Friday 12th January

‘Where the hell is he?’ Clara demands, looking at her Cartier watch with a pout.

I’m not sure if she’s expecting me to answer her or if she just wants to voice her rage.

Hartley’s ten minutes late for his own engagement photoshoot being held here at The Duck and Goose. It makes me wonder if he’s given what I said some thought. If he’s halfway to New Zealand by now, I couldn’t blame him. Not wanting to marry this prissy thing.

‘He knows what time the appointment was. God, I hope he’s not been held up by another bloody student of his. I swear, they’re so clingy.’

She’s a heartless cow.

‘Hi, sorry, sorry!’ Hartley says, rushing in looking frazzled. He avoids my gaze and instead pecks a chaste kiss on Clara’s cheek.

Not changed his mind then. Quite willing to get married to someone who doesn’t want the same things as him. I don’t know why I even care. Maybe because it’s making a complete mockery of the whole institution of marriage? Something I care deeply about.

‘Ready to get this show on the road?’ the photographer asks, fiddling with his camera lens. ‘I’d like you over here, with the trees as a backdrop.’

‘Well, are we?’ Clara demands to Hartley, hand on her hip like a tea pot handle.

He rolls his eyes. ‘Yes. I’m here now.’

He looks over to me, his cheeks slightly pink. Is he embarrassed that he’s still going ahead with this sham after admitting to me that they want different things? He bloody should be.

Look at him, hugging her from behind for the photographer. Gazing down at her adoringly. Can love really be that blind that you ignore your future together?

Ugh, I can’t watch. I go inside and attempt to busy myself with some paperwork. It’s hard though when you’re as efficient as me. I have to stay until the shoot is finished so I decide to make them both a frothy hot chocolate. It’s still freezing out. Most people are looking forward to spring, but I love the cosiness of winter. There’s nothing better than relaxing in front of the fire with a warm mug of hot chocolate.

I’m just bringing them out, pleased with my artwork of chocolate shavings and mini marshmallows when I almost walk into Hartley striding back into the pub.

‘Whoa!’ we both say at the same time, barely missing bumping into each other.

I steady the mugs so that only a small bit drips down the sides.

‘Sorry,’ he grimaces. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

I find I can’t look him in the eye. What is wrong with me? I can’t help but feel embarrassed that I spoke so freely last night. I must remember that he’s a client.

‘Oh, that’s fine. I was just bringing you and Clara a hot chocolate.’

He smiles, his face lit up at the idea. Wow, he must really love hot chocolate.

‘She’s gone back to work. But I’ll have it.’ He carefully takes a mug from me. ‘I love hot chocolate.’

‘Very manly of you,’ I joke, sitting down at a table so I can sip the leftover one. My God, I make a good hot chocolate.

‘Yep. Me man. Me like hot chocolate,’ he jokes in a Tarzan voice, hitting his chest.

I smile and take another sip. Why is this awkward? You could cut the uneasy tension with a knife.

‘Anyway, I was coming in here to ask if you’re planning on coming back to the school tomorrow night to help out with the play?’ His eyes portray the vulnerability in the question.

I’m surprised he’s swallowing his pride and asking, with how it ended the other night.

I fiddle with the mug handle. ‘Well, I wasn’t sure you wanted me there anymore. You know, after you told me to go fuck myself.’

He sighs, looking down at the table. ‘Of course, I do.’

I smile back, his eyes finding mine and holding them in place. It’s like they’re hypnotic.

‘Besides, it’s too late to find someone else now,’ he grins, attempting to break the atmosphere.

I hit him on the arm. ‘Cheeky bastard!’

‘Come on. I’m sorry for what I said about Anna. I’d really like it if you were there. You’re so bloody organised. Without you it’ll probably go to shit.’

I smile smugly. ‘Well, I am pretty awesome,’ I agree with a nod. ‘So... I’ll think about it.’

‘Think about it?’ he asks, his eyes widened in disbelief.

He’s obviously used to everyone doing whatever he asks of them. Sex God that he is.

‘Yep. I’ll think about it.’ I take another sip, trying to act nonchalant. ‘Is Clara coming to the play?’

‘Yeah,’ he nods. ‘She’s getting off work early for it.’

‘That’s nice of her,’ I say sincerely.

He presses his lips into a fine line. ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic,’ he snaps, squinting his eyes at me in disgust. ‘I know you don’t like her, but there’s no need to take the piss.’

I gasp, shocked by his outburst and opinion of me. ‘I wasn’t taking the piss. I was seriously saying I’m glad she’s supporting you.’

‘What, because she can’t be bothered to support me normally? Because she wants me to give it up and get a real job?’

‘Hey,’ I hold my hands up in surrender. ‘You are literally going off on a tangent right now. I never said or meant anything like that.’

He sighs, running his hand through his tied up hair. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just being sensitive. I’m worried it’s all going to go to hell.’

‘What, the play or the marriage?’ I smirk. Okay, maybe I can see why he’d think I’m against his marriage. I’m hardly acting like a supportive wedding planner.

‘The play,’ he answers sternly fiddling with his watch. ‘Why are you so down on my impending marriage?’

‘I’m not! I’m a bloody wedding planner for God's sake.’

‘Which has clearly made you jaded.’ He raises his eyebrows as if wanting me to challenge him.

‘The only jaded person here is you,’ I insist, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. God, it's broad. No Nadine, for God’s sake, concentrate.

He sighs, standing up, having cleared his hot chocolate. ‘Whatever. I don’t have time to argue about this. Are you coming tomorrow or not?’

I stare back at him defiantly. ‘Fine, I’ll be there. Much like you, I don’t break a promise. Regardless of how much I regret it.’

* * *

Saturday 13th January

I watch on anxiously as the bride ties the wedding rings to her dog Benny’s collar. She insisted on her golden retriever being a part of the ceremony. Hugh made me take double our usual deposit in case it shits somewhere. I’m more worried about the dog behaving and making it through without trashing the place.

The bride is getting her make-up done while I assess the danger. She's clearly oblivious to all the potential damage this dog could cause.

‘Would you be able to take him outside?’ the bride asks me with a hopeful smile. ‘He needs the toilet before the wedding.’

I stare back at her. Is she serious? She stares back at me expectantly. Okay, so she clearly is. Now I can add dog walker to my CV next to wedding planner/manager. God, my life is glamorous.

I take the lead with a forced smile. ‘Of course.’

I lead Benny, the big bastard, out to the front and wait for him to make his move. He just stares back up at me as if waiting for instruction. I roll my eyes at him. Jesus, all that stuff about dogs being intelligent is clearly crap. I’m definitely a cat girl.

‘Come on Benny, have a poo poo.’

Dear God, I can’t believe I’m talking to a dog, telling him to have a poo poo. What has my life come to? But I don’t think I can say the word shit around him. Almost like he’s a child and will know I said a naughty word. Tell his mummy on me.

‘Come on, Benny,’ I say more cheerfully. ‘You want to have your poo poo now and not in the middle of the ceremony.’ He tilts his head to one side, his eyes narrowing, one ear cocking up. ‘That’s right, Benny. We don’t want it to happen while mummy and daddy are getting married. Saying their vows,’ I clarify, as if he’ll understand if I explain it enough.

‘Oh Jesus, I’m talking to a frigging dog.’

I get my phone out and start googling how to get a dog to poo. I start watching the first video that comes up. Some training woman giving the dog treats when it poos in the same spot. Well that’s not what I want. I want it to poo now.

A loud gulp makes me turn towards Benny. Why does his face look weird? He hunches his shoulders over and starts retching, obviously trying to bring something up. Like he just ate... Oh my God. He wouldn’t have... right?

I grab his collar, desperately searching round for the ring bag. It’s not there. Shit the fucking bed, it’s not there. I search around in a last-ditch hope of finding it strewn on the floor. No such luck.

He’s eaten it. The stupid bloody bastard has eaten the ring bag. The bride mustn’t have secured it enough. Jesus, you’d think if you were tying your wedding rings to a stupid dog you’d do a bloody double knot. That’s basic Brownie 101.

Well, what the hell am I going to do now?

She’ll need it cut out. I can’t go back to the bride and tell her I’ve allowed him to eat it while I supervised. You’d think I’d be able to handle a bloody dog. Of all the potential disasters I did not see this coming. I chastise myself.

Right. Think Nadine. Think.

How the hell am I going to get these rings out? I grab him by the collar while he’s still attempting to retch it out. Maybe I can help him to get sick. Hmm, with humans we just stick our fingers down our throats. At least that’s what my university flatmate, Hayley, used to do after a wild night out on the session.

I move my fingers cautiously into his mouth. Ugh, his mouth is all wet, warm, and gooey. He starts licking me. Of course, he does. This dog has the IQ of an onion.

‘No, Benny. I’m trying to help you.’

I push my two fingers closer to his throat and don’t stop until he starts retching again. A tiny bit of vomit jumps up and hits my hand.

‘Eeew!’ I scream, shaking my hand around. I find some grass and wipe it off as best I can. Dammit, where is my anti-bacterial lotion when I need it! I knew I should have put one in this coat.

He carries on retching, but nothing else is coming up. I straddle him and start massaging his stomach.

‘Come on Benny boy. Get that bag up. You want your mummy and daddy to get married, don’t you?’ I encourage in what I’m hoping are soothing tones.

I look up to see a wedding guest walking past me. He gives me the strangest look. Yeah, yeah. I talk to dogs I’m straddled over. Lap it up, arsehole.

I grab some of the grass and offer it to him to eat. Cows eat grass, so dogs can too, right? Actually, don’t they naturally eat plants and things when they’re trying to bring stuff up? I’m sure I heard that from somewhere.

He doesn’t take it though. Just turns his nose up at it as if I’ve offered him a shit sandwich. Ungrateful little fuck. Okay, I’m sweating now. This is going from disaster to disaster.

I need to speak to a vet. But the wedding is due to start in the next ten minutes. I can’t make it to a vet and back in that time. I could call Flo, ask for her help? But then I remember the baby and the overprotective Hugh. No, I can’t do that.

For a moment, I consider running up to the bride and asking for her help, but this is the last thing she needs. I’ll grab the maid of honour instead. I call her phone, thankfully having had the forethought to save it in my phone, and pray she answers.

‘Hi, Nadine. Is everything okay?’ she asks straightaway.

‘No. I need you to discreetly come down to the front where I have Benny.’

‘Oh, okay. I’ll be two minutes.’

I carry on massaging Benny’s stomach until she finally appears, carrying her floor length peach bridesmaid dress.

‘What’s up?’ she asks before she’s even stopped running. ‘Is it Benny?’

‘Yes, it’s Benny,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘He’s eaten the rings.’

‘Oh my God!’ she shrieks, her eyes nearly bursting out of their sockets. ‘What are we going to do?’

Well, she’s working out to be a whole lot of help. Not.

‘We need to get a vet. Do you know anyone in the wedding party that has experience with animals?’ I ask desperately.

‘Yes!’ she says, jumping up at her excellent idea. ‘I do. Wait here, I’ll go get him.’

Thank God. There’s a vet among the guests. Of course, there is. They’re dog people. This is all going to be fine.

‘Don’t worry Benny. Help is coming.’

She’s back a few minutes later with a tall man in his late thirties.

‘What’s the problem?’ he asks me, looking at Benny. ‘Shelby said something about the dog being sick.’

Oh great. Thanks Shelby. Making me explain it to him.

‘The dog ate the wedding rings.’ I don’t have time to sugar coat it. ‘I need them out of him now. Can you perform emergency surgery?’

He starts laughing.

‘Sorry, but what part of this is funny, exactly?’ I’m so pissed off I imagine launching myself at him and punching him repeatedly in his stupid face.

‘Sorry,’ he scoffs. ‘It’s just that there is no way I’m performing emergency surgery on a dog.’

‘Why the hell not?’ I demand, hand on hip. Does he not care about his friend’s wedding day? Selfish bastard.

He snorts. ‘Well first of all I’m only a veterinary nurse.’

A nurse? She’s brought me a bloody veterinary nurse?

‘And secondly, you can’t just demand surgery on a perfectly healthy dog.’

‘He’s not healthy!’ I shriek. ‘He has a bloody bag of rings somewhere inside his intestines! Surely that’s going to fuck his insides up?’ I glare back at the bridesmaid. ‘Well you guys have been no help. I’ll have to drive him into town.’

‘There’s no point,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘No vet will operate on him. You’re better off looking for new rings.’

New rings? Does he just think I have a couple of spare wedding rings lying around? Some fucking jewellers from Hatton Garden on speed dial? Bloody idiot.

‘But the wedding is due to start in three minutes!’ Shelby shouts. ‘We have no time for that!’

‘Okay, calm down, Shelby,’ I say in a calm, authoritative voice, attempting to shut her up.

It seems to calm her slightly. Okay, I need to think of a plan. Something to make sure this couple get married.

‘You need to go around all of the guests and see if anyone has any spare rings that could fit and be appropriate to fill in.’

‘Got it,’ she nods. ‘Wait, what are you going to do?’

Is she trying to imply I’m lazy? I will take that bitch down.

‘I’m going to try to talk it out with Benny.’

She nods, while the nurse snorts a laugh. They both turn and head back.

I look down at Benny. I reach into my coat pocket and grab out my keys. There is one other option. I could do the surgery myself. Stab him in the gut and pull the rings out myself with my bare hands.

Shit the bed.

Did I really just think that? What the hell is wrong with me?

Have I really lost it so badly that I’m considering gutting a family dog just for a pair of stupid rings? I hand the dog over to the girl behind the bar, scared to be left alone with him. I walk out, unsure of what my next move in life is. If I just considered gutting a dog in order to save a wedding—a wedding for clients, not even friends of mine—I think it’s clear I need to take some time out.