Friday 5th January

‘I can’t believe I got talked into attending this engagement party,’ I whine to my best mate Florence down the phone as the taxi pulls up outside their venue.

I’m beyond tired after overseeing today’s wedding at the pub. The couple had a Harry Potter theme, so I’ve left Dumbledore in charge for the rest of the evening. Hugh promised he’d lock up later.

‘Just don’t go. It’s going above and beyond your job role.’

I laugh. ‘You know me. I’ll either do it one-hundred-and-ten-percent or not bother at all.’

I do wish I was able to say no sometimes though. It would get me out of these stupid scenarios.

‘Well in this case, I think you should not bother at all. Would it have been so bad for you to have that weekend off?’ she sighs. ‘We could have booked a spa trip!’ She shrieks down the phone comically.

I sigh, as I thank the Uber driver. ‘You know I can never relax at those things, so what’s the point?’

I really don’t see the point in just sitting around in robes with absolutely nothing to do. I’d go stir crazy. It sounds more stressful to me.

‘All I’m saying, is that you should give yourself a break. Remember, we don’t need the extra business. We’re completely booked up for the next two years.’

I nod, a smug smile she can’t see gracing my face. ‘Yes, and that’s because I put everything I have into every wedding.’

‘Okay,’ she says on a sigh, clearly not believing me. ‘Whatever you say.’

‘Anyway, I was half expecting to find out you were coming too, with it being Hugh’s cousin.’

‘Afraid not, love muffin. I’ve been working all day at a shoot and I’m knackered. Hugh’s going though. He’s just getting ready now, so I’ll tell him to look out for you. I still think you work too hard.’

I look up at the swanky wine bar that’s been hired for the event. It’s completely the opposite to our rustic barn venue, but she clearly knows what she wants. I can’t see anyone arguing with her. Ever. I wonder what she does for a living?

‘Trust me. It’s still easier than teaching.’

I taught reception class for ten years, but I was more than ready for the career move. Whoever said teaching is so rewarding has clearly not had to deal with five-year-olds shitting themselves.

‘Well, at least try to have fun tonight.’ She starts giggling. ‘Hugh, stop it, I’m on the phone.'

God, those two are gross. It’s been a year. You’d think they’d have gotten over the honeymoon period by now. But then I suppose they did only meet a month before getting married. Not exactly your normal scenario. I end the call without saying goodbye.

I pull my shoulders back and brace myself. Show time.

I walk in with a forced confident smile. It drops off my face as soon as I realise how opulent it is here.

The walls are painted a glossy black. Huge golden mirrors adorn the walls with liquor stacked on shelves against them. The bar is gold; the bar stools a grey velvet. Okay, this place is bloody swanky.

The worst thing is that everyone seems to be in cocktail dresses. Yet, here I am in just my smart jeans, and heels—from New Look. There isn’t a single heel here that isn’t painted red. A cheapy in a sea of Louboutin’s. One woman turns, dressed in a silver frock that clings to her tiny body, and gives me a look of disdain. Hmm, nice friends.

‘There you are, Nadine!’ I look up to see Clara walking towards me, her arms out as if to embrace me.

You’d think I’d be used to all this kissy-kissy stuff being in the wedding business, but I’m not. Rich people make me itch. She pulls me in, squishing her cheek against mine and making a kissing noise, rather than connecting her lips.

‘You have to come and meet my father.’

I smile, even though she didn’t seem to pause to consider if I wanted to. I haven’t even got a drink yet. Not that I can probably afford the prices here. I might have to put it on my credit card.

Her father is the brother to Hugh’s horrendous mother, whose company I had to endure during their wedding. How I didn’t bitch slap that old cow I’ll never know. I’m such a good friend.

She pulls me towards a man of only about five-feet-eight, with greying hair. So far, he looks nothing like Hugh’s mother. Let’s hope he’s not as evil.

‘Daddy, this is our wedding planner, Nadine.’

He takes my hand and shakes it violently. Ah, so that’s where she gets her handshake from.

‘Good to meet you, Nadine. I hope you’re looking after my Princess here.’ He smiles fondly at her as if she were still a six-year-old girl.

I force a smile, hoping it isn’t a grimace. ‘Of course.’

‘That’s good to hear. I’m told by my nephew, Hugh, that you’re an excellent planner.’

I’m actually the manager, but whatever. If he wants to refer to me as a wedding planner so be it. Most people do.

He turns to Clara. ‘Where has Hartley got to?’

Hartley. What an unusual name. It suits him.

She rolls her eyes. ‘Oh, he’s around here somewhere sulking.’

‘Sulking?’ her father asks, a line having appeared between his eyebrows. ‘Why on earth is he sulking? I’ve given him permission to take your hand. He should be the happiest man on the planet.’

Err... maybe he’s met her? It’d take a complete saint not to have second thoughts.

Hartley’s suddenly walking past, looking delicious in a navy wool suit with a crisp, white, open-necked shirt. Clara leans out and wraps her hand firmly around his wrist. ‘Here he is.’ She leans in and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek.

‘Hartley, my daughter here says you’re sulking. I hope that’s not the case?’ There’s warning in his voice. He’s definitely related to Hugh’s mother.

‘No, Sir,’ he says with a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. ‘Just a bit stressed out with work. That’s all.’ Now I look at him closer he does seem stressed, his jaw tense and those glorious eyes troubled.

Clara's father rolls his eyes. ‘You see, Nadine,’ he explains, swilling his whiskey around, ‘Hartley here insists on being a schoolteacher.’ He scoffs, as if the very idea is hilarious.

No way. He’s a teacher? How have I not bumped into him over the years?

I look at Hartley with new admiration. He might be marrying this piece of work, but he’s a teacher. He must have some good in him.

‘I understand, actually,’ I say with a smile. ‘I used to be a teacher too. It’s a very demanding job.’

Hartley frowns. ‘You were a teacher?’

Why does he sound so astonished? Why the hell wouldn’t he think I was ever a teacher? Am I not maternal seeming or something? I can’t help but be offended. He might as well have called me unfeminine.

‘Yep,’ I nod, rocking awkwardly on my heels. ‘I only gave it up just over a year ago to do this job.’

Clara shakes her head. ‘I have no idea why Hartley insists on spending time with those little twerps.’ She curls her lip up as if she’s smelt bad fish. ‘Kids are disgusting.’

That’s a pretty broad statement.

‘Do you not want kids of your own, Clara?’ I can’t help but ask. I know it’s nosy, but I just find it unusual for a woman to talk about kids with nothing but contempt.

‘God, no!’ she laughs. ‘If I wanted something that cries and poops I’d have got a dog. At least you can put them in kennels without being reported.’ She laughs hysterically, slapping her thigh, clearly finding herself hilarious.

‘Well,’ her father says, eager to change the subject, ‘I keep telling him that he should come and work for my company. Earn some real money, but will he listen?’

Hartley’s jaw tenses further, but he forces another insincere smile. ‘Why would I need to earn lots of money, when you have enough for both of us?’

I burst out laughing. Clara looks appalled. We both look to her dad for his reaction.

He slaps Hartley on the back. ‘There’s that fun sense of humour I know my daughter loves.’ He seems to wave at someone away from us. ‘Anyway, I have to go. Just seen an old business associate.’

He walks off and I watch as Hartley’s body physically relaxes. He clearly doesn’t like the dude. God, imagine having him as a father-in-law? Him and Florence will definitely bond after marrying into this nightmare family.

‘So what year do you teach?’ I ask him, glad I’ve been handed a subject I excel at.

‘I teach drama at a high school.’ Ah, that would make sense as to why I’ve never bumped into him before. Different age group. You couldn’t pay me to teach hormonal adolescents. I’d take the whiny five-year-olds any day.

‘Hugh!’ Clara squeals, opening her arms wide, looking behind me.

I turn to see Hugh rushing towards her.

‘Hi, Clara,’ he says, giving her an affectionate hug. He’s smiling, but I notice it doesn’t meet his eyes either. Those creases I’m used to seeing whenever he smiles affectionately at Florence just aren’t there.

Could it be that he can’t stand her either? It would make sense. Hugh is nothing like her.

He shakes Hartley’s hand, slapping him on the back.

‘Hi, Hartley.’ He nods a hello at me. ‘Sorry to interrupt you guys. What were you talking about?’

Clara puts her hand on Hartley’s shoulder possessively. ‘Hartley was telling us how stressed he is at work. I keep telling him he should come work for Daddy.’

Hartley rolls his eyes.

‘Well,’ Hugh says with a smile, ‘I can understand him wanting to stay in a job he has a passion for.’

‘Thank you,’ Hartley says, pointing at him as if to show Hugh gets it. ‘I’m normally not as hard-pressed, but the teacher helping me put on a play has just been signed off on early maternity leave.’

‘That can’t be helped, darling,’ Clara says, inspecting her nails as if bored. ‘Although if these breeders stopped for a minute and thought about other people, maybe they’d have fewer children.’

I ignore her comment. I wouldn’t know where to start with a response to that. I’d probably just headbutt her.

‘Must be a big workload for one person though,’ I sympathise to Hartley. It’s hard enough being a teacher, it’s even worse when under-staffed.

‘Wait!’ Clara says, clapping her hands together, her eyes lit up. ‘Why don’t you help him?’

‘Sorry?’ we both say at the same time.

She beams, as if she’s had the best idea ever. ‘You used to be a teacher. I’m sure you’d love to see some kids again, to get involved with a school production like this one. And it’ll help you two to get to know each other.’

‘Babe,’ he warns with a tight smile. ‘I’m sure Nadine is very busy with weddings.’

I’m just about to agree and say 'thanks, but no thanks' when Hugh steps forward. Bless him, he’s going to stand up for me.

‘Nadine would love to!’ he says, grinning at me with warning in his eyes. What the hell is he doing?

‘Oh... I mean...’ I start. Hartley looks at me hopefully. I should really say no. But... well, the people pleaser in me is desperate to help. ‘I suppose I could spare a few hours this week. I’ve done most of the prep for this weekend’s wedding.’

‘Sounds great,’ Hugh agrees enthusiastically.

Hartley doesn’t seem too sure. Maybe he doesn’t want my help? I am, after all, just some random woman he’s just met.

‘But I mean, only if you’re desperate.’ I want to give him the chance to turn me down and you know… get out of it.

‘I am,’ he nods. ‘But only if you don’t mind. I feel bad taking up your time. Don’t feel you have to say yes.’

I open my mouth to speak but Clara jumps in for me. ‘Of course, she doesn’t mind.’

‘That’s settled then,’ Hugh says with a definite nod.

I nod too, already dreading it.

‘Ah, and here is my grandma now,’ Clara says. ‘My namesake.’

I turn to see an elderly woman with rosy cheeks and tight-set brown curls walking towards us in an elegant mint blouse and black trousers. I recognise her from Hugh and Florence’s wedding last year.

‘Grandma, this is Nadine. She’s planning our wedding at The Duck and Goose.’

Her face lights up in recognition. ‘Ah, yes. Nadine, best friend of our Florence.’

Florence has always talked highly of the woman, so there’s no need for me to be scared, but there’s something about her regal presence that intimidates me.

‘Nice to meet you,’ I say, doing a ridiculous curtesy. Jesus, Nads, she’s not the queen.

She smiles kindly. ‘I’ve heard you’re a wonderful wedding planner. The day should be gorgeous.’

I suddenly worry that Florence will have told her my history. The air in here feels limited, like the oxygen is being sucked out. I need to leave. Get outside and force a bit of fresh air into my lungs.

‘Anyway, it was lovely to meet you, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to go,’ I say with an apologetic smile. ‘I have another event I have to go to.’

An event at club bed with DJ pillow.

‘Ah, well, you’ll be missed,’ Clara says, already waving to someone else she sees. Yeah, right.

‘I’ll walk you out,’ Hugh says, taking my arm.

He obviously wants to talk to me. As soon as I’m outside, I gasp in a lungful of air and sit down on the step.

‘Shit, Nads, are you okay?’ he asks, rushing to hold my shoulder back.

‘I’m fine,’ I insist, counting back from ten in my head. ‘Just a bit smoky in there.’

He raises his eyebrows.

Oh yeah, I keep forgetting I can’t use that excuse since the smoking ban. It’s been over ten years, Nadine. Get the fuck with it.

‘What the hell is going on, Hugh?’ I ask, as soon as my breathing has started to go back to normal; my heart no longer feeling like it’s trying to escape my ribcage. ‘Why are you volunteering me to work in a school?’

‘I’m sorry about that,’ he says, a slight sheen of sweat I hadn’t noticed before on his forehead. ‘But I need to keep Uncle Charlie sweet.’

‘There’s keeping him sweet and then sucking his arse. I mean, of course we’ll give them the best wedding we can in a month, but why are you acting so jumpy?’

He sighs, a frown marring his face as he sits down on the step next to me. ‘Look, my uncle invested money in the company.’

‘Huh? Clara’s dad? He’s a partner?’ How is it I didn’t know this before?

‘Not so much a partner, as an investor. I didn’t want to ask my dad for the money and I needed it quickly, so they didn’t sell the pub to the other developers.’

Ah, yes, I do remember the reason he bought the pub in the first place. They were planning to sell it to developers who were going to knock it down and build flats. Something Hugh normally does himself, but he couldn’t see the place he got married be destroyed, so he bought it instead.

‘So, Uncle Charlie lent me the money. I’ve got a repayment plan with him, but he’s been extremely reasonable with his interest rates. He’s told me he expects the red carpet rolled out for Clara.’

‘Why are you so scared of him?’

He rubs at his eyes as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders. ‘Because I don’t want him to tell my dad he leant me the money. He’d probably disown me from the shame that I didn’t go to him.’

‘Okay,’ I nod. ‘I’m starting to get it. But can’t you just take out another mortgage and pay him back?’

He sighs. ‘No. You know I’m mortgaged to the hilt, what with our place and the latest flat development. They should all be sold in the next few months and then I’ll be able to pay him back, but until then I need to keep him sweet.’

Shit. I had no idea they were in such a scary financial situation. I always just thought of Hugh as rich.

‘So that means us pulling out all the stops, including making sure Hartley is not stressed.’

‘Meaning I’m on babysitting duty,’ I nod with a sigh.

‘Afraid so. But don’t worry.’ He takes me by the shoulders. ‘I have every faith in you.’

* * *

Saturday 6th January

I’m lucky enough that I have responsible staff I’ve managed to train up and mould into trustworthy employees, but that doesn’t stop me coming to every wedding and checking everything is in order. Call it the control freak in me. You could call it me having no life, but I take my work seriously.

Florence is always ribbing me about it, and Hugh’s always on my case to take more of a step back, but I just can’t. I’ve only been working here a year and I know that if I wasn’t such a control freak, it wouldn’t have won that award. There’s no way it would have gone from such strength to strength.

So many people in the wedding industry seem to be replaced within a couple of months as they’re on internships from universities. I’ve even had three brides willingly lose their deposits in order to change their venue to us because they’ve heard about the sincerely personable service we offer.

Anyway, that’s how I find myself with my clipboard checking off everything to make sure this wedding is running perfectly. The bride is in the bridal suite which is basically what used to be the flat above the pub. Only now we’ve re-decorated it into a fabulous shabby-chic penthouse with enough room for the bride to get ready, along with her bridesmaids.

With only an hour before the wedding I decide to check in on the bride. I walk up the stairs and knock on the door. There seems to be a lot of commotion coming from the other side. I find this a lot. Bridesmaids seem to bicker just before walking down the aisle. I think it’s caused from the fear of all those people staring at them.

The door finally opens, revealing a distressed looking bridesmaid in a lavender, silk dressing gown, her hair in curlers.

‘Hi. I’m just checking in to see if everything is going okay?’ I ask and follow with a professional smile.

‘Ugh.’ She grabs me by my forearms and drags me in. ‘We’ve had a fucking disaster!’

Oh Jesus. Just what I want on a Sunday. Thank God, I came in.

‘What’s happened?’ I ask as I’m dragged into the main room.

The bride is stood next to her dress, hysterical, with tears rolling down her face. The bridesmaids are hurrying around the dress attempting to wipe at it with a wet cloth.

‘What’s happened to the dress?’ I ask, already going in the emergency cupboard for the baby wipes. There isn’t much that these bad boys won’t get out. Not my first stained dress situation.

The girls disperse so I can see the damage done to it.

My mouth drops open of its own accord. Sweet mother of all that is holy!

The bottom half has bloodstains all over it. What the hell has happened?

‘Shit, did...’ I look from bridesmaid to bridesmaid, gulping down the bile. ‘Did... someone die here?’

One bridesmaid doubles over laughing. Oh, okay, hopefully that means they haven’t. That or she’s a dark bitch who finds murder funny. I’m faithful to my clients but covering up a murder is a step too far.

‘I came on my period,’ the bride explains in between sobs. ‘God, I shouldn’t have been due on for at least another two weeks. And now my whole wedding is ruined!’

Well this is a first. I’ve never even had to lend a bride a tampon before. Mother nature is a right bitch.

I quickly open my phone and type in ‘how to get blood out of fabric'. An article pops up straight away. Thank god for Google. How did people ever cope before the internet?

‘Okay, we need to wash it with soap and cold water. Then dab on some ammonia.’

‘Ammonia?’ the bride repeats. ‘Where the hell are we going to get that?’

She’s right. I have no idea what ammonia is, let alone where to get it from. Not that I can show them I’m panicking.

I smile assuredly. ‘I’ll go into town and buy some. Meanwhile call around all of your friends and family and see if they can get any.’

The bride stands in front of me, her lip trembling. ‘But what if you can’t get any?’

I scoff confidently. ‘I’ll be able to find some. Don’t worry about a thing.’

I run down the stairs, grab my coat and get into my car, dialling Florence. Thank God, she’s my number one on speed dial.

‘Hey, babe,’ she says down the phone, munching on what sounds like toast. ‘You okay?’

‘No.’ I cry dramatically. ‘The bride has bloody had her period on her dress, so I’m headed into town to try to buy some ammonia.’

‘Bloody hell! Pun intended.’ She collapses into giggles.

I roll my eyes. Real bloody helpful Flo.

‘You don’t have any, do you?’

She scoffs. ‘Ammonia? As if! I couldn’t even tell you if it’s a liquid or a powder.’

‘Fuck.’ I sigh, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. ‘Would you meet me in town? I have to somehow find it. Or I’ll have to find something else for her to wear.’

‘Fuck.’ I hear the panic in her voice for me. Bless her. ‘Of course. I’ll quickly get dressed and meet you there.’

I feel bad for causing her to rush on a Sunday, but I’m desperate at this point. Every staff member here needs to stay to get on with their jobs, so she’s literally the only one capable of helping me.

* * *

By the time Flo finds me, I’ve already gone into three shops looking for ammonia. Each time a bewildered shop assistant asks me what that is. Fucking morons. That’s what happens when you employ fourteen-year-olds with no knowledge. Read a book for Christ’s sake!

Okay, so it’s fair to say I’m a little fraught and sweaty. I’ve been gone for twenty minutes and I still have no solution to the wedding taking place in forty minutes. This woman cannot cancel her wedding just because mother nature has decided to fuck her over. I refuse to let it happen. She’s paying us enough to make this my problem too.

‘What the hell are we going to do?’ Flo asks, her eyes darting from side to side.

I think for a minute, pinching my temples as if to help pull my thoughts together. Sometimes I really wish I had superpowers.

‘Okay, we’re gonna have to go to a bridal shop and hope to fuck they can help us.’

‘Right,’ Flo nods, but I don’t miss her large gulp. ‘That’s totally doable.’ She takes my hand. ‘Come on.’

We practically run into the first shop, my hair now stuck to my head with sweat.

‘I need a dress!’ I shout at the lady behind the till.

Her eyes widen to twice the size.

‘Of course you do,’ she says with a smarmy smile, ‘but I’m afraid that you need an appointment.’

I don’t have time for this basic bitch right now.

‘I want to speak to your manager. Now. We’re in a hurry.’

She scoffs but goes out back. Thirty-three seconds later—yes, I counted—a lady with auburn hair tied up in a tight bun comes walking out. She’s so lithe she must have been a ballerina earlier in life. Her shoulders are squared, as if ready for a fight.

I put on my nicest smile.

‘Hi. I’m Nadine Roberts, wedding organiser from The Duck and Goose, winner of Best Wedding Venue 2017.’

This seems to get her attention, her eyes widening a fraction for a split second before she quickly covers it with an impassive face.

‘Lovely to meet you, Nadine. We’ve had many a recommendation here from you.’

‘Yes, you have,’ I nod. ‘Only I have a problem. An emergency really, and I need you to pull out all of the stops to help me.’

‘Okay,’ she nods, suspicious. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I need a wedding dress to take right now.’

‘Right now?’ she repeats in horror. ‘By the end of today? Are you serious?’

‘Nope.’ She relaxes slightly. ‘As in something I can take in the next ten minutes.’

‘You’re pulling my leg,’ she says on a laugh. ‘Is this some kind of a joke?’

‘We wish it was,’ Flo says, ‘but apparently the bride bled all over hers.’

The woman puts her hand to her chest aghast. ‘Bled? Has there been some kind of murder?’

Jesus, with the drama queens in this industry. Me being one of them.

‘No, she's started her period.’

The whole shop seems to have fallen silent, brides looking at me in revulsion.

‘Yeah, yeah. I said period, ladies.’ I scream, having apparently lost my shit. ‘We all have them. We have it in common. No need to look so appalled.’

The woman takes my arm. ‘Please.’ She pulls me to the side of the shop. ‘If you stop scaring my customers, I’ll find something that can help.’

‘Excellent.’

Turns out acting like a psychopath works sometimes. I should pull that act out of the bag more often.

‘What size is your bride?’

‘She’s a small size twelve.’ I look over Florence. ‘She’s about the same height as her.’

She nods. ‘Okay. It’ll have to be a sample dress. I’m thinking ideally a corset back. That way you can make it looser or tighter depending on her back width.’

‘Yes, great. But we need it, like ten minutes ago.’

She rushes off, summoning the basic bitch behind the desk with a click of her fingers. She glares at me. Yeah, yeah, run along now.

* * *

Florence and I run into the pub with only five minutes until the wedding is due to start; guests are making their way to the barn. We politely push them out of the way and run up the stairs of the pub and into the flat. Four fully dressed up, depressed looking bridesmaids turn to stare at us in hope.

‘We have a dress!’ I shout triumphantly, holding the dress bag in the air like a trophy.

The bride’s face transforms from morose to an expression of absolute relief. She runs over, snatching the dress bag from my hands.

‘Oh my God, Nadine. I could kiss you.’

I blush. ‘No need. Just get your arse in this dress in the next three minutes.’

The bridesmaids start fussing over her, helping to secure her in it. Thankfully she’s so grateful she doesn’t seem to mind that it’s a slightly different style. If she’d have complained, I’d have probably had to punch her and that wouldn’t go down well. I can just see the newspaper headlines now: ‘Wedding Planner punches Bride-to-Be with minutes before Wedding'. That’s one way to commit career suicide.

I turn to see Flo leaning against the wall, her face unusually pale. I’m just about to ask her if she’s okay when her eyes flutter and then she’s sliding down the floor onto her bum.

I rush over, glad her eyes aren’t completely closed.

‘Shit, Flo. Are you okay?’ She doesn’t answer me, her breath coming out in short spurts. ‘Someone get some water.’ I shout to the bridesmaids.

One brings a glass of water over just as Flo's eyes begin to open fully again. She looks around as if not sure what just happened.

‘Flo. Should I call an ambulance?’

She shakes her head, taking the water from the bridesmaid. She takes a large gulp.

‘I’m fine,’ she dismisses. ‘I’m just tired. So I think I’m gonna go home.’

Is she crazy? The woman almost passed out.

‘I’ll drive you. But first you’re drinking that water, having some food and resting for a little while longer. Otherwise I’m going to force you to the hospital.’

The bride thanks us, now ready in her dress, and hurries off past us to get married.

I eventually drive Flo home, the colour finally back in her cheeks.

‘What the hell happened back there?’ I ask as we finally pull into her road.

‘I had a few too many wines last night. All the rushing around made me feel hungover. I just need to get to bed.’

‘Okay. Have a good sleep hun.’

But something tells me she’s lying. About what I have no idea.