into it. And it would be fun, don’t you think? It could work in our favour.’
Jess waited to hear just how Max thought that might work out.
‘Maybe you should talk to your mum about it,’ he said, scraping the final nest of noodles into his mouth. ‘The same with the chance of discount. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it?’
Jess shook her head. ‘What about your parents? I thought they were raving traditionalists – wouldn’t they hate all that kind of thing?’
Max looked hurt. ‘Just because they’re old-fashioned doesn’t mean they’re not broad-minded.’
Jess sighed. ‘They’ll need to be if they’re working with Mum’s lot.’
The following weekend Jonathon was sitting at Molly’s dining table, having eaten a huge Sunday lunch, waxing lyrical about the virtues of media sponsorship and the free market economy.
‘I think that making a radio feature about the wedding would be a splendid idea,’ Jonathon said to Max, while topping up his wine. ‘And why not see what we can sort out discount-wise?’ Turning to Molly, he added, ‘And of course it would be nice to have it recorded for posterity, as well. Obviously. What sort of thing has your marketing department got in mind?’
Molly took a deep breath but Max was ahead of her.
‘I agree with Jonathon,’ he said. ‘It would be wonderful to have it recorded for posterity.’
The day was not going well. It had started going downhill at around half past eleven – half an hour earlier than planned – when Molly had looked out of the kitchen window and seen her ex-husband parking his Mercedes across the drive. Wiping her hands on a tea towel she had hurried outside.
‘Jonathon, do you mind not parking there? Jess and Max haven’t arrived yet. Could you bring it in? You’re blocking the whole driveway.’
The window of the brand-new Mercedes glided silently downwards and framed her ex-husband in the driver’s seat. He was balder and fatter and ruddier-faced than the last time she had seen him, and was wearing a paisley cravat with a cream linen jacket and a horrible pale lilac shirt. No doubt a Marnie makeover.
Jonathon said, ‘It’ll be fine here. They can park on the verge. It’s too tucked up round the back. I’ll scrape the paintwork on all those bloody bushes.’
Molly was about to protest when she noticed that Marnie was in the passenger seat and there was someone else sitting in the back. Nick meanwhile had come out to watch Jonathon’s manoeuvres. Currently Jonathon was making a great job of ruining their grass as he shunted the car backwards and forwards until he was satisfied with his positioning. When he climbed out the drive was completely blocked.
‘I see Jonathon’s arrived,’ Nick said somewhat unnecessarily. ‘Any particular reason why he wants to blockade us in?’
‘Probably so we can’t make a run for it,’ said Molly grimly, turning back towards the house. ‘He’s brought reinforcements. ’
‘Not the missus, we are honoured,’ said Nick.
Molly flicked him with the tea towel.
Marnie, size six, spray-tanned and dressed as if she was out for a day at Ascot, waited for Jonathon to help her out of the car. She was wearing a black and white sleeveless silk dress, with a little jacket thrown over her shoulders, along with high-heeled strappy white mules and a matching clutch bag. All her jewellery – earrings, bracelet, necklace, everything – matched.
There was nothing remotely cuddly or welcoming about the second Mrs Foster. Marnie looked for all the world as if she had been made by stretching chamois leather over a wire coathanger. Assisted by Jonathon, she picked her way across the gravel as if she were tiptoeing through a lake of raw sewage.
‘Marnie, how nice. We weren’t expecting you,’ said Molly, painting on a polite smile.
Marnie smiled back, or at least she bared her perfectly capped teeth. ‘Molly,’ she purred, looking her up and down. ‘I told Jonathon that he really ought to ring but he didn’t think you’d mind my coming, you know what he’s like. The more the merrier, he said.’
Molly watched Marnie’s immobile, wrinkle-free face. There was nothing even remotely merry about Marnie.
‘Jonathon thought it might be useful if I came along to help out, give you all a hand. We don’t want any disasters on JJ’s special day, now do we?’ she said.
No one amongst their immediate family or friends had ever called Jessica ‘JJ’. It was Marnie’s attempt to show Molly that she had some sort of special relationship with her daughter. And all the while Molly kept on smiling, making every effort to hide just how much Marnie irritated her.
‘Oh, by the way, this is Noonoo Jacobson,’ Marnie continued as a woman the size of a bull eased herself carefully out of the back of the car. ‘Noonoo was the wedding co-ordinator for my daughter Mimi’s wedding.’
‘Do any of these people have proper names?’ said Nick sotto voce as Noonoo, who was carrying a large portfolio, made her way across the mangled verge on tiny, tiny feet.
As she reached them Noonoo swung the strap of her chic black carrying case up over her shoulder, and extending both tiny hands in presidential fashion gave Molly the limpest, warmest, most moist handshake she had encountered since she had interviewed Boris the gay tag-team wrestler back in ‘89.
‘I’m delighted to meet you, most people just call me Noo,’ she simpered, from a Cupid’s-bow mouth balanced above a stack of chins. ‘I’m absolutely sure that together we can make JJ and Max’s the most perfect wedding experience. I’ve heard so much about you and JJ, oh and you must be Nick,’ she said, little moist hands moving on to clasp him to her bosom.
‘Actually,’ said Molly, ‘Jess and I have already sorted a lot of it out –’
But no one was listening.
Nick smiled and wriggled free. ‘If you’ll excuse me I need to get back inside. I’m in charge of the food,’ and then to Molly, he added, ‘I’d better go and put some more potatoes in.’
‘Marnie has become a real friend,’ said Noonoo to no one in particular.
‘Looks more like her lunch,’ said Nick under his breath, as Molly guided everyone through into the kitchen. It was quite crowded, and despite Molly’s best efforts, no one seemed to want to go through into the sitting room or the dining room; instead they grouped round the kitchen table and generally got in the way.
Gamely Molly started on a round of social chitchat and offering people drinks. Nick was about to start peeling more potatoes when Noonoo announced that she and Marnie were both on a diet – remarkably the same one, so that there was no need to go to the trouble of preparing extra food. The diet involved eating only orange foods on Sunday, and some kind of strange combination of colours and supplements the rest of the week. Victoria Beckham was very keen on it apparently, and Noonoo had been taught the principles by a Taoist convert called Alan.
Not thoroughly enough, thought Molly darkly, as Noonoo squeezed past her.
Both women had brought along little pots of parboiled carrot sticks and steamed pepper to nibble on and, as Nick observed as he disappeared off to set the dining-room table, presumably Noonoo could top up in the week by snacking on her clients.
Jonathon had brought a couple of bottles of champagne, which he wanted someone to put in the fridge. Noo wanted to explain why they could drink it, despite it not being orange, Marnie wanted to nose around Molly’s house so she could sneer and Molly was getting hotter and more stressed.
Jess and Max showed up just before twelve. Jess arrived