‘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.’
‘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