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Authors: Sophie Kinsella
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that Luke adores his mother. I know sons should love their mothers. And I know he hardly ever saw her when he was tiny, and he’s trying to make up for lost time . . . but still.
How
can he be so devoted to Elinor?
As I arrive downstairs in the kitchen, Mum’s tidying up the breakfast things with one hand and holding the portable phone in the other.
“Yes,” she’s saying. “That’s right. Bloomwood, B-l-o-o-m-w-o-o-d. Of Oxshott, Surrey. And you’ll fax that over? Thank you.
“Good.” She puts away the phone and beams at me. “That’s the announcement gone in the Surrey
Post
.”
“
Another
announcement? Mum, how many have you done?”
“Just the standard number!” she says defensively. “The
Times
, the
Telegraph
, the Oxshott
Herald
, and the Esher
Gazette
.”
“And the Surrey
Post
.”
“Yes. So only . . . five.”
“Five!”
“Becky, you only get married once!” says Mum.
“I know. But honestly . . .”
“Now, listen.” Mum is rather pink in the face. “You’re our only daughter, Becky, and we’re not going to spare any expense. We want you to have the wedding of your dreams. Whether it’s the announcements, or the flowers, or a horse and carriage like Suzie had . . . we want you to have it.”
“Mum, I wanted to talk to you about that,” I say awkwardly. “Luke and I will contribute to the cost—”
“Nonsense!” says Mum briskly. “We wouldn’t hear of it.”
“But—”
“We’ve always hoped we’d be paying for a wedding one day. We’ve been putting money aside especially, for a few years now.”
“Really?” I stare at her, feeling a sudden swell of emotion. Mum and Dad have been saving all this time, and they never said a word. “I . . . I had no idea.”
“Yes, well. We weren’t going to tell you, were we? Now!” Mum snaps back into businesslike mode. “Did Luke tell you we’ve found a date? You know, it wasn’t easy! Everywhere’s booked up. But I’ve spoken to Peter at the church, he’s had a cancellation, and he can fit us in at three on that Saturday. Otherwise it would be a question of waiting until November.”
“November?” I pull a face. “That’s not very weddingy.”
“Exactly. So I told him to pencil it in. I’ve put it on the calendar, look.”
I glance over at the fridge calendar, which has a different recipe using Nescafé for each month. And sure enough, there in June is a big felt-tipped “BECKY’S WEDDING.”
I stare at it, feeling slightly weird. I am going to get married. It’s something I’ve secretly thought about for so long—and now it really is happening.
“I’ve been having a few ideas about the marquee,” adds Mum. “I saw a beautiful striped one in a magazine somewhere, and I thought, ‘I must show that to Becky . . .’ ”
She reaches behind her and hauls out a stack of glossy magazines.
Brides. Modern Bride. Wedding and Home
. All shiny and succulent and inviting, like a plate of sticky doughnuts.
“Gosh!” I say, forcing myself not to reach greedily for one. “I haven’t read any of those bridal things yet. I don’t even know what they’re like!”
“Neither have I,” says Mum at once, as she flicks expertly through an issue of
Wedding and Home
. “Not properly. I’ve just glanced through for the odd idea. I mean, they’re really just adverts mainly . . .”
I hesitate, my fingers running over the cover of
You and Your Wedding
. I can hardly believe I’m actually allowed to read these now. Openly! I don’t have to sidle up to the rack and take tiny, guilty peeks, like stuffing a biscuit into my mouth and all the time wondering if someone will see me.
The habit’s so ingrained I almost can’t break it, even though I’ve got an engagement ring on my finger now.
“I suppose it makes sense to have a very brief look,” I say casually. “You know, just for basic information . . . just to be aware what’s available . . .”
Oh, sod it. Mum’s not even listening,
How
can he be so devoted to Elinor?
As I arrive downstairs in the kitchen, Mum’s tidying up the breakfast things with one hand and holding the portable phone in the other.
“Yes,” she’s saying. “That’s right. Bloomwood, B-l-o-o-m-w-o-o-d. Of Oxshott, Surrey. And you’ll fax that over? Thank you.
“Good.” She puts away the phone and beams at me. “That’s the announcement gone in the Surrey
Post
.”
“
Another
announcement? Mum, how many have you done?”
“Just the standard number!” she says defensively. “The
Times
, the
Telegraph
, the Oxshott
Herald
, and the Esher
Gazette
.”
“And the Surrey
Post
.”
“Yes. So only . . . five.”
“Five!”
“Becky, you only get married once!” says Mum.
“I know. But honestly . . .”
“Now, listen.” Mum is rather pink in the face. “You’re our only daughter, Becky, and we’re not going to spare any expense. We want you to have the wedding of your dreams. Whether it’s the announcements, or the flowers, or a horse and carriage like Suzie had . . . we want you to have it.”
“Mum, I wanted to talk to you about that,” I say awkwardly. “Luke and I will contribute to the cost—”
“Nonsense!” says Mum briskly. “We wouldn’t hear of it.”
“But—”
“We’ve always hoped we’d be paying for a wedding one day. We’ve been putting money aside especially, for a few years now.”
“Really?” I stare at her, feeling a sudden swell of emotion. Mum and Dad have been saving all this time, and they never said a word. “I . . . I had no idea.”
“Yes, well. We weren’t going to tell you, were we? Now!” Mum snaps back into businesslike mode. “Did Luke tell you we’ve found a date? You know, it wasn’t easy! Everywhere’s booked up. But I’ve spoken to Peter at the church, he’s had a cancellation, and he can fit us in at three on that Saturday. Otherwise it would be a question of waiting until November.”
“November?” I pull a face. “That’s not very weddingy.”
“Exactly. So I told him to pencil it in. I’ve put it on the calendar, look.”
I glance over at the fridge calendar, which has a different recipe using Nescafé for each month. And sure enough, there in June is a big felt-tipped “BECKY’S WEDDING.”
I stare at it, feeling slightly weird. I am going to get married. It’s something I’ve secretly thought about for so long—and now it really is happening.
“I’ve been having a few ideas about the marquee,” adds Mum. “I saw a beautiful striped one in a magazine somewhere, and I thought, ‘I must show that to Becky . . .’ ”
She reaches behind her and hauls out a stack of glossy magazines.
Brides. Modern Bride. Wedding and Home
. All shiny and succulent and inviting, like a plate of sticky doughnuts.
“Gosh!” I say, forcing myself not to reach greedily for one. “I haven’t read any of those bridal things yet. I don’t even know what they’re like!”
“Neither have I,” says Mum at once, as she flicks expertly through an issue of
Wedding and Home
. “Not properly. I’ve just glanced through for the odd idea. I mean, they’re really just adverts mainly . . .”
I hesitate, my fingers running over the cover of
You and Your Wedding
. I can hardly believe I’m actually allowed to read these now. Openly! I don’t have to sidle up to the rack and take tiny, guilty peeks, like stuffing a biscuit into my mouth and all the time wondering if someone will see me.
The habit’s so ingrained I almost can’t break it, even though I’ve got an engagement ring on my finger now.
“I suppose it makes sense to have a very brief look,” I say casually. “You know, just for basic information . . . just to be aware what’s available . . .”
Oh, sod it. Mum’s not even listening,
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