Don’t tell the Boss Read online

  ‘Then wear wellies. Look, Henri. I’d marry you in anything. It doesn’t matter to me.’

  Henri’s shaking her head. ‘It’s ruined, it’s really ruined.’

  ‘Actually, Henri, maybe it isn’t,’ I say, ‘I’ve got a few ideas for some modifications which might just make it work.’

  *

  An hour later, and I’ve dispatched Henri on a trip home to pick up some essential accessories for her outfit tomorrow. I’m not going to pretend that she was thrilled about it, but she had at least stopped crying and agreed to let the wedding go ahead, so I’m taking that as a step in the right direction.

  Nick, his best man Tom and I went on a speedy emergency run to the local B&Q. It was like we were on Supermarket Sweep as we filled up the trolley with picnic rugs, toys windmills, empty sandbag sacks, some untreated wood and white paint.

  We’re now back at the marquee, which doesn’t look any better than before. If anything, it looks worse. I’m suddenly starting to doubt that my plan to turn the marquee into a country chic wedding is going to work. But I guess if it all goes wrong, it would only cost us the princely sum of £148 and it probably can’t look any shoddier that it does at the moment. I’m sure it would have cost a lot more if they’d had to call off the wedding.

  ‘Right, where are we going to start?’ asks Max.

  I slip my phone back in my pocket, not that I’m checking it every few minutes. I’d expected Mark to phone me back by now.

  ‘First things first, we’ve got to move the tables in. I think the guests are going to have to get a little cosier!’

  ‘Well, at this rate they should be grateful that they’re going to be dry,’ says Nick.

  ‘That’s true,’ I say, giggling.

  ‘So, good news,’ says Henri’s mum, as she glides into the marquee. It appears that she is the only woman able to pull off wellies with an elegant summer dress.

  I look up at her hopefully.

  ‘The farmer has the hay bales and he’ll bring them by tomorrow morning, just after eight. I hope that’s not too early?’

  ‘No, that’s fine. I’m going to be here then anyway.’

  ‘Good. Now I’m not going to tell you what this hay cost me.’

  ‘Let me give you the money for it,’ says Nick, getting out his wallet.

  ‘I’m afraid money won’t cut it, Nick. I agreed to go out to dinner with him.’

  ‘Blimey, that’s exciting.’ I say. ‘Right, then. If we could just move the tables in to allow for the hay, then I can dress them tomorrow.’

  It doesn’t take long with the four of us pitching in, and after that we get to work on the wooden signs. We paint a selection of phrases on the wood, ‘Just Married’, ‘Henri and Nick 4ever’, ‘This way to the newlyweds’ and we leave them to dry on the tables.

  Taking the empty sandbags, we retire into the cricket clubhouse which is fairly abuzz with people now. It isn’t long before I’ve coerced most of the cricket team to cut out sandbag triangles to be able to make bunting from it. I then start to secure it on the finest rough twine I could find at the DIY store, and you know what? It doesn’t look half bad. The idea is that we’ll put it behind the floral bunting that Henri made, just to set it off.

  Nick and Tom are going to come and help me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow, or at least I’ll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Tom has just bought a second round of shots for him and Nick to drink in ten minutes. It looks like it’s going to be a rough night for them.

  *

  By the time I get back to our little terrace, I’m exhausted. It’s only eleven, but I have been up since five a.m., and I can’t say that I got much sleep last night. I think I must have been running on adrenaline today and it’s finally all caught up with me.

  It’s dark in my house, except for the landing light which Mark’s left on. He’s obviously gone to bed already. After a quick brush of my teeth and a long scrub of my face to remove the residue of the face paint, I sneak into the bedroom and hear Mark snoring. Maybe he’s had a tough day with his new manager status at work, and he went to bed super-early. As I climb into bed, I’m too tired to even worry about tomorrow’s wedding, whatever will happen will happen, and there’s nothing I can do about it now.

  chapter twenty-three

  princess-on-a-shoestring:

  Ask Penny!

  Dear Penny,

  I’ve always wanted a big swing band for my wedding. I’ve looked on all the hire websites and they’re all out of my price range. Any tips?

  Vintage Babe

  Dear Vintage Babe,

  I love swing bands! Try and see if you can find a local amateur swing band that play for fun. You’ll still have to pay them but it won’t be as much as a professional group. If you live in a university city or have a big sixth-form college, it’s worth checking to see if they have their own band.

  Pen x x

  I glance at my watch and I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. At this very minute, a few hundred metres down the road, Henri and Nick are getting married. I was planning to be there, to make sure that it all went to plan, but one look at the marquee this morning told me that my skills were needed here instead.

  In contrast to yesterday’s frightful weather, it’s fairly sunny today, if a little chilly, which means that although the pictures might be brighter, there isn’t going to be any rapid drying of the marquee.

  The hay bales arrived bright and early this morning, and I’ve clumped them over in the corner of the damp patch. I’ve thrown a rug over them and now they actually look like they’re supposed to be there. I’ve also dressed all the tables, placing windmills in the vases of fairylights and hung the two sets of bunting and the wooden plaques. I’m convinced that we might have pulled off the theme and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that other people think we have too.

  The only thing that’s throwing a bit of a dampener on the proceedings, excuse the pun, is the fact that the grass between the marquee and the cricket club looks like the morning after a particularly raucous festival. The farmer did say he’d drop down some loose straw to help mop up the mud, no doubt costing Henri’s mum another one of her evenings, but I’m still worried that there will be shoe casualties.

  Luckily for me, I won’t be one of them. I’m wearing bright-red cowboy boots. I knew they were a great investment. Mark hasn’t been convinced as I’ve only worn them once, but I bet he will be impressed when he sees them later on.

  He was sleeping so soundly this morning when I got up at six that I didn’t have the heart to wake him. After showering, I just threw on some jeans and a T-shirt and grabbed my dress for later. I did send him a text about half an hour ago to let him know that I wouldn’t make it to the church, so at least he won’t be looking for me.

  I finish filling up the last of the helium balloons and all I need to do now is hide the canister in the clubhouse. We don’t want guests thinking it’s part of the evening entertainment. I even managed to resist the temptation of trying it myself. I guess it isn’t quite as much fun breathing in helium without anyone to laugh with you. I tie the last of the balloons to the bunch and take them over to a corner of the marquee and slip the strings underneath one of the sandbags – they’ve come in handy after all.

  I finally think the marquee is done, and all that we need now are the guests. In the next hour it will be brimming with people, I hope everyone gets the look we were going for. It might not be a classic princess wedding, but I hope that it has still managed to have a classy feel to it – even if it is a bit rustic.

  Henri’s not been too sure what her dad’s going to make of it, and after hearing stories about him, I’m sure that he won’t mince his words if he doesn’t approve. I guess I’ll find out one way or another pretty soon.

  The cricket club also looks great. Michelle’s done a great job sprucing it up this morning, making sure it doesn’t smell of sweaty men like it did the night before. And with the sun streaming through the glass, it’s also lovely and warm i
n here too. I know where I’ll be when the evening starts to turn chilly. And, bonus, it’s where the bar’s located.

  ‘Any changes to their ETA?’ asks Brett as I poke my nose into the kitchen. I don’t know how he knows I even walked in as he hasn’t taken his eyes off whatever it is he’s doing to the plates with a bottle of balsamic.

  I’ve been impressed with how he’s been able to transform the little kitchen into something a working chef could use. By all reports they were at Brett’s house this morning preparing most of it, so essentially what they’ve got to do here is heat it and plate it up.

  He’s currently preparing the starter of Mediterranean vegetables and grilled halloumi on ciabatta. It looks amazing.

  ‘No, I haven’t had an update. They should be saying their vows around now. The best man told me that he’d let me know when the service was finished, once they’d left the church.’

  ‘Great. Well, everything’s ready to go here. We’re all set for serving the welcome drinks and canapés in the marquee and then half an hour after that, we’ll be ready for the food.’

  I’m a little sad that we had to move the welcome drinks inside, seeing as it is so sunny, but visions of Glastonbury and people falling in the mud keep popping into my mind. Instead, hopefully, people can take photos dressing up in the cowboy hats and sitting on the hay bales.

  My phone buzzes in my hand and I see that it’s the best man, Tom; the service is over, which means allowing for photos, the guests should be descending on us in twenty minutes or so.

  ‘OK, that’s our twenty-minute warning,’ I say to Brett.

  He nods and continues to drizzle the vinegar. ‘Beth, go in the marquee and find Sandra, she’ll show you what to do with the drinks,’ he says.

  I walk out of the kitchen with Beth. She looks so different dressed up in her black-and-white uniform, her hair neatly tied back.

  ‘I’m so nervous, Penny. What if I spill stuff all down someone?’ she says.

  ‘You won’t.’

  ‘But what if I do? I can be so clumsy.’

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ I say, rubbing her arm in encouragement. ‘Yes,’ I say to myself as she walks over to the drinks station. ‘It’s all going to be fine.’

  *

  I just about manage to get slipped into my lovely navy-blue dress as the guests start to arrive. Luckily it doesn’t look too horrendous with the cowboy boots. They’re not quite the nude Kurt Geiger heels that I had planned to wear, but at least there won’t be tears later over mud ruining my shoes which would have inevitably happened.

  I get my first proper look at Henri. I didn’t think it would be possible for her to look better than she did when she first tried on the wedding dress, but somehow she does. As she comes into the marquee, she drops her dress down from where she was hitching it up to miss the mud, and I got a fleeting look at her gorgeous brown Judy Rothchild R Soles cowboy boots.

  Henri’s mum is dressed in a stunning aquamarine dress and a hat that looks like it could eclipse the sun. And then there’s Nick, who’s positively beaming with pride, which is lovely to see.

  I spot my own husband, walking between the guests. I see him in a shirt and tie every day when he goes to work, yet I still find him irresistible when he’s dressed in the suit he wears for weddings. It’s navy-blue wool, probably a bit warm for a July wedding, but it makes his eyes sparkle. I bound over to him, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, but with everything that’s happened to me in the last few days it feels like it’s been a week since I last saw him.

  ‘Hey, honey,’ I say kissing him and throwing my arms round his neck.

  ‘Hey,’ he replies.

  I notice that he’s not hugging me back so I remove my arms, probably a bit much to be draped all over him anyway. He’s obviously embarrassed as we’re in a public place and he only knows Nick, Henri and me. Not the best place for public displays of affection.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t make the church, but you would not believe what’s been going on. The marquee flooded last night and it was just awful. I tried to phone you, to see if you could help.’

  ‘Yeah, I had an early night.’

  Considering that I’ve had pretty much the most testing forty-eight hours of my life, he could seem a little bit more interested in what happened.

  ‘Don’t you want to know how my work thing went?’

  Before Mark can reply, Henri walks over to us.

  ‘Penny, this place looks amazing,’ she says, leaning over to give me and Mark air kisses on both cheeks.

  ‘Thanks, it didn’t work out too badly in the end.’

  ‘You look stunning, Henri. Please excuse me, I’m going to get a drink,’ says Mark.

  I follow Mark with my eyes and wonder if it was just me imagining it, or was he acting a little aloof with me? The last time I spoke to him was on the phone on Thursday night after the cook-out and there was no hint of a tone then. Maybe he’s just pissed off that I left him on his own at the church, as he gets nervous around strangers. That’s probably it; I should have been a bit more sensitive. I’ll have to make a bit more of an effort to include him in the people I speak to this afternoon.

  ‘So how does it feel to be Mrs Eves?’ I ask.

  ‘Amazing. Oh, Penny, I wish you could have been there, it was so beautiful. Even Nick cried.’

  I don’t doubt that for a second.

  Henri’s looking pretty cool at the moment, she’s placed a large cowboy hat on her head, and it actually goes better with her dress than her tiara. Not that I’ll tell her that. The tiara was ridiculously expensive, and a present from her father. Speaking of which.

  ‘Was everything OK with your dad getting here this morning?’

  I’m presuming if he’d still been MIA, Henri wouldn’t be so perky.

  ‘Oh, yes, apart from the fact he looks like he’s got a starring role in TOWIE.’

  I try and imagine just what this means when she leans in.

  ‘He’s been for a spray tan.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say giggling. I’ve got visions of my own dad standing in a cubicle in paper pants and it makes me shudder. There are definitely some things that are not meant for fathers.

  ‘In fact, you should come over and meet him. I’m sure that he’d be pleased to meet you. He said this place looked amazing. I really think he likes it!’

  ‘Good,’ I say, smiling with relief that I’ve managed to impress her father.

  ‘Let me see,’ says Henri, scanning the room. I look round too, spying all the suitable candidates. He should be easy to spot, as he’ll be in the same morning suit as the groom and the best man. ‘Ah, there he is.’

  I follow Henri’s hand over, past the dance floor, and near the hay bale. But Henri’s pointing to Giles. Giles my boss. But it can’t be him as he’s at his own daughter’s posh wedding in the country.

  ‘Let’s go over,’ says Henri.

  ‘No,’ I say, a little too abruptly. I’m frozen to the spot in horror. ‘I’ve just realised that I’ve got to go and talk to Brett to double-check that everything’s on schedule.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ says Henri. ‘Well, I’ll have to introduce you two later. Oh, there’s my Aunt Ginny.’

  As Henri goes to disappear, I pull the cowboy hat off her head.

  ‘Sorry, Henri, I just think that your tiara was so beautiful that you need to show it off some more.’

  ‘Thanks, Pen.’

  I slide the hat down, trying to shield my face. What the hell am I going to do? It’s only half past three, I’ve got at least seven hours left of this wedding to go, how the hell am I going to avoid Giles for all that time?

  And what is he doing here anyway? He’s supposed to be at his daughter Harriet’s wedding. Who the hell is Harriet? And if Giles is really Henri’s dad, does that make me the top wedding planner that she’d hired? If it wasn’t such a dire situation, I’d be laughing.

  Think, Penny, think. What are my options? I could a) leave the wedding and therefore preserve my j
ob, b) stay at the wedding and be out in the open and hope Henri doesn’t refer to me as being the wedding planner. Or I could, c) avoid Giles all day.

  I see Mark out of the corner of my eye but, as desperate as I am to confide in him with what’s going on, he’d make me leave the wedding now. And I can’t, not really. I’d feel like I was letting Henri down, as a wedding planner and as a friend. I’m just going to have to hope that I don’t bump into Giles. After all, there are a hundred guests, and usually at weddings you don’t speak to everyone. I’m sure I could get away with avoiding him.

  ‘Penny,’ I look round to see Nick standing behind me.

  ‘Nick, congratulations,’ I say, leaning up to give him a kiss.

  ‘Thanks, Penny. It all looks fabulous.’

  ‘Doesn’t it? I couldn’t have done it without yours and Tom’s help this morning.’ I say, nodding. I decide to take a risk and find out what’s going on. ‘Um, Nick, I’m just a bit confused – someone told me that the bride’s name is Harriet.’

  ‘That’s right, but not many people call her that, mainly family, and her father. I think it confused a few people in the church when the vicar called her that.’

  ‘But why Henri?’ I ask as the dismal news sinks in that I’m not imagining that Giles is standing over there.

  ‘I think it started when she was a kid, people used to call her Harry for short, and then somehow it got reversed from the whole Harry being short for Henry.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes, I know, it’s a bid odd when you think about it, but I rarely do as she’s just Henri to me. Anyway, I think we’re ready for everyone to sit down for dinner.’

  ‘Great, I’m starving,’ I say. Except for a couple of canapés, I haven’t eaten since breakfast and my stomach has been growling at me for the last half an hour. I’m looking at Nick, and he’s looking at me, and I’m wondering just why he’s telling me, and then I realise: as the wedding planner I’m the one who’s supposed to get everyone to sit down. It’s my job to announce it’s time to take their places. Only I can’t as everyone will go quiet and Giles will know that I’m the wedding planner, and then the world, as I know it, will cease to exist.