The honeymoon suite is far bigger than its tucked-away entrance would suggest. We step into the cream-dream of a lounge area and find the sofas, side tables and shelves discreetly accented with lilac – a cushion here, a candle there, even the book covers coordinate.
‘Look at this – they’ve even got crystallised violets on the chocolates . . .’ Gareth notes.
I remember this is what sealed the deal for Charlotte – not the chocolates but the fact that the venue offered the option of switching out the room’s accessories to coordinate with the colour theme of the wedding. These days one’s Instagram feed is as much a factor as what the guests are being fed.
We see that one door leads to the luxe bathroom, which means Charlotte must be up the spiral staircase, sequestered with her hairdresser in the turret bedroom.
‘Charlotte?’ I lean on the handrail. ‘It’s me and Gareth! How’s it going up there?’
‘Hey, guys!’ she responds with a sing-song voice. ‘I’ll be down in just a sec.’
The absence of tension is notable.
‘I didn’t think you were going to drink until after the ceremony,’ I call back, with a modicum of concern.
‘I’m not. I’ve had some CBD drops – I keep trying to get freaked out and hysterical but I just can’t seem to get there.’
I notice Gareth’s shoulders retreating from his ears.
‘I’m slightly concerned I’ve numbed myself – what if I’m standing at the altar and the minister says, “Do you take this man?” And I’m all, “Meh!”?’
‘That’s not going to happen,’ I assure her.
‘I hope you’re right. Anyway, the bathroom is all yours if you want to fix your hair and then I’ll check on it when I’m done.’
Ah, there’s the Charlotte we know and love.
Gareth and I enter the gleaming marble sanctum – big, angular his ’n’ hers sinks, sleek deco fixtures, a multitude of lightbulbs around the mirror. There’s even a chaise, should you need to recline while you draw your Chanel No.5-laced bubble bath.
‘I might skip the wedding and stay up here,’ I muse.
But then Gareth presents me with a reason to attend – the most exquisite hand-crafted hair vine.
‘I’m not going to outdo the bride, am I?’ I worry as I inspect the delicate weave of miniature purple flowers, soft green foliage and tiny glints of amethyst quartz. ‘It’s a total work of art!’
He looks chuffed with my reaction. ‘Would you like me to fit it for you?’
I nod and hand it back to him, stepping up to the mirror and placing my hands on the cool sink to keep me steady. I watch as he steps up behind me, gently positioning the vine above my loosely twisted bun, taking so much care to arrange it just so.
‘When I was doing my research on how to cut the quartz I learned that the word amethyst comes from the Greek “amethystos”,’ he tells me. ‘The “a” means “not” and “methystos” is “intoxicate” – so it was believed the stone would protect its owner from drunkenness.’
‘No way!’ I gasp. Things just keep getting better.
‘They even studded their drinking vessels with it.’
‘Do you have a matching goblet for me?’ I jiggle my brows.
‘Hold still!’ he laughs. ‘I have to get it level.’
‘I’ve got pins,’ I tell him, about to reach for my bag.
‘No need, I added little hooks as part of the design – the wires bend to intertwine with the hair so it should stay in place, even with all the dancing . . .’
As he leans in to finesse the fit, I feel as if we really are lord and lady of the manor, getting ready for some gala. But secretly longing for the moment when we’re back in our pyjamas, cleaning our teeth side by side. That’s always been one of my relationship fantasies – his ’n’ hers sinks. Charlotte has achieved that in her new home with Marcus and I can’t deny, I am a little envious.
I look back at Gareth in the mirror and feel a pang of sadness for his heartache. I loved him and Freya as a couple. I’m sure this is just a blip. I might even give her a call tomorrow.
‘All set!’ Gareth says, stepping back.
I take out my compact so I can turn and see my reflection.
‘It’s perfect!’ a voice declares from the doorway.
‘Charlotte!’ we exclaim as we take in the vision before us – Grace Kelly meets Mother of Dragons: her white dress is a cascade of layered chiffon with a deep V neckline and a criss-cross band accentuating her waist. Her hair is at its most platinum, lying in a glossy sheet down her back. As she turns we see why the hairdresser needed a tranquil workspace – the top layer has been woven with intricacy and symmetry to create diamond-shapes, pinched together with tiny pearls.
‘I don’t know whether to hug you or put you in a glass display case!’ I coo.
‘Somewhere between the two!’ Charlotte replies, graciously accepting air kisses and squeals.
We walk around her, inspecting her like an exhibit.
‘Do I look good enough for him?’
‘Oh Charlotte!’ I tut. ‘You’ve got to stop thinking that just because he’s rich he’s the catch. Money is money but there’s only one you.’
‘You are the goddess to his mere mortal,’ Gareth decides.
Of all the times for him to get a compliment right, this was the moment. I see Charlotte’s eyes gloss in appreciation. ‘Thank you! I’ve been taking Alexander Technique classes to help with my posture and everything!’
‘As poised as a ballerina!’ I commend her.
She flushes a pretty pink and turns to Gareth. ‘Do you have the rosebuds?’
‘Of course,’ he nods. ‘White to symbolise new beginnings.’
He opens the case to reveal their petite perfection, complete with gold-dipped stems.
Charlotte’s chest heaves with delight. ‘Do you want me to sit or stand while you add them?’
‘You’re certain you don’t want the hairdresser to do this?’ Gareth hesitates.
‘Well, for a start she’s gone – we went an hour over schedule and now she’s late for the next wedding. But in terms of flower arranging, who else could do a better job?’
‘He does have the magic touch,’ I say, leaning back on the banquette to watch him work.
This is so much better than I was imagining. Having these precious, pre-wedding moments be so relaxed and special. I hate to say it but I’m glad May isn’t here – I don’t have to feel on edge waiting to deflect her next snarky remark about Marcus. I can simply lose myself to the romance of it all.
Initially Charlotte is quiet, not wanting to distract Gareth as he positions each rosebud in its fine blonde cradle, but once the set is complete she switches to friend mode and asks if there’s any news on the flat next door to him. We always ask and the answer is always no – no sign of the owners retiring to the Canary Islands, no sign of it coming up for sale, thus scuppering his dream of expanding the flower shop and opening The Botanist cafe.
One day.
‘As a matter of fact, there is news.’
‘Gareth?’ I caution.
‘About the flat . . .’ He gives me a reassuring look.
‘Oh, finally!’ Charlotte cheers.
‘But not good, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh noooo,’ we wail in unison.
‘The flat came on the market last night, but the price they’re asking . . .’ He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t realise just how much bigger it is than mine – way more square footage and twice what I could afford.’
‘But The Botanist,’ I sigh. I so liked the idea of working there at weekends. ‘Do you think you could maybe add a walk-up window to your place and get permission for pavement seating instead? You could still surround the tables with potted plants.’
‘Have you seen the forecast for the summer?’
‘Oh, I just can’t bear it!’ I complain. ‘It would have been such a sanctuary.’
Charlotte raises her hand. ‘Sorry, guys! Jay just sent a text asking if we have a spare long-stemmed rose?’
‘Is he planning on clenching it between his teeth?’ Gareth asks.
‘I’d say there’s a ninety per cent chance of that.’
‘I could probably find him something from one of the table displays – without compromising the design in any way,’ he quickly adds.
‘It’s fine,’ Charlotte smiles as he prepares to leave. ‘Don’t forget May’s buttonhole!’
‘I won’t.’ He gives her a reassuring smile. ‘Just relax and enjoy the show.’ He looks back at me. ‘See you down there!’
I give him a little wave.
‘Well?’ Charlotte squeals as the door closes behind him.
‘Well what?’
‘Am I the only one that can see the obvious solution?’
‘To what?’
‘Salvaging The Botanist dream!’ She reaches for my hand. ‘You buy the flat, Gareth pays for the shopfront portion!’
I blink back at her.
‘That way it would be within both your budgets.’
I go to dismiss her suggestion but instead hear myself relaying the benefits: ‘I’d be within walking distance of my mum, I’d get to see the cats every day, I’d be living above a cafe!’
‘Yes!’ she cheers. ‘I didn’t say anything in front of Gareth because I didn’t want to put you on the spot but it’s kind of perfect.’
‘You’re such a problem-solver!’ I marvel. ‘Even on your wedding day.’
‘Is that a yes?’
‘I’ll give it some thought.’
‘Well, don’t leave it too long – Battersea Park-adjacent real estate isn’t going to linger.’
She has a point. And I can’t say I’d mind the company either. Many an evening I wished I lived closer to my friends. It’s fun to meet up for a night out but I’d love to have an actual shoulder to cry on after a bad day and Gareth could probably do with some support right now, not in a talking-about-your-feelings way but we could play backgammon or repot some plants in companionable silence. ‘Anyway! Back to the more pressing business of your nuptials. Is there anything else you need before the big “I do”?’
‘There is one thing.’
‘What?’
‘I need to know May is going to be okay.’
I sigh. ‘You know she’s just acting out because she’s afraid of losing you.’
Charlotte nods. ‘I know. I can’t seem to get through to her that nothing will change.’
‘Well, it kind of will and it probably should but that’s okay. It’s going to be fine.’
‘She did give me this . . .’ Charlotte reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out a petite vintage camera.
‘It’s gorgeous!’ I say, carefully cradling its scaled-down perfection in the palm of my hand. ‘You’re like a spy bride from the 1950s!’
‘May says she put sepia film in it because it will be flattering no matter how drunk we get.’
‘We’ll definitely be putting that theory to the test!’ I note. ‘Shall we take one now – the last image of you as Charlotte Dixon?’
‘I want you in it too, lean in.’
And that’s when things go horribly wrong.
Those clever little wire hooks Gareth fashioned for extra security make a grab for Charlotte’s hair and when we go to move apart we find we are joined at the head.
‘Owwwww!’
‘Oh god, no!’ We clamp our heads back together.
The CBD is no match for Charlotte’s horror. I can almost feel her brain overheating as we lean into the mirror, trying to see if it’s an easy unhook, which it’s not.
‘I’m going to walk down the aisle with a big patch of hair missing!’ she howls.
‘Don’t panic, we’ll fix this.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know but worst-case scenario I could walk to the altar with you.’ Though Marcus may worry he’s getting more than he bargained for.
‘Stop moving!’ Charlotte screeches.
‘I’m just getting my phone out of my bag. We have to get Gareth back.’
I dial but there’s no reply. No great surprise there.
‘Try Jay,’ Charlotte barks. ‘He’s queen of wardrobe malfunctions.’
‘You’re right! Think of all the stitches he’s unpicked!’
We decide he’s actually the better call – used to hysteria, always packing his mending kit and never misses a text.
‘I can’t believe this is happening!’ Charlotte wails as we await his response. ‘I wanted everything to be perfect.’
‘No tears!’ I snap. ‘Think of the eye make-up!’
She tilts her chin up, which means I have to as well.
‘This is just a temporary glitch,’ I assure her. ‘Look – Jay’s already on his way!’ I show her my phone and then place my arm around her waist. ‘We just need to sit tight.’
‘Except . . .’
‘What?’
‘I really need a wee . . .’
*
‘Tweezers!’ Jay holds out his hand in head surgeon mode.
My heart is beating wildly and Charlotte is gripping my hand so tightly my fingers have gone purple.
‘Scissors!’
‘Nooo!’ Charlotte cries out. ‘This can’t be happening!’
‘Cut my hair!’ I insist. ‘It doesn’t matter if I have a sticky out bit!’
‘If you hold still, no one will lose a single strand,’ Jay replies, leaning closer.
‘You smell divine by the way,’ I note.
‘Light Blue by Dolce e Gabbana,’ he replies. ‘I wore it in case this one forgot to wear something blue.’
‘As if,’ Charlotte mutters. ‘I just didn’t think that the something borrowed was going to be another person’s head.’
‘Okay, gently now, very gently, ease apart. STOP!’ He reaches for a damp cotton bud and then leans in again.
‘Why damp?’
‘I don’t want to leave any white fluff. Okay. You’re free!’ he cheers, stepping back.
‘Seriously?’ Charlotte double-checks.
We tentatively move apart, in awe that the only casualty is a rosebud dropping to the floor.
‘Just a little early confetti,’ Jay observes.
‘Oh, you’re good,’ I tell him.
He gives a modest shrug. ‘If I had a pound for every hair extension I’ve freed from a belt buckle!’
‘Belt buckle?’
‘Don’t ask.’
There’s a rap at the door.
‘Oh my god!’ Charlotte grabs at her heart. ‘It’s time!’
‘Do you have any more CBD drops?’ I ask. I’m really not sure she should be facing the masses in this hopped-up state.
‘No! They belonged to the hairdresser. I actually think they were meant for her dog . . .’
‘Let me handle this,’ Jay asserts. He heads to the door, opens it a crack and tells the venue assistant we will be ready in two minutes and seventeen seconds.
‘That seems oddly precise.’
‘We’re going to pray the only way I know how.’
And then the musical version of CBD begins wafting from his shoulder pads: Louis Armstrong’s ‘What a Wonderful World’.
Charlotte resists for a second but then the warmth of the words gets her swaying along with us. As Louis sings, I sense all the tension ebbing away.
It’s going to be okay. It’s all going to be okay.
As Louis gives his final, rich, throaty ‘Yeah . . .’ we collectively exhale.
‘Ready?’ Jay asks.
‘Ready,’ Charlotte confirms.
*
Gareth and May are waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs. This is May’s first look at Charlotte in her full regalia and I can see it quite takes her breath away.
‘My queen.’ She gives a little bow.
Charlotte smiles and then reaches for our hands. ‘I may be about to pledge my love to Marcus but I loved you guys first, and will do forever.’
And then Gareth offers her his arm, ready to take the father-of-the-bride role.
May’s eyes sheen with tears, as do mine. I’m not sure about Jay as he has lowered his gauzy birdcage veil. Since Charlotte wasn’t wearing one, he felt at liberty to do so and I love Charlotte for not restricting him in any way, though I do notice he prompts more than a few gasps as we enter the room hosting the ceremony.
‘Fifty quid says they Photoshop out the freak!’ I catch a snigger from Marcus’s beer-bellied co-worker.
I hang back for a second as the others step forward. ‘I heard they are planning to Photoshop your head on that dress . . .’
The guy’s face falls.
‘I think it’s going to suit you,’ I smirk as I step forward.
The room is small but ornate with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lawns. My eyes are roaming around, looking for any new kissing prospects, when I catch the eye of Charlotte’s cousin Elliot and give an involuntary shudder. I’ll be steering well clear of him tonight.
‘You cold?’ Gareth asks as we take our seats in the front row. ‘Would you like my jacket?’
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ I assure him, returning my gaze to Charlotte. She in turn is locked onto Marcus. I’m used to seeing him in a suit but I have to say today’s waistcoat has him looking remarkably trim. His eyes have always been a notable cobalt but right now the sunlight is catching them and giving them a laser-glow, sending out beams of love as he watches Charlotte approach.
She’s fully in the bride zone now. Even the snooty in-laws look impressed.
As they begin their vows, a smile spreads across my face. You wouldn’t necessarily put these two together at first glance but the way they look at each other shows they are a perfect match. I get a warm feeling just looking at them.
Suddenly there’s a whoop – it’s done! Marcus and Charlotte are husband and wife and kissing with notable ardour.
While everyone else cheers and wolf-whistles, May mutters, ‘I need a drink.’
‘Well.’ I take her arm. ‘You’ve come to the right place.’
