White Wedding (48 page)

Then she walked into the newly white-painted Carousel the next morning to find him there, painting the first horse again – a dappled-grey and gold one.

‘How could you think I would leave you, Violet?’ he said, running to her when she burst into tears. And when the icecream parlour finally opened, three months later, he moved back
into Postbox Cottage. And this time, he wasn’t in the spare bedroom.

‘Actually, you’re wrong,’ said Max. ‘I’m next. I didn’t want to steal your thunder, but seeing as we’re on the subject, Luke asked me to marry him last
night and I said yes. I’ve been dying to tell you all morning.’

‘Oh Max, I’m so happy for you.’ Bel ran to hug her but Max held her off. ‘Give up – you’ll spoil your make-up. Don’t you dare start blubbing. Oh all
right, then.’ She chuckled and let Bel give her a big squashy hug and then felt Violet’s arms close round them both.

There was a car beep outside.

‘Sounds like we’re off,’ said Violet, adjusting the flower in her hair. It was lavender blue, the same colour as her and Max’s dresses, the same colour as her eyes that
Pav loved so much.

Bel picked up her skirt and walked outside to where Trevor was having a nervous fag.

‘So this time you’re going to run off to Gretna Green, are you, Max?’ asked Violet, as the chauffeur opened the door for them and they climbed inside. They were all travelling
together today.

‘You are joking,’ said Max. ‘Do you think I’m going to marry a bloke called Appleby and not have the full shebang? I tell you, this wedding will make the last one look
like an Amish funeral. I’ve had the practice run and know what works and what doesn’t work – i.e. that it might be a good idea to have a groom next time. I’ll throttle back
on the tan but up the bling factor.’

‘Up the bling? How on earth could you up the bling factor?’

‘I know –’ Max raised a delighted finger in the air – ‘I’LL HAVE A VAJAZZLE.’ Then she remembered that Bel’s dad was in the car. ‘Oops,
sorry, Trevor.’

‘Oh don’t you worry, love,’ said Trevor, turning round from the front passenger seat. ‘I know what you girls and your handbags are like.’

Bel, Max and Violet all collapsed forward into giggles.

‘I’m thinking gypsy caravan, I’m thinking Rapunzel wig, I’m thinking a thirty-foot train on my dress. Princess Diana’s was only twenty-five foot, you know,’
Max went on.

‘Oh God, here we go again,’ sighed Bel.

‘I’m thinking a cake you can actually walk inside . . .’

‘Max. Does Luke know about all this?’

‘Of course. He said I should “go for it”. Because he’s just wonderful like that. As daft as me. I’m thinking pink horses . . .’

Trevor turned round again and winked at his daughter. And Bel linked her arms into those of her two lovely friends, who turned to her together and grinned as a quote from her schooldays flashed
through her head. Strangely enough, it was a Charlotte Bronte one.

Bel couldn’t have put it better herself.

Well, Billy Idol might have said that nothing was a sure thing in the world – but I’m pretty sure of these marvellous folks to whom I owe a load of thanks.

My absolutely fabulous publishing gang: Suzanne Baboneau, Maxine Hitchcock, Nigel Stoneman, Libby Yevtushenko, Clare Hey, S-J, Georgie, Ali, Alice and everyone at Simon & Schuster. I
couldn’t wish for a more supportive and friendlier bunch fighting my corner in the marketplace.

My wonderful agent – and my friend – Lizzy Kremer and the David Higham Agency gang.

Herr Mike Bowkett at Reedmoor Distribution for his help with German wedding dress shops . . . ho ho.

My lovely lovely author friends who are a constant support both professionally and personally – especially Tara Hyland, Sue Welfare, Kate Hardy, Carole Matthews, Jill Mansell, Victoria
Howard, Jane Costello, Katie Fforde, Louise Douglas and Sue Diamond.

The gorgeous Mel and Dawn at Hothouse – www.hot-h.co.uk – for supplying me with their silky super St. Moritz tanning products for research purposes. And with bubble bath to get it
off with.

Yummy Yorkshire – www.yummyyorkshire.co.uk – where I have to go lots to sample their amazingly wicked ice creams so my writing is credible (!).

My private army of financial wizards – Alex Bianchi at www.alexbianchi.co.uk, John Philbin at www.john-philbin.com and the divine Phil Lofthouse at Stead Robinson – the man whom I
can’t live without – my accountant, because he knows I’m total pants with numbers.

And lastly but by no means least – Traz, Kath, Cath, Tracey, Rae, Judy and Chris and all my smashing old faithful Barnsley mates. And my beloved family – who give me so much
material, I can’t write it down fast enough.