“Be careful!” I call to Adam. “Watch where you’re going!”
Adam is one of the ushers and has enthusiastically offered to take a photo of all the bridesmaids together outside the church.
Scarlett and Emmanuel are busy with photos by the car after their lovely service, during which the flower girl shouted, “I’ve done a wee-wee, Auntie Scarlett!” right after the vows.
It was a beautiful moment.
They’re now on their way to the reception, where they will be greeted by a surprise Nigerian band playing traditional Yoruba music. Emmanuel’s mother booked them secretly astheir wedding present after the couple mentioned they’d love to have one, and I helped her with the arrangements. I can’t wait to see their faces, so I’m eager to get this spontaneous photo shoot out of the way and arrive at the venue.
“Get in closer,” Adam instructs, waving at us as he walks backward.
“Seriously, Adam,” I say, panicking. “Please watch where you’re going!”
“Huddle in, everyone! And now on the count of—AAAH!”
There’s a collective gasp from the bridesmaids as Adam disappears, toppling backward into an open grave. We all run forward and, gathering around the rectangular hole in the ground, peer over the edge.
Adam is sprawled on the soil, phone still in his hand. He blinks up at us. “I’m OK!” he yells, scrabbling around to get to his feet. “Didn’t see that one coming!”
Now that we know he’s not hurt, the giggles are uncontrollable and some of the bridesmaids are bent double, tears streaming down their faces.
“What’s going on over here?” another usher asks, approaching us to see what all the fuss is about. “What the… Adam!” He shrieks with laughter, turning to wave at the other ushers. “Guys, you need to see this!”
“Uh… actually, mate,” Adam coughs, “if we could keep this on the down-low—”
“EVERYONE! Everyone, come over here! Adam’s fallen into a grave!”
As a horde of guests runs over, I’m glad the bride and groom have already set off in the car for the reception venue and, at least, will be blissfully unaware of such a thunder-stealing scene until later.
“Can someone give him a hand to get out?” I ask the ushers.
“Sure,” one replies. “Once I’ve taken a few photos and uploaded them to Instagram.”
“It’s not that funny,” Adam grumbles, appealing to the crowd gathered on the other side of him. “It actually hurt.”
“Look, everyone!” the usher next to me cries out hysterically. “Adam’s turning in his grave!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“To be honest with you, Soph,” Cara begins, topping up our glasses, “the biggest news I have right now is still the drama of one of my colleagues skipping a day’s work to audition for a new ITV talent show. A singing one.”
“Really? Did they get anywhere?”
“He got through to the second round, which was on a Saturday, so that was fine, but now he’s through to the third, which is televised, so he must be pretty good. Downside is, he had to ’fess up and tell the boss about the first audition before she saw it on TV. She was not happy. Yelled a lot. We should be used to it by now.”
“She’s always yelling about something, isn’t she?” I ask, recalling some of Cara’s work stories in the past.
“She has a very loud voice. Sometimes I can’t work out if she doesn’t realize she’s yelling. It’s quite odd. Either way, she scares the crap out of me.”
“She sounds terrifying.”
“She’s a brilliant lawyer but scary too. I should keep my voice down, in case she’s in here,” Cara says, glancing about. “If I wanted to bitch about people at work, I really should have picked a different place.”
We’re in a new bar that Cara suggested we try out near her office when I asked if she wanted to go for a drink and a catch-up. I know she’s been so busy at work lately that she’s been gettinghome in the early hours, so I fully expected her to postpone our drink, but fortunately she’s had a quiet couple of days: now was a perfect time.
“Other than the audition drama, work is good?”
“Busy, but good. You know what I’m like,” Cara says. “I whine about the hours but, secretly, I like being crazy busy. I can’t believe it’s already December.”
