Sophie Kinsella: Shopaholic ties the knot

Christina puts down her champagne glass.

“Code red, Code red,” I hear Robyn’s voice crackling from the bouquet. “Urgent. Code red.”

Now Alicia’s walking around the dance floor, taking her time, relishing the attention.

“The truth is,” she says pleasantly, “this is all a bit of a sham. Isn’t it, Becky?”

My eye flickers behind her. Two burly minders in tuxedos are approaching the dance floor. But they’re not going to get there in time. It’s all going to be ruined.

“It all looks so lovely. It all looks so romantic.” Her voice suddenly hardens. “But what people might like to know is that this so-called perfect Plaza wedding is actually a complete and utter… arrrgh!” Her voice rises to a scream. “Put me down!”

I don’t believe it. It’s Luke.

He’s calmly walked up to her and hoisted her up onto his shoulder. And now he’s carrying her out, like a naughty toddler.

“Put me down!” she cries. “Someone bloody well help me!”

But the guests are starting to laugh. She starts kicking Luke with her pointy boots, and he raises his eyebrows but doesn’t stop striding.

“It’s a fake!” she shrieks as they reach the door. “It’s a fake! They’re not really—”

The door slams, cutting her off, and there’s a silent, shocked moment. No one moves, not even Robyn. Then, slowly, the door opens again, and Luke reappears, brushing his hands.

“I don’t like gate-crashers,” he says dryly.

“Bravo!” shouts a woman I don’t recognize. Luke gives a little bow, and there’s a huge, relieved laugh, and soon the whole room is applauding.

My heart is thumping so hard I’m not sure I can keep standing. As Luke rejoins me, I reach for his hand and he squeezes mine hard. I just want to go now. I want to get away.

Now there’s an interested babble around the room, and I can hear people murmuring things like “deranged” and “must be jealous.” A woman in head-to-toe Prada is even saying brightly, “You know, exactly the same thing happened at our wedding—”

Oh God, and now here come Elinor and Robyn, side by side like the two queens in Alice in Wonderland.

“I’m so sorry!” says Robyn as soon as she gets near. “Don’t let it upset you, sweetheart. She’s just a sad girl with a grudge.”

“Who was that?” says Elinor with a frown. “Did you know her?”

“A disgruntled ex-client,” says Robyn. “Some of these girls become very bitter. I’ve no idea what happens to them! One minute they’re sweet young things, the next minute they’re throwing lawsuits around! Don’t worry, Becky. We’ll do the exit again. Attention, orchestra,” she says urgently. “Reprise ‘Some Day’ at the signal. Lighting crew, stand by with emergency rose petals.”

“You have emergency rose petals?” I say in disbelief.

“Sweetheart, I have every eventuality covered.” She twinkles at me. “This is why you hire a wedding planner!”

“Robyn,” I say honestly, “I think you’re worth every penny.” I put an arm round her and give her a kiss. “Bye. And bye again, Elinor.”

The music swells through the air again, we start walking again, and more rose petals start cascading from the ceiling. I really have to hand it to Robyn. People are crowding around and applauding — and is it my imagination, or do they look a bit friendlier, following the Alicia incident? At the end of the line I spot Erin leaning eagerly forward, and I toss my bouquet into her outstretched hands.

And then we’re out.

The heavy double doors close behind us and we’re in the silent, plushy corridor, empty but for the two bouncers, who stare studiously ahead.

“We did it,” I say, half laughing in relief; in exhilaration. “Luke, we did it!”

“So I gather,” says Luke, nodding. “Well done, us. Now, do you mind telling me what the fuck is going on?”

LAUREL ARRANGED IT all perfectly. After a quick detour to the West Village for Danny’s passport, we arrived at Teterboro to find the plane all ready for us. We arrived at Gatwick at about eight in the morning, where another car was waiting for us. And now we’re speeding through Surrey toward Oxshott. We’ll be there soon! I can’t quite believe how seamless it’s all been.

“Of course, you know your big mistake,” says Danny, stretching luxuriously back in the leather Mercedes seat.

“What’s that?” I say, looking up from the phone.

“Sticking to two weddings. I mean, as long as you’re going to do it more than once, why not three times? Why not six times? Six parties…”

“Six dresses…” puts in Luke.

“Six cakes…”

“Look, shut up!” I say indignantly. “I didn’t do all this intentionally, you know! It just… happened.”

“Just happened,” echoes Danny scoffingly. “Becky, you needn’t pretend to us. You wanted to wear two dresses. There’s no shame in it.”

“Danny, I’m on the phone—” I look out of the window. “OK, Suze, I think we’re about ten minutes away.”

“I just can’t believe you’ve made it,” says Suze down the line. “I can’t believe it all worked out! I feel like rushing around, telling everyone!”

“Well, don’t!”

“But it’s so incredible! To think last night you were at the Plaza, and now—” She stops in sudden alarm. “Hey, you’re not still wearing your wedding dress, are you?”

“Of course not!” I giggle. “I’m not a complete moron. We changed on the plane.”

“And what was that like?”

“It was so cool. Honestly, Suze, I’m only ever traveling by Lear-jet from now on.”

It’s a bright sunny day, and as I look out of the window at the passing fields, I feel a swell of happiness. I can’t quite believe it’s all fallen into place. After all these months of worry and trouble. We’re here in England. The sun is shining. And we’re going to get married.

“You know, I’m a tad concerned,” says Danny, peering out of the window. “Where are all the castles?”

“This is Surrey,” I explain. “We don’t have castles.”

“And where are the soldiers with bearskins on their heads?” He narrows his eyes. “Becky, you’re sure this is England? You’re sure that pilot knew where he was going?”

“Pretty sure,” I say, getting out my lipstick.

“I don’t know,” he says doubtfully. “This looks a lot more like France to me.”

We pull up at a traffic light and he winds down the window.

“Bonjour,” he says to a startled woman. “Comment allez-vous?”

“I… I wouldn’t know,” says the woman, and hurries across the road.

“I knew it,” says Danny. “Becky, I hate to break it to you… but this is France.”

“It’s Oxshott, you idiot,” I retort. “And… here’s our road.”

I feel a huge spasm of nerves as I see the familiar sign. We’re nearly there.

“OK,” says the driver. “Elton Road. Which number?”

“Number 43. The house over there,” I say. “The one with the balloons and the bunting… and the silver streamers in the trees…”

Blimey. The whole place looks like a fairground. There’s a man up in the horse chestnut tree at the front, threading lightbulbs through the branches, and a white van parked in the drive, and women in green and white stripy uniforms bustling in and out of the house.

“Looks like they’re expecting you, anyway,” says Danny. “You OK?”

“Fine,” I say — and it’s ridiculous, but my voice is shaking.

The car comes to a halt, and so does the other car behind, which is carrying all our luggage.

“What I don’t understand,” says Luke, staring out at all the activity, “is how you managed to shift an entire wedding forward by a day. At three weeks’ notice. I mean, you’re talking the caterers, you’re talking the band, you’re talking a million different very busy professionals…”