I nod. ‘Scared is good, because it means you’ve thought it through and you’re still daring to do it. Tiny steps are what you take to get you there. Break it down and only concentrate on the next thirty seconds. That’s the way you’ll get through it.’ This could be my own mantra for the day.
She lets out a breath. ‘I think you might be right.’
I smile reassuringly. ‘You’re strong enough to do it, Saffy. Because that’s what’s right for you and Travis.’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘You two are really lucky to have found each other, you know. Not everyone who gets married is as certain of each other as you two are.’ Somehow I feel I’m taking as much from this conversation as Saffy is.
Despite the mud, she rushes across and wrenches me into a hug. ‘Omigod, thank you so much for that.’ Her fingers squeeze so hard, her stick-on wedding nails go right through the sleeves of my fake-fur jacket. ‘I think you just saved the entire double wedding.’
I pull a face. ‘I’m not sure I’d go that far. My pleasure anyway.’
‘So I guess it’s back in the carriage, then?’ As she puts her diamond clad toe on the step, she hesitates, and turns to me. ‘How the hell do you know all this, Hols?’
I give a shrug and try to look like a wise, but not too ancient, photographer. ‘When you go to as many weddings as I do, you get to know when a bride should run and when she should stay.’ If I tell her the real truth, about Luc and me, we could be here for hours, and no one wants delays that long. I send her a wink. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t bear to see you waste those lovely shoes of yours.’
‘Sophie?’ Saffy’s up now and leaning across from the high seat to the other side of the cart. ‘Can you please put that effing cigarette out and get the hell up on this cart. Some of us have a wedding to get to.’
Ken leans forward and gets out his phone. ‘Any of the brides-to-be like a selfie with the coachman before we set off again? And mind where you’re putting your feet, ladies, please. Muddy shoes are usually banned in this cart. We’re only making an exception because they’re Louboutins.’ If they wanted a well-mannered coachman, they should have chosen someone other than Ken. As Sophie climbs up and sticks her head beside his, he gives an impatient cough. ‘Holly, we’re waiting, can you get this please?’
And okay, I know taking pictures of people taking selfies is way too much. But just this once, I do it anyway. This one’s not for Sophie and Taylor, or Saffy and Travis, or Ken, or Gary or Jules. This one’s completely for me. It’ll go nicely in my best bits frame when I go back to London, next to my own selfie with coachman Santa. To remind me of what has to be my craziest Christmas holiday ever.
Chapter 27
Friday 15th December
The double wedding at Rose Hill Manor: Shouting, shouting and more shouting
When I suggested Saffy should take the day in thirty second bites, it turns out that’s a pretty good strategy. In the end that’s how I cope with my own fear too. As the day goes by, I’m picking up that there’s a close link between how well the wedding’s rolling and how the photography goes too. They’re both about close control and impeccable timing. With Kip, Rafe and Lily determinedly on top of the job from the wedding management side, and Rory literally calling the shots from our side, we’re nailing this one all the way. What once promised to be the mother of all days, in fact goes like well-oiled, proverbial clockwork.
We have two ceremonies, two happy couples and two confetti shots. Saffy and Travis have theirs on the terrace, while Sophie and Taylor opt for the coach house courtyard. In the end the group shots I’ve been tearing my hair out over for ten days turn out to be easy as cupcakes. We just keep the groups and swap the couples. And with Rory and twelve groomsmen on hand to call on for rounding up the guests, it’s a walk in the park. How did I not think of that before? There’s one humungous shot of everyone outside, which I take leaning out of the open landing window, with Kip hanging onto my feet and Rory on crowd control down below.
Then, while all the guests are downing Prosecco like there’s no tomorrow, Rory and I and both happy couples go for a walkabout in the grounds, which is blissfully short, because despite three fake-fur jackets between us, everyone’s freezing their bums off. Then the party moves onto the main reception and I’m back on fabulously safe ground with the most amazing plated food and some relaxed candid-couple pics. Then hours later, when the meal ends, everyone pours into the Winter Garden bar again to get stuck into the barrels of beer, courtesy of Roaring Waves. Which is the point when everything begins to unravel.
Traditionally speeches take place after the wedding breakfast – or in this case the five-course feast on a theme of Christmas. When I said I’d rather have a bridezilla than a runaway, that was obviouslybeforeI saw Sophie warming up to her post-wedding breakfast melt-down.
She’s tapping her right Christian Louboutin as she looks around the empty ballroom. ‘Why the hell has everyone effed off to the effing bar? They should be at the tables for the frigging speeches.’ Seems like the twin with the longest eyelashes, the most princessy hair and the brightest lippy also has the shortest fuse. Or possibly she’s the most invested. ‘It’smyeffingwedding, not a sodding rugby club knees-up.’
Kip dashes across at the first agitated murmur and his tone couldn’t be any more calming. ‘It’s the momentary problem of the bar being in the Winter Garden not the ballroom, Sophie. But you really need that extra party space later, with so many evening guests. I’m sure we’ll persuade them to come back through as soon as everyone’s topped up their glasses.’
Sophie gives a snarl. ‘I don’t give a damn about later. If the speeches don’t happenimmediately– like,now– there isn’t going to be a “tonight”.’
Jules stresses that as photographers it’s our job to record every part of the day as it unfolds. But will Sophie really want to be reminded of looking like Cruella de Vil on a bad day, in mid- tantrum? I’m fiddling with my shutter speed as I agonise, when a scorching glare from Sophie answers my question for me, so I put my lens cap on again.
Her fuming has moved on to a wail. ‘How can they besorude … they’ve completely wrecked my day … someone tell themallto get back here … RIGHT NOW!’ As she stomps towards the door, I can’t help feeling for Bart’s polished wood floor getting impaled with every thud of those designer spikes.
Saffy pushes back a stray strand of hair and lets out a sigh. ‘Trav and I wanted the speeches before the wedding breakfast, so the speakers would be fresh not wasted.’ She’s whispering to me, although after Sophie’s howls, I’m not sure why. ‘Sophie insisted no one wasallowedto get shit- faced, so speeches later weren’t a problem.’ Given these are rugby players, with a penchant for drinking each other under proverbial tables, then puking and starting all over again, you have to wonder where Sophie got her delusions from.
Whatever, Sophie’s now storming off in the direction of the bridal suite with a posse of black- clad bridesmaids, followed by a rather worried Taylor, who grabs Kip for his wingman, as all his groomsmen are otherwise occupied.
Travis shrugs at Rory. ‘Tits-up was not the plan for this running order.’
Rory has to bear some responsibility seeing as it’s his beer they’re in the bar drinking en masse. Especially given the groomsmen who should be leaping in to pour proverbial oil on the same kind of troubled waters, are all in the bar necking Santa’s Little Helper along with the best of them.
‘Great.’ Rory says. ‘Leave this to me. I’ll sort it.’ As he marches off to the Winter Garden, Travis pulls his hand out of Saffy’s and follows him too.
Saffy gets hold of a bottle of fizz from an ice bucket. ‘Do you want a drink while you’re waiting?’
I shake my head. ‘Better not.’ The end of my day is still hours away. After the speeches, so long as we still have brides, that is, there’s the cake cutting and then casual bridesmaids’ and groomsmen’s poses to organise. It’s like a record playing in my head. Then the first dance and the disco and band.
Saffy looks around the almost deserted ballroom. ‘Sit down and keep me company while we wait. Soph will be down as soon as she’s had a chance to cool off.’
