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She was glad they didn’t have a wedding list either. They had been living together for two years now — they moved in together shortly after her mum’s funeral — and really didn’t need anything. It was going to be a small affair, just a party of around thirty, and she had said to guests that if they really felt they wanted to give a present would they mind donating to the Beatson Cancer Charity in memory of her mum. All the staff there had been amazing during her treatment, and it felt good to be able to give something back and also remember Jean in some way, so she was part of their celebration.
Time had flown by this past week as Emma and Max focused on settling outstanding work so they could focus fully on their wedding. Emma sat at her desk and gazed out the window as she thought about seeing her dad and sisters. She was planning on going home a few days before Max arrived with his mother and his sister and her partner. They had rented a holiday home near Meadowbank and Max would stay there the night before the wedding. His kilt, a family tartan of bright reds and blues, had been dry-cleaned and was hanging in a suit carrier in the spare room next to Emma’s dress which she loved and couldn’t wait to wear. It was simple and elegant with an off the shoulder neckline, Bardot sleeves and flattering ruching under the bust.
She was certain that the nerves and worry over the past few months were all down to stress and anxiety. Aside from anything else she was also feeling a bit helpless about not being nearer to help Kirsty with her dad. From what she said, and certainly from what Emma could tell when she spoke to him, he was starting to become confused. Hopefully when she saw him in person she’d be reassured. She was sure he was probably also feeling a bit anxious about the wedding, she reasoned, especially without Mum there to organize it in the efficient way they all knew she would have.
Taking a few deep breaths to try and ground herself, she placed her hands on her desk and closed her eyes. She pictured Max and only Max. Only then did she start to feel that lovely sense of anticipation that all brides should have.
She was busy answering emails when she realized, she had several missed calls and a voicemail on her mobile. She frowned when she saw it was from the GP. She listened to the message from her doctor asking her to call the surgery at her earliest convenience. She was about to do so when an urgent call came in from a client and that snowballed into a legal emergency, regarding child custody. When she finally looked up from her laptop and saw the time, the surgery was closed for the weekend.
She shrugged and made a mental note to ring first thing Monday morning and then programmed it into her phone so she wouldn’t forget. It would just be a follow-up from the blood tests she had run since the pregnancy scare. Emma had made an effort to eat more regularly and was trying to remember to take iron tablets; she was likely anaemic.
That weekend she was having a meal with some friends instead of an official hen do, the idea of which had filled her with horror. She had a facial and an appointment booked tomorrow to have her hair done and then a girls’ night meal. She intended to enjoy every minute of it.
She grabbed her coat and bag and closed the office door behind her.
‘Hey, Joy,’ she said to the office PA, standing by the lift.
‘Hi, Emma. I’m so glad it’s Friday!’
‘Me too,’ she said.
‘Are you getting excited?’ she said in her enthusiastic voice which couldn’t fail to engage you.
‘Mmm . . .’
‘Oohnervous, are you?’ she said, her eyes shining.
‘I’m okay, I think probably as it’s such a small affair.’
‘I know, I can’t believe you’re managing to keep numbers so low. There’s no way on earth we could have had such a small bash. Not with my lot.’
Emma smiled affectionately at her. Joy came from a large family and as the youngest, and only girl, her wedding was planned for about two years’ time, and she shared every detail with Emma.
‘How is Olive doing?’
‘Ah, you know, growing up too quickly and has an opinion on everything.’ She whipped her phone out of her pocket and scrolled through some images, thrusting it in front of Emma.
‘She is so cute. I can’t believe how quickly she’s growing up.’
‘I know. She’s three going on thirty and she doesn’t stop talking.’
Emma laughed. ‘Wonder who she takes after then?’
Joy gasped in mock indignation. ‘That’s what everyone says. No idea why they think that.’ She grinned. ‘Anyway, I know you still have a week to go but you make sure to send some photos to me as soon as you can and have a lovely day. I know you hate fuss and will probably quietly slope away next week without saying bye . . .’
Emma was about to disagree but, actually, Joy was spot on.
‘Here let me give you a cuddle now.’ She leaned in and flung her arms around Emma who felt weirdly moved.
She was very fond of Joy and her enthusiasm for everything was so infectious. She ushered her into the lift as the doors opened. ‘Thanks, Joy. I will definitely send you some photos. I just have to get through the hen night first.’
Joy squealed. ‘Is that this weekend? Oh my. Are you having strippers and everything? I had strippers at mine and, I mean, I know it’s totally inappropriate and I shouldn’t even be admitting that to you but. . .Wow,it was fun!’
Emma’s eyes widened in horror at the thought. ‘Erm, no, just a quiet dinner with a few friends . . .’ The lift opened, and they walked out onto George Street, busy with tourists and office workers ready to embrace the weekend.
‘You take care and enjoy that wee munchkin of yours. She is a beauty. I’ll see you Monday.’
Joy beamed. ‘Aw, thanks, Emma. And I am sure that it won’t be too long before we hear the patter of tiny feet for you as well.’
