Michele Gorman - The Big Little Wedding in Carlton Square

Daniel, I now notice, is dressed up. He’s wearing his tan brogues with his red trousers, and the stripy scarf I got him for Christmas is looped over his navy jumper.

I have to catch my breath when I sneak a glance at him. In the early spring sunshine his hair and complexion are golden, even though we haven’t been away all winter. He’s got the kind of skin you see on gorgeous Scandinavians in those adverts selling extra-healthy yogurt, with pinkish lips and just the right amount of stubble for a Saturday afternoon. He catches me with his bright blue eyes, edged with the longest, thickest brown lashes this side of a Rimmel advert.

‘Everything all right?’ His arm tightens around my shoulder, which fits perfectly into his armpit as long as I’m in trainers. Which I am, as previously explained.

‘Everything’s perfect.’ And I mean it. I’ve been in a near-constant state of happiness since the day we got together.

‘I think so too,’ he says. ‘This is perfect.’

Something about the way he says it tells me this is the moment. Even if I hadn’t had the clues first, I would have known.

Gently he steers me to the stone wall at the edge of the river. The tide is going out and it smells a bit fishy, but I wouldn’t mind doing this on top of a rubbish tip. ‘I know we haven’t been going out very long,’ he says. ‘But–’

‘Nearly a year,’ I remind him. Shush, Emma. Let the man speak.

‘Yah, nearly a year.’ He envelops my hands in the warmth of his. ‘And I’ve known for nearly that long how much I love you. You aren’t like anyone I’ve ever met before and I feel like I could spend the rest of my life learning more about you. And the more I learn, the more I love, so … …’ When he drops down on one knee I’m aware of people starting to stare. ‘Emma Liddell, will you please make me the happiest man on earth by marrying me?’

My eyes are so glued to his hopeful face that I almost don’t notice the box he pulls from his pocket.

But I notice the ring when he pops open the box.

‘Daniel! That’s–’ Huge. It’s a square-cut diamond whose sparkles could do permanent retina damage in this sunshine. ‘I can’t let you go into debt like this.’ He only works for a charity.

‘I’m not in debt. It’s a family ring.’

‘Which family? The Queen’s?’

His face reddens. ‘They have a bit of money. I didn’t like to mention it because it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t, does it?’

He looks like he’s just confessed an infectious disease. ‘No.’ I laugh. ‘I think I can manage to love you anyway.’

‘Is that a yes, then?’

‘It’s a yes! Of course it’s a yes, I love you!’ We fling our arms around each other to the enthusiastic applause of the tourists, and maybe even a few of the lovers, on the South Bank.

‘I cannot wait to marry you, Emma Liddell,’ he murmurs just before he kisses me.

When Daniel said his family had a bit of money he failed to mention that he grew up in a mansion. Not a mansion block but an actual bona fide mansion – four floors high, white stucco-fronted with black-and-white chequered tiles in the doorway under the portico and an ornate wrought-iron fence to keep out the riffraff. Not that any riffraff probably comes to this part of London.

I can’t stop staring up at the façade. My feet don’t want to move and the rest of me is taking orders from them. If the neighbours catch sight of me, they’ll be straight on the phone to the Old Bill about someone casing the place.

The last time I was inside such a grand home I’d mopped its floors with Mum. She’s never going to believe this.

Huge topiary trees flank the black front door, which is so shiny I can almost see my reflection. I pinch a leaf from one of the trees. Real. Of course it is. The heavy lion-headed knocker makes an echoing boom inside.

Daniel didn’t let on about any of this, not the huge family house or the topiary or the knocker. He was so uncomfortable when telling me about his family having money that I felt bad bringing it up again. He’s right – we’re marrying each other, not our families.

I’ve met Daniel’s parents and sister several times before, but they’ve never mentioned any of this either. I’d assumed we always met at restaurants because his mum doesn’t cook, but now I suspect he’s been keeping this dirty little rich secret from me. It’s hard to get too cross about that.

The slender blonde woman who opens the door is about my age. She smiles her greeting and steps aside for me. She’s wearing black trousers and a white blouse, which makes me feel better. I was worried I hadn’t dressed up enough for this do.

‘Hiya, I’m Emma Liddell.’ I stick out my hand, but she just looks confused.

Maybe I should have cheek-kissed her? Daniel is always kissing people he’s just met.

‘May I take your, erm, helmet?’ she asks.

We both glance at the duck-egg blue helmet under my arm. It’s not exactly a Louis Vuitton. Now I’ve got a second reason to wish I hadn’t driven my scooter. It had looked so little and careworn parked out front amongst all the Rollers and Audis.

‘Sure, here. Sorry, I didn’t get your name?’

She takes my helmet, ignoring my question. ‘The guests are through there.’

I turn away quickly so she won’t see my cheeks flush. She’s not one of Daniel’s friends who happens to be dressed in black and white and answering the door. She’s their maid.

That’s a great start.

I can hear loads of people in the room where she’s pointed. It seems like about a mile between there and the front door. Possibly because Daniel’s hallway is bigger than my entire house. Wide stairs run up on one side and the ceiling must be fifteen feet high. Everything is painted either boring pale grey or white, with a huge silver mirror on one wall and tall vases of lilies on the long black table underneath. The only interesting thing I spot is the giant copper and glass lantern that hangs from the ceiling, like the ones you find outside pubs. I hold on to that tiny little slice of home comfort as I make my way towards the noise.

I should have asked the maid to get Daniel for me so I wouldn’t have to walk in alone. What if I don’t see him right away? What if he’s not here yet? I only know his parents and sister, and I definitely can’t talk to them without Daniel here.

Not that they’re rude. Just in a different world.

The world I’m about to join. If they’ll have me.

There aren’t as many people in the room as I’d feared and of course Daniel’s mother, Philippa, sees me straightaway. So much for hiding in the corner. ‘Emma, darling!’ she cries. ‘It’s so wonderful finally to have you here in our home. We’ve been bothering Daniel for months to invite you and now, finally, here you are with us.’ She hold my hands out, which she’s got grasped in hers. ‘Don’t you look lovely?’

‘Thank you. And thank you for this party.’ I say this to both Philippa and Daniel’s father, Hugh, who’s standing beside her. Hugh doesn’t usually make an appearance unless Philippa makes him, so she’s clearly making him. I’m not surprised he stays in the background with a force of nature like Philippa around. She’s a take charge kind of woman, whether you like it or not. Daniel told me she even orchestrated Hugh’s marriage proposal. But they seem to rub along okay, so maybe he’d have got around to it eventually on his own.

Philippa waves her hand at the room. ‘Oh, this is nothing, just something I cobbled together so we can celebrate!’

I glance at the silver and the sparkling champagne glasses laid on blue linen tablecloths, the stacks of cocktail napkins that look like real linen too. She’s even got matching waiters, and I don’t mean they’re dressed alike. They’re clones of one another.