Beach Tree Hall is a Grade I-listed building, sitting at the top of a long, leafy driveway, in eight acres of stunning grounds. Based on this information alone, I can safely say that Beach Tree Hall is too expensive for my wedding.
Also, the suite we’re currently viewing – the Orchid Suite – can accommodate 200 daytime guests and 250 evening guests. Meanwhile, I can’t even think of one person I can ask to be a bridesmaid for me.
Even their smallest suite – the Daffodil Suite – accommodates 80 for the wedding breakfast and 120 for the evening do. I haven’t even attempted to make a list of people we’ll be inviting, but I can assure you, it won’t be that many.
I whispered this to Leo as Debbie let the events coordinator know we were here. He suggested we politely view the place, even though it will likely be out of our price range.
‘And we have 100 rooms that your guests can stay in, if they choose,’ Camille, the events coordinator, tells us. If they take out second mortgages, I assume.
‘Lovely,’ I reply.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to look around the room and talk among yourselves,’ Camille says.
‘You could be more enthusiastic, Mia,’ Debbie ticks me off.
‘You could be more in tune with our price range, Debbie,’ I reply. ‘No way can we afford this.’
‘Between us – and so you start taking this more seriously – I think your parents are going to offer to pay,’ Debbie tells us.
‘That’s way too generous,’ Leo replies. ‘Incredible, but way too generous.’
‘She paid for your sister’s wedding, didn’t she?’ Debbie says.
‘Yeah, but that’s not the point,’ I reply.
My dad enjoyed a long and successful career as a private dentist before retiring with a very good pension. Money isn’t a problem for my parents but that doesn’t mean I’d happily accept their help.
‘We weren’t going to invite too many people,’ I continue.
‘But your parents plan to,’ she points out. ‘Your big day isn’t just about you two, you know.’
I bite my lip anxiously. This wedding feels so out of my control. What I want doesn’t seem to matter. It seems to be more important we please everyone else.
‘We can talk to them, don’t worry,’ Leo assures me, squeezing my hand.
‘Can you give us a moment alone, please?’ I ask Debbie.
She frowns, but obliges, leaving us standing in the centre of the dance floor, in the middle of the huge room. The walls are adorned with white fabric, with tiny LED lights that twinkle like the night sky, and the tables and chairs are all covered with white material, with a golden sash wrapped around each chair. It really, really is a truly stunning venue, but (even if it were in my price range) it’s not me.
‘This is all too much, right?’ I say to him, once we’re alone.
‘I know your parents want to invite all their friends, but we can talk to them, tell them this is just too much,’ Leo assures me. ‘Don’t worry, OK?’
‘OK,’ I reply.
‘I’m sure we can figure something out that makes everyone happy.’
Sometimes it really is like he doesn’t know my parents at all.
‘Shall I call Debbie back in?’ I ask.
‘Give it a few minutes,’ Leo says, pulling me close. ‘Can you imagine us having our first dance in a place like this?’
He holds me close, slow dancing with me – well, attempting to. My lack of rhythm and my four-inch heels make it tricky.
The truth is, I can’t imagine having a first dance with Leo at all. Not because I can’t dance – although that is a pretty good reason – but because the thought of everyone’s eyes on me fills me with dread. Most people have dance lessons now, at least, and then there’s people who learn an embarrassingly cringey choreographed routine, which means everyone is expected to be good. Everyone will be watching us, judging us…
As Debbie walks back into the room I pull the neck of my dress from my body a couple of times to let some air in. It’s so warm in here, with the windows covered and the door closed.
‘Ready to see some more of the hotel?’ Debbie asks hopefully.
‘I’m just going to step outside and make a quick call,’ I lie, my chest tightening by the second.
‘Can’t it wait?’ she asks.
‘No, I’ll be right back,’ I say.
‘Want me to come?’ Leo asks, sensing something might be wrong.
‘No, no, you stay here, I won’t be long,’ I call back as I dash out of the room.
Once I’m outside I clutch my chest and gasp for breath. As the cold air fills my lungs and cools my cheeks, breathing slowly starts getting easier again.
It’s been so long since I had a panic attack, I’d forgotten how awful they felt. It never fails to terrify me, that the symptoms of panic can so easily mimic the symptoms of something much more serious. If I didn’t know what panic attacks were like, I would’ve thought I was dying.
Is this normal? Should I be getting so upset while planning my wedding? Am I just suffering with cold feet or is it something more? Do I actually want to get married? People keep calling it the happiest day of my life but, with all this stress, I don’t see how it can be.