Don’t tell the Boss Read online

  *

  ‘Hey, honey,’ says Mark as he walks into the kitchen.

  ‘Hey, you, I didn’t hear you come in.’ Or else I would have tried harder to look like I was actually cooking. I’ve been standing looking at the salmon fillets waiting for them to magically get themselves out of the packet and into the George Foreman grill. They may be clever little blighters when they’re alive and swimming upstream, but not when they’re wrapped in cellophane packets.

  ‘So, how did it go?’

  ‘It was amazing.’

  ‘That’s great news, Pen,’ says Mark walking over and slipping his arms around me before pulling me in for a kiss. ‘I’m so pleased. You were worrying about nothing, then?’

  ‘Well, not nothing. There were a few little hiccups. I played the wrong music when Lara walked in and then the registrar got Ben’s name wrong.’

  Mark sighs, and I realise from the look on his face that he wasn’t asking about the wedding.

  ‘You meant the meeting with Giles,’ I say, wincing.

  ‘I did. As much as I do want to hear how the wedding went, I mainly want to know if you’re being made redundant.’

  That seems fair enough, when he puts it like that.

  ‘Well, there’s no talk of redundancies, but there is talk of a promotion,’ I say as I finally start to cook the salmon. ‘They’re getting rid of Nigel’s post and they’re going to replace the role with an HR supervisor.’

  ‘That would be perfect for you.’

  ‘I know, but apparently it will be between me and Shelly.’

  ‘Do you know when it’s going to happen?’

  I shake my head. ‘Not for a few months. Giles told me that I have to impress him.’

  ‘Impress him?’

  ‘Yep. I think it’s going to get competitive with Shelly,’ I say, sighing dramatically.

  Mark opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of white wine. ‘There’s no competition, Pen, you’re going to get it hands down. That promotion is yours, baby,’ he says, pouring a large glass and handing it to me.

  I take it gratefully; it’s exactly what I need.

  ‘So, go on then. Tell me about the wedding, I can see you’re bursting at the seams to.’

  As Mark sits down at the table, removing his tie, I tell him everything, from the disastrous groom in the early morning to the Beyoncé balls-up.

  *

  ‘And that’s when Henri came up to me,’ I say cautiously, wondering if I’ve mentioned it to him too soon. I’ve just put his dinner in front of him and I’m hoping that the food will make him so happy that he doesn’t bat an eyelid about my next wedding-planning adventure. ‘She’s one of Lara’s work colleagues and she wants me to plan her wedding for her.’

  I stare at my plate of food as if steamed green beans are the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Mark rests his knife and fork on the edge of the plate.

  ‘I thought that Lara and Ben’s was going to be the only wedding you planned?’

  ‘And that’s exactly what I told Henri, because I promised you.’

  ‘Yet something tells me that you’re going to do it anyway. You’ve got that look in your eyes.’

  What look in my eyes? Damn the lack of ability to hide my emotions on my face.

  ‘Well, I won’t do it if you don’t want me to, but it’s just that she said she’d pay me £1,000.’

  Mark picks up his cutlery and starts eating again. Clearly this is a good sign.

  ‘She’s offering £1,000. For a bit of planning? Just like you did with Lara and Ben?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘But wouldn’t it bring up all the old memories of gambling?’

  ‘If anything, it takes my mind off it.’

  ‘I’m not convinced, Pen. I just don’t think all this wedding stuff is healthy.’

  ‘I know, but it’s not like I fantasise about getting married any more,’ I say, thinking that it is definitely too soon to bring up renewing our vows. ‘It just gives me a buzz. And instead of making me feel like crap like the gambling did, it makes me feel happy, like I’m helping people.’

  Mark sighs.

  ‘You know if you did do it, you’d have to fill in a tax return for your extra earnings?’

  ‘I know,’ I say groaning, although really I’m thinking that you don’t get a dog and bark yourself. I mean, I married an accountant…

  ‘And you’ve got time to plan it?’ asks Mark.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. This is far too easy. I at least expected to have to expose a little flesh, maybe promise to wear something other than my flannel pyjamas to bed. But this actually sounds like he’s agreeing to it.

  ‘Are you sure? What with impressing your new boss at work and the fact you’re mentoring at the gambling group.’

  Impressing the boss is one thing, it’s not like this wedding planning is going to get in the way of my day job, but I’d forgotten about being a mentor. Me, Penny Robinson, becoming a fully fledged mentor. I’m one year clean of online gambling and I managed to give it up with a little help (or rather a lot of help) from the gamblers’ support group.

  Are you proud of me? I’m bloody proud of myself. And now, Mary, the group leader, thinks I’m ready to mentor one of the new members of the group. Sadly, there’s been a huge increase in people wanting to join, so the group has now split into two.

  I think about whether I’ll have time to plan this wedding, but then again, how much time does it take to be a mentor? I mean I only called on Josh, my mentor, once really outside of our weekly meetings.

  ‘I think I’ll be fine.’

  ‘And your blog. Are you still going to be writing that? You always seem to be hunched over the laptop.’

  It’s true that, considering I only post three or four times a week, it does seem to take up a surprising amount of time.

  ‘I’ll just blog about the ideas I come up with for Henri’s wedding, so it wouldn’t take up that much extra time.’

  ‘What about trying for a baby?’

  ‘We’re not having that much sex. I’m sure it won’t interrupt our few moments of passion.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that. You said last month that we’ve got to try and remain relaxed and unstressed while we’re trying to conceive.’

  I did say that. Gosh, Mark really is a good husband and listens to everything I ramble on about.

  ‘And what about when you get pregnant? That pregnancy book we read said you’d be tired early on and probably sick. Do you really want to plan someone else’s wedding feeling like shit?’

  I know Mark is right, but not everyone gets morning sickness and some people have much busier lives than mine and cope with pregnancy, right?

  ‘I just think it’s the wrong time for you, what with everything you’ve got on your plate.’

  ‘But …’

  I struggle for words; Mark is making my life sound busier than the prime minister’s. But I work in a hectic HR department and, to be honest, I’m used to project management and juggling lots of different pieces of work at once. I can handle this and, if I did get pregnant, then the wedding would be out the way well before the baby was born.

  ‘It doesn’t need to take up that much time. I mean, I’d only help Henri with the big things, and I’d set her ground rules so that it didn’t interfere with my other commitments.’

  I don’t know whether I’ve won Mark over or not, his brow wrinkling is giving me no clues.

  ‘So, can I do it?’ I ask eagerly.

  ‘I’m never going to stop you doing anything in your life, Penny. You know I think that you should give up your obsession with weddings, but you lit up like a flipping Christmas tree when you talked about Lara’s wedding. I don’t want to stop you being that happy.’

  I lean over the table and give Mark a big, fat kiss. Which is gross as we’ve both got stinky salmon breath.

  I’m the luckiest woman in the world for having such a patient and understanding husband. I must remember to text Hen
ri in the morning to sort out our first meeting.

  Wow, the next few months are going to be fun; new wedding to plan, new responsibility at the support group what with being a mentor, possibly a promotion at work and – who knows – maybe even a mini Robinson. But it’s all perfectly manageable, I just need to be organised and business-like and I’ll get through it.

  chapter three

  princess-on-a-shoestring real wedding:

  Abroad at Home

  Want to get married abroad but can’t afford it? Real bride and groom Lara and Ben recaptured their Greek holiday romance by holding the reception in a local Greek restaurant. It may have been raining cats and dogs outside, but inside guests felt like they were in a taverna in the sun.

  Lara and Ben themed their food and drinks, serving vine leaves and other mezze classics as the canapés and then lamb kleftiko for the main course. And what Greek experience would be complete without plate smashing? To copy Lara and Ben, theme your wedding with a few props, food and drink from your country of choice and, voilà, you’ve got a wedding abroad at home. To read the full write-up of Lara and Ben’s wedding, click here!

  Tags: wedding abroad, Lara and Ben.

  ‘I just loved your piece about Lara’s wedding on Princess-on-a-Shoestring. You captured the atmosphere beautifully and the photos of the restaurant were simply gorgeous!’ says Henri, sitting down at the table. She carefully places her hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows on the table and stirs sugar into it.

  My eyes goggle at the extra sugar, but at least it’s good to know that this bride isn’t afraid of piling on any extra pounds. I wouldn’t want to take her on as a client if I suspected she was high maintenance.

  ‘Thanks, Henri. I’ve had loads of lovely comments on the post. And other people asking me if I can organise their wedding, it’s crazy.’

  ‘It’s not crazy, Penny. So many people need help with their weddings. I mean, it’s a minefield. There are people wanting to take your money for absolutely everything under the sun and you constantly feel like you’re being ripped off.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘And the great thing about you is that you do everything on a … a small scale. And I genuinely trust, from what Lara’s been telling me, that you get things down to the lowest price and that you’re not only out to get rich quick.’

  I sit a little uneasily in my chair. I’m not going to lie, the £1,000 fee was a pretty big sway factor in me agreeing to do this wedding. But she’s right, it’s not like I get secret kick-backs from companies I use, and I wouldn’t want to rip anyone off.

  ‘That’s true. So, tell me, how was Lara and Ben’s evening reception?’

  ‘Lively. Those Greeks can sure host a party. All that plate smashing, and us dancing on tables. Lara’s usually so quiet, she’s like a different woman after a few drinks. I think some of the guests got a shock.’

  I smile – none of this is a surprise to me as I’ve heard some of Lara’s rep stories from before she met Ben. I’m just hoping that the dancing on the tables at the wedding involved her keeping her dress on. After all, her family were present.

  ‘And now I can’t wait to plan my wedding. Where do we start?’

  ‘Firstly, we need to sort out the ground rules, so you know what to expect from me,’ I say, impressing myself at how professional I sound. ‘We’ll probably have one face to face meeting per month to catch up on progress. I’ll email you a report detailing what I’ve done each week, and what’s still outstanding. I’ll also come with you, where possible, for appointments with venues and suppliers.’

  ‘That all seems fine,’ says Henri nodding.

  ‘I think the important thing to remember is that I’m not a full-time wedding planner, so I’m not available twenty-four/seven.’

  ‘Crikey, I wouldn’t expect you to be.’

  ‘Great. You can always reach me if there’s an emergency, but other than that all communication will take place outside of office hours. I’ll be there on the wedding day to ensure smooth running of the ceremony and transition to the reception and then it’s up to you!’

  ‘Super, Penny, just super.’

  I breathe a sigh of relief that Henri seems to be on the same page. If only Giles could see me now – I’m a manager in the making.

  ‘So, have you given any thought to the type of things you want for your wedding?’ I ask, my pen eagerly poised over my notepad.

  ‘Not really,’ she says, shrugging.

  Not really? What kind of a woman is she? Every woman has a secret fantasy about their wedding. At least, every woman I’ve ever met has.

  ‘Not at all? Not even a teeny, tiny bit?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, nothing out of the ordinary. I just want a huge dress, a venue that makes my guests gasp and a good old knees-up.’

  ‘That’s a start,’ I say, furiously scribbling it down.

  ‘I’m pretty easy-going,’ says Henri, shrugging her shoulders.

  ‘That’s the best way to be when you’re a bride. So, if you weren’t on a budget what would you have wanted?’

  Henri visibly shudders when I use the ‘b’ word. It’s then that I notice the massive rock on her finger. I’m talking a rock so big that it looks like a sugar lump has got stuck to her hand. How on earth did I miss that before? Sod the wedding on a budget, she could sell that and have a wedding fit for a queen; no shoestrings or bootlaces required.

  ‘Um, well it might have been nice to have hired a big country estate, you know antique furniture, silver service and all that.’

  ‘Excellent,’ I say.

  ‘And I’d have loved a band or a wedding singer.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And, you know, maybe a vintage Rolls to get me to the church.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And I love those cakes made of cheese. The ones with the grapes running down the side that look like flowers.’

  ‘OK …’ I say. Boy, for someone that hadn’t really had any thoughts on her wedding, she sure has a lot of ideas off the top of her head.

  ‘But I know that I am going to have to deal with the fact that we are on a,’ she takes a breath, ‘a budget.’

  I’m half-expecting Henri to pronounce the word in a mock-French tone like ‘beau-jay’, in that whole Hyacinth Bouquet-Bucket way. It also sounds like those aren’t her words, I wonder if her husband-to-be has been giving her a little pep talk.

  I wonder what her fiancé will be like. Henri’s your classic public school-educated woman. Well spoken, impeccably dressed – she’s dressed today in a Sloaney type of outfit. Yet she’s still an enigma. I can’t bring myself to ask why she’s planning her wedding on a budget it seems at odds with everything else about her.

  ‘Yes, well obviously we’re going to have to work to your budget. But you know, £10,000 isn’t a bad figure. I got married on a budget of £5,500. So it can be done.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, in fact, I think that you could do it without my help and then you’d save yourself an extra £1,000.’

  ‘Oh, no, Penny. I couldn’t do it,’ says Henri. She yawns, as if it’s exhausting even contemplating planning a wedding.

  Henri reminds me a lot of my friend or, more accurately, Mark’s best friend’s wife, Jane. She had this super-expensive, I’m talking £50,000 at least, wedding, and she employed a wedding planner who took care of every little detail and yet, somehow, she still got incredibly stressed out by the whole thing. Jane’s currently pregnant, so I’m waiting for my invitation to the baby shower, which no doubt is a tradition she’ll embrace. It’ll probably be held somewhere like Claridge’s or The Ritz and the gift list will be registered at Harrods.

  ‘OK, well if you’re sure. I’m confident that if we use some of the contacts I know, then I could probably get you some good discounts.’

  ‘Super,’ says Henri. She’s got a massive dollop of whipped cream on the top of her lip and I have to do that awkward mimicking motion to try and alert her discreetly.


  ‘Oh, thanks, sweetie.’

  ‘So, you said your fiancé is coming along. What time will he be here?’

  Henri glances at her watch. ‘He should arrive any minute now.’

  ‘Great. I think it’s really important to get the groom on board early on in the planning,’ I say, giggling to myself at the memory that my own groom knew none of the details of our wedding. But I’ve been reading up about becoming a wedding planner and that’s what they recommend. Well, I practically read up on it; I read a chick-lit novel which was based around a character who was one. Same thing, right?

  ‘I absolutely agree,’ says Henri, nodding as if I’ve just quoted the Bible.

  The opening of the coffee shop door is heralded by the ringing of a tinny bell sound. I look up to see an older man walk in. He’s wearing a fedora and a rain coat and he looks like he’s just stepped out of Mad Men. He’s no Don Draper, though, sadly. I wonder if this could be Henri’s fiancé. He might be a little old for her, but who am I to judge?

  Henri’s oblivious to the man’s entrance as her back is to him. I watch him as he walks towards us and, just as I’m about to stand up and introduce myself, he passes by.

  ‘There is one thing about the wedding,’ says Henri.

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask tentatively. There’s something about her tone that makes me suspect that I don’t want to know the answer.

  ‘We’ve got a family dog, Archie, and I’d like him to be at the wedding. In fact, I’d like him to be the ring-bearer.’

  Visions of a handbag-sized Chihuahua come to mind.

  ‘I’m sure that won’t be a problem,’ I say, hoping that it won’t be. Most venues are dog-friendly, aren’t they? Perhaps I should worry about that when we’ve actually found a venue.

  The bells rattle noisily over the door again and I look up to see another man hurrying in out of the rain. I watch him as he pulls off his dripping raincoat, and suddenly I look away, pretending I haven’t seen him.

  The man who has just walked in is Nick. Nick-the-businessman as I call him in my head, one of my peers from my gambling group. In his hey-day of gambling, Nick lost £10,000 in one night. He had an addiction to buying and selling stock. It started with the odd investment, but soon he was getting up in the middle of the night to be awake when the Asian markets opened. I don’t think he ever told us how much he lost in total, but I’m pleased to say that he’s a reformed character now.