Читать книгу: «Four Weddings And A White Christmas»

Please join Annie & Matthew for a very kitsch-mas wedding

28th December, 3 p.m., at the Folly on Swan Island

followed by reception, afternoon tea and dancing at The Dandelion Café

Chapter One

Hannah walked into chaos.

When Annie White had said to meet her at The Dandelion Café on Christmas Eve, she had been expecting something more sedate. Perhaps involving a quick coffee and a slice of cherry pie as it snowed outside. Instead it was bucketing it down with rain, water dripping down the collar of Hannah’s duffle coat as she’d run to shelter under the café awning. And it certainly didn’t look like anyone was relaxing with coffees. Everywhere she looked there was someone doing something. Annie was up a ladder fixing garlands of miniature baubles to the ceiling in artful loops while calling orders to a sullen-looking teenager with red headphones on who was lining hot-pink fake Christmas trees up along the windowsill. A man who she recognised as the husband-to-be, Matt, from a photograph she’d seen, was trying to fix a light-up reindeer to the wall, swearing loudly when it wouldn’t do what he wanted, while a black-haired guy sat in a booth seat holding a tiny baby and, opposite, someone else had their head on the table fast asleep. There were boxes piled high on chairs and some that had toppled over scattering ornaments and tinsel to the floor. Pictures were leaning precariously against walls waiting to be hung while, at the back of the café, a stack of real Christmas trees lay in their white netting alongside tangled mounds of fairy lights.

It all looked momentarily too hectic. And instead of pushing the door open, Hannah took a step back into the shadow of one of the surrounding cherry trees, still under the shelter of the awning, and took a moment to collect her thoughts. To give herself a little pep talk.

Two months ago her life had been exactly as it had always been.

Two months ago her main memories of Cherry Pie Island were school games afternoons, when they’d all traipsed over for rowing, canoeing and summer swimming in the outdoor pool, usually shivering on the sidelines as the clouds closed overhead.

Two months ago she’d just completed her degree and was celebrating the fact she would no longer be referred to as a mature student.

Two months ago Annie White had bumped into her mum in the vegetable section of Sainsbury’s and when she’d asked how Hannah was, her mum had proudly produced the newspaper clipping that featured Hannah’s degree show dress.

And suddenly Hannah was sitting in Annie’s living room, sipping on Earl Grey tea, nodding as calmly as she could as Annie pointed to a huge frothy white wedding dress and said things like, ‘Just go for it, Hannah’ and ‘I want it exactly like however you want to do it. Cut it up, chop it in half, whatever. I’m handing all design detail over to you, which for me is a huge thing. But I’ve got this dress here, and it was my mum’s and I’ve wanted to use it but I’ve basically been procrastinating for months about what to do. And then your mum showed me the picture, of the dress you made, and I swear to god, Hannah, I have never seen a dress as amazing as that. It literally popped out at me. Pop. Out from the page. The real question is, I suppose, whether you can do something with this one in only two months.’

Could she do it? Hannah had wondered as she’d reached for a chocolate digestive, trying to hide the nervous shaking of her hand.

She’d thought about what she had coming up. Her work got manic this time of year with orders needing fulfilling before Christmas, but then hadn’t she worked practically every night to get this degree in order not to have to do that job any more? And then there was Christmas. Presents. Trees. Decorations. Nativities. Last Christmas when she’d been frantically putting her degree collection together she had been sure that this Christmas would be different. Would be like the Christmases she grew up with. That she would be all serene and calm, icing a chocolate cake while sipping eggnog.

‘The theme is Christmas kitsch, by the way,’ Annie had added, pulling a box of glitter-strewn, sparkling, gaudy Christmas decorations from behind the sofa for Hannah to look at. ‘And I don’t want it to be white. Other than that, it would be up to you, I promise.’

Hannah had peered into the box and seen the hot-pink fronds of fake Christmas trees lying like umbrellas waiting to be opened. The cherry-red cheeks of skating Santa Claus models. There were plastic peacocks with giant tail feathers, stacks of concertinaed Santa Clauses and tiny plastic nativities covered in glitter.

She had looked from the tacky box of decorations across to Annie’s pleading face and then back to the hideous white puffy dress.

Could she do it?

Her brain had already started to chop away the layers of netting underneath the dress’s silk skirt to take out the weight. To cut off the sleeves and construct a hot-pink overlay embroidered with peacock feathers that cinched in tight at the waist and fanned out over the chest. To maybe add some detailing to the skirt, something to make it more couture, more grand. The idea of it made her stomach fizz. Made her want to screw her face up and punch the air. Made her see possibilities – a little shop, maybe, with her name above the window and a display that made people stop and stare.

She had bitten her lip.

Annie had been poised, waiting for her answer.

Two months. It would be a lot of work. A lot of late nights. There would probably be tears. There would be no serene icing of Christmas cake, that was for sure.

And now here she was, Christmas Eve, standing on the threshold of Annie’s Dandelion Café, the dress bag clutched to her chest, her heart fluttering with nerves, feeling like she was teetering on the cusp of a whole new chapter.

‘Hello?’ Hannah said, pushing open the turquoise front door, the little bell ringing to announce her entrance as crooning Christmas music escaped out into the rain. ‘Annie?’

‘Oh my goodness.’ Annie nearly slipped from her ladder in her hurry to get down. The guy holding the baby glanced up with vague interest. The teenager lounged back against a booth with his hands in his pockets. ‘Everyone leave!’ Annie shouted. ‘Leave. Matt, go!’ she said, shooing Matt and then the sullen teenager in the direction of the back door. ‘The dress is here.’

Chapter Two

Half an hour earlier…

‘Why would anyone get married?’ Harry stirred his macchiato as he sat slumped in a booth in The Dandelion Café and watched as everyone around him worked like little ants hanging decorations for the impending nuptials of Annie and Matt. He’d just got off the red-eye and felt like shit. His eyes were slits like an angry cat; the light was painful. Next to him Wilf Hunter-Brown was ramming an egg and bacon sandwich into his mouth, ketchup, yolk and brown sauce dripping onto the plate.

‘Mate. Tell me about it,’ Wilf said, mouth full. ‘Also, add to that list, why would anyone have a kid. I slept. Wanna know? I slept two hours and fifteen minutes last night. That’s it. You think you’re bad. You have a baby. A really small one that yells really bloody loudly. Then…’ Wilf paused, chewed, swallowed. ‘Then try and get excited about planning a wedding that’s not till next summer. Did you hear I’d proposed to Holly?’

Harry nodded.

‘Yeah I thought I’d told you. Anyway, at least this lot are getting theirs out the way.’ Wilf nodded towards Annie and Matt. ‘It’s a nightmare.’

Harry snorted a laugh. ‘Where is your kid?’

‘She’s snoozing in the pram in the kitchen. She, it seems, needs more than two hours and fifteen minutes sleep. Why the hell didn’t she realise that last night? Hmm? I ask you that.’

Harry shook his head. ‘Why don’t you go and lie down somewhere?’

‘Because, Harry my good fellow, I’m up. I am programmed to be up in the day and sleep at night. I can not sleep in the day.’

‘Can’t be that tired then.’

Wilf shot him a look. ‘I’m so tired I have forgotten what tired is actually like. I’m in a haze of stupefied nothingness. I’m jelly. That’s what I am, a great big wobbling jelly.’ He took another bite of the sandwich. ‘Jesus I’m tired,’ he said, then pushing his plate away put his head down on the table. ‘We will have to postpone our meeting.’

Harry nodded, as if he knew that was coming, and took another sip of his coffee.

The meeting with Wilf had been the whole purpose of Harry’s trip. He was here to discuss expansion plans of the restaurant, The Bonfire, that Harry ran and Wilf’s company owned. Currently fully booked every night for the foreseeable future and with an equally full waiting list, the feeling was that they were onto something special and should capitalise on it ASAP.

Wilf, who currently resided in the South of France, was back in the UK for Annie and Matt’s wedding and had suggested that perhaps, if Harry was coming home for Christmas, this was the perfect time to meet.

Harry wasn’t coming home for Christmas, but he was eager to pin down Wilf – not an easy task – and so had flown over anyway.

Christmas, to Harry, was a yearly irritant in his calendar. But he was actually quite looking forward to this one for the first time in his life. He’d told Wilf he was spending it with his family, but actually he hadn’t told any of his family that he was back, and planned to spend the day on his own, mooching around London, taking advantage of the empty streets to see the sights and whatever bars and restaurants might be open. Maybe even try and find a cinema. He’d been getting increasingly excited about it from the moment he’d decided on the subterfuge. The plan was hampered only by his guilt over not seeing his mum and dad, but as long as he kept shoving that to the corner of his brain he was fine.

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by Annie’s soon-to-be step-son pointing towards the stereo that was crooning out Christmas music and saying, ‘Can we turn it off now, it’s shit.’

‘I think it’s lovely. Leave it alone,’ Annie said, just as Matt walked in, looking a bit sheepish. He was soaking from the rain, his blond hair plastered to his head. ‘Where have you been?’ Annie asked, the music forgotten, the teenager putting on his headphones in protest.

‘At the pub,’ Matt said, cringing with guilt. ‘We won the regatta, everyone wanted a drink to celebrate. I’m really sorry. And I’m a bit pissed.’

Annie, who was wobbling precariously on a ladder, trying to get drawing pins to stick in the ceiling so they would hold up some strings of tiny coloured baubles, looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Screw that shit. Harry thought. All that apologising and keeping tabs on each other. He hated it. It was one of the reasons he was so looking forward to his Christmas – nowhere to be, no one to check in with, no one to expect anything. With the meeting cancelled and Wilf snoring away in front of him, his hands under his head like a pillow, Harry wondered if perhaps he should start the celebrations now. Mosey up to London, find a decent bar and drink away his jet lag.

But then a tiny wail started in the kitchen.

Annie looked round from where she was now standing on top of a table moving the garland a fraction of a centimetre to the left. ‘That’s Willow.’

Harry nodded.

Annie opened her eyes wide at him. ‘It’s Willow.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ he said.

‘Is Wilf going to get her?’

‘Wilf’s asleep.’

‘Well wake him up,’ she said, as if Harry was being an idiot.

Harry raised a brow and then gave Wilf a shove. Nothing happened. The guy was comatose. The wailing got louder.

‘He’s not waking up.’

‘Oh for god’s sake.’ Annie put her hands on her head, clearly at the end of her tether. ‘Well go and get the baby.’

‘I’m not getting the baby.’

‘Don’t be such a baby,’ she shouted down from the ladder.

‘I’m not a baby. The baby’s a baby.’ Harry scowled.

‘Just get the baby.’

The teenager had taken his headphones off and was smirking at Harry being told what to do by Annie.

Harry sloped out of his booth seat, chewing on the inside of his cheek in annoyance. Why couldn’t she get the baby? He didn’t want to get the baby.

The noise was emanating from the black pram in the corner.

He walked closer, wincing at the sound. This was not good for his jet lag.

The kid inside looked like a prune with a huge mouth.

‘Oh Jesus.’ He sighed. He had vague memories of his younger sister being born and the noise tearing through the house. He leant over the pram and watched the little face get redder and redder.

He looked around.

He exhaled.

Then he leant forward and picked the squirming little bundle up. The wailing rebounding off his ear like an aeroplane engine. He suddenly realised that Wilf probably wasn’t asleep at all, just keeping his eyes tightly closed so he didn’t have this racket rolling round his head.

He nestled her into the crook of his arm like he used to do with his sister.

She was really tiny. All dressed in yellow.

He peered out the kitchen hatch to see that Annie had squatted down on the table and was checking to see what he was doing. He waved as if he had it all under control. Refusing to give her the satisfaction of another tell-off.

The noise was incessant. He winced again.

Fumbling around in the bag hanging from the pram handle he found a bottle and a carton of formula. What was the etiquette here? Could you just feed someone else’s baby without asking them? He looked up again through the hatch and saw Wilf’s mouth open as he snored gently. The kid was screaming. Annie was looking worried, like she’d have to come in and help if he didn’t sort this out pronto.

Tearing the carton and pouring it into the bottle he shook it once and then pop in the mouth, crying stopped. All the muscles in his body relaxed. He could feel the creases in his forehead iron out. The little prune guzzled away. He made a face of distaste at it then walked back into the café.

‘Ahh.’ Annie sighed from where she was standing on the top of the ladder, her arms above her head as she pressed another drawing pin into the ceiling to hold up a garland. ‘You look like an Athena poster.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Harry said, sliding back into the booth. ‘You want the baby?’ he asked her.

‘No, I’ve got decorations to hang. You know Athena posters? Black and white, bloke with no top on holding a baby? On teenagers’ walls?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

Annie raised her brows and looked away as if she’d tried hard enough with this guy and had more important things to deal with. ‘River, how are the trees going?’

Harry frowned. ‘Your name’s River?’ he asked the kid with the headphones.

‘Yeah,’ he said, glaring at him from behind a hot-pink tree. ‘What about it?’

‘Nothing. Just a crazy name.’

Matt, who was trying to fix a flashing reindeer to the wall, while clearly pretending he was less drunk than he actually was, glanced over at Harry and said, ‘We were young when we had him. I liked the river.’

‘Kudos to you,’ Harry said and looked back down to the baby sucking the bottle as if her life depended on it. ‘Willow and River. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a place called Cherry Pie Island.’

‘Are you mocking us?’ Annie asked.

‘Yes.’ Harry nodded.

‘Just because we don’t all live in New York City…’ She got cut off as the door opened and a brown-haired woman poked her head around it. ‘Oh my goodness. Everyone leave!’ Annie shouted. ‘Leave. Matt, go!’ she said, as Matt, clearly relieved to be able to leave the light-up reindeer, jumped down from his ladder and skedaddled out the back door with his son. ‘The dress is here.’

Harry watched the brunette looking nervous on the threshold. She seemed to be waiting until everyone left, including him.

‘Come in, come in,’ Annie called. ‘Ignore Harry. He’s an idiot with a baby.’

Harry tipped his head to one side. ‘Touché,’ he said, but the tired-looking brunette didn’t glance his way again. She was clutching a blue dress bag tightly to her chest. She had the kind of bags under her eyes that they show on ‘before’ models in commercials. He wondered if she was ill.

‘Is there somewhere we can go?’ she asked.

Annie shook her head. ‘I’ve got new tenants in the flat upstairs. Don’t worry, I’ll just lock the door.’

Harry pretended not to be really interested in what was going on. He looked at the baby. It had fallen asleep. Gently pulling the bottle from its mouth he tried to shift position, but she did a little whimper when he moved. He was stuck where he was. His left arm had gone numb.

Annie cleared the decorations off one of the booth tables. ‘Hannah, I can’t tell you how excited I am about this. I literally couldn’t sleep last night. Is it good? Do you like it? Will I like it?’

He watched Hannah swallow. ‘I think you’ll like it. I hope you’ll like it. The thing is, it’s not finished yet, so you’ll have to use your imagination. OK?’

Harry frowned. He glanced at his watch to double-check the date. The wedding was in four days. She was cutting it a bit fine, wasn’t she?

‘I can do that. I have a great imagination.’ Annie laughed. She had her hands clasped in front of her like a kid about to open Christmas presents. ‘OK, show me. And, Harry, not a word to anyone about the dress, OK?’

He shrugged. ‘Seriously? You think I talk about dresses?’

Annie gave him a look and then turned her attention to the unveiling of the dress. Harry watched as the brunette lay the bag down on the table. She was definitely nervous but clearly trying to hide it under a confident smile and chit-chat.

‘So how’s it going? Have you got all your kitsch?’ Hannah asked Annie as she struggled with the zip that seemed to be stuck.

‘Great. I’ve been up and down the country getting every vintage decoration I can lay my hands on. Matt thinks I’ve gone bonkers but I want it to be like walking into a nineteen forties Christmas card, you know? All bright colours and old-school Christmas and, well, if you can’t go a bit nuts for your wedding when can you? Is the zip OK?’

‘Yep, no worries, just a bit stuck.’

Harry noticed that her hand was shaking.

Annie rattled on a bit more about the decorations. Both as nervous as each other, he presumed. Then as the zip got moving again, Annie stopped talking and put her hands over her face as if she didn’t want to look, scared by what she might see.

How annoying would that be, he thought. At his restaurant he quite often refused to serve people who didn’t like the first course. Told them to bugger off. If they didn’t like his stuff then he had no interest in feeding them.

Hannah opened the bag.

He heard Annie gasp, but annoyingly she was blocking his view of the dress inside. He peered over as subtly as he could and not wake the baby. His arm still throbbing with cramp.

The suspense was painful. Like one of those moments when he’d be forced to watch X-Factor at his parents’ house and the person on stage was so terrible that it made his mum cover her face with a cushion and his dad sit forward with glee.

This was a potential cushion moment.

Annie was silent.

Hannah looked like she might burst into tears.

Every muscle in Harry’s body had tensed in anticipation.

Annie moved slightly to her right as she reached forward to touch the fabric giving Harry the view he’d been waiting for.

Oh dear god.

What he saw was quite possibly the craziest, brightest monstrosity he’d ever seen. Shocking swatches of hot-pink fabric, a marshmallow frothy skirt, scraps of netting dotted with green and blue beads. Is that what wedding dresses looked like nowadays?

‘Oh my god.’ Annie put her hands over her mouth.

Quite so, Harry thought. She hates it.

‘Anything you don’t like I can change,’ Hannah said quickly. ‘But remember it’s not finished.’

‘You’ve done all this in just two months?’ Annie said, her voice a bit wobbly.

She likes it?

Hannah nodded.

‘I can’t believe it. My mum’s going to have a fit when she sees what we’ve done to her dress.’ Annie did a little snort hiccup that sounded like she might have started crying.

She hates it.

He felt for Hannah. She was holding the dress a bit like he was holding the baby, like her life depended on it.

‘But seriously, Annie, what do you think? Remember all the drawings you’ve seen – that’s what it will look like in the end,’ Hannah said, her voice wavering.

Harry felt his stomach clenching. There was no way, he thought, that she could transform this into something half-decent in four days.

But clearly Annie thought different because she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, and sighed, ‘I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I can completely see it. I can see the vision.’

And, while even squinting his eyes Harry couldn’t see the vision one little bit, he found himself exhaling with unexpected relief.

Feeling more like his mum poking her head round the cushion when it was all over, than his dad who always wanted the judges to stick the boot in even more, he leant back in his seat, able now to relax. Surprised at how involved he’d got. He never cared one iota what happened to the rubbish X-Factor contestant, he was usually just wishing he wasn’t watching X-Factor.

‘You’re a miracle worker. Amazing. I completely trust everything you’re doing,’ Annie said and Harry watched Hannah’s reaction. Her hands had stopped shaking, she was smiling and, to his surprise, he was smiling too. Grinning even. He stopped as soon as he caught himself. He was not a grinner.

But it was too late, Hannah had seen him and was giving him a coy little smile back.

Oh god, Harry sighed to himself, she thought he was flirting.

But then she said, ‘Urm, I think the baby might have been urm, might have been sick on you.’

Harry frowned and looked down. His black wool jumper was covered in white baby vomit. Great.

‘Here,’ Annie said, with a laugh. ‘Here’s a tea towel. You clean yourself up, Harry.’