A Christmas Wedding(38)

‘Holy fuck!’ she gasps. ‘This is real. This is happening.’

‘Yes!’ I’m laughing properly now. ‘Will you come?’

‘Yes, I’ll fucking come! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!’

Alex and I both agree that we will not make a big deal out of this. But our friends and family seem to have other ideas. His mates – including Ed, whom I actually really, really like, which is just as well, because he’s always popping over for post-work drinks – drag him out for a meal the night before we tie the knot. My friends do the same for me, but, when we end up at the same tacky eighties club night where Alex and I met, I stamp my heels on the pavement.

‘No way. No frigging way. I am not having my hen night here.’

Polly looks affronted. ‘What’s wrong with this place?’

Whoops… I never did tell her I wasn’t a fan.

‘Just a couple of shots, I promise,’ Bridget says. ‘For old times’ sake. It’s where you met!’ she urges, shaking my upper arms.

I dither. ‘Okay, but just two shots,’ I agree.

‘And a bit of a boogie,’ Rachel chips in.

I narrow my eyes at her. ‘Okay, maybe one or two.’

Luckily I’m already tipsy after all of the Prosecco at dinner.

The joint is just as bad as I remembered, but, damn, I feel full of affection for it. I look around, drinking in the cheesy eighties outfits as we walk down the stairs. Bridget takes me straight to the bar, putting her arm around my shoulders as we wait for the bartender to line up our shots. She looks over towards the pillar.

‘That’s where you met,’ she says in my ear, letting me go and stepping back.

I feel a sudden wave of emotion. I remember looking over at Alex and him giving me this sweet, helpless little shrug. He didn’t want to be here, any more than me, yet somehow we ended up being the last to leave.

Familiar hands encircle my waist and I spin in his arms, unable to believe what I’m seeing. Alex smiles down at me as our friends whoop and cheer.

‘Did you know they were doing this?’ I’m amazed.

He shakes his head, his eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘It took quite a lot for them to drag me in here.’

‘Me too!’ We start laughing and don’t stop until our eyes are wet with tears, and then our friends are passing out shots and we’re knocking them back, the alcohol going straight to our heads.

‘Red, Red Wine’ by UB40 comes on. Alex and I look at each other, incredulous.

This was the song we sexy-danced to, all those years ago. He doesn’t say a word as he leads me across the lit-up dance floor and takes me in his arms.

A flash goes off and I look over to see Rachel winking at me, holding her camera aloft. She’s coming tomorrow, doing the photos as a favour. I keep saying it’s not a big deal, but no one is getting the message.

Maria has insisted on doing my make-up; Polly dragged me off to the shops, telling me I was mad to pass up the excuse to buy a pretty frock; and Ed organised an after-party in the upstairs room of a cosy pub in central London, just around the corner from the register office where we’re getting married. Bridget, who has awesome taste in music, has sorted out the playlist.

I slide my hands up and over Alex’s shoulders, smiling at him as his thumbs brush my hipbones. He bends down to kiss me, pulling me closer until we’re flush to each other’s bodies. He holds me tightly, and then we’re both barely moving, barely breathing, just here, in this moment, together.

Until a man dressed up as Michael J. Fox from Teen Wolf crashes into us. Alex grabs me to steady me and glares after the werewolf-wannabe, and then we both meet each other’s eyes and crack up laughing.

I stay in a hotel near the register office and share a room with Bridget, who, despite her reluctance to be without Charlie and April on her hen night, convinced me it’d be fun to have a sleepover – for old times’ sake.

She, Charlie and April are spending the festive period with her dad in north London after deciding to have one last Christmas in the house where Bridget grew up. In the New Year, her dad is putting his home on the market and moving down to Cornwall, ready to embrace the next stage in his life.

On the morning of my wedding day – MY WEDDING DAY – I wake up to Bridget playing ‘I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do’ by Abba on her tiny but loud portable B&O speaker. She follows this up with ‘White Wedding’ by Billy Idol and ‘Going to the Chapel’ by the Dixie Cups, while we sit there and giggle and eat flaky pastries on the bed that she picked up from the bakery next door.

Maria turns up after a while to do my make-up, but I’m styling my own hair in my trademark fishtail plait. Then I get into my dress, a pretty, long-sleeved, lace, knee-length number that’s the colour of crème caramel. I team it with brown cowboy boots.

Bridget shakes her head at me and starts to cry.

‘Oh my God!’ I exclaim, laughing. ‘I can’t believe you’re crying!’

‘I can’t believe this is happening!’ she blubs.

‘Me neither,’ I say, shaking my head.

And I really can’t. It feels very surreal. I know I want to be with Alex for the rest of my life, but I can’t actually get my head around the fact that I’m marrying him today.

I’m marrying him.