Wedding Belles (15 page)

Saffy smiles. “I’m starting to feel a bit like the fairy godmother in
Cinderella
. A younger, hip version, natch! Now let’s get down to business, babes. Clover and Amy, I could murder an Americano. Would you be angels and fetch one? And what about you, Sylvie?”

“Cappuccino, please. But don’t we need their opinion?”

“No,” Saffy says firmly. “Your opinion is the only one that matters, Sylvie, and having them around would just complicate things. You’re in safe hands with me. I’ve dressed so many women, it would boggle your mind. I know what I’m doing.”

“She really does,” Clover assures Mum. “Trust me. She’s dressed two Irish presidents and loads of big pop stars.”

Mum still looks a little uncertain, but she says, “OK then, do your worst, Saffy.”

Clover and I are both standing in front of Mum. And I’m embarrassed to admit that we’re both crying our eyes out.

“Oh, sis, you look so . . . so . . .” For once in her life, Clover is lost for words. She waves her hand in front of her face, overcome.

“Beautiful,” I finish for her. “And Cassandra was wrong — lace is so pretty on you. But it’s nothing like the tacky shiny-looking lace her dresses were made from.”

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Saffy says, running her fingers over the delicate material. “So delicate, like a spider’s web.”

Mum’s wearing a simple soft white lace gown with a V-neck and a flattering full skirt that is gently fitted at the waist and then skims her hips and rests just off the ground. Peeping out from underneath, like shy twins, are the pink shoes with the butterflies on the toes. Mum’s hair is gathered up into a loose chignon. She’s also wearing delicate crystal drop earrings that look like flower petals, and a matching crystal bracelet.

But the best thing of all is the beam on Mum’s face. She looks radiant.

“We tried lots of different styles,” Saffy says, “but I think this one captures Sylvie’s essence the best — fun, artsy, a free spirit.”

“Yes!” Mum says. “Exactly.”

A free spirit? Does Mum really see herself that way? Clover winks and leans towards me. “Your mum was wild in her day,” she says in a low voice. “Before she met Art and went all boring. Dave’s perked her up a bit, mind. Maybe she’ll be one of those mad old women who dyes her hair purple. Wild by name, wild by nature.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Mum asks.

“Nothing,” Clover says. “Just saying how lovely you look, sis. Dave will be blown away. Saffy, you’re a genius.”

“I am rather talented, aren’t I?” Saffy says with a grin. “Now, Sylvie tells me that you’re one of her bridesmaids, Amy. Care to write about your experience for the magazine? A guide to how to be the perfect bridesmaid would go down really well with our readers. I did adore that guide to kissing — ”

“That Clover wrote,” I cut in.

Saffy smiles knowingly at me. “Yes, of course. I’m very glad to have finally met you, Amy Green. Very glad indeed.” She looks like she’s about to say something else, but then she catches Clover’s eye. Something in Clover’s expression makes her stop. I wonder what that’s all about. Before I get a chance to ask, Saffy is looking at her watch. “Now I must dash. Clover, be an angel and lock up for me. I promised Vivienne that I wouldn’t be late. She does love lunch at the Merrion when she visits Dublin. Toodles, everyone.”

“Vivienne Westwood?” Clover asks, her eyes wide, but Saffy has already gone.

“So that’s Saffy?” I say. “All I can say is wow!”

Clover smiles. “Is there anyone cooler?”

“Yes,” I say. “You, Clover. Look at Mum’s face.”

Mum is still staring at herself in the mirror and twirling this way and that. She’s beaming. Clover gives me a hug. “Our girl is getting married. And she looks so happy. Bless her little cotton socks.”

And then, marshmallows that we are, we both start crying again.

It’s impossible to concentrate in school when Mum and Dave’s wedding is only eight days away. It’s on Tuesday, April 30, my birthday — although everyone’s so caught up in the wedding plans, I think they’ve forgotten that I’m about to turn fourteen.

On Sunday night I begged Mum to give me the week off school. “Clover needs me, Mum,” I told her. “I’m her assistant wedding planner, remember?”

But she wasn’t falling for it. “My ultra-organized sister has everything under control,” she said firmly. “I’m sure she can manage without your help. You have summer exams soon, Amy. You can’t be skipping a whole week of school.”

I rolled my eyes at her. What is it with parentals and exams? Besides, they’re weeks away. If I study now, I’ll have forgotten everything by then. Cramming the night before is far more sensible, if you ask me.

Monday and Tuesday crawl by, but at least today, Wednesday, is a half day, so I get to help with the wedding preparations. After school, Mills and I are going to help Clover make the place names for the tables. This may sound easy, but it so isn’t. Clover has decided that the guys’ names will be painted on — get this — tiny guitars made out of modeling clay, ‘cause Dave is such a music-head, and the girls’ names will be painted on tiny books, to represent Mum’s writing career. And guess who has to make forty-three mini-guitars and forty-one tiny books out of quick-drying modeling clay! Yep, that would be Clover’s little elves, me and Mills!

I’m walking toward the DART station to catch the train home with Mills, ready to slave over hot modeling clay (or cold and squishy clay probably), when I get the strange feeling that someone is following us. I spin around.

I’m surprised to see Annabelle Hamilton walking just behind us, alone. “Why are you following us, Annabelle?” I ask her. “And don’t say you’re getting the train. I know you usually get a lift.”

Annabelle goes pink. “I wanted to say something to Mills.”

“About the All Saints?” Mills asks. “Has the cup arrived? Is that it?” The All Saints won a silver medal and the cup for Best Newcomers at the National Cheerleading Championships, and Mills is thrilled. The cup is away being engraved, and when it arrives back, it will be displayed in the school’s sports cabinet. Mills can’t wait to see it.

Since Annabelle’s fall in front of Mindy, she’s been a bit nicer to Mills. And now that Nora-May is back in the squad, Mills loves cheer practice. “Kind of,” Annabelle says to Mills now. “I never said thank you for catching me that day when Mindy came to training. I could have sprained my ankle, like Nora-May.” She hesitates. “You’re a good backstop — better than me. But if you ever tell anyone that I said that, Mills, I’ll deny it and make your life miserable, got it?”

“Is this some sort of trick?” Mills says, looking around as if expecting the other D4s to jump out at us. “Are you videoing this?”

“No.” Annabelle sighs. “Why are you being, like, all suspicious and stuff? I’ve said thanks, Mills, all right? Let’s just call a truce. No need to make a big deal out of it. And I guess I’m sorry about Seth, Amy, even though he’s, like, a complete Emo. Being dumped sucks.” She gulps. “Not that I’d know ‘cause I totally dumped Hugo. Right, I’m off. I have, like, better places to be.”

Mills and I stand staring at her disappearing back.

“Did that actually happen?” I say. “Did Annabelle just thank you? And say she was sorry about Seth?”

“Yep. In her own way, I think she did. Weird, huh?”

“Very weird. But I guess people really do change.” I hook my arm through Mills’s. “But if she’s after you as a bestie, she’ll have to fight me off first.”

Mills laughs. “As if, Amy Green! It’s me and you, forever.”

Later that afternoon I’m still being a worker bee on the mini-book and mini-guitar production line when the doorbell rings. Mills has gone home for her dinner, so it’s just me and Clover now. Mills is coming back over at seven, after eating and doing her homework. It’s too early for her yet, though.

“I’ll get it,” I say. I swing the front door open. It’s Dad, clutching a newspaper in his hand.

“What’s up, Daddy-o?” I ask him.

“Yuck!” he says, staring at the sticky gray clay all over my hands. “What’s that disgusting goo, Amy?” Oops, it’s all over the door latch too. I must remember to clean it off before Mum gets home. She’s over at Gramps’s house with Alex and Evie.

“Modeling clay.”

“School project?”

“Not exactly. Wedding business.” The customized place names are supposed to be a secret. “All will be revealed on the big day.”

Dad’s face drops. “That’s why I’m here actually. Has Clover seen this?” He opens the
Evening Chronicle
and stabs at one of the inside pages with his finger.

I read the headline:
DALKEY ISLAND LODGE GOES BUST.
Dalkey Island Lodge is where Mum and Dave’s wedding reception is being held. I instantly go cold, like someone’s just injected my veins with ice.

“Are you OK, Amy?” I hear Dad’s voice, but it sounds funny, like he’s underwater. I nod but I still can’t seem to get any words out.

“Have you talked to Clover today?” Dad asks me.

I nod again and point toward the kitchen, where Clover is still up to her elbows in modeling clay. “She’s here.”

“Good, I’d better tell her the bad news.” He comes inside and closes the front door behind him. “You’d better sit down, Amy. You look very pale. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that.”

“Sprung what on her?” Clover asks, appearing at the kitchen doorway.

“Clover, has anyone from Dalkey Island Lodge been in touch with you today?” Dad asks urgently, without even saying hello.

“No, everything’s all arranged. I went over the final details with the banqueting manager last week. Why? What’s wrong?”

“The hotel’s just gone bust. Look.” Dad passes her the newspaper.

She takes it off him with her sticky fingers and reads the headline and then the article, her eyes going wider and wider. Then she swears several times under her breath.

“I tried ringing the hotel as soon as I spotted the article,” Dad says. “But they’re not answering the phone. I rang someone I know in their bank, and she said that the owners owe a fortune to their suppliers. They’ve been declared bankrupt and have absconded to Portugal. The hotel’s closed, Clover.”

“But we’ll get our money back, right? And they’ll open up for the wedding. They have to.”

Dad winces. “I’ll be honest with you, it’s not looking good.”

“What? But Sylvie and Dave have paid a whopping deposit up front. They can’t lose all that money, it’s not fair. And if the place doesn’t reopen, what then? We’ll never find another venue on such short notice. We’ll have to cancel the wedding, and Sylvie will be devastated. Why is this happening?” Clover puts her hands over her face and starts groaning.

Dad takes his mobile out of his suit jacket pocket. “I’ll make some more phone calls, ring my lawyer to see what I can do about getting the deposit back. Wait there, girls.”

He walks into the kitchen and closes the door behind him. He’s going to see all the books and guitars, but right now that’s the least of our worries.

“This is so not good, Beanie,” Clover says, flopping down on the bottom stair, her legs sticking out in front of her. She blows out all her breath. “I knew it was all going too smoothly. I’m so stupid. I bet a proper wedding planner would have a backup venue. Sylvie’s wedding is not going to happen and it’s all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, Clover, honestly. No one could’ve predicted something like this. And I’m sure Dad will be able to sort something out and get the money back. If the hotel isn’t going to work out, we’ll find another one. It’ll be fine. You’re super-fab at solving things, Clover, you’ll think of something.”

“You’re very sweet, but the wedding’s on Tuesday. In less than a week. Oh, Beans, what am I going to do?”

“We,” I remind her. “We’re in this together, Clover.” I squeeze in beside her on the stairs.

She rests her head on my shoulder. “Thanks. We’ve worked so hard on this wedding. I’ll be devastated if it all goes wrong.”

Dad comes out of the kitchen, his mobile still in his hand. “It’s not looking good, girls,” he says. “I’m so sorry. My lawyer will do her best, but apparently the hotel hasn’t paid any of its insurance premiums this year. She thinks it’s unlikely that you’ll get anything back.”

“No!” Clover says. “That’s so unfair.”

“Believe me, I agree. Now we have to come up with another plan for Tuesday.”

“Is there any point, Art?” Clover says, sounding defeated. “It’s probably too late to find anywhere on such short notice. And if the deposit really is gone, then we don’t have enough money anyway. It’s hopeless.”

“But we have some money, right?” I ask her.

Clover sighs. “Yes, but only enough to cover a wedding breakfast at McDonald’s, if we’re lucky. It’s a disaster. The hotel was organizing loads of other stuff too, like the flowers and the food. Even Sylvie’s hair and makeup was booked at the hotel’s salon as part of the deal. It really is a disaster of
Titanic
proportions.”

Dad and I look at each other, but there’s nothing more to say. Clover’s right, the hotel going bust really is an epic disaster.