A few hours later, my feet are aching from dancing and my jaw hurts from all the smiling. I have never laughed so much as when Luke’s Irish cousin Hugh, who has flown over from Dublin, tasked Nisha’s dad with a dance-off, a challenge swiftly accepted, to the three-hundred-strong crowd’s delight. The chaos that ensued in the middle of the buzzing dance floor was a wonderful spectacle to witness, as Hugh attempted an Irish jig to the rhythm of Indian music and Nisha’s dad launched into a traditional dance performance with such gusto that his wife shouted,“Don’t you dare break your hip on your daughter’s wedding day! Don’t you dare!”
Taking a break from the dance floor, I check my phone to see a missed call from Leslie Thompson, the mother of one of my clients who got married over the summer. She’s left a voicemail asking me to call her back when I can, so I head outside. I’m too curious and worried to wait until the morning to find out why she’s phoned.
Bella Thompson’s wedding was one of the most lavish I’ve helped with so far, with the biggest budget. Leslie is a hugely successful entrepreneur and absolutely terrifying. Bella hired me to get her mum off her back—Leslie had repeatedly asked Bella to hire a wedding planner but Bella didn’t want to feel like she wasn’t in control. I was a happy compromise.
Why would her mother be calling months after the wedding? Did I forget to do something that they’ve only just noticed? Has she called to complain? My brain whirs through all the possibilities but I can’t think of anything. The wedding was perfect, even if I do say so myself.
“Sophie, hello,” Leslie says, answering on the second ring. “Thank you for calling back.”
“Hi, Leslie, lovely to hear from you. I’m sorry I missed your call.”
“How have you been?” she asks.
I try to work out from her tone whether she’s angry or fine, but it’s annoyingly neutral. “Good, thank you. All well with you and the family?”
“Yes, thank you. As it’s a Saturday, I assume you’re busy working, so I won’t keep you long, but I wondered whether you’d be available on Monday. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. She’s planning a wedding and is looking for some help. I think you might be the person for the job. I’ve told her it was down to you that Bella’s wedding was so beautiful and stress-free.”
“Wow!” I’m relieved and extremely flattered. “That’s very kind of you. What time on Monday?”
“Would three o’clock suit?”
“Sounds great. Where shall I be?”
“You can come to our house to meet her. She’s coming for tea that day.”
“Perfect. I look forward to it.”
She chuckles softly, as though I’ve said something funny. “Yes, well… We’ll see you then. Thank you, Sophie.”
She hangs up and I feel elated. A referral is the best compliment I can receive and Leslie was hard to read at the time. My priority is always the bride and I knew that Bella was happy with how everything went, but it’s an extra bonus to know the rest of the family is pleased, too. I click on my calendar and add the meeting to my Monday schedule.
“There you are!” Nisha says to me, poking her head round the door. “Dance with me!”
“Coming,” I say, following her back into the reception. “Are you having a good time?”
“Thebest,thank you,” she cries gleefully, stopping to point out her new husband, who is shimmying across the dance floor. “And I’m not the only one.”
I grab her hand. “Shall we join him up there?”
“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “Let’s.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“OW!” I rub my forehead after an object has been lobbed in my direction. I pick it up from the floor and narrow my eyes at Cara. “Did you just throw a breast pump at my head?” I glance around the shop to make sure no one has seen.
“Yes, I did,” she says. “I have excellent aim, too. Right in the face.”
“You can’t just throw breast pumps at people. You might have broken it and then we’d have to pay for it,” I tell her grumpily, putting it back on the shelf.
“Well, maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to throw breast pumps at people’s faces if they’d listen to what I was saying instead of being on their phone.”
I roll my eyes and put my phone into my bag. “Sorry. I’m trying to organize a last-minute brass band to play at a wedding coming up and a group sent me a quote.”
“We’re supposed to be picking out a gift for the baby shower we’re going to in about ten minutes,” Cara points out, gesturing in exasperation at the shelves lined with products. “I need your help.”
“You’re right, I’ll focus,” I say determinedly. “How about a snugglerug for the baby and some nice oils for Jen?”
Cara blinks at me. “What the fuck is a snugglerug?”
