Crazy Little Thing Called Love: The perfect laugh out loud romantic comedy you won’t be able to put down. Charlotte Butterfield
as she did every evening. Even though the kitchen had a small circular table, which suited the purpose for breakfast just fine, a proper dinner always tasted better in the more formal surroundings of the dining room surrounded by candles. A couple of mouthfuls in, Lucy started talking again. ‘I’ve found the dress I want to wear for our wedding, so I’m going to make some appointments this week.’
Marcus had his mouth full so just gave an encouraging noise.
‘I don’t want to go by myself though, and Aimee and Emily are at work. All the magazines say that a bride should go with their mother, but the idea exhausts me.’
Marcus felt uneasy again. The relaxed frivolity of their pretend studio skit moments before had evaporated and he knew that he had to navigate this conversation carefully. He’d only met his future mother-in-law once, and she seemed nice, so was always a bit perplexed whenever Lucy mentioned her in a negative way. ‘How so?’ he asked.
‘Just the expectation levels I guess, it’s meant to be this seminal bonding moment isn’t it, and Mum might cry or something, which would just be awful.’
‘You could make a day of it, take the credit card, treat yourselves to lunch somewhere.’
Lucy grimaced. ‘I know I should, I’m her only daughter after all, but I’m just a bit uncomfortable with it, what would we talk about all day?’
‘Dresses? Shoes? I don’t know Lucy, you’re asking the wrong person. Why don’t you ask Leila or Tasha to come along as well? You were saying earlier that you don’t think they like you, this would be the perfect chance for them to get to know you better.’
It wasn’t a bad idea, Lucy thought. Having another person there would certainly lower the risk of gushes of sentimentality from her mum, and it would be a nice gesture on her part to include his side of the family. She really wanted his sisters to like her, but she just didn’t know how to make that happen. She wrinkled her nose. ‘But what if they don’t want to?’
‘You haven’t asked them yet. Ask. I’m sure they’d love it. All girls love dress shopping don’t they?’
‘Leila’s a gardener, she lives in wellies.’
‘She has dresses, I’m sure of it. When were you thinking of going?’
‘This week. I’ll book a day off work. Honestly Marcus, I have no idea how I’m juggling it all, it’s exhausting trying to plan the wedding, while rushing about at work, doing everything for everyone. I literally feel as though I’m being pulled in a thousand directions all the time. I swear this wedding is going to be a complete disaster because of it. Either that or I’ll give myself an ulcer with the stress.’
Marcus congratulated himself on another well-timed mouthful, he knew that Lucy couldn’t abide bad table manners, so as long as he made sure to do dramatic chewing motions with his jaw, he’d be forgiven for not responding.
Lucy carried on talking, ‘I don’t even have time to concentrate on the flowers and centrepieces, it really needs my full attention to get it exactly right, and I just can’t focus on that with work being so full on. I’m so anxious that the wedding is going to be ruined, and you deserve so much more.’
‘Mmmm, you do have a lot on.’ Marcus agreed. Which was always best.
‘I do, don’t I? And I really do want to be the perfect wife to you Marky, and make sure that our new house, when we eventually find one we like, is exactly right, and that we always have nice food in, and I’m just so concerned how I’m going to fit it all in, it’s a little overwhelming.’
Marcus swallowed his last forkful and took a sip of wine. ‘You know what I think? I earn more than enough for you not to work at all, there’s no reason to get stressed about it all. Just resign and concentrate on the things that you want to. Simple. Right, shall I get dessert?’
As Marcus left the room with the dirty plates and busied himself loading them into the dishwasher, Lucy sat twirling the thick-stemmed wine glass in her fingers and smiled. Well, that conversation couldn’t have gone better.
Leila was so bored, she actually wished she was back sandwiched between two car seats trying to guess that ‘I’ belonged to ‘I-brow’.
This was the fifth wedding dress shop of the day and she’d lost the will to live somewhere around dress three of the first shop. Except they weren’t called shops, they were boutiques or salons. She’d learned that after getting the stare of death from one of the ‘bridal liaisons’ (shop assistants). Marcus had called her to prewarn her of Lucy’s impending invitation, and he’d been so earnest, so heartfelt in imploring her to accompany Lucy and Lucy’s mum shopping she couldn’t say no. Well, no that was a lie, she’d tried, but he just batted her remonstrations away and guilted her into submission. ‘She’s hardly got any friends, and those she does have are stuck at work,’ he’d said, completely oblivious to the massive neon warning sign that accompanied this statement. Who didn’t have many friends?
Lucy’s mum, Stephanie, was lovely though, which was a complete surprise. If pushed Leila would have admitted to have been expecting a buttoned-up platinum blonde with manicured talons and a designer handbag. She absolutely wasn’t anticipating this wonderfully bohemian middle-aged woman bounding off the train, wearing a full-length paisley coat, with long curly greying hair. If Stephanie noticed Lucy’s lacklustre greeting and stiff embrace she didn’t say, just gave her daughter and Leila a wide smile as she took their arms and proclaimed excitedly that they were going to have so much fun.
The fact that each salon offered them a glass of champagne had lessened the pain but heightened the boredom. Leila was left sat by herself most of the time as Lucy was in the dressing room, and Stephanie was busy taking pictures of wedding dresses to send them to her son’s girlfriend who was also getting married soon. Every boutique was a carbon copy of the one before. Each had a plush cream carpet, shag, Leila thought it was called, giving an immature snigger inside. Big armchairs or sofas were flanked with side tables, usually circular glass ones, with a box of tissues perched upon them, for teary mothers no doubt.
As the hours ticked by, Lucy was getting increasingly annoyed with each assistant, who kept giving sharp intakes of horror when she mentioned that her wedding date was in five weeks’ time. ‘I’m sure you’re not trying to be deliberately difficult,’ Lucy told the last one. ‘So let’s try and make this work, shall we?’
‘Off-the-peg’ was a term Lucy appeared to find offensive, wrinkling her nose and shrinking back a few inches every time it was mentioned. Her binder was full of princess-type dresses, all carefully cut out of magazines and placed in the relevant colour-coded section of the folder, after Flowers but before Poems and Readings. It’s not that each boutique didn’t have the exact eye-wateringly expensive gown she wanted, it’s just it would take six–eight months to order and make. You’d have thought by the fifth time she heard this, Lucy would start to understand.
‘I could always run it up for you my love,’ Stephanie offered later that afternoon, holding out a tissue to her sobbing daughter. Lucy wasn’t an attractive crier, Leila thought, and felt immediately very bad for having that thought.
‘Run it up for me? Run it up for me? I don’t want a pair of bloody curtains Mother!’
That was a bit harsh, the poor woman was clearly trying to help. ‘Lucy, I think at this stage you have two options, buy something—’ Leila stopped herself just in time uttering a phrase that contained the word peg – ‘already made.’ Good save. ‘Or maybe think about having one of the designs you love made, either by your mum, who I’m sure is a very accomplished seamstress—’ Stephanie shot Leila a look of gratitude – ‘or someone else, but I think you need to call it a day at trying different shops. Salons. Whatever.’
‘I knew you’d try to sabotage today,