The Wedding that Changed Everything: a gorgeously uplifting romantic comedy. Jennifer Joyce
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the silencing hand again. ‘Whatever you do, please respect the other guests and keep the noise down.’
I bet she’s wishing she’d put us in separate rooms now. I can’t help feeling a tiny bit smug.
‘And please, for Carolyn’s sake if nothing else, keep your fingers to yourself.’
I turn to Alice, my face pulling into a ‘what the hell is she talking about?’ face, but Alice is looking down at the floor, her cheeks turning pink.
‘Carolyn wasn’t sure what time everybody would be arriving, so she’s provided welcome baskets packed with lunch.’ Francelia’s lip starts to curl as she points out the baskets on the ends of each bed, but catches it in time and smooths it out. ‘It isn’t as formal as the setting befits, but she insisted, I’m afraid. Dinner will be served at six in the great hall, followed by dancing and cocktails in the ballroom. Please dress appropriately.’ Francelia cocks an eyebrow in my direction before looking me up and down, taking in my jeans, T-shirt and ballet flats ensemble. I fight the urge to mimic her condescending tone.
‘We’ll see you down there,’ Alice says, reaching for the door in a massive hint for the evil one to bog off. Thankfully she takes the hint, leaving Alice and I alone to flop on our beds. This week will be fun, despite Francelia and her grimacing face.
Although the lunches Carolyn has packed don’t meet Francelia’s uber-snobbish standards, they certainly tick all my boxes. There’s a selection of cooked meats and cheeses, crusty bread rolls, mini pots of potato salad and pasta, bite-sized pork pies, packets of hand-cooked crisps, and salted caramel brownies, all to be washed down with mini bottles of Prosecco.
‘I can’t eat another thing, ever again.’ I flop down onto my pillow, ready for a food-induced nap. There’s still food left over, though I’ve managed to remove all traces of the booze.
‘Me either.’ Alice rubs her stomach, but instead of settling down for a snooze, she clambers off the bed. ‘Let’s walk off all this food and have a tour of the castle.’
She’s having a giraffe, right?
‘Come on,’ she coaxes when I refuse to move anything but my eyelids, allowing them to droop. ‘You can’t sleep the week away. There’s so much to see.’
‘Later,’ I mumble. Much later. Like, tomorrow. ‘Ouch! Gerrof.’ Alice has grabbed my arm and is attempting to tug me off the bed. Unfortunately for Alice, she’s built like a particularly petite pixie and I’ve gained several pounds during our bedroom picnic. But where she lacks stature, Alice’s determination is in abundance. I’ve never met a more resolute woman in my life. If there’s something Alice wants, she’ll keep going until she gets it. Her only downfall is her family, but they won’t help anchor me to the bed right now.
‘All right, all right.’ I wrestle my arm away, checking for bruising as I force my body up into a sitting position. ‘I think you’ve taken a layer of skin off.’
‘Don’t be so soft.’ Alice holds a hand out to help me up off the bed. I don’t take it, fearing the removal of a digit or two in the process, and somehow stand up on my own steam despite my body crying out to be horizontal again. ‘So, what do you want to see first? Inside the castle or out?’
Right now, I want to see the inside of my eyelids, but that clearly isn’t an option. ‘Outside, I guess. The fresh air might wake me up.’
We head out of our room, making our way back down the red-carpeted staircase and ending up in the opulent entrance hall. There are a few people mingling around now and Alice grasps my hand and tows me towards a bloke admiring a painting of an ugly old boot with wrinkled skin and eyes that are glaring so hard, I suspect she despised the artist. She introduces me to the bloke, but I quickly forget his name when I notice he’s wearing a cravat. A cravat! I can’t take any man seriously when he’s wearing a flipping cravat.
‘Well?’ Alice whispers when we finally wander away, leaving Mr Cravat to admire more paintings of Alice’s ancient relatives. ‘What did you think?’
‘No.’
‘No?’ Alice frowns. ‘That’s it? Just no?’
‘He was wearing a cravat.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Emily.’ Alice comes to an abrupt stop, thumping her hands down on her hips. ‘You’re going to dismiss a potential love match because he’s wearing a cravat?’
‘First of all, he is not a potential love match. The L word is forbidden during this week, unless it’s in reference to lunch, limoncello or Lion Bars, okay? Second of all, he looks like a right wanker.’
‘Because of the cravat?’
‘Not just because of that.’
Alice raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to elaborate.
‘Just look at him, Alice.’ We turn to look at Mr Cravat, who’s still scrutinising the paintings, practically nose-to-canvas.
‘What? Maybe he’s interested in the history of the castle?’ Alice flashes me a smug look, as though I’ll suddenly realise that yes, he is the perfect match. A history nerd like me! How could I not see it before? Let’s make this a double wedding so I can become Mrs Cravat!
‘Or maybe he’s looking for a bit of nipple-out-of-bodice slippage? Or a full-on nude?’
‘Oh, Emily.’ Alice sighs heavily and links her arm through mine, guiding me out of the entrance hall and along one of the many corridors. ‘What are we going to do with you?’
‘Leave me alone to my own devices?’
‘Nope. Not part of the deal, missus.’ Alice marches along at quite a pace on her little pins. ‘You’ve been single for far too long, lady. We agreed to find you your Prince Charming and that’s what we’re going to do. Stop making gagging noises.’
I snatch my fingers away from my mouth, where I’ve been pretending to stick them down my throat. ‘Sorry.’
Instead of leaving the castle through the main entrance, we follow the corridor and emerge through a door into a large courtyard surrounded by the castle’s walls. A gravel path leads to a large fountain in the centre, with perfectly trimmed lawns either side.
‘What did Francelia mean earlier?’ I ask as we wander along the path. ‘About keeping your fingers to yourself?’
Alice shrugs. ‘No idea. She’s a batty old cow. Just ignore her.’ She points ahead suddenly and picks up her pace. ‘I fell into that fountain when I was little. I used to walk along its edge, but I lost my balance that day and nearly drowned. Grandpa had to fish me out. I was coughing up dirty water and everything.’ Alice shudders. ‘Nearly dying in fishy water was worth it for the hot chocolate Granny made me drink afterwards though.’
‘I bet you never got up there again,’ I say.
Alice looks at me and makes a pfft sound. ‘Are you freaking kidding me? I was up there the next day.’ She unlinks her arm from mine and takes hold of my hand instead. ‘Come on. It’s fun.’ She’s pulling me quickly towards the fountain before I can even open my mouth to remind her we’re only a stone’s throw away from thirty (and an underarm rather than overarm throw at that). We are not children any more. We are grown women who…
Ah, sod it. Why should children get to have all the fun?
We break into a run, both determined to reach the fountain first. Alice is fast, but I have longer legs, so it ends up being a tie. We’re breathless and giggly when we reach the fountain, but we don’t waste any time in clambering up onto the wall, arms outstretched for balance as we totter along the curved edge.
‘Why can’t life be like this all the time?’ Alice asks