My Fake Wedding(51)

‘He loves him,’ I say out loud to myself. ‘George really loves him.’ It’s a first. The only person George has ever loved until now is himself. And I can’t help feeling a little bit jealous. I know it’s childish but I know it means I’ll get a lot less attention from George from now on. Of course, I pretend not to care, taking the piss out of them both and announcing how disgusting it is that they’re so cheesily in love.

Janice gets up late. She’s got a face like a smacked bum again. I expect it’s the thought of wearing that terrible dress.

‘Jasper not here yet?’ I ask her.

‘No.’ She shakes her head. ‘He’s coming to the service. Had to work this morning, stuffy old bugger.’

‘Your father, dear?’ Poppy’s mother hands her a cup of English Breakfast tea.

‘Boyfriend,’ Janice corrects her.

‘Same age,’ carps George.

‘If you say so.’ Janice throws him a look. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘You said he was sixty-odd.’

‘She means her father, stupid.’ I glare. ‘Not Jasper.’

There’s a clamouring at the door as the little drooling dog from last night and a large golden retriever bark at someone coming in. It’s Sam, of course. The minute I see him, my tummy flips over at the thought of our closeness last night. He made me feel safe. But then I notice that, following behind him, is the dreadful Pussy creature from last night.

Good old Sam. He’ll never change.

‘We’ve been for a walk,’ a fresh-faced Pussy announces to the assembled company, smiling at Sam as though they’ve been best friends all their lives.

‘Can she stop pouting?’ David snipes and I laugh delightedly. Now I remember why I liked him so much in the first place. His ability to be sugar and spice and slugs and snails and puppy dogs’ tails all at the same time is really rather charming. And suddenly, the fact that I so completely failed to bonk him really doesn’t matter in the slightest. He’s so nice, I’m finally able to forget my total humiliation.

I run around all morning making sure the food preparations are well and truly underway. Sam and David insist that I go to the church service, which is what Poppy wants. They’ll keep everything ticking over until I’m back. George says he’ll come to the church with me. He loves a good wedding, he says. Privately, I decide that this is because he wants to get out of doing any more of the work but he’s already been such a help, in his own way, that I can’t really forbid him from coming. Instead, I bite my lip and say nothing as he plonks his granny’s jewel-encrusted tiara at a skewiff angle on top of his number two crop, straightens his shrimp-pink cravat and sticks a gerbera in his lapel. Then I hoick my tights out of my bum and we link arms, wandering past the canalside pub where lots of the guests are enjoying a pre-nuptial pint, and along the lane to the village church.

Poppy arrives fashionably late, setting my tummy off on its own peculiar spin cycle of nerves. What if Sam forgets to open the red wine? What if David doesn’t put the oysters on ice so there’s nothing for people to nibble on when they arrive? Will they remember to take the smoked salmon sandwiches out of the fridge in time? What if the puddings boil dry? What if I’ve forgotten something? What if…

‘Calm down.’ George puts a steadying hand on my arm.

The organist warbles through the opening bars of Handel and the bride and bridesmaids, a flotilla of strawberry and cream, sail down the aisle on a carpet of blood-red rose petals.

‘Oooh.’ George nudges me in the ribs. ‘Will you look at Janice? Oozing all the glamour of a Robin Reliant.’

‘Shhhh,’ I hiss, as the woman in the pew in front, whiffing of mothballs and sporting a hat shaped like a Walnut Whip, turns round and glares at us with eyes like boiled sweets. I press my teeth together to quell the bubble of nervous laughter frolicking around in my windpipe and stare down at my toes, which peep, violet with cold and with chocolate-painted toenails, from ridiculous girlie heels. Oh for a pair of clumpy Timber-land boots. I’m freezing my goddamn tits off in here. I have to keep tweaking my nips to make sure they’re still on.

Seb is standing by the altar, a great big shit-eating grin on his face. As Poppy reaches his side, he takes one of her tiny hands in his, and the vicar tactfully motions for Janice to stand to one side because her bum bow is blocking everyone’s view. Janice spends the rest of the ceremony with a face like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle, while George enjoys himself hugely, singing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ in a stupid falsetto voice to get attention, sparking up a fag during ‘Jerusalem’ and stage-whispering ‘Clunk! That was the sound of my tits dropping off through boredom,’ at various intervals during the sermon.