Sunday 10th December
Scott and Nancy’s wedding at the Old Lifeboat Station, Port Giles: Tasty snacks and sticky fingers
‘If I ever grumble about my day job ever again, you have my full permission to pour soup over my head.’
This is me talking to Rory. We’re sitting in tub chairs in the quiet corner where we’re taking our first break of the day. Although for me, it’s more about backing up all the memory cards than any kind of rest. As Jules says, backing up the data is the first rule of weddings. But the last five hours have been so full on, this is the first chance I’ve had to do it. So while Rory’s making his way through the big tray of food in front of us, with the dedication of a truly hungry guy, I’ve got my laptop and memory sticks out, making multiple copies of all the day’s pictures. And the day is still a long way from over. Even if the end is way closer than it was at ten this morning, there are still some crucial shots left to do now it’s fully dark, and the fairy lights are twinkling in their full glory. Then we’re onto the last lap and it’s full steam ahead to the first dance and the disco. And finally home time. If someone had told me ten days ago I’d be this anxious to get into the beer-mobile and head off into the night with Rory Sanderson, I’d have thought they were bonkers. Which only goes to show how fast circumstances can change and how quickly life can change you too.
Rory perks up. ‘Would that be homemade soup, then? From where I’m sitting, that sounds a lot like a dinner invitation.’ Only Rory could twist it to that. Although obviously, from what he said this morning, he wouldn’t be up for it even if he got one.
Despite the day being peppered with food servings, until now I’ve only seen it through my lens. If I wasn’t so tired I’d sigh. ‘In case you’d forgotten, mate, dinner dates aren’t in your portfolio or whatever it is you call it. I’m just flagging up how hard today’s been, and that I’m really not in tune with weddings, okay? End of message.’ I unplug the lead from my last camera and move onto the pile of memory cards I’ve carefully arranged on a plate.
He looks at me like he thinks I’m mad. ‘What’s not to like about today? It’s had all the fun of a party, with none of the social demands of being a guest. It’s scored pretty close to a perfect ten for me.’
I’m snorting because it’s fine for him to say that. ‘You haven’t had the responsibility. Or the worry of failing. Hell, you’re not even taking real pictures.’
He looks affronted. ‘I’ve had my camera out too.’
‘Sure.’ That claim is so ridiculous, it’s barely worth the effort of a headshake. He’s been carrying it around like a theatrical prop. End of story.
He frowns. ‘So which bit did you object to? You had a good time with the girls before, judging by the screams coming out of the dressing room. The ceremony was great, the fake snow confetti shot couldn’t have been more of a blizzard. Thanks to my dictator tactics, we rattled through the group lists. You nailed the crowd shot from the balcony, neither of us fell asleep in the speeches. With my expert advice to keep you on track, why wouldn’t the day go like a dream?’
I admit some bits weren’t so bad. ‘Taking Nancy and Scott’s couple pics on the beach was okay.’ Her dress flying in the wind by the sea was phenomenal. When Scott wrapped her in her chunky wool cardi and hugged her, they looked so much in love they could have walked straight out of a magazine ad. And the cake and the flowers were great too.
Rory’s pondering. ‘Those mini fish and chips on the buffet were one of my high points.’
I shake my head, despairing because he has so little idea. ‘You do know, the photographers aren’t supposed to graze?’
He shrugs. ‘If it’s the bride’s mum offering, it’s rude to refuse.’ No doubt he’s milked that relationship to the max. ‘My wedding radar tells me we’ll be off again soon. You need to stop playing with your cameras and eat something.’ He drops two mini quiches and a large vol au vent on the plate next to my two remaining memory cards.
I let out a squawk. ‘Careful, I haven’t done those yet.’
‘Stop panicking. It’s the only way I’ll get you to notice food.’ He looks unrepentant, then his face breaks into a smile as he spots a hound wandering our way. ‘All that freaking out about the dogs and they’ve been lovely. This one’s Hetty, she’s got diamonds on her collar.’
I hate to be agreeing with him. ‘They’re very photogenic.’ If you can overlook how huge they are, they’re dark grey, elegant and well behaved. ‘This one’s greeting you like a long lost friend.’ Her head’s at table level and I watch her snuffling round Rory as he fondles her ears for few seconds, then look back to my computer.
‘Hetty’s the hungry one, I’ve been feeding her titbits all day.’ Rory laughs as she makes a lunge for his sandwich. ‘No, this one’s mine, girl. Oh, shit!’
‘What’s the matter?’ As I look up and see the last of my vol au vent disappearing into the dog’s chops, I let out a groan. ‘She took my quiches too. Nancy said if there’s food around, they’re like doggy Hoovers.’
‘Jeez, just listen to those teeth crunching.’ Rory’s obviously impressed that a dog can fit that much food in its mouth all at one time.
Then, as I stare at the crumbs and the memory card left on the plate there’s a tiny lurch in my chest. ‘Where’s the card gone?’
Rory frowns. ‘It’s there, on the plate. Next to the pastry flake.’
My stomach deflates like a popped balloon. ‘No, there were two. Definitely two.’ As I hear my high-pitched squeal rising, I haul it down to a hissed whisper so people don’t hear. ‘They were there next to the food. Waiting to be backed up and full of wedding pictures. If the card’s gone, they’ve gone too.’ If my heart was racing earlier, it’s nothing to the way it’s thundering now.
His face crumples. ‘Crap, crap, crap.’ He thumps his fist on his thigh. ‘Has Hetty just eaten the wedding photos? If it was the card she was crunching on, whatever was on it is gone forever.’
‘Nooooooo.’ I’m already on my hands and knees, patting the floor in the hope it’s somehow down here. As I come nose to nose with Rory under the table, he’s shaking his head.
‘Vol au vents and quiches just aren’t that crunchy. I think we have to face that it might be gone, Holly Berry.’ If this is breaking it gently, it’s hurting way too much.
I’m about to let out the biggest howl of my life when he holds up his hand and I swallow it back in again.
‘Wait. We need to take our time and have a sensible plan here.’
I’m whimpering. ‘As said by the guy who was so sensible he put the vol au vent next to the memory cards, then called the food-inhaling dog over.’
His voice is low and very measured. ‘There’s no point saying anything now and spoiling the day for Nancy and Scott. Other than mentioning that Hetty ate a piece of plastic, obviously.’
Even if I get where he’s coming from on that, he’s missing the point. ‘But what about the pictures?’ It’s a full-on banshee scream, funnelled straight into his ear.
He winces and rubs the side of his head. ‘Whatever we do, it won’t bring those photos back. So we need to concentrate on making the rest the best they can possibly be.’
I’m still screeching in his ear. ‘But I need to see what’s been lost.’ It might only be a small fraction. If it’s random shots of people eating wedding cake it’s bad enough. If it’s the cake cutting picture, it’s horrendous. But if I’ve lost the only pictures of the ceremony, what the hell am I going to do then? This is like being awake in a nightmare. I want the ground to open up and swallow me.
‘No, we’ll check what’s missing later. Right now, you need to get out there and carry on.’ His mouth is a straight line and his jaw’s set. He nudges me and points out from under the table. ‘Look, everyone’s getting their coats on. It’s time to go outside to do sparklers.’ He may be right. If I discover I’ve trashed the family groups, the meltdown I’m having now would be minor in comparison to the one I’d have then.
I crawl out from under the table, then sink down on the floor with my back against the chair and my hands over my head. ‘I’ve screwed up. I can’t go out and face them knowing I’ve fed their photos to the dog. This is exactly why I’m not a bloody wedding photographer.’
He’s glaring at me. ‘You didn’t screw up. This one’s down to me and Hetty. No one will blame you for it. But they will if you don’t get your butt onto that balcony this second and take the sparkler shots. So you get out there and take the pictures of your life, okay? And we’ll sort the rest as soon as we leave.’
I’m not going to argue when he’s growling through gritted teeth. ‘Okay.’ As okays go, it’s pathetic. If there’s one good thing about this total wimp-out, it’s that he’s seeing me as I truly am. Any mental image he has of me in Wonder Woman pyjamas will be blasted forever. If I wasn’t so gutted about losing the pictures, I’d be whooping about that. As it is, I’m going to have to screw every bit of courage together and see if I can make the tiniest amends for letting Nancy and Scott down so badly. Although how I’m going to do that, I have no idea, when my heart is lurching like a car with three wheels, my knees have turned to mush. My hands are faltering so much I have no idea how I’m going to hold the camera, let alone press the right buttons. I push my arms into the sleeves of my fake leopard, but even my lovely snuggle-in coat can’t save me from this stuff-up. I’m almost through the door going out onto the balcony when Rory’s fist hits my arm.
‘What?’ I turn to see what he wants.
His arm comes round and he squeezes my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, HB. Really, I’ve got this.’ He’s swinging my spare camera in his other hand.
‘Thanks.’ In terms of watery smiles, mine is fully diluted. However overinflated his sense of self-importance is, he can’t have ‘got’ anything. Nothing he can do will help me out of this.
He’s staring again, this time at the hair straggles, blowing horizontally across my nose. ‘It’s freezing out there. Don’t you have a hat?’
As the wind slices off the sea, I pull my coat closer and listen to the sound of the breakers crashing up the beach. I shiver and stick my chin up, and say the first bullshit that comes into my head. ‘Hats are for wimps.’ I know as the biggest wuss here I should be a fully paid-up member of the hat wearers’ club. Although everyone knows with my hair, hats give me helmet head every time. In my normal, proper, balanced everyday existence, mostly there’s central heating anyway. And talking of normal life, I can’t wait to get back to it.
Beside us, guests are spilling out into the night, with unlit sparklers and lighters, jostling shoulders, as the strings of lights fly above our heads.
As Rory eases back across the deck, he’s still swinging my spare camera. ‘Remind me, I’ll get you a hat for next time.’ He has to be joking.
Next time? ‘Seriously, I’m not sure I’ll be doing this again.’ The great thing is, when word gets out on a stuff up this huge, no one will want me within a mile of their wedding. They’ll definitely make other arrangements.
‘Rubbish. You can’t give up on anything this much fun.’ As he raises the camera to eye level, his finger is on the shutter button. ‘Okay, one for the archives, to celebrate a mostly fabulous day. Big smile, Holly Berry.’
But I’m not smiling because my face is screwed into a ball as I’m trying to get my head around this. ‘What the heck are you playing at, Rory?’
He gives a shrug. ‘Same as I’ve been doing all day. Following you around with your camera, second shooting for you. With luck I should have caught something to patch over your – er – gap.’ He grins. ‘The photos might not be perfect, but so far I haven’t fed mine to the dog. How have you not seen?’
I could say ‘How have you not told me?’ but I don’t. I’m torn between fury that he didn’t think to mention it and relief that the lost card disaster might just be fixable. Instead I say, ‘Maybe because I’ve had all my attention on my first solo shooting? Just saying.’
That goes straight over his head, but he’s right back anyway. ‘Talking of which, have you seen the moonshine on the water?’ Whereas some of us have been dumbstruck ever since the dog trauma, Rory won’t shut up. ‘You couldn’t have a better backdrop for a newlywed pose, so we’ll work that in before the first dance. Although we’ll have to watch the waves. Have you brought your wellies?’ Even if his enthusiasm is getting right up my nose, he’s right about the reflections off the sea. And annoyingly unstressed enough to have had time to notice.
‘I left my gumboots at Glastonbury in 2005.’ There’s not much call for them in lovely London. And ideally, that’s the way I’d like to keep it.
He’s not listening because he’s gone onto crowd-control mode. ‘Okay, two lines either side, bride and groom in the centre, stand by to light those sparklers everyone …’ If he wasn’t so annoying, you’d have to say he was a natural at this. Maybe even better than Jules. Somehow due to his sheer enthusiasm, he manages to give his orders without people feeling bossed around. For a second he stops waving his arms, drops his voice and looks down at me. ‘In that case we’ll put wellies on the shopping list too. Snow’s coming in for next weekend. Looks like we’ll be shooting a white white wedding at the Manor.’
The good news just keeps coming, then, and for once I let the royal ‘we’ flow over me. With any luck, by next week Rory should be safely back in his very own Brewer’s Yard. What everyone’s forgetting is, I came here for a quiet time. Snow has to be the last complication on the horizon. Doesn’t it?