouldn’t I hook them up?’

She says nothing for a bit, before asking, ‘Is he?’

I frown. ‘Is he what?’

‘A friend?’

‘Of course. Things are cool between us now.’

She smiles. ‘Well, that’s good.’

‘Yeah.’

Rachel calls me that Sunday.

‘Hey you,’ she says warmly. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to come over sometime and see the books for Suzie and Mike and Veronica and Matthew?’

‘Yes, please. How are they looking?’

‘They’re great. I’ve used a lot of your shots. You really did such a good job on both days.’

‘Thank you.’ I’m genuinely touched.

‘Have you thought about doing any more wedding photography?’ she asks tentatively.

‘Yes,’ I reply with a sigh. ‘If you can recommend anyone who might need an assistant, please do.’

She pauses. ‘It’s just that... Well, I have a little bit of a problem with Sally.’

My heart skips a beat. ‘Really?’

‘She wasn’t enjoying herself yesterday. I know she’s madly in love with this new man of hers, and that’s lovely.’ I don’t get the feeling Rachel thinks
it’s
that
lovely. ‘But she just wanted to be somewhere else and everyone could see it.’

‘Oh dear.’ I try to sound sympathetic while my heart races.

‘I was wondering... I need to speak to Sally first,’ she clarifies, ‘but would you be interested in taking over some of her weddings this year? Just to give her a break so
it’s not so full-on?’

‘I’d love to!’ I gush.

‘Really?’ she asks hopefully.

‘I would love to!’ I say again and she laughs.

‘Well, I have a wedding coming up next weekend in Scotland, and in a few weeks there’s one in the Lake District. Sally is massively dragging her heels about being away from her
boyfriend so much. I really need someone who’s enthusiastic and keen.’

‘I’m enthusiastic and keen!’ I pipe up, unable to stop myself.

‘I’m so pleased to hear it,’ she replies. ‘Can I call you back later once I’ve spoken to her?’

‘Definitely!’

We’re about half an hour into our flight to Glasgow when I finally give in to my curiosity and ask Rachel about Alex and Zara.

‘How did it go with Alex?’

‘Good.’ Rachel nods. ‘We’re all booked in for December.’

‘What was Zara like?’

‘You haven’t met her?’

‘No, he hasn’t brought her out to pub night yet.’ Surely it’s only a matter of time.

‘She was nice,’ she says with a shrug. ‘She wasn’t overly enthusiastic about my style of photography, but maybe she was just pondering which way to go. Alex seemed
keen.’

I should have known Rachel would be diplomatic. I’m not going to get a completely honest reaction from her. She continues to flick through her magazine. Conversation finished?

Nup. Can’t let it lie. ‘What does she look like?’

Rachel looks up and purses her lips, thinking. ‘She’s tall, slim, attractive.’ She shrugs and looks down at her magazine.

‘What colour is her hair?’

She glances at me. ‘Blonde.’

‘Up? Down? Long? Short?’

She gives me a funny look. ‘I think it was long because it was pulled up into a bun.’

‘Maybe she used one of those donut things,’ I muse.

‘Maybe.’ Now she’s looking at me weirdly.

‘What was she wearing?’

She gives a half-laugh and shakes her head, before launching into the detail I require. ‘Well, if I recall correctly, she was wearing a very well-fitted and no doubt expensive navy suit
with a white shirt. And she had black horn-rimmed glasses and dark red lipstick. And killer heels.’

‘Horn-rimmed glasses? Urgh, she sounds like Nicky.’

‘Who’s Nicky?’ Her brow furrows.

‘My evil boss.’

‘Well, Zara didn’t seem evil,’ Rachel clarifies. ‘Just a little reserved with her compliments. I’m sure she’s perfectly nice.’

Sounds like a bit of a bitch, if you ask me. I don’t say that out loud.

The Loch Lomond hotel where the bride, groom and immediate family are staying is super-pricey, so Rachel and I have opted to stay at an inn twenty minutes away. It’s late
Friday night by the time we arrive in the car we hired at the airport so we head up to our rooms.

The next morning, we go to the hotel where the bride, Karmen, is getting ready.

‘Karmen’s family is Turkish,’ Rachel explains as we walk along the hotel corridor, ‘although she’s lived in London most of her life.’ She knocks on the door
of their suite. Before I can ask what the Scottish connection is, the door swings open and a large woman beams at us.

‘Come in! Come in!’ she cries in a Middle Eastern accent, stepping aside for us. ‘I’m Karmen’s Auntie Bora.’

We squeeze past her large frame in the doorway and walk into a big bridal suite crammed full of people. ‘The photographers are here!’ Karmen’s aunt announces to much
excitement.

I soon discover that Karmen’s family is
huge
. In every way imaginable.

‘Hello!’ Rachel says warmly, going to hug the person who I’m assuming is Karmen. She’s very, well, shall we call it voluptuous.

No need to dispense the ‘don’t lose weight before your wedding’ advice here.

At first, I’m slightly overwhelmed by the chaos, but everyone is a lot of fun and Karmen seems relaxed and happy as she jokes around with her five bridesmaids, two flower girls, one
pageboy, mother and four ‘aunties’ – not all of whom are related, apparently. The make-up artist looks less relaxed as she tackles one boisterous bridesmaid after another. Karmen
opted to use a local girl recommended by the hotel, but she could have really done with an extra pair of hands. If only Maria were here.

There are many people in the room, but the one person attracting even more attention than the bride is the smallest: four-year-old pageboy Devrim. At one point he clambers onto Karmen’s
lap and practically swings from her fluffy white robe.

‘Devrim, get off!’ she squawks as he hooks his fingers onto her bra and pulls.

Whoa. One of the many aunts rushes in and extracts him. Someone’s had too much sugar this morning. There are platters of pastries everywhere and the make-up artist has to work around
Karmen eating hers.

‘Want to come next door with me to shoot the dress?’ Rachel asks, indicating a door off the suite.

I nod eagerly and the silence that greets us is blissful.

‘Got any headache tablets?’ I ask.

She giggles, then stops in her tracks when she spies Karmen’s
enormous
white dress hanging from the doorframe.

‘Oh dear,’ she says with a sigh.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.

‘Don’t get me wrong, I love a big dress, but this is strapless.’

I’m confused. Suzie’s strapless dress was beautiful. ‘What’s wrong with that?’ I ask.

‘Busty brides and strapless dresses don’t mix. She’ll be hoiking it up all day and night. It will ruin countless pictures.’ She sighs again. ‘Avoid overhead shots.
I’ll be Photoshopping out nipples, you mark my words.’

‘Let’s just hope Devrim doesn’t unleash the puppies again,’ I say.

The hotel is licensed to hold wedding ceremonies, so it’s only a short walk across the sprawling grounds to the building where the wedding is taking place. I don’t
know what I expected, but the family of the groom, Luca, is Italian – there’s seemingly no one of Scottish descent at this entire Scottish-based wedding. Luca’s side of the family
are a lot of fun, too. Big in numbers but not in body size, Luca and his ushers are mostly short and skinny. I wouldn’t have placed him and Karmen together in a million years.

It’s a grey and gloomy day, but the over-excited, often oversized guests arriving in colourful outfits make a nice juxtaposition to the dark skies.

Rachel texts me to tell me to look out for a blue and white Fiat 500. Who’s driving? And why a Fiat? Must be the Italian contingent. The grooms don’t seem to get very involved in
wedding planning, but booking the bridal car usually comes top of their list of priorities.

Even though I’ve been warned about the car, my mouth falls open when it pulls up. Karmen’s olive-skinned face can be seen in the front passenger window, pressed up against the glass
amid a cloud of white fabric.

Recovering quickly, I start to snap away, trying to keep a straight face. Rachel and a host of cackling bridesmaids dressed in purple, worryingly strapless gowns, appear on foot a moment later.
The chief bridesmaid struts over to the Fiat and opens the door.

‘Out you get, love!’ she shouts.

There’s a flurry of movement as Karmen’s white dress shivers and shakes, but Karmen herself remains firmly rooted in the car.

‘Come on, we’re late!’ another bridesmaid hollers.

Another flurry of movement, followed by: ‘I can’t! I’m stuck!’

Rachel flashes me a look and I try to keep a check on my building hysteria as two bridesmaids pull on Karmen’s arms and legs. Finally she bursts out of the tiny car.

‘Ta-dah!’ she shouts joyously, her tuck shop lady arms wobbling wildly as I laughingly snap away. At least she’s a good sport.

Karmen’s mother and aunts go into the venue, and after Rachel has got a few shots of Karmen and her massive posse, she heads inside, too. The music pipes up and the flower girls take their
places at the front of the queue, followed by Devrim the pageboy and then the horde of purple bridesmaids. Karmen’s beaming face turns into one of shock as Devrim races out of his position
and runs up to her to swing from her dress. Luckily one of the bridesmaids intervenes before I can act on my impulse to clap the little urchin over his head. The flower girls walk into the room and
he follows at a run, dressed in his mini pinstripe suit. I hear the sound of numerous oohs and aahs. Looks can be deceiving, my friends.

Now for my part. The groom. Everywhere I look, my view is obstructed by a sea of smartphones. Surely this was easier before the digital age? I manage to find a spot with an unobstructed view,
just as Luca turns around. His face goes red as he sees his bride and his eyes fill with tears.

The sight warms even
my
cold, cynical heart.

After the service, it’s time for the ubiquitous confetti shot. Everyone gathers around the bride and groom while Rachel counts to three and then:

‘Ow!’ Karmen hollers, clamping her hands over her eyes. ‘Who threw rice at me?’ she squawks.

Rice?

‘Foreign weddings are a minefield,’ Rachel mutters.

The bridesmaids help to cram Karmen into the front passenger seat of the Fiat while Luca hops into the driver’s seat. The uncle who threw the rice at Karmen looks red-faced as his niece
rubs her eyes, but as the door closes, she peers out at us from her white cloud and beams. I wonder if Luca will be able to find the gearstick under all that chiffon.

Rachel and I run as fast as we can, just managing to beat the bride and groom to the main hotel building, and our next couple of hours are manic as we shoot the wedding party on the lush green
lawns of the hotel with Loch Lomond as a backdrop. It is so beautiful here, and when there’s a break in the clouds that lets the sun shine through, we can’t believe our luck.

‘That’s our teaser shot,’ Rachel says with a grin, as Luca and Karmen stand arm-in-arm, staring at the view. They really are a sweet couple.

Later, everyone moves from the ballroom, where the wedding breakfast took place, into the adjoining dance hall for the live entertainment and dancing. I get an awesome shot of Devrim standing
behind one large guest in a scarlet red dress. With the colour as a backdrop he looks brilliantly evil, especially when his peanut brain gives him the idea of pinching her bottom. She jumps and I
move away, stifling my giggles. I may be immature, but it amuses me to no end.

‘What are you laughing at?’ Rachel asks me with a grin as the other guests mingle.

‘Devrim. What a little shit.’

‘Tell me about it,’ she says drily. ‘There’s no way I’m having kids at my wedding.’

‘Aw, kids are okay. I think they add to the atmosphere.
If
their parents keep them under control...’

‘Not much of that going on around here,’ Rachel comments as we both spy Devrim’s mother laughing, completely oblivious, while Devrim pops out from underneath Karmen’s
billowing skirt. The poor bride looks a bit harassed.

‘Ooh, hello there,’ Rachel says breathily. She’s looking at the small stage set up behind the dance floor, where a guy with sandy-blond, shaggy hair and a short-ish beard is
perched on a stool. He’s holding a guitar. I shoot my head around to gape at Rachel and she smirks back at me.

One word: Phwoar.

He starts to strum his guitar, and when he sings into the microphone in a deep, sexy, soulful voice, I almost forget we have a job to do. Rachel is also staring, rapt. I nudge her and we both
laugh at each other. She unzips her kit bag and gets out her speedlites because it’s almost time for the first dance.