Nice Day For A White Wedding

Sometimes, Happy Ever After is where the real trouble begins…

Chelsea Donovan wasn’t supposed to amount to anything. But if there’s one thing the bad girl from the estate liked better than trouble, it was a challenge. So, to the amusement of her best friends Evie, Mollie and Ruby – and the disbelief of her teachers – this bad girl turned good.

These days, Chelsea is the kind of girl people are proud to know – and, after a surprise trip to Venice, she has a ring on her finger to prove it. But to get there, she’s had to learn to keep her deepest secrets from everyone – even her fiancé. And when wedding preparations threaten to blow her cover, Chelsea can’t help but wonder: in her battle to the top, might she have left the best parts of herself behind?

Nice Day for a White Wedding is Book 1 in A.L. Michael’s new series, ‘The House on Camden Square’

Also by A.L. Michael

The Last Word

Driving Home for Christmas

My So-Called (Love) Life

If You Don’t Know Me By Now

The House on Camden Square

Goodbye Ruby Tuesday

Praise for A.L. Michael

‘I know it’s a good book when I shut the Kindle cover and sigh with contentment. The Last Word totally did it for me.’ 4* from Angela*

‘This is a funny, funny book.’ 5* to The Last Word from Rosee**

‘Fresh, fast and…had that magical romance feeling and a bit of hotness that you just can’t help but love. Absolutely brilliant!’ 5* to The Last Word from The Book Geek Wears Pajamas

‘I LOVED THIS. I laughed, I cried, I fell in love. All of the emotions were felt in the reading of this book and it is definitely one of the best Christmas releases that I’ve read this year.’ 5* to Driving Home for Christmas from Erin’s Choice**

‘I laughed, I cried and I was left with that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you read something wonderful.’ 5* to Driving Home for Christmas from That Thing She Reads

‘The story put a huge smile on my face and it’s just a feel-good with a bit of spark, glimmer, friendship, heart, fun and love. I couldn’t put it down!!!’ 5* to My So-Called (Love) Life from Simona**

‘My So-Called (Love) Life was one of those books I just happened to read at the right time which completely lifted my mood and made me feel and smile and want to start reading again.’ 5* to My So-Called (Love) Life from Sophie*

*Review from Goodreads

**Review from Amazon

Nice Day for a White Wedding

The House on Camden Square

A. L. Michael

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2016

Copyright © A.L. Michael 2016

A.L. Michael asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9781474056120

Version date: 2018-06-20

A.L. MICHAEL

is a twenty-something writer from North London, currently living in Watford. She has a BA in English Literature with Creative Writing, an MA in Creative Entrepreneurship (both from UEA) and is studying for an MSc in Creative Writing for Therapeutic Purposes. She is not at all dependent on her student discount card. She works as a creative writing workshop facilitator, and copywriter, and is currently working on her new series. She has an alarming penchant for puns, is often sarcastic when she means to be sincere, and can spend hours watching videos of corgis on Buzzfeed. But it’s all research, really.

Acknowledgements

With thanks to Gabriella MacKenzie, who got used to me desperately scribbling down her hilarious one-liners and asking, ‘Can I use that?’

A big thank you to my mother, who took me back to Lake Garda this year and let me disappear into my own imagination, wondering where my characters might end up.

And as always, those writer pals who keep me sane and just continue to ‘get it’, offering wine, chocolate and multiple retweets - thank you!

Finally, thank you to Rachel Alltimes for being my cheerleader, wishing you and Jiri a more than nice day on your white wedding.

To anyone still trying to figure out how you can change and grow, and still be who you are.

I have no idea either.

‘Bitches are queens, boys can be mean,

He’ll tell you to own your name:

You be you, baby, all of you. And I’ll love you just the same.’

‘Sitting in the Park with Chelsea’ - Ruby Tuesday

Tooth and Nail Records 2012

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Praise

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

End Pages

About the Publisher

Chapter One

‘All right, babe?’

Chelsea shook her head, feeling foolish as the words escaped into the empty cemetery. Ruby’s grave wasn’t as bedazzling as it should have been, even as the sunflowers she’d brought brightly clashed with the black marble of her headstone. Time had passed – the flowers and teddy bears and cards from little girls who wanted to grow up to be Ruby Tuesday had gone. Rain-soaked and stinking, they had disintegrated in the summer storms, until eventually someone had cleared them all away.

Ruby would never have wanted such a drab headstone, plain and…appropriate. It should have been carved from a lump of garnet, showered with sparkle. Chelsea’s fingers itched with the need to improve it, to make it real in some way. She wanted to grab a glue gun and affix diamonds around the edges, but that would be wrong, disrespectful. At least to anyone who didn’t really know Ruby.

She could hear her friend’s voice in her head: ‘Go on, you’re not going soft on me, are you babe? You never cared about right or wrong before.’

And she was right, that imaginary voice. Chelsea had done whatever the hell she wanted when she knew Ruby. But things had changed.

The ground was damp beneath her feet, but the summer sun was bright and glaring, like Badgeley was punishing her for never coming home often enough. The whole town felt muggy, like there was no air, and the little that was left was stale. It seemed weird that Ruby should have been buried here, instead of in London, near her penthouse flat where people still left notes and flowers. No one in this little town gave a crap about Ruby Tuesday any more.

Chelsea wanted to sit cross-legged on the ground and put her head against the cool stone, conjuring memories of those teenage days resting her forehead against Ruby’s, pretending they could read each other’s minds, and freaking out the little year sevens. But the ground was wet, the air was dry, and things were different now.

She patted the cool headstone in a silent apology.

‘See ya later, babe.’

Chelsea pulled her handbag over her shoulder, clutching at the handle as she strode down the road, head held high. Confidence was everything on the road down to the estate. The hazy heat of summer had the kids of Badgeley looking for fun, evidenced by the beer cans placed on the wall of the cemetery, and piled up by the bus stop, fag ends on the floor. Summers growing up here had seemed endless, and not in a good way. Day after day of the same shit, the same life, over and over. They’d spent their time hanging around in the park, working on their tans and talking about their escape plans. One day they’d make it out, make it to London. Every sixteen-year-old in Badgeley probably had the same dream, even now.

Chelsea visualised London now, where Kit would be getting in from work, rolling his shirt sleeves up and making lasagne, singing along to some classic rock album she’d never heard of. Further across the city, Evie and Esme would be sitting at their kitchen table, whilst Mollie tried to show Killian how to make a basic meal for the hundredth time that summer. That said, Chelsea mostly subsisted on avocado on toast these days. Further down in London, there was her office, her lovely big office with a view of the river, only granted her days before, along with a raise and a new title that she had worked for the last three years to get.

And here she was, in fucking Badgeley.

Okay, so she was doing her sisterly duty, and bringing birthday presents for her little brother wasn’t such a chore. Neither was stopping by to visit a dead friend. It was just that these visits made her chest contract a little more every time, and there was a reason they became more sparse as the years passed.

Chelsea adjusted her handbag, grabbed tighter at the plastic bag of presents as she turned off of the high street, shaking her head as she looked through the window of the funeral director’s little shop. She’d dated a boy who worked there, a lifetime ago. She liked to look through the window whenever she was back, see if the names on those sample tombstones ever changed. They never did.

Chelsea adopted a strut as she turned right onto the estate she’d grown up on. She couldn’t decide if it looked smaller and harmless, or scarier and sprawling. Nothing had changed, she realised, recalling the multiples times she’d narrowly escaped trouble. She had a knack for attracting it then. You felt invincible when you were a kid. There was the time Leah Thomas decided Chelsea had flirted with her man. That’d been a big one. Chelsea had managed to head-butt her and knock Leah’s two front teeth clean out. She was called Gap Tooth from then on, and it got shorted to GT as the years went by. She probably still lived here.

She walked across the centre of the grassy verge, remembering the time one of her mum’s boyfriends tried to knock their front door down, because he was convinced Tyler had nicked his stash. He probably had too, but all Chelsea could remember was laughing and taunting him whilst he went mad outside, and they pushed a cupboard up against the front door until he went away.

So many years of screaming and squaring up and desperately being a smartarse, because if you were just funny enough, someone might give you a break.

Chelsea took it in, the light sky of summer reflecting off the concrete. A couple of boys were standing around, topless in the fading light, jeans low on their hips as they stood smoking, staring at her. She instantly recognised Ty, his pimply teenage skin and shaved head atop a skinny body. His eyes widened in warning: ‘Don’t you dare come over here in front of them.’

She hated to admit it, but Tyler was pretty much a lost cause. It might have been her fault. She got out, got a job and forgot about him. She left him with her mum and Jez and the little ones. Chelsea had convinced herself that maybe she’d inspire him, show him that he could do it too, go to college, uni, do whatever he wanted. Those first few trips home had been full of impassioned speeches about following your dreams and all that bollocks. Ty wasn’t buying it. Which was fair enough, because the person who had washed his clothes, helped with his homework and made sure there was dinner every night had up and abandoned him without a backwards glance.

Chelsea frowned, nodded at her brother and shook her head as she marched over to her mum’s front door. She heard the whistles and catcalls from behind her as Tyler’s friends realised she was going to his house.

‘Ty, your stepdad send over a posh prozzie?’ one asked.

‘Yeah, present for your little brother’s birthday yeah?’ another cackled.

She turned and Tyler just stared at her, chin raised defiantly as their eyes met.

‘Nah, it’s just my hoity toity bitch sister.’

The ‘oohs’ of the teenage boys were low as they watched Chelsea for her reaction. She had purposefully softened her look, her blonde bob clipped back at the sides, her jeans and plain T-shirt. The bag didn’t have a designer label, and her shoes were cheap. But they could see it as well as she could – she didn’t belong here any more.

She stared at Tyler, a dead blank stare until he shrugged and turned away. The old Chelsea would have marched over and punched him, grabbed his ear and dragged him inside the flat. But it was too late for that now. She had lost that right a long time ago. She turned back to the black door with a sigh. The peeling paint, the crap dumped out the front, it seemed to look worse every time she came back. She knocked, hard, the sound of the tinny TV booming in the background.

The door opened and Jermaine threw himself at her. At least one of her brothers was happy to see her. Chelsea grabbed him, lifting him up in a tight hug as she walked through the door and kicked it shut behind her. Jermaine’s soft bushy hair tickled her chin and she gave him a final squeeze before releasing him.

‘Look at you, birthday boy! You’re so big!’

Jermaine held up his arms as if he was bodybuilding. ‘I’m doing judo at school! My teacher says I’m well good!’

Chelsea grinned at him, ruffling his hair. ‘That’s so cool! You’ll have to show me some moves!’

She breathed a sigh of relief that the money had gone through for Jay’s lessons. She’d started dealing directly with the school last term, after she realised the money she gave her mum wasn’t being used for the kids in the way that she’d planned. And she could see why.

She walked into the living room, the paint still peeling, that damp patch still on the ceiling. The TV on the wall was new, obnoxiously huge, and blaring.

Her mother looked up, bleary-eyed, a mug of weak tea in her one hand and a fag in the other.

‘Ah, the prodigal daughter returns, eh?’ She snorted, taking in Chelsea’s outfit. ‘What happened, the stock markets crash so now it’s okay to see your scumbag family?’

Chelsea took a breath. ‘It’s Jay’s birthday.’

‘I know when my own son’s birthday is, thank you very fucking much.’

Yeah, but the father’s name is still a mystery, isn’t it? Chelsea thought spitefully, rolling her eyes and staying silent. Jermaine’s dark skin and green eyes set him apart from them as a family, but once her mum and stepdad had got back together, Jez took Jay on as his own, just like the rest of them. Besides, Jay was the sweetest of them all. He was naturally kinder, slow to anger, easily pleased. Whoever Jay’s dad was, he was probably a nice guy, Chelsea had often reasoned. For some reason, Jay hadn’t been inflicted with that poisonous spitefulness that Chelsea and Tyler both had. And it was easy to see where they got it from.

‘So did you get him a big expensive present, or what? Don’t know what else you’re good for if you’re not even going to provide for your family with that big fancy city job.’

‘Well, I’m clearly providing for your B and H, and your White Lightning, aren’t I, Mum?’ Chelsea spat the words, holding Jay close to her. ‘Nice TV by the way, seems like you’re doing all right to me.’

She could feel how her voice had changed the minute she stepped into the flat. It became rougher, more guttural. She spat words instead of saying them, missed words out to get to the point quicker.

‘No thanks to you.’ Carly Donnolly wearily moved from the chair to refill her tea.

‘Might wanna change your approach, Mum, if you’re gonna ask me for money before I leave tonight.’

Her mother was noticeably silent, and she counted eight seconds before her voice called from the kitchen in a cheerier tone, ‘Want a cuppa?’

Chelsea sighed, feeling her stomach ache. ‘Yes please. No sugar.’

She turned to her little brother. ‘Want your present now?’ she grinned at him, shaking the plastic bag.

She admitted some of it wasn’t fun stuff, a new school bag, colouring pens, books. But Jermaine looked at everything with joy, wonder and gratitude. The last thing he opened was the pair of trainers, Air Nikes that had cost her more than she wanted to think about. But she remembered how horrible it had felt all those years ago, before she’d realised that fitting in wasn’t an option. All she wanted was what everyone else was wearing, instead of raggedy second-hand crap. She wanted Jay to have something new and shiny.

His face lit up and he flung his arms around her neck. ‘Thank you, thank you! Mum! Look what Chels got me!’

Carly’s face turned from piqued interest to disdain as she put a mug next to Chelsea and returned to her seat. ‘He’ll grow out of them quick as anything. Woulda been better to give him the money.’

Yeah, and I know exactly where it would go, Chelsea thought, sipping at her tea and wincing. Two sugars. Every fucking time.

‘I bought a birthday cake. I wasn’t sure if you got one –’ Chelsea started.

‘We were gonna do our birthday special, weren’t we, babe?’ Carly grinned at Jermaine, who smiled back and shrugged, open and grateful as usual. Chelsea remembered the ‘birthday special’, on the occasions that her mum had remembered her birthday at all. A pile of chocolate spread and jam sandwiches, with a candle on the top. She recalled being excited about this as a kid, that moment of her ninth birthday where she had to try to cut the mould off the bread before she could cover it in jam. Her mum would jolly her along, make her laugh about it. ‘The green stuff’s good for you!’ she always used to say. ‘You’ve got to eat your greens, haven’t you?’

Carly was better with the younger kids. Maybe it was because Chelsea was the only girl, or because Tyler had always been a handful, but she was better with Jermaine and the baby. Back when they were growing up, her mother had been too busy being in love with her dad to even see them. Mostly they got rat-arsed and threw parties every night, whilst Chelsea would try and get Tyler to sleep, telling him stories about dragons and kids who went off on adventures where there weren’t any parents.

‘Well, we can have both, can’t we?’ Chelsea smiled tightly, daring her mum to call her on it. Carly just shrugged.

‘Where’s Kai?’

‘Sleeping,’ Carly shrugged, ‘he’ll probably be up soon if you want to bring him downstairs.’ She turned her attention back to the television, and Chelsea thought, not for the first time, that if you didn’t really like children, you should be brave enough not to have them.

The door burst open, and in came Jez, shouting out, ‘Where’s my Petal? Is she home yet?’

Chelsea got up to give her stepdad a hug, which was difficult as he was laden down with plastic bags.

‘Give us a hand, birthday boy,’ he said, handing the bags to Jermaine, ‘chicken and chips for everyone!’

Jay punched the air in success, ‘Yes!’ and took them into the kitchen.

Jez was in his late fifties, and still insisted on wearing a flat cap and polo shirts. He had the air of Del Boy about him, but Chelsea knew he could be menacing when he needed to be.

Jez was king of the estate. He kept the order. He was fair, and looked after the little guy, but you lied to him and he’d break your legs. Or rather, he’d get one of the goons he employed to break your legs.

‘Look at you, lovely lady! All grown up!’ His watery blue eyes took her in. ‘You look sophisticated! Carly, doesn’t she look smart?’

Her mother looked at him, and softened. Her mother always looked prettier in love. That permanent scowl that left sharp little lines on her young face melted, and she smiled at him like he was her saviour. Which, Chelsea supposed, he was. Sometimes watching her mum look at Jez was the only time she liked her, or could remember what she looked like without the weight of a surly anger, of a sense of unfairness. They’d never figured out how to speak to each other. Chelsea had done everything a kid could to make her family proud, and each time she achieved something, it was like Carly took it as a knife in the back, a two-fingers ‘fuck you’ to her way of life.

‘She’s looking good,’ Carly nodded at her partner, smiling at him, but not meeting Chelsea’s eyes. It was times like those, she thought, she could live to a hundred and never understand her mum. She focused on her stepdad instead, a much more straightforward specimen.

‘Looking good yourself, Jez. Keeping off the red meat?’

He held up a hand. ‘Nothing but bacon on Sundays, and a steak on my birthday. I’m feeling ten years younger, darlin’!’

They sat down with their food on trays in front of EastEnders, and as long as her mum was quiet and Jermaine smiled, everything was fine. Kai was cuddled into her side, constantly reaching for her food, and she nuzzled his head. It was like home on a good day.

Tyler stormed in through the front door.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Carly yelled as he thundered up the stairs.

‘Out!’

‘Come down and see your sister.’

Jez made it sound like a request, but even Tyler knew an order when he heard one. She heard the slow steady clump back down the stairs.

‘All right, your highness?’ Tyler threw himself onto a chair in the corner, stuffing a few chips into his mouth.

‘Look what Chelsea got me!’ Jay lifted his feet in the air, and Tyler looked, turned to his sister, and then looked back at the trainers.

‘You gonna get me some for my birthday, sis? Or do I not matter any more?’

‘I got you a games console last year, you selfish git.’

‘He doesn’t have it any more,’ Jay supplied helpfully.

‘Let me guess.’ She looked at him. ‘You were bragging and one of your mates decided they wanted it.’

‘You can talk about bragging,’ Ty said uncomfortably, ‘fuck this for a laugh.’

He bounced upstairs, and Chelsea shook her head as Jez went to follow him. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

He paused, then sat back down. ‘So, Chelsea. Tell us all about life in London! You still seeing that fella, Chris?’