‘No night out. PJs, boxset, and copious amounts of Chinese food and alcohol.’
Maria nodded. Not quite the night she had planned, but it sounded good right about now.
‘Deal,’ she said, slurping her vanilla shake. ‘But no Colin Firth.’
One Week Later
‘What the hell! You have got to be kidding me!’ Maria slammed the local newspaper, the Westfield Times, onto her desk and stomped over to the kettle. She stabbed at the button, throwing ingredients into a mug. She reached into the biscuit barrel, shovelling a triple chocolate cookie into her mouth, mumbling as she chewed, before turning to the wall.
‘I mean, I am the ONLY wedding planner in Westfield! The only one! How could Agatha Mayweather go elsewhere, when all she does is prattle on about community, and giving back, and fighting big corporations!’ She thrust her arms out wildly as she spun around, cookie crumbs flying from her mouth. ‘I mean, seriously! I am going to ring that woman up and give her a piece of my mind!’
‘Who are you talking to, dear?’ a voice at the door asked. Maria whirled around, seeing her part-time assistant, Lynn, standing there, a large flask in hand. Maria flushed and pointed to the wall, where a picture of her mother was framed and hung up.
‘Sorry, Lynn, I was talking to Mum. The Baxters got married again, did you know that? From Love Blooms, the florist? They had a big event on Agatha’s estate, and I wasn’t even approached to help!’
Lynn smiled kindly, closing the door against the slight breeze of the weather. It was quite autumnal already. She put the flask down on her desk and strode over to the wooden coat rack, taking off her cream faux fur coat.
‘I know, dear, they seem so happy now, and about time too. I did worry about them, when they passed the shop to Lily. Idle thumbs and all that.’ She waggled her own very busy thumbs in the air.
Maria glared at her. ‘And!?’
Lynn sat at her desk, pouring a slurp of tea from the flask into one of the many bone china mugs she kept at work. She sighed and looked at Maria as she stirred, trying to find the words.
‘Darling, Agatha didn’t want to bother you about planning a wedding when your… er… when you were supposed to be on honeymoon. Your diary was full, so she didn’t ask.’
Maria’s shoulders slumped as realisation set in. ‘She didn’t want a wedding planner who got jilted at the altar, did she?’ It came out as more of a defeated statement than a question, and Lynn’s heart went out to her. She had watched Maria grow from a tiny baby to the beautiful woman standing before her, and whenever she thought of that wretched Darcy fellow, she found herself planning grisly things against his man parts with a crochet needle.
She waved her hand, cutting off Maria’s rant. ‘No love, not at all. No one thinks that.’
‘Oh no?’ Maria shouted, dashing over to the appointments diary. ‘So how come I have no bookings then, for the rest of the month? Eh?’
Lynn sighed slowly. ‘Maria, I know you’re upset, but think about it. The diary is empty because you were supposed to be on holiday, that’s all.’ She took a sip of tea and eyed her furtively, obviously expecting horns to sprout from her head at any moment. Maria sagged over the diary, deflated. ‘Oh,’ she said softly. ‘Of course, yes… sorry, Lynn.’
Lynn raised her hand to wave off her employer’s apology. ‘Don’t give it a thought. Why don’t you take the time off anyway – go away somewhere or something? Nice change of scene, eh?’
Maria shook her head. ‘I should be in St Lucia now. Somehow a week in some caravan in Skegness on my tod just doesn’t sound appealing.’ Lynn opened her mouth to speak again, but the phone on her desk started to ring. She smiled kindly at Maria and dealt with the customer. Maria went to the just-boiled kettle, pouring herself a huge mug of steaming hot coffee. As she added more sugar, she had to admit, if only in her own head, that she shouldn’t be at work. She felt like the angry wedding performer in that Adam Sandler movie. A movie she loved, and now couldn’t watch for fear of murdering someone, or herself, with a noose made from the finest lace she possessed. She should be glad she didn’t own a hardware store, the way she was feeling, but Lynn was right: work was going to be tricky, to say the least.
She listened to Lynn discussing venues and prices with the person on the phone as she took her coffee into the back, to her office. Once there, she closed the door and sagged to the floor behind it, the steaming beverage clutched in her fingers. She took a gulp and, setting it on the coffee table, crawled across the floor and curled up on the couch in the corner. She covered herself over with a blanket, and promptly fell asleep.
Lynn came in an hour later, tucked her in, and pulled the phone socket from the wall so she wouldn’t be disturbed. Maria looked exhausted, even in sleep, and Lynn frowned as she looked down at her. The poor girl, she thought as she brushed a strand of blonde hair away from her face. Closing the office door behind her, she went to the diary and looked over the next three months. Christmas was coming, and with it the party season, bringing a very welcome set of clients that had nothing to do with weddings. Lynn would book the diary up with these, and try to avoid doing any events. The business was doing well – if a little stalled since the wedding as regards the bigger, more lucrative jobs – so a couple of months off the wedding circuit wouldn’t do them any harm, and Lynn was determined to protect her employer as much as possible. She bit her lip as she fired up the computer, checking for any incoming enquiry emails that might derail her plan, but it appeared to be blissfully quiet on the nuptials front so far. It was a stroke of luck that Maria had put her own wedding at the end of the main season. Had this happened in spring, it would have been even worse. She just hoped Maria would be feeling better by the time the season was in full swing again. Being a jilted bride, wedding planner and owner of wedding boutique Happy Ever After wouldn’t bring Miss Mallory peace any time soon. Men, she thought to herself, seething at her feeling of helplessness. They really did have a lot to answer for sometimes.
Maria put her key in the lock of Cassie’s cottage, sighing as the heavy, red-painted, wooden door only gave an inch. Pushing and tugging at it, she finally made headway and ended up flat on her face in the hallway, having landed on a pile of post. Tutting loudly, she picked up the huge array of magazines and letters, stacking them as best she could on the hall table. For an organised person like Maria, living with Cassie in her Westfield cottage was quite the change from Darcy’s large, sleek, minimalist Harrogate abode. Cassie had bought the place from her parents after university. They had a few rental cottages dotted around the area, and Sanctuary Cottage had always been a favourite of Cassie’s. She used to sneak in there with Maria after school to study, away from her bickering mother and father, and Maria loved to spend time with her friend there. Cassie was always so much happier within its walls, so much more relaxed, and Maria loved to see this side of her. After they graduated, Cassie had gone and landed a huge job in a swanky Harrogate firm, and had begged her parents to let her buy the place; they’d ended up giving in just to get some peace.
‘Cassie?’ she shouted, already guessing her friend was still at work, given that her car wasn’t parked on the drive. Locking the front door, she headed for the shower, ignoring the blinking of the answer machine. No one would be ringing her anyway. Other than Cass and Lynn, the only other person in her life was… had been… Darcy. So now she was back to being alone, and it was worse, much worse, now. Because she was all too aware of how it had felt to be in a couple, and how close