Catherine Ferguson - Four Weddings and a Fiasco

As he apologised earnestly and attempted to mop my list with his sleeve, someone said, ‘I say, darling, you didn’t tell me you were the official photographer at this shindig!’

I glanced up in surprise. Plummy Voice was smiling down at me.

‘Could I have a word?’ she asked cheerfully.

I blinked. ‘Er … yes, of course.’

Giving Uncle Bob the benefit of her smile, she leaned down and pressed his shoulder, murmuring sweetly, ‘ So sorry to drag her away from you but it’s really very important. I’m fresh out of tampons, you see.’

Even Uncle Bob, in his alcohol-soaked haze, knew when it was time to make a sharpish exit.

Plummy Voice sat down and we watched him stagger off, narrowly missing cannoning into a large-breasted woman in an even larger wedding hat.

My rescuer’s name was Mallory and I felt bad about my earlier grumpiness. I thanked her for frightening Bob away and giggled when she said the tampon emergency was just a ruse. We hit it off immediately, swapping stories about men who wouldn’t take no for an answer and she told me about the ‘frightful chap’ she’d been unable to escape in a bar one time, until she mentioned she had to get back to her five children who were at home, being baby-sat by her lesbian lover.

‘Worked like a charm. He was orf like a shot,’ she grinned, flicking back her amazing, strawberry blonde hair.

Mallory was proof to me that you should never judge someone by their voice. Because while she might sound posher than the Queen, she was actually far more Sarah Millican by nature, with her earthy humour and slightly irreverent take on life.

I warmed to her no-nonsense approach to life and her ability to make a joke out of everything, even the bad stuff. We swapped business cards and I dashed off for the next round of photos, feeling so much more cheerful and energised than before.

I wasn’t expecting her to phone, but she did, a few days later.

She said if I needed an assistant, she was available. ‘No pressure, darling. Obviously. But you’d be a first class chump to turn me down.’

I had a feeling she was probably right. So we arranged to meet at Rosa’s coffee shop to discuss it, and we haven’t stopped talking since.

Mallory likes to try and sort out my life.

Sometimes I listen, sometimes I just laugh. She doesn’t seem to mind either way.

And she’s a great wedding assistant …

When I arrive home and slide my key into the lock, I hear the muffled sound of the phone ringing.

My heart lurches. Few people call me on the landline these days.

Dominic does, though.

It must be him.

For a second, I’m caught in limbo, heart slamming against my ribs.

I could just let it ring. Hurry back to the car and drive round to the safety of Mallory’s house …

But if I run away, I’ll just be playing into the hands of a bully.

Taking a breath, I push the door open.

The jolly ringtone is deafeningly loud now, slicing through the darkness.

I close the door softly behind me and stand in the shadows of the hallway, holding my breath, wating for it to stop.

Perhaps this time he will hang up without leaving one of his messages.

‘Katy, love? Are you there?’

For a stunned second, I can’t take it in.

Then I run through to the living room and dive on the phone.

‘ Mum? Is that you?’

She laughs. ‘Of course it’s me. Sorry, were you busy, love?’

‘No. No.’ Blissful relief courses through me, and a laugh bursts out. ‘It’s just so great to hear your voice.’

There’s a brief silence.

‘But I only saw you last week,’ she murmurs. ‘Are you all right, Katy?’

I flop down on the sofa. ‘I’m fine, Mum. Honestly. Everything’s great.’

‘Are you sure?’ Her sharpness takes me by surprise. I thought I’d been doing a pretty good job of shielding her from the mess that is currently my life.

‘It’s just you looked so exhausted when you were over last Tuesday,’ she says. ‘I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m worried about you. Did you know you nearly nodded off when I was telling you about Venus’s demonic entity fright.’

I lean my head back, aware of my heart rate gradually subsiding. ‘Venus? Demonic entity fright?’ It does ring a vague bell from last time. I think I just switched off, it was so preposterous.

‘Yes, Venus. You know. That nice but slightly batty woman who’s started coming to yoga?’

I nod, still feeling weirdly spacey.

Ah yes, the yoga class.

It’s been a bit of a turning point for Mum.

In the time since Dad died – coming up for three years now – she’s really been through the mill. For a long time, she refused to even consider selling the family home, even though it was clear she couldn’t go on paying the huge mortgage herself. Then about a year ago, I took her for a drive to Clandon House, an old country estate that had been modernised into apartments. And incredibly, she loved it.

Since she rented her two-bed flat there and moved in last March, she’s actually started to get back some of her joy in life, which is a huge relief for me.

Two of her new neighbours, Grace and Annabeth, have become good friends, which seems to have really perked her up. And they’ve introduced her to yoga, which she loves.

Last Tuesday, when I was at Mum’s for afternoon tea, they were all talking about someone called Venus. They kept referring to her as ‘the new girl in class’, which made me smile, bearing in mind their average age must be about sixty.

‘Katy? Are you still there?’

‘Yes. Sorry, Mum. Go on.’

‘Forgotten what I was saying now.’

‘Venus. And her – um – demonic entity experience?’

‘Ah yes. Nice woman but decidedly odd. Claimed she was just minding her own business, shopping for kitchen roll and kippers, when this huge force entered her and she felt she was being possessed by Satan. I mean, really. Have you ever!’

‘It does sound a bit unlikely, Mum.’

‘You’re not wrong there, love. But anyway, when I was telling you about it on Tuesday there, you were actually drifting off. You know, you really are working much too hard these days.’

‘Mum, when it’s your own business, you have to work all the hours.’

Not that she needs reminding of this. She was, after all, married for thirty-six years to a serial entrepreneur. Dad, bless him, was forever pursuing one business idea or another, with varying degrees of success.

Mum sighs. ‘I know, love. But it must be so difficult having to do absolutely everything yourself. Now that your sister …’

My grip on the phone tightens.

Mum trails off, knowing she’s straying into forbidden territory.

‘You’re very precious to me, Katy.’ There’s a break in her voice. And her unspoken subtext hangs in the air: Especially now that your sister is living so far away .

Tears prick my eyes and, for once, I don’t dash them away.

It’s so hard for her, I know. She must miss Sienna terribly, and the last thing I want is her worrying about me, too.

Mum thinks I work silly hours because it’s my business and I love the work, which is partly true. But she knows nothing about the stomach-churning fear that dominates my life; the debts that hang over me and routinely keep me from sleeping properly at night; and why working seven days a week is something I just have to do, because then at least I’m in with a chance of keeping my head above water. A chance to avoid the thing I most dread – losing the business and having my little house repossessed.

I open my mouth to try and reassure her again that I’m perfectly all right, but nothing comes out.