The Big Little Wedding in Carlton Square: A gorgeously heartwarming romance and one of the top summer holiday reads for women. Michele Gorman
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‘Who do you think you’re talking to, Emma Liddell? I’ve always thought of myself as an independent woman,’ he says. ‘No man is going to tell me what to do.’ He snaps his fingers, then laughs at his own joke. ‘In all honesty I never imagined myself being married.’ His eyes meet mine. ‘Until I met you.’
This should be cheesy, right? But Daniel says things like that a lot, and with such feeling that I have to bite down my urge to take the piss. That’s just my nerves anyway. I’m not used to being loved so obviously. Okay, I’m not used to being loved at all. I’ve had exactly six boyfriends in my life and two of those might not even agree with the title. Still, not such a bad track record for a twenty-four-year-old living at home who’s known ninety per cent of the men in her neighbourhood since she was in nappies.
I’ve never been in love with any of them like I am with Daniel. Sometimes that frightens me, but then I see him and know he’s in just as deep. ‘I’ve never wanted to marry anyone else either,’ I say. ‘There’s just one thing …’
His thumb stops its rubbing. ‘What is it, Em?’
‘Nothing bad! It’s just that your mum has a lot of ideas about the wedding.’
He starts working on my other foot. ‘She’s ever-so excited. It is the first wedding in the family.’
‘I know, and I want her to be involved. It’s just that everything sounds kind of expensive.’ Kind of expensive? I’ve already calculated what it would cost to give all our guests a cheap necklace from Accessorize. It’s about half my savings. ‘Like you said, your parents might be able to clear the UK national debt, but we don’t have a lot of money ourselves and we really shouldn’t be going in to debt for a party, right? Would you mind very much if we keep it really low-key?’
He gathers me into his arms, shifting till we find the lying-down position on the settee that doesn’t make my arm go numb. When we first figured out that this was possible, it seemed like the universe telling us that we really are perfect together. ‘I don’t mind,’ he says. ‘I just want to spend the rest of my life with you. My side can pitch in as much or as little as we want. Besides, I’m sure a wedding doesn’t have to cost that much.’
‘This is based on what, your vast amount of wedding-planning experience?’ I say, as I spot a crumpled bank statement peeking out from under the settee. Who knows how long it’s been there? Daniel and Jacob really need a cleaner. Snatching it up, my eye falls on the balance. And on the account owner’s name.
‘Daniel?’
Suddenly we’re sitting up staring at each other with the bank statement between us.
‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I’ll pay it off. I needed a new suit, that’s all.’
‘Made of what, solid gold?’
He laughs. ‘You’d be proud of me, actually. I channelled my inner Emma and found a rahly good deal. That’s not all from the suit.’
‘That’s not making me feel better. Daniel, we’ve talked about this. Why don’t you just wait until the money’s in the account to buy what you want instead of always playing catch-up?’
‘But you know I’ll pay it down, darling. I always do, don’t I?’
I know he does. He is very good at tightening his belt when he’s spent too much, and he’ll get that overdraft down just like he’s promised.
‘This is all the more reason not to go overboard with the wedding,’ I tell him. ‘Your family won’t need to pitch in. We’ll do something nice that we can afford. Mum and Dad have some money for us.’
‘Em, your family shouldn’t have to pay for everything when we’re more than happy to contribute. After all, it’s my side that wants a blowout and Mummy has already offered. Your parents will let us help, won’t they?’
‘We’ll see. Let’s look at our options first, okay?’
But I already know what Dad’s going to say about the idea of Daniel’s family paying for his only daughter’s wedding because he can’t afford to.
‘Bollocks!’ Dad’s already got his arms crossed. His re-crossing is just for emphasis. I’ve got more chance now of winning the EuroMillions than getting him to change his mind. I didn’t even want to have this conversation again. But Mum, being Mum, wouldn’t stop going on about the wedding plans. Like I haven’t worked out for myself that most decent places are already booked up. We’ll probably end up paying over the odds for a garage under the arches.
I really don’t want to have our wedding in a garage under the arches.
‘I’m just saying that they can afford it.’ The words are out before I can stop them.
Mum closes her eyes and sighs.
Why can’t I ever quit while I’m not too far behind?
The set of Dad’s jaw tightens. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he says. ‘You know I think Daniel’s a good lad, but you don’t need a big fancy wedding to get married. You’re committing to each other and you can do that just fine at the registry with a little party after. Your mother and I were married–’
‘“In the town hall not ten minutes from this house,’” I finish for him. He’s trotted out the same lines ever since I first dared to ask for Dr. Martens when I was ten. Real ones, not the Junior Dr. Martens rip-offs they had down the market. What’s good enough for my parents is good enough for me. I’ve heard it a million times, and quite a lot recently. ‘“We had our do at the Cock and Crown,”’ I continue, ‘“with our family and friends, and everybody was happy.”’
‘“We stuffed ourselves on prawns from the prawn man till we were nearly sick,”’ Mum finishes. ‘“We didn’t need to spend a lot of money and it served us just fine.”’
Mum and I grin at each other.
‘Exactly,’ Dad says. ‘So you know the story, Emma.’ His voice grows as soft as his expression. He’s a handsome man, my father. He’s usually got a sparkle in his eye and a cheeky grin for everyone, but he can be a pit bull if you push him. ‘Why not have a simple wedding?’ he says. ‘The important thing is that you love each other.’
When I hug him his beefy arms squeeze me tightly. ‘I know that, Dad. We do love each other, and I don’t want anything fancy. I’m going with Kell to see some places tomorrow. We’ll find something that works.’
I just hope it won’t cost the earth. Mum and Dad are really stretching to give me two thousand quid for the wedding. I know it’s draining their savings, but whenever I protest they change the subject.
So I’m not about to tell Dad that my future mother-in-law is probably expecting ice sculptures and a synchronised dove release. Our parents haven’t met yet. The last thing I want to do is make Mum and Dad even more preoccupied with Daniel’s family than they already are. When I told Mum about the engagement party she asked me to take photos of Philippa’s bathrooms. As if rich people don’t poo the same way as everyone else.
I had to explain that no, they don’t have fancy quilted loo roll or one of those hand soap pumps – just a plain old bar of soap in a dish. And drapes on their windows – no nets.
Maybe that’s what the great social divide really comes down to: the haves versus the have nets.
Our parents will need to meet before the wedding, as soon as we figure out the best way to do it. It was hard enough introducing Mum and Dad to Daniel. The fact that he’s from West London is enough to make them uncomfortable. As soon as I mentioned Chelsea, Mum started going on about redecorating before he came