The Big Little Wedding in Carlton Square: A gorgeously heartwarming romance and one of the top summer holiday reads for women

‘My bank account only has my salary in it … and not even much of that these days.’

‘There you are!’ Abby bounces toward us. It’s a welcome interruption, to be honest. I’m not wild about the idea that Daniel kept all this from me, but I have to admit I see why he did it. It’s been tricky enough breaking the news to my side that I’m in love with a public school-educated bloke who shops organic. I’m not going to be the one to tell them that the prime minister is probably on his family’s Christmas card list too.

Abby is Daniel’s little sister and could have been cloned from their mum, except she’s a few inches shorter with longer blonde hair, the same shade as Daniel’s. Watching them together always makes me think of golden retrievers. ‘How long do I have to stay?’

‘Are you not enjoying our engagement party?’ Daniel asks.

She rolls her blue eyes. ‘It’s the same people we always see. Besides, nobody does engagement parties anymore. Not since Mummy and Daddy were married back in the dark ages.’

I feel the flush creeping up my neck as I think about the do Mum wanted to throw for us.

Daniel remembers it too, because he says, ‘Do try and keep up. Everyone’s doing them now.’ He puts his arm around me. ‘Come along, Em, duty calls. We’ll say hellair to all the bores and then we can relax.’

It’s not easy keeping track of who’s a lord and who’s a sir, so I just end up nodding and smiling at everyone as Daniel lets his mother drag us round the room. Every so often she pulls my hand in front of one of her friends for inspection.

I haven’t been able to stop staring at the ring since Daniel put it on my finger. Mum nearly fell over when she saw it.

Frankly, I’d have been just as happy if he’d stuck a Foster’s pull tab on my ring finger. I can’t wait to marry this man.

‘Emma works for a Vespa dealer!’ Philippa volunteers to the group I’ve just met. ‘You know, those darling little Italian scooters that are so fun.’

I thought she was just being polite when I first told her where I work, but for some reason she thinks selling scooters is interesting. Maybe it’s because everyone else she knows is busy running boring old banks or funding coups or whatever Daniel’s dad does.

‘Do you know that Anna Green got them for her grandchildren at Christmas? To ride round the estate,’ says one of Philippa’s friends.

If anyone rode a Vespa round the estates near me, it’d get nicked before it turned the first corner. I’m guessing Anna Green’s estate is a bit different. It would be, if she’s handing out five-thousand-quid scooters to her grandkids.

‘And not only that,’ Philippa carries on like nobody has mentioned Anna Green and her grandchildren, ‘she’s about to graduate from uni! Working and studying, clever girl! I couldn’t do both.’

‘You’ve barely done either,’ says one of Philippa’s interchangeable friends, though Philippa doesn’t seem to hear her. ‘When’s the big day?’

Everybody’s eyebrows rise towards the ornately plastered ceiling when I tell them we’re doing it in three months.

‘There’s no reason to wait,’ Daniel explains. ‘I’d marry Emma next week if Mummy wasn’t so set on the party.’

Everyone asks us this question and believe me, we’ve looked at it from all angles. No matter how we do our sums, we won’t have much more money in a year than we’ve got now. Sure, we could save a bit if we moved in together, but then my rent would go to a landlord instead of my mum and dad, and that would cause a whole other set of problems. They don’t like to talk about it, but my parents can really use that money. So if anything, it’s not the approaching wedding that worries me but the dent that my moving out is going to put in their household budget.

‘It won’t be a big wedding, though,’ I say. ‘Maybe sixty people? Just our families and close friends.’ We could go over the top and take an age to plan a big do, but we’re not bothered about the groomsmen’s bowties matching the serviettes or making photo montages of Daniel and me drooling through our childhoods. We just need someone to marry us. Throw in a bit of food and lots of drinks and everyone will be happy.

‘Sixty!’ Philippa laughs. ‘We’ve got more than that just from our side, darlings. It’ll have to be bigger, but don’t worry, I’ve got lots of ideas.’

My mouth feels a little dry.

‘What kind of ideas?’ her friend asks as Daniel’s godfather, Harold, and his wife join us. There was a slightly awkward moment when Daniel first introduced me to Harold and I said, ‘So you’re The Godfather,’ making Italian hand gestures and talking like I had a mouth full of cotton. Everyone stared at me and I had to pretend I hadn’t just done that. Harold is a lord too, but I don’t curtsy or anything. The less attention I draw to myself, the better.

‘I thought that as it will be summer we could have the whole thing under arched trellises that make a roof woven with flowers. Yah, and hang them with crystal chandeliers!’ Philippa beams. ‘Or even build a structure to suspend an entire hanging garden!’

The assembled crowd all nod, murmuring yah, yah. Philippa’s got a feverish glint in her eye that’s making me nervous. Hanging gardens? Where are we – Babylon?

‘I’m not sure–’

Bless her, she picks up right away on my discomfort. ‘Oh, darling, I don’t want to step on your toes, not at all! Maybe chandeliers aren’t your style. Of course we could use whatever you’d like. Maybe something more modern, like those gorgeous exposed lightbulbs that Heston has at his restaurant in the Mandarin. Only we could have hundreds of them lighting up the night. Wouldn’t that be romantic? Imagine!’

Yeah, imagine. Imagine the cost. I bet Heston didn’t get his lights from the B&Q sales bin like I’m planning to do.

And imagine Mum and Dad’s reaction if I tell them we’re building hanging gardens so we can suspend chandeliers. They’d send me straight to the GP to have my head examined. No, they wouldn’t need to. I’d make the appointment myself.

But Philippa looks perfectly serious. ‘If you want something more traditional, we could do crystal, yah, for the tables, and silver cutlery. Or gold? Does anyone do gold anymore? I can’t keep up with all the trends! And a gorgeous vintage pattern for the plates. We could even use my pattern if you like it, though you’d need to hire since I’ve only got place settings for forty-eight.’

Who has actual china for forty-eight people? The only time I’ve sat down to eat with that many people was at Uncle Colin’s fundraiser for the RNLI. We ate off the Tesco Value range.

Now’s probably not the time to tell my future mother-in-law that Mum and Dad suggested a casual do in Uncle Colin’s pub after the wedding. Actually, it’s probably not the time to tell Daniel, either. He looks pretty excited about his mother’s ideas. We’ll need to talk about this.

‘What do you think of fish?’ Philippa asks.

‘I like fish.’ Though I wasn’t thinking of a sit-down meal. Maybe some snacks. We could push the boat out and get them from M&S.

‘You could have enormous tanks of the most beautiful fish!’ Philippa says. ‘We could give them away in little bowls to the guests after the party. Wouldn’t that be fun!’

Yah, yah, everyone but me says.

‘Couldn’t we just return them to the pet shop after the wedding?’

Listen to me. Like I’m actually considering aquariums at our wedding.

‘Oh darling, you are hilarious. We’ll need favours for the guests anyhow. This way we can double up. Although maybe you’d rather do jewellery or key fobs? Aspinal have beautiful things.’

‘We’d like to keep the costs down,’ Daniel says. Finally, the voice of reason. ‘We’re only a young couple!’

Right. The last thing we want is to end up twenty grand in debt.

‘Of course, darlings. You just give me a budget and tell me whatever you want. I’ll find it for you.’

‘You’ll marry in St Stephen’s?’ asks Philippa’s other friend. Daniel’s father and godfather and the other men have stood silently while their wives fire off the questions. They’re probably mulling over football scores, or whatever rich people think about when they’re not counting their money.

‘Erm, actually we were thinking of a registry wedding. In a nice registry, though.’

‘Not church?’

‘My family’s not really religious,’ I say.

‘Right. St Stephen’s is only C of E,’ Philippa’s friend assures me. ‘It’s not religious either.’

That still wouldn’t go over well with Dad, but I’m not going to be the one to argue with Philippa’s friend.

Somehow I’ve got to get the discussion away from gold cutlery and chandeliers or next they’ll start demanding swans. With Aspinal jewellery.

‘Have you been to East London at all?’ I ask everyone.

Harold, Daniel’s godfather, comes to life suddenly. He cuts an imposing figure in the room with his tall, broad-shouldered physique and thick white hair that streams, mane-like, from his head. ‘Yah, when I worked in the City, before we moved to the wharf,’ he says. ‘We used to go to Brick Lane quite a lot for a curry.’

‘And probably to Shoreditch for a lap dance!’ I add. Whoops. Perhaps I shouldn’t have accused Lord Godfather of stuffing notes into G-strings.

But he roars with laughter. ‘Indeed, yes!’

His wife smiles indulgently. ‘Oh, Harold.’

This is truly another world. If Dad ever confessed that in front of Mum, she’d knock his teeth out.

Don’t get me wrong, I like Daniel’s family. They’ve been nothing but kind to me and I’m sure all their friends are nice too. It’s just that I’m not exactly up to their usual standard, am I? It’s so constantly apparent that they can’t help but notice it. So far they’ve been too polite to say anything, but it’s just a matter of time.

I’m dead on my feet when we get back to Daniel’s, and pleased to see that his flatmate, Jacob, isn’t home. Not that I ever feel like the third wheel even when he is. I know technically he should be the extra wheel, not me, but since he and Daniel have been mates since school, there was potential for some tension. Far from it. Jacob made me feel completely welcome despite my crashing his lad’s pad. In fact, at first he acted like I was the first girl Daniel had ever brought home. Needless to say I like him all the better for that.

It probably helps that even though it’s not a big flat it never feels cramped. Its layout is all nineteenth-century higgledy-piggledy, with the front door all the way down a winding set of stairs at the bottom of the building, the high-ceilinged eat-in kitchen at the opposite end to the cosy lounge and Daniel’s bedroom set under the eaves up in the converted loft.

It’s teatime, but I feel a little sick from all the canapes. I’ve had to get used to eating like this since meeting Daniel. His family and friends like to have what they call ‘nibbles’. Philippa laid on enough canapes to feed an army. So don’t blame me for eating like a cadet. Emma Liddell, reporting for eating, Sir!

‘God, I’m glad that’s over,’ Daniel says as he throws himself down beside me on the lumpy old settee and offers to rub my sore feet. My shoes might look Fendi-esque, but the blisters are pure Primark. ‘Now that you’ve been properly introduced, Harold said you’ll have to come along for supper with me next month.’ His thumb finds the spot in the middle of my foot that he knows I love to have massaged.

‘I had to be properly introduced first?’ Maybe I should have curtseyed.

Daniel laughs. It was that laugh that I first noticed when we met. He throws himself into it with his entire body. I dare anyone not to at least smile when they hear him. ‘He’s old-fashioned,’ he explains. ‘I hope you weren’t awfully uncomfortable today. Mummy does like a party, and I know those social engagements can be tedious. I’ve always hated them. But now it’s just us again.’ He leans over to kiss me. ‘So, formalities finished, we can focus on our wedding.’

‘Aw, have you been dreaming about being a bride ever since you were a little girl?’ I tease.

‘Who do you think you’re talking to, Emma Liddell? I’ve always thought of myself as an independent woman,’ he says. ‘No man is going to tell me what to do.’ He snaps his fingers, then laughs at his own joke. ‘In all honesty I never imagined myself being married.’ His eyes meet mine. ‘Until I met you.’

This should be cheesy, right? But Daniel says things like that a lot, and with such feeling that I have to bite down my urge to take the piss. That’s just my nerves anyway. I’m not used to being loved so obviously. Okay, I’m not used to being loved at all. I’ve had exactly six boyfriends in my life and two of those might not even agree with the title. Still, not such a bad track record for a twenty-four-year-old living at home who’s known ninety per cent of the men in her neighbourhood since she was in nappies.

I’ve never been in love with any of them like I am with Daniel. Sometimes that frightens me, but then I see him and know he’s in just as deep. ‘I’ve never wanted to marry anyone else either,’ I say. ‘There’s just one thing …’

His thumb stops its rubbing. ‘What is it, Em?’

‘Nothing bad! It’s just that your mum has a lot of ideas about the wedding.’

He starts working on my other foot. ‘She’s ever-so excited. It is the first wedding in the family.’

‘I know, and I want her to be involved. It’s just that everything sounds kind of expensive.’ Kind of expensive? I’ve already calculated what it would cost to give all our guests a cheap necklace from Accessorize. It’s about half my savings. ‘Like you said, your parents might be able to clear the UK national debt, but we don’t have a lot of money ourselves and we really shouldn’t be going in to debt for a party, right? Would you mind very much if we keep it really low-key?’

He gathers me into his arms, shifting till we find the lying-down position on the settee that doesn’t make my arm go numb. When we first figured out that this was possible, it seemed like the universe telling us that we really are perfect together. ‘I don’t mind,’ he says. ‘I just want to spend the rest of my life with you. My side can pitch in as much or as little as we want. Besides, I’m sure a wedding doesn’t have to cost that much.’

‘This is based on what, your vast amount of wedding-planning experience?’ I say, as I spot a crumpled bank statement peeking out from under the settee. Who knows how long it’s been there? Daniel and Jacob really need a cleaner. Snatching it up, my eye falls on the balance. And on the account owner’s name.

‘Daniel?’

Suddenly we’re sitting up staring at each other with the bank statement between us.

‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I’ll pay it off. I needed a new suit, that’s all.’

‘Made of what, solid gold?’

He laughs. ‘You’d be proud of me, actually. I channelled my inner Emma and found a rahly good deal. That’s not all from the suit.’

‘That’s not making me feel better. Daniel, we’ve talked about this. Why don’t you just wait until the money’s in the account to buy what you want instead of always playing catch-up?’

‘But you know I’ll pay it down, darling. I always do, don’t I?’

I know he does. He is very good at tightening his belt when he’s spent too much, and he’ll get that overdraft down just like he’s promised.

‘This is all the more reason not to go overboard with the wedding,’ I tell him. ‘Your family won’t need to pitch in. We’ll do something nice that we can afford. Mum and Dad have some money for us.’

‘Em, your family shouldn’t have to pay for everything when we’re more than happy to contribute. After all, it’s my side that wants a blowout and Mummy has already offered. Your parents will let us help, won’t they?’

‘We’ll see. Let’s look at our options first, okay?’

But I already know what Dad’s going to say about the idea of Daniel’s family paying for his only daughter’s wedding because he can’t afford to.

Chapter 2

‘Bollocks!’ Dad’s already got his arms crossed. His re-crossing is just for emphasis. I’ve got more chance now of winning the EuroMillions than getting him to change his mind. I didn’t even want to have this conversation again. But Mum, being Mum, wouldn’t stop going on about the wedding plans. Like I haven’t worked out for myself that most decent places are already booked up. We’ll probably end up paying over the odds for a garage under the arches.

I really don’t want to have our wedding in a garage under the arches.

‘I’m just saying that they can afford it.’ The words are out before I can stop them.

Mum closes her eyes and sighs.

Why can’t I ever quit while I’m not too far behind?

The set of Dad’s jaw tightens. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he says. ‘You know I think Daniel’s a good lad, but you don’t need a big fancy wedding to get married. You’re committing to each other and you can do that just fine at the registry with a little party after. Your mother and I were married–’

‘“In the town hall not ten minutes from this house,’” I finish for him. He’s trotted out the same lines ever since I first dared to ask for Dr. Martens when I was ten. Real ones, not the Junior Dr. Martens rip-offs they had down the market. What’s good enough for my parents is good enough for me. I’ve heard it a million times, and quite a lot recently. ‘“We had our do at the Cock and Crown,”’ I continue, ‘“with our family and friends, and everybody was happy.”’

‘“We stuffed ourselves on prawns from the prawn man till we were nearly sick,”’ Mum finishes. ‘“We didn’t need to spend a lot of money and it served us just fine.”’

Mum and I grin at each other.

‘Exactly,’ Dad says. ‘So you know the story, Emma.’ His voice grows as soft as his expression. He’s a handsome man, my father. He’s usually got a sparkle in his eye and a cheeky grin for everyone, but he can be a pit bull if you push him. ‘Why not have a simple wedding?’ he says. ‘The important thing is that you love each other.’

When I hug him his beefy arms squeeze me tightly. ‘I know that, Dad. We do love each other, and I don’t want anything fancy. I’m going with Kell to see some places tomorrow. We’ll find something that works.’

I just hope it won’t cost the earth. Mum and Dad are really stretching to give me two thousand quid for the wedding. I know it’s draining their savings, but whenever I protest they change the subject.

So I’m not about to tell Dad that my future mother-in-law is probably expecting ice sculptures and a synchronised dove release. Our parents haven’t met yet. The last thing I want to do is make Mum and Dad even more preoccupied with Daniel’s family than they already are. When I told Mum about the engagement party she asked me to take photos of Philippa’s bathrooms. As if rich people don’t poo the same way as everyone else.

I had to explain that no, they don’t have fancy quilted loo roll or one of those hand soap pumps – just a plain old bar of soap in a dish. And drapes on their windows – no nets.

Maybe that’s what the great social divide really comes down to: the haves versus the have nets.

Our parents will need to meet before the wedding, as soon as we figure out the best way to do it. It was hard enough introducing Mum and Dad to Daniel. The fact that he’s from West London is enough to make them uncomfortable. As soon as I mentioned Chelsea, Mum started going on about redecorating before he came over.

Our house is perfectly fine. Maybe it’s a bit dated, but we have lived here my whole life, and Mum hasn’t exactly got an interior design budget to work with. It’s a typical sixties council house on a red-brick two-storey terrace where most of the gardens are kept up pretty well. We’ve got wood floors all inside and tile in the kitchen and bathroom. The suite isn’t new, but Mum doesn’t let anyone eat their dinner on it so it’s not too stained, aside from Dad’s chair, and there are stacks of coasters everywhere so there’s not a water ring on any of the tables. When I was little I wanted a bay window like Kell has at her house, but other than that I haven’t really wished for anything different.

‘Do me a favour,’ Mum says. ‘Go get Auntie Rose with your dad. She’s at the pub with her ladies. I’ll get the tea on and then I’ve got to be to work for seven.’ When she leans down to kiss my dad, the curtain of thick straight ginger hair that she wears in a long bob covers their faces.

‘Right, to the pub, Dad?’

‘Ready when you are.’ He awkwardly pats his pockets. ‘I’ve got me money. Off we go.’

‘One pint, Jack, and then come back. I mean it. Otherwise the tea’ll burn. Half an hour.’

He waves over his shoulder as I grasp the handles of his wheelchair and carefully manoeuvre out the front door and down the ramp.

We had the ramp installed on my twentieth birthday. I remember because Kell joked that it was for when I came home pissed from the pub. We all made out like it was the greatest invention in the world. Now Dad could come and go as he pleased, we said. He put on a brave face, but everybody knew he’d have preferred not to need it in the first place.

If he wasn’t a taxi driver, he would probably have realised a lot sooner that he was ill. But, like he said, sitting on your arse all day is bound to cause some pins and needles. It was when his vision started going funny that he finally admitted his symptoms to Mum. She had him down to Helen at the GP’s surgery almost before he’d finished telling her.

The doctors did loads of tests that Dad got pretty sick of by the time they told him he’s got multiple sclerosis. That was over ten years ago. It’s the kind that comes and goes and gets worse over time, which is why we had to get the ramps fitted on my twentieth birthday. He’d had to stop work a few years before that, though. He can walk with crutches if he has to, but he doesn’t usually have to with the wheelchair and all of us to push him around when he gets bad. Their bedroom’s on the ground floor now, in the old dining room, and we had an en suite added so he doesn’t need to worry about going upstairs at all.

Of course, Kell was worried about me when it all first happened. At fourteen everything is a huge deal anyway, so when it really is a big deal it seems catastrophic. But she didn’t really need to worry because my dad is still my dad; he’s still with us and he’s still himself. He can’t drive the cab anymore and it’s pretty bad when he relapses, and Mum’s gone down to part-time work, what with looking after Dad and Auntie Rose, but that’s why I’m working. It’s lucky I’m here.

But once I get married I’ll have to move out. Imagine the row if I try to keep giving them money then. You’ve seen how Dad reacts when Daniel offers for his parents to pay for our wedding. I’ll have to hide tenners down the sofa cushions or something.

Auntie Rose is doing a victory lap around the pub when we get there, shouting, ‘Persimone! Get IN!’

‘She’s winning, I take it?’ says Dad to Uncle Colin once he’s finished nodding his hellos to the half-dozen men sitting round the battered tables.

‘Insufferable!’ Auntie Rose’s friend, June, shouts from the big square booth by the door. ‘Take her home, Emma, she’ll only be a dreadful winner again.’

‘Sour grapes,’ sings Auntie Rose as she throws her ample frame back down in the booth, jostling the Scrabble board on her landing.

‘Mind the game!’ Doreen adjusts the tiles. ‘Don’t spoil it for the rest of us. Next week we’re playing cribbage.’

Auntie Rose takes a sip of her lime and soda. ‘Where’s your fighting spirit?’

‘I’m about to fight,’ Doreen grumbles. She will too if they let her have too much sherry. She might look like a sweet old lady, but you’d do well not to cross her. There was once a husband, but he disappeared after getting caught playing away once too often. Maybe he’s living with his mistress out of town, maybe he isn’t. That’s all I’m saying.

So all’s well at the Cock and Crown. Nobody’s surprised to see a seventy-five-year-old woman fist-pumping her way round the bar. Technically she’s my great auntie, my Gran’s younger sister. She’s been meeting her best friends here every week for about the past forty years for a game of cribbage or cards or, when Auntie Rose gets to choose, Scrabble. No matter what else happens in their lives, they wouldn’t miss a week unless they’re in the hospital, like when June broke her hip, or one of them dies, like my Gran did seven or eight years ago. That’s when Auntie Rose came to live with us. She’s not so good at being on her own.