Girl Online(29)

“Why’s it called a wedding breakfast??” I ask as I follow Mum toward a pair of huge doors on the other side of the room.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Mum says. “Maybe because it’s the first meal the couple have as husband and wife?”

I make a mental note to ask Elliot; he’s bound to know. “Oh wow!” The double doors open onto an even grander room, which is full of round tables. Huge old-fashioned chandeliers are suspended from the ceiling, with lights that look just like candles. Each table has a beautiful centerpiece woven from holly and white rosebuds. And at the far end of the room the long head table is trimmed with a border of sepia Union Jack bunting. It all looks really beautiful—and really British.

“Oh, Mum, it looks amazing!”

She looks at me hopefully. “Do you think so?”

“Absolutely.”

“Hello! Hello! Well, this must be Miss Penny.”

I turn to see a woman coming through a small door at the end of the room. She’s wearing a polo neck and smart trousers and has her long grey hair tied up into a bun. She’s clearly in her sixties, and she’s striking-looking, with really high cheekbones and eyes as brown as conkers. Her lipstick is a beautiful shade of dark red against her porcelain skin.

“Hi, Sadie Lee,” Mum says. “Yes, this is Penny.”

“It is so lovely to meet you,” Sadie Lee says, giving me a twinkly-eyed smile. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Before I can reply, she’s giving me a hug. She smells lovely—a really comforting mixture of soap and cinnamon.

“How did y’all sleep?” Sadie Lee asks in a husky Southern drawl, looking from Mum to me.

“Great,” I say.

But Mum shakes her head. “I’m afraid I was too nervous to get much sleep.”

Sadie Lee looks at her and smiles. “Honey, there’s no need to be nervous. You’re doing a wonderful job. Or as they’d say in Downton Abbey—it’s going to be simply splendid.” Sadie Lee throws back her head and laughs a really warm, throaty laugh.

There are some people you officially fall in love with within seconds of meeting them. Sadie Lee is definitely one of those people.

“Penny’s going to be taking some behind-the-scenes photos for the Bradys,” Mum explains.

“What a great idea.” Sadie Lee smiles at me. “Well, you know, I’m about to start doing some baking for the reception buffet so y’all would be very welcome to come and take a few pictures in the kitchen if you’d like?”

“That would be perfect,” Mum says. She looks at me. “Will you be OK, Pen? I just need to go and check that the waiting staff’s costumes all fit, OK?”

“Of course.”

As Mum heads off, I follow Sadie Lee into the kitchen. After the olde worlde vibe of the other rooms, it’s really weird to see the sleek stainless-steel counters and huge industrial-sized ovens.

“We’re doing most of the cooking tomorrow,” Sadie Lee explains. “But I thought I’d get the cakes for the reception buffet done today. I’m making a traditional British afternoon tea.”

“Don’t you have any staff to help you?” I say, looking around the empty kitchen.

She shakes her head. “Uh-uh, not today. But tomorrow I’ll have a whole team of chefs.”

I take a few pictures of Sadie Lee baking and a close-up of her flour-splattered cookbook. Then I decide to go and take some pictures of the dining room. But I leave the kitchen through the wrong door and come out into another huge room. This one has a long polished wooden dance floor running down the center of it, with small round tables lining either side. I’m about to leave when I hear the gentle strum of a guitar coming from the far end of the room. It’s so dark I can only just make out the silhouette of someone seated on the stage.

I go and investigate, creeping down one of the carpeted areas at the side of the dance floor. As I get closer to the stage, the sound of the guitar gets louder and I can hear someone singing. They’re singing so quietly I can’t quite make out the words, but whatever it is sounds beautiful and really, really sad. I tiptoe a bit closer until I see the figure of a boy sitting cross-legged on the stage, playing the guitar with his back to me. He’s surrounded by musical equipment—a drum kit, a keyboard, and a microphone stand. There’s something so magical about the image that I can’t resist turning on my camera and sneaking a tiny bit closer. I focus and take the shot, but—to my horror—I forget to turn the flash off and the stage is flooded with light.

“Whoa!” The mystery singing person leaps to his feet and spins around, putting his hands over his face. “How did you get in?” he yells in a really strong New York accent. “Who sent you here?”

“I’m sorry—I couldn’t resist—you looked so—” Thankfully, I manage to stop myself from committing an Act of Gross Embarrassment and change tack. “I’m taking some photos for the wedding that’s happening here tomorrow. How did you get in? Are you the wedding singer?”

“Am I the wedding singer?” He peers at me from between his fingers. There’s a tattoo of a bar of music notes on his wrist.

“Yes. Are you practicing?” I walk a bit closer to the stage and he actually takes a step back, like he’s scared of me. “I wouldn’t do that song tomorrow, if I were you.”