The One

Just when Lizzie was starting to think that this karaoke business wasn’t all bad, the song came to an end and the audience went wild. ‘Good work, ladies,’ said the compere. ‘Well, who’s brave enough to come up and follow that? Looks like it’s going to be Tony, taking us back to the 80s …’

‘That was amazing!’ said Megan, sauntering off stage with rock-star swagger. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you.’

‘I didn’t exactly have much choice,’ replied Lizzie, not sure whether to hug her or slug her.

‘Don’t be mad. It was meant to be a joke. I never thought for a minute you’d actually get up there! I’d have stuck you in for two songs if I’d known you were going to bring the bloody house down.’

Lizzie smiled in spite of herself, still buzzing from the adrenaline. ‘I guess it was kind of fun, wasn’t it?’

‘Steady on, Kylie.’ Megan stopped and sniffed. ‘Can you smell coconut?’

‘I think that might be me. I knocked a tray of drinks everywhere just before you put me in for Pop Idol.’

‘Oh, so you’ve really outdone yourself tonight, then?’ They both cracked up and Lizzie realised she’d already forgiven her friend, though she wasn’t exactly sure when.

‘Yes, I have. So the next round’s definitely on you.’

Suddenly Lizzie felt a tap on her shoulder, and spun around to face the enigmatic barman from earlier. Damn, please say he didn’t just see me making a fool of myself … She could feel the hot blush seeping back, hoping the redness wouldn’t be visible beneath the bar’s crappy lighting.

He began to clap. ‘I’m impressed. You didn’t say you were going to sing.’

‘I didn’t know I was going to sing. My housemate stitched me up.’ She motioned to Megan, who raised a quizzical eyebrow as she backed away, no doubt already planning a full interrogation as to the identity of this mystery man. ‘I’ve never done anything like that before.’

‘Well, the crowd certainly seemed to enjoy it.’

‘Yeah, I suspect the alcohol might have had a lot to do with that.’ She wished she were better at accepting compliments from attractive guys.

‘So what do you do when you’re not pursuing your pop career?’ He leaned in to make himself heard as the karaoke kicked off again, and Lizzie could detect the subtle scent of leather, still imbued with a splash of coconut. The rest of the room blurred into the background.

‘I’m at uni, studying English. Second year,’ she shouted over the tinny backing track. Trying to chat in noisy bars was always tricky, but she wasn’t ready to give up on this conversation just yet.

‘How are you finding it?’

‘Good,’ she replied. ‘Most of the time, anyway. How long have you worked here?’

‘Only about six months.’ He moved closer, his lips almost touching her ear. His breath felt warm against her cheek. ‘I’m a student, too.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Scientology. With contemporary dance.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Oh, alright.’ He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Hospitality.’

‘So you work here for experience?’

He laughed. ‘Not really, more to pay the bills.’ Lizzie immediately wished she hadn’t sounded quite so naive.

Just then a bloke with a hairy beer belly protruding from his shirt interrupted their conversation. ‘Hey, mate, could we get the same again over here?’

‘Be right with you.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘Guess I’ve got to go. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?’

‘Maybe you could see me at the weekend,’ said Lizzie, surprised by the confident words spilling from her mouth. Did I just ask him out?

‘Sounds great. I’m free Sunday. I’ll give you my number.’ He pulled a pen from his jeans and jotted the digits down on the back of a peeling coaster. ‘I’m Alex, by the way. Alex Jackson.’ He held out his right hand.

‘I’m Lizzie,’ she whispered, a faint current coursing through her fingers as she pressed her palm to his. ‘Sparkes.’

3

12 weeks to go …

‘How much?’ Lizzie asked incredulously, fishing around in her wallet for more cash as the sales girl on the ticket desk drummed her long nails. ‘What does that include?’

‘That’s just the admission fee,’ the girl replied politely, taking Lizzie’s notes and handing back a few loose coins in change. ‘Everything else can be paid for inside the wedding fair.’ She slid two fancy white tickets across the counter.

‘What are these made from, real brides?’ Lizzie grumbled. The two women behind coughed impatiently. ‘Oh, alright, we’re going,’ she said, as Josh led her away from the queue by the elbow.

Stepping through the main entrance, Lizzie was struck by the sheer scale of the hall before them, which was filled with a seemingly endless succession of stalls: fairytale dresses floating on rails, chocolate fountains dripping with temptation, sweet bars bursting with candies of every colour, and travel agents barely visible behind huge piles of honeymoon brochures. The air hummed with the sound of thousands of brides and their entourages, all chattering loudly in chorus. It was an utterly surreal experience, as though one of her wedding magazines had sprung to life on steroids. She wasn’t sure whether to dive in or bolt for the emergency exit.

‘Remind me why we’re here again?’ she asked Josh. She had nearly passed out with shock that morning when he suggested they go along, and curiosity had compelled her to agree. She knew several of her friends had to bribe their fiancés with sexual favours just to get them within 50ft of a wedding fair.

‘Well, I know you were worried there was still lots to do, so I thought we could come here and cross off a bunch of jobs in one go.’ He reached for her hand, weaving his warm fingers through hers. ‘Then you can relax and just look forward to it.’

‘Ah, OK … makes sense, I guess.’ Lizzie tried hard to shake a disloyal seed of suspicion. Why’s he acting like Mr Wedding all of a sudden? Up until last week, Josh had shown zero interest in the finer details of the planning process. Sure, he was happy to get involved with the fun jobs, like booking the DJ and choosing a cake. But the moment she mentioned anything else – such as paying deposits or ordering stationery – he normally glazed over and went into lockdown. Then, since her little wobble at home last weekend, he kept asking if she was OK and if there were any jobs that needed doing. It wasn’t that she was complaining, really – she was grateful he was making an effort – but his sudden attentiveness was strangely disconcerting, like he’d been invaded by obliging aliens.

To be fair, it didn’t help that she seemed to have a defective bridal gene: she still couldn’t tell the difference between cream and ivory, she didn’t give a toss whether the chair bows were organza or satin, and something about those beady-eyed cake toppers was really starting to creep her out. Deep down, she had never pictured herself having the big, traditional wedding, but lately it seemed to be snowballing of its own accord. Back when she was with Alex, she used to imagine them tying the knot in a small, intimate ceremony, or eloping spontaneously up to Gretna Green. She wondered what he would say if he could see her now, knee deep in place cards and confetti.

‘So what should we do first?’ asked Josh.

‘I don’t mind,’ replied Lizzie, stepping to one side to avoid being spritzed in the face by a woman brandishing bespoke fragrances. ‘What do you think?’

‘Maybe flower arrangements?’

What did you do with my fiancé? Lizzie figured he must be keen to get that one crossed off the list so he could spend more time with the stag reps and car-hire companies. She had already told him that they would struggle to afford an Aston Martin, but she knew his James Bond dream would die hard.

‘Alright,’ she said.

Josh held on to her hand as they made their way across the huge hall, squeezing past gaggles of shrieking girls and pushy mothers. Watching him stride confidently through the crowd, Lizzie noticed that he attracted admiring glances from several women, including one trying on a wedding gown who really ought to know better. Window shop all you want, she thought, but I’m the one who’s marrying him. She felt a fresh rush of adrenaline. The events of last weekend might have thrown her momentarily, but now things were getting back on track. Who cares what Alex does? I’ve got Josh. This time, she had fallen for someone who would always be there – for better or worse.

They continued to head for the kaleidoscope of blooms in the far corner, encountering eager reps promoting stag and hen packages, glamorous ladies ladling out skincare samples, magicians performing card tricks, and even designers flogging ushers’ outfits for pets. ‘Can we get one of these for Freddie?’ Lizzie joked, picking up a sparkly dog collar and leash. ‘Then Megan could keep him under control …’

‘It’s Megan I think we should be more worried about,’ laughed Josh. ‘Anyway, perhaps you should stick that back. I don’t want the woman to think we’re shoplifting.’

‘Are you trying to say I look dodgy?’

‘Never,’ he said with a smile.

Finally, they came to the floral section, which was as overwhelming as it was colourful. Lizzie had assumed you simply chose your favourite stems and got a florist to arrange them prettily in posh vases, but now she could see that the options were endless: birdcages bursting with lush green foliage, centrepieces in oversized cocktail glasses, even topiary trimmed like hearts and bells.

‘Let’s keep this simple,’ she whispered to Josh, nudging him away from a man displaying a combination of gerberas, sparklers and citrus fruits who was frantically beckoning them over. ‘We don’t need anything edible.’

He grinned. ‘How about flammable?’

‘I’m thinking … nope.’

‘Spoilsport. What about over there?’ He gestured towards a white-haired woman in a powder-blue suit, surrounded by subtle yet stunning arrangements in tall crystal vases. Blush pinks and soft mauves mingled with creamy neutrals, looking as though they’d just been freshly plucked from a country garden.

Bingo.

The florist caught her gaze and waited for them to come closer. ‘Hello,’ she said warmly, extending her right hand. It was soft and crêpey, though her grip was surprisingly firm. ‘I’m Peggy Bloom. How are you today?’

Lizzie wondered if that was her real name or a clever marketing gimmick. ‘We’re good, thanks,’ she replied. ‘Just on the lookout for some wedding inspiration. I love what you’ve done here.’

‘Thank you. When’s your big day?’

‘Just under three months away, actually.’ Her heart began to beat faster, ticking rhythmically like a clock. The final countdown … The hit 80s anthem suddenly began playing in her head, and she realised she hadn’t caught Peggy’s last question. ‘Sorry, could you say that again?’

‘Is it a church or civil ceremony?’

‘Church.’

‘What kind of look are you going for?’

‘Nothing too fussy,’ said Lizzie. ‘Just something romantic and elegant.’

‘Do you have any particular flowers in mind?’

‘Yeah, cauliflowers,’ said Josh. Lizzie laughed out loud and tried to pretend it was a tickly cough.

‘I’m sorry?’ Peggy looked puzzled.

‘We’re open to suggestions,’ said Lizzie, steering the conversation back on course. ‘But I was thinking maybe lilies.’

‘Really?’ Josh seemed surprised. ‘They always remind me of funerals. How about roses?’

She gave him a bemused glance, trying to figure out if he was being serious. The aliens must be back again. ‘Don’t you think they’re a little, you know … clichéd?’

‘Not really, but I’m hardly the best person to ask.’ He held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Look Lizzie, if you love lilies, have the lilies. Far be it for me to deny my beautiful bride.’ She suspected that his attempt at feigning interest in flowers was already wearing thin. He snuck a sideways glance in the direction of the stag section.

She decided to cut him some slack. ‘Look, why don’t you go off and have a look round while I run through our options with Peggy? I’ll come and find you when we’re finished.’

‘Really?’ Josh looked unsure, as though he might be snared in some kind of wedding trap.

‘Honestly, it’s fine. I won’t be long. Go sort out your stag do or something.’

‘Well, if you think I should …’

‘I do,’ she nodded.

‘OK, then – just give me a call when you’re done. Nice to meet you, Peggy …’ He bounded off before he’d barely finished his sentence, his bright blue T-shirt disappearing into the crowd. Josh’s cheerful exuberance was one of the first things she had noticed about him, and probably explained why he was one of the most popular teachers at his school. That, and his cheeky sense of humour. The pupils knew a big kid when they saw one.

Lizzie turned her attention back to the florist. ‘Right, so lilies are out, roses are out … any other ideas?’

‘Why are they out?’ asked Peggy.

‘Yeah, I know he said he didn’t care, but I can’t exactly order lilies now knowing he doesn’t like them. After all, it’s his wedding too.’

‘Ah, but flowers are a little like marriage,’ said the florist sagely. ‘Sometimes the secret lies in the compromise.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Picture this: you walk down the aisle carrying a bouquet of pure white Calla lilies. Maybe eight or ten stems, very tasteful. At the front are two beautiful displays, with Oriental lilies nestled among Vendela and Sweet Avalanche roses. Then, for your reception, we could do miniature versions for the tables. It’d be like the best of both worlds.’

Lizzie could have kissed her. ‘That sounds perfect,’ she said. ‘How much would something like that cost?’

‘How many tables are you having?’

Hmmm, something else we still haven’t sorted …

‘I’m not totally sure yet. Probably about ten.’

‘OK, no problem. If you fill out this sheet with your contact details, I can go away and put a quote together. We can always fine tune it later.’

‘Great, thanks,’ said Lizzie. She scribbled her details down on the form and passed it back.

‘Gosh, that’s a pretty ring.’ Lizzie held out her hand so Peggy could see it more clearly, the square-cut diamond winking under the artificial lights. She had not expected Josh to choose something quite so showy, but it was undeniably dazzling, with two smaller diamonds in the platinum band flanking the main attraction. ‘You’re a lucky girl, dear. I’ll be in touch soon.’

Lizzie smiled to herself as she ambled off, reminiscing about the day Josh proposed. They’d spent a brilliant afternoon over in Notting Hill, pottering around the vibrant stalls of Portobello Market before catching Spectre at the cinema. They’d cosied up on the back row, munching sweets and missing more of the film than they saw as they kissed like teenagers.

Afterwards, Josh drove her back to her flat in Shepherd’s Bush and looked at her intently. ‘Are you coming in?’ she asked, wondering why she suddenly felt nervous.

‘I can’t right now,’ he said. ‘I wish I could, but I promised Freddie I’d go round to his to watch the game. Wanna come?’

‘No thanks. You know I’m not really into football.’ Or Freddie.

‘Yeah, I figured. But I’ll ring you later, OK?’

True to his word, he called at 10.30pm, just as she was about to get ready for bed. ‘Hey,’ he said, a faint crackle on the line. ‘How was your night?’

‘Fine. Quiet one. Megan’s out and I thought I’d have a go at some writing.’

‘What for?’

‘Just for fun. I actually had an idea for a short story.’

‘Uh-huh,’ he said distractedly. ‘So did you miss me?’

‘Of course. You’re very missable.’

‘Maybe we need to come up with a plan so that we miss each other less.’

‘What do you mean?’ She paused. ‘You practically live here anyway.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I was thinking we …’ She strained to hear what he was saying, but just then the front door buzzer went off and made her jump. Aaaargh. She hated that thing. It always felt like someone had taken a tiny drill to her brain.

‘Hold that thought,’ she said. ‘Meg’s forgotten her keys again. I’ll be back in five secs.’

Throwing the phone onto the bed, she rushed to open the door – only to find Josh on his knees carrying a huge bouquet of roses and a blindingly shiny sparkler.

‘So as I was saying, I’ve been thinking … Elizabeth Sparkes, will you marry me?’

Lizzie was still lost in her romantic reverie when a lady transporting a four-tier cake almost ploughed straight into her: a fate not entirely unappetising, but best avoided all the same. I’ve got to stay focused. In some ways it felt like an eternity since Josh proposed, and yet the past few months had gathered a momentum of their own, hurtling towards the marital finish line. For every task they managed to cross off the to-do list, another two sprang up to take its place.

First thing I need to do is find a fiancé in this haystack.

She pulled her mobile from her pocket and hit the speed dial. Josh didn’t pick up. He probably couldn’t hear his phone in the noisy hall, what with the giggling and the squealing and the super-jolly sales people. To her right, a string quartet struck up as if to really put the boot in. Lizzie sighed and shoved her phone back in her jeans. Guess I’ll have to go and hunt for him instead.

She strolled over to the nearest row of stands, but Josh was nowhere to be seen. Behind one table, a gangly lad with raging spots glared at her like she’d just walked into the men’s toilets. ‘Can I help you? This is the stag zone,’ he said, gesturing to a poster of two bikini-clad girls on a quad bike, which hardly seemed like the most practical racing attire.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I was looking for the hen section,’ she said sweetly. ‘Though I could use a second opinion … Do you think I should go for the pole-dancing party or the mud-wrestling weekend?’

As his jaw dropped, she turned and walked off in the opposite direction, hoping Josh hadn’t wandered too far. After passing a caricaturist, a cellist and a woman dressed in medieval costume (she didn’t stop to ask why), she finally spotted him emerging from what looked like a taxi.

‘Lizzie! Lizzie! Hey, you’ve got to see this.’ He pulled her inside and onto his lap, shutting off the outside world with a slam of the door. She could feel his belt buckle digging into her back, so she shuffled sideways into the space beside him. ‘It looks like a normal cab, but really it’s a photo booth in disguise!’

‘Is this part of your Bond man-crush?’

His laughter reverberated around the shiny interior. ‘I was thinking we could have it at the reception,’ he said. ‘Guests can pose for photos, then they get a copy to take home and we get one as a souvenir. We can get everyone to sign them instead of a boring old guest book. And …’ he rummaged around in a box of props on the floor, ‘you haven’t seen the best bit yet.’ He donned a pair of red heart-shaped glasses, and placed a sailor’s hat on her head. ‘What do you think? You on board?’

Lizzie couldn’t help but smile. It’s very … Josh. ‘I don’t know,’ she said diplomatically. ‘I mean, it’s cool and everything, but do we need it? We’ve already booked the photographer.’

‘Nah, this is totally different. We’ve got to do it!’

‘Why? Because the wedding will be doomed unless we all don fancy dress?’

‘Because it’ll be a laugh. Go on …’ He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. ‘Sometimes you’ve got to live dangerously.’

His words stung unexpectedly, as though she’d been jabbed again by his buckle. It had been more than ten years since anyone had said that to her, but suddenly she could remember it like it was yesterday. She rubbed the faint line on the inside of her wrist, as though that might somehow erase the memory.

‘You OK?’ asked Josh, for the hundredth time that week.

‘Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about something. So you really like the taxi, huh?’

‘Not as much as I like you,’ he said, cranking up the charm. ‘But I do think it’d be great.’

‘How much?’ She could feel herself relenting. After all, she had spent months trying to persuade him to have more input into the wedding, so it seemed mean to veto the first thing he’d asked for. And besides, it did look kind of fun.

‘Normally it’d be £500, but if we sign up today there’s 20 per cent off.’

‘Can we afford it?’

‘Yeah, I think so. Especially if we don’t hire the Aston Martin.’

‘Are you sure?’ Lizzie was happy to forgo the fancy car, but she knew that was a major sacrifice for Josh.

‘Yeah, we’ll find some other way of getting there. Or you’ll have to haul your arse on the bus …’

She slapped his arm playfully. ‘Hey, this bride doesn’t do buses!’

‘Fair enough. Maybe they’d let you hitch a ride in the photo booth?’

‘Stop it!’ Lizzie was giggling so hard now that her eyes began to water.

‘Well, there’s no need to cry about it,’ said Josh. He stared ahead at the high-tech screen. ‘Do you want to try it out?’

‘I guess we should.’

‘OK, when I press the button do happy face, sad face, poker face and scary face.’

‘Ooh, I like it when you’re bossy.’

‘Hey, do you want this to look good or not?’

She adjusted his oversized glasses, kissed his cheek and hit the flashing button.

‘I don’t think there’s much chance of that,’ she said.

4

6 October 2002

Lizzie took another sip of wine as she read the coffee-stained dessert menu. She was almost too full to think about a third course, but she was having such a good time with Alex that she didn’t want their date to come to an early end. Maybe I could squeeze in a scoop of gelato, she persuaded herself. Possibly even two.

Before she could make up her mind, a sticky dough ball came flying through the air and landed on the red and white checked tablecloth with a thud. She looked around the Italian restaurant, and noticed two small boys laughing hysterically in the corner. ‘Will you two stop it?’ hissed their mortified mother from across the table. ‘Sit down and behave yourselves!’ She looked over at Lizzie and waved both hands apologetically. ‘I’m so sorry, really I am. I don’t know what’s got into them today.’ She glared back at the boys, who were now pulling faces at one another. ‘When their dad hears about this they’re going to be in big trouble.’

‘It’s OK. No harm done,’ smiled Lizzie. She turned back to face Alex and they both burst out laughing. ‘Are we still getting dessert?’

‘Only if we can get it before those little terrors,’ he joked. ‘Otherwise we might end up covered in chocolate next.’

Lizzie tried hard not to visualise that thought, but for a split second her mind went off on a dirty tangent. Alex was looking even fitter tonight than she remembered, dressed down in a pair of faded jeans and a grey T-shirt, with a well-worn leather jacket strewn over the back of his chair. He was different from her usual clean-cut type, but there was something about him that she found intriguing, more than any of the lads she had briefly dated before.

The cheerful manager came over to take their order. ‘What will you like?’ he asked in loud broken English, the words resonating almost musically around them. ‘You have one of my speciale desserts?’

‘I’m pretty full,’ said Lizzie, patting the front of her cream fine-knit dress. ‘But I think I can manage some lemon gelato.’

‘Molto bene,’ he replied. ‘We have the saying, like there are two stomachs: one for the main and one for the dessert. Always little room for dessert.’

‘Quite right, too,’ said Alex. ‘In that case, I’ll have the tiramisu, thanks.’ The manager nodded approvingly and hurried off in the direction of the kitchen.