The One with the Engagement Party. Erin Lawless
As I arrived in my mid-twenties, something very strange started to happen – my friends started to get engaged. Seriously? – I thought, staring at the fat, glossy invitations appearing through the post – I swear it was only this time last year you were snogging strangers in clubs, and now I’m Saving the Date? And I should put how much aside for your Hen Do!?
Ever since then, my weekends – particularly in the summer – have been a veritable nuptial string of engagement parties in pubs, dress fittings in boutiques, hen dos in spas and clubs and, of course, the weddings themselves (I gave as good as I got, of course, when I got married myself in 2014). The narrative of being a wedding guest (or knowing a bridezilla) has been so woven into the lives of my friends and I for so many years (and for so many more years to come, no doubt) that I really wanted to capture some of that in a story.
So here we have: one bride, and four bridesmaids, from proposal to altar.
Interspersed through the books, I’ve collated some real life anecdotes about perfect proposals, disastrous dance floors, suspicious strippers, bad bridesmaids and gorgeous groomsmen. Get in touch on social media and share your stories!
I was surprised to be asked to be a bridesmaid for someone I would have considered more a friend-of-a-friend. I realised really quickly that it wasn’t the honour it had first seemed – she had twelve bridesmaids. Then the emails started. Until the wedding was over we were banned from dying or cutting our hair, getting any tattoos or piercings, putting on weight (losing it was apparently fine). The wedding at this time was two years away. We took it as just a bad joke … until one maid cut in a fringe and was promptly fired and replaced with someone from the “bridesmaid bench”.
Erika, Poole
Please Save the Date
for the wedding of
NORA EILEEN DERVAN
and
HENRY ROBERT CLARKE
New Year’s Eve
THE MAIDS
Beatrice Milton
Cleo Adkins
Daisy Frankel
Sarah Norris
THE MEN
Cole Norris
Archie Clarke
Elliott Hale
Barlow Osbourne
Sarah was there first, as Nora had expected, armed with a half dozen glossy bridal magazines and good-natured excitement. Bea and Cleo arrived pretty much at the same time, each having to hug Nora five or six times before they could take their seats. Daisy completed the group, having stopped off at the bar en route to the table to order a bottle of something bubbly and expensive.
‘So, go on,’ Cleo urged, the second Daisy had taken her coat off. ‘Give us the story.’
Nora laughed, holding both hands to her face to feign shyness; the solitaire diamond ring they were all there to celebrate winked at them from her left hand. ‘I’ve already told you!’
‘Then tell us again,’ Daisy demanded. ‘Get the practice in, you’re going to be telling this story a lot.’
‘For the rest of your life,’ added Sarah, smiling. ‘Trust me – I’m still asked to tell my proposal story all the time.’
‘Okay, okay, fine!’ Nora made a show of agreeing, still laughing. ‘If you insist. So, you know, Harry was away with work for most of February, so we had a really belated Valentine’s Day dinner booked.’
‘Valentine’s Day,’ Bea repeated, rolling her eyes, but her smile was wide.
‘He’s such a cutie pie,’ agreed Daisy, moving slightly to the side to allow the arriving waitress to place the ice bucket in the middle of their table.
‘But, you know, there was a Tube strike. And it was going to be a complete pain in the arse to get across to London Bridge, where the restaurant was,’ Nora continued, still idly fiddling with her new accessory. ‘So I said, let’s leave it, too much hassle, love, let’s just get some takeaway curries and stay in and watch Netflix.’
The girls all started to giggle as they imagined Harry’s panic at that moment. He was a great one for a plan, was Harry, and now there he was – on arguably one of the most important nights of his life – scuppered, stressed, cursing the railworkers’ union for ruining his chance at eternal happiness.
‘And Harry was … shall we say, uncharacteristically insistent,’ Nora carried on, giggling too. ‘He was banging on about how it was our first proper Valentine’s Day as a couple. Then he told me we simply had to go, because he’d put a huge deposit down on the table and he wouldn’t get his money back! And I was thinking, Christ, what kind of a restaurant is this?’
Nora paused to join the girls in a mini-cheer as the waitress deftly opened the champagne with a festive pop and began to fill the waiting flutes.
‘So, he said he’d order us an Uber, and – of course – everyone in London wants to get in a taxi right then because the Tube is so up the spout, so we have to wait for ages. And he’s pacing through the lounge, glaring at his phone, glaring out of the window, glaring at me – and I was wondering what was bloody wrong with the man!’
‘And you didn’t even have the slightest inkling what was coming?’ Sarah asked, breathlessly, an eternal romantic.
Nora shook her head. ‘Not a clue. I thought he’d just had a bad day at work, or something. So anyway, the car arrived and we got to the restaurant and, you know, it’s mostly empty. They haven’t given away our table or anything – I mean, come on, it’s like a Tuesday night! – and once we get sat down, Harry calms down a bit. And you know how normally I have to decide right off when I go to a restaurant if I’m going to have a starter or a pudding? Well, Harry tells me immediately that we’re going to have a pudding because they do this special called the ‘Lover’s Platter’ for dessert, and hey, it’s our fake Valentine’s Day after all, so I’m like, sure, okay, fine.’
‘How could you not have known what was coming?’ howled Daisy. ‘He was being so obvious!’
Nora shook her head again. ‘Anyway, so we ordered mains—’
‘What did you have?’ Bea demanded, determined to wring as many little details out of this story as possible.
‘Er, well, it was an Italian. I had this like, sweet chilli-prawn spaghetti thing. Harry had a calzone.’
‘No!’ groaned Bea. ‘That’s so unromantic!’
Nora raised an eyebrow. ‘You’d rather we’d eaten oysters and strawberries or something?’
‘Anything but pizza and pasta!’ Daisy agreed. ‘Too mundane for such an important anecdote, hun.’
‘Sorry to disappoint! We even had garlic bread on the side,’ Nora grinned, achieving a chorus of disapproving moans. ‘So anyway, everything’s pretty normal and we finish and they clear away the plates and then Harry orders this Lover’s Platter thing and they bring it out super-quick, like, too quick.