Katie Fforde: Wedding Season

© 2008

Weddings always involve lots of people and in doing the research for my book, I met a lot of them and I hope I haven't left anyone out of my thank yous. However, a couple of people are responsible for me writing the book in the first place. And yes, you are going to be named and shamed!

Firstly, Jema Hewitt for inspiring the whole idea and nearly teaching my daughter and me to make a corset. It was so much fun.

Secondly, Debbie Evans, friend, neighbour and hairdresser. Not only does she do my hair at a moment's notice, at all hours of the day or night, but she made me realise that no book about weddings was complete without a hairdresser.

These are the two responsible for the whole idea but others had a hand in it too.

Sue Trevaskis from Colour Me Beautiful who wasn't bossy but has inspired in me a desire to bounce up to people and say, 'You really need to have your colours done.' Most of us do, actually!

To Kate Cobb, wedding planner for real. Major respect to you!

Amanda Grange, author of Mr Darcy's Diary and others, for her advice with regard to costume. Very generously, she didn't say, 'Do your own research.’

To Christine Gaunt, artist and dressmaker who shared her knowledge in the Curves changing room with great generosity.

To Cassie Winters-Pilcher, personal trainer and cake expert. Without her, that cake would never have been made.

To my personal trainer David 'Mac' McKinnon who not only knows everything there is to know about diet and exercise, he also has an encyclopaedic (and worrying?) knowledge of hen nights.

A book, like a wedding, is the product of many people. Without a wedding there would be no bride, and without an author there would be no book. But the bride would look a bit lonely standing at the altar without very many other people.

My publishers are the bridegroom to my bride. They are inspiring, inspired, hard working, patient, and incredibly supportive. When I despair they tell me the answers and are so nice about it. They never say, 'That's your job, Katie.' They are nearly too numerous to mention but here goes.

In editorial there are Kate Elton, Georgina HawtreyWoore, and others who work so hard but never get to go out to lunch with The Author. Charlotte Bush and Amelia Harvell, who spoil me so shamelessly and keep me smiling through thick and thin. (Mostly thick, sadly.) Mike Morgan, who takes me on road trips every year. Rob Waddington, Oliver Malcolm, Jay Cochrane and Trish Slattery who force my books on the public so successfully. Claire Round and Louisa Gibbs in marketing. And Richard Ogle and the art department who produce such lovely covers.

To patient, long suffering Richenda Todd, without whom the egg on my face would be truly awful.

To all at AM Heath, Sara Fisher, lovely Sarah Molloy, Bill Hamilton and the rest of the team. Thank you!

Time for confetti now!

Sarah stood by the lych-gate and surveyed the perfection of the summer morning. It was June and the sun was shining with the promise of a perfect day. The church was an early English gem, surrounded by closely mown, dew-spangled grass, ancient lichen-covered gravestones and clipped yews. She'd already seen Sukie, the florist, who'd been there since dawn, and now some of her anxiety left her. Two years of work had come to fruition. It was all going to be all right.

Then she screamed as someone appeared from behind a tombstone. 'Agh! Hugo! You brute! You gave me such a fright!' As her beating heart caught up with her brain and she realised she wasn't being attacked, by a stranger at least, she went on: 'You had me thinking it was Halloween for a moment there.’

Hugo, tall, blond and rumpled, always gave Sarah the impression that he'd just got out of bed – and not his own.

‘Sarah, you're so sweet, I should give you up for Lent,' he drawled in reply.

Sarah smiled. Hugo was one of the best photographers she dealt with and they always exchanged sallies and insults, but she had deliberately never got to know him as a friend – she felt it was more sensible to keep the relationship strictly professional. 'We both seem to have got our seasons mixed up.'

‘As long as we've got the day right. Perfect for it, huh?’

Sarah nodded. 'And you'll love the bride. She's really beautiful.'

‘Bridesmaids?'

‘Darling. Two little sweeties – we won't call them angels until we know how they behave – and one big one to keep them in order. Heavenly dresses.'

‘Second families to worry about? Bride and groom's parents still married to each other and pitching up?'

‘Yup. Marriage does work for some people, apparently.' She smiled again slightly, pretending she was joking.

Hugo rumbled his amusement. 'Don't you believe in "happy ever after" then?'

‘Not very often. Which is why I think it's important that the wedding is as wonderful as it can possibly be.' She gestured to the scene of perfection before them. 'It might be the only happy memory.’

Hugo inspected the dew that had gathered on his perfect shiny shoe. 'Honestly, Sarah, if the people who pay you to organise all this knew how you feel..

‘They don't need to know about my feelings, only about my ability to find the perfect venue and a personable photographer who makes everyone look fabulous.’

He chuckled again, taking the hint that she needed to get on, along with the compliment. 'So, anything I need to know?’

Sarah considered. 'I don't think you should have any trouble. The bride's mother has put an awful lot of energy into this and is very anxious that nothing happens to spoil that, but she's got a great hat. I'm sure she'll succumb to your ready charm.’

Sarah could never understand why she was the only one who realised Hugo's ready charm was part of his stock-intrade as a photographer, but she admitted that, for a wedding planner, she did have more than the usualamount of cynicism. And for good reason: she hadn't been in the business more than a couple of years and already two of the perfect weddings she had organised had broken up, one barely eight months after the happy pair drove off in a cloud of dried delphinium petals. Five of the six girls from her school who had got married the moment they hit twenty-five had since separated. There was also her sister's debacle of a marriage, not to mention (and Sarah never did) her own heartbreak, recovered from but not forgotten. No, in Sarah's eyes, happy-ever-after was the rare exception that proved the rule.

‘Well, I'll just prowl around a bit more,' said Hugo, unaware of Sarah's thoughts. 'Find somewhere really picturesque to take the less formal shots.'

‘Try to avoid grass stains on the dresses, if you can. Please! I always get complaints.’

He tipped his head and closed his already heavy-lidded eyes, indicating that while he heard her request, he wasn't necessarily going to concede to it.

‘It's all right for you, no one ever moans to you!’

‘Because I'm the best,' he said simply.

And because he was, and they both knew it, she just said, 'I'd better get back to the hotel to make sure everyone's there who should be, and not too many people who shouldn't.' She frowned. 'I'm still not convinced it wouldn't have been better to have the reception at the bride's home – it's fabulous, but they decided it was less upheaval to have it at a hotel. It is a very good hotel, of course. But the money!' She raised her hands in a gesture of amazement. 'Now, I must get on.’

She turned away, aware of his sleepy gaze on her back. She hoped he wouldn't get the bridesmaids to lean against lichen-covered gravestones and thus ruin their dresses for ever, but accepted that for him getting the right shot was vital and nothing much else came into consideration. She was good at managing people and she usually got what she wanted out of them, but she was never convinced that Hugo took any notice of her at all.