could just huddle together for the warmth,’ she said, all innocence.
‘Sounds like a plan, be terrible to freeze to death in the middle of the summer, wouldn’t it?’ Max purred as he kissed her, which made her heart do that funny, fluttery, skip-a-beat, horny thing.
‘Are you going to ring your mum and dad later?’ asked Jess, as Max took her by the hand and led her up the steep, winding stairs.
‘I was thinking that maybe we ought to go round and tell them. They’re a bit old-fashioned about that sort of thing.’
‘Oh, okay,’ said Jess as he started nibbling at her neck and unbuttoned her shirt. ‘What sort of thing?’ she started to ask, but the words got lost as he kissed her harder and pulled her down into a great billow of duvet, bolsters and pillows.
‘Flowers, food, frocks, cars, dresses – balloons, doves. My sister had doves.’
‘Yes, all right, thank you,’ said Molly to Phil, who was busy counting off what you needed for the perfect twenty-first-century wedding. ‘Why don’t you go and make us some tea?’
They were back in the offices of EAA FM and Molly, who was sitting at her desk waiting to go in to their regular strategy meeting with their manager, had been Googling weddings. The good news was that there were hundreds of thousands of websites, offering every kind of service and paraphernalia imaginable – dozens of books, CDs and DVDs and lord only knew what else online, as well as innumerable sources of advice to help her help Jess in the quest for the perfect occasion.
There were Wild West-themed weddings, weddings with Liberace lookalikes, weddings in caves by candlelight. Molly’s main problem was, having spent most of her working life looking for weird and wonderful things to attract her listeners, she found it impossible not to be drawn towards the bizarre. What couple in their right mind wanted to be married underwater or, come to that, while bungee jumping? As she scrolled through the pages Molly hoped Jess had something a little less strenuous in mind.
Nina Holman, the station’s senior office administrator, stood behind her, peering over Molly’s shoulder.
‘So if that’s the good news, what’s the bad news?’ Nina asked conversationally.
Molly sighed. ‘Well, according to this we should have started organising the wedding in June last year.’
Nina waved the words away. ‘Oh, come on. How hard can it be? I mean, even Phil knows what you need. It’ll be fine. Surely the bride and groom do most of it themselves these days, don’t they? Oh look – great outfit. That’s half your problems solved.’ Nina pointed towards the screen. ‘That bluey-green one on the end with the straw hat. Don’t look so worried, let’s face it, we fly this place by the seat of our pants all the time. Organising a wedding will be a doddle.’
Molly bypassed the frock commentary. ‘Yes, but that’s because we’re dealing with the great British public – and I know they can be fickle and peculiar, but unlike Jess they’re not likely to cry all over me and use emotional blackmail to get what they want.’
Nina took a sip of coffee. ‘Oh, I dunno, there was that bloke in Great Yarmouth last summer…’ She laughed. ‘All right, all right, I hear what you’re saying. And I’m here for you. If you need a hand or a shopping buddy or just a shoulder to cry on, count me in. I’ve always been a sucker for a big hat and matching shoes. I’m thinking maybe lavender and cream…’
‘And I’m thinking it’s going to take a lot more than a decent frock to pull this off. Look at this list.’ Molly flicked back to a page she had previously bookmarked and then scrolled down, and down, and down.
‘Bloody hell.’ Nina leaned in closer to pick out some of the details. The list was so long it was almost a joke. After a couple of minutes speed-reading she pulled away.
‘Are they serious? It says here,’ she pointed indignantly at the screen, ‘that traditionally the bride’s family organise it and pay for it all and then when everybody else has finished necking your champagne, and you’ve Hoovered the confetti out of the Axminster, you’re the one who sends slices of cake to the people who didn’t make it. Did no one tell the guys who wrote this that they abolished slave labour a while back?’
‘Apparently not. I was planning to print the list off and tick things off as we go.’
Nina gave her a long, hard look. ‘I don’t think we’ve got that much paper in the office, Molly. Or, come to that, that you have that much time. Surely you can’t be expected to do it all, not these days. Have you considered suggesting that the pair of them elope?’
‘It’ll be fine. Knowing Jess, she’ll want to do most of it herself.’
‘You hope,’ said Nina with a wry grin.
‘We’ll get it sorted out, I mean, how hard can it be?’ said Molly with a confidence she didn’t feel.
She flicked back to the Mother of the Bride outfitters’ websites. One thing that was very noticeable was just how many sites offered the perfect outfit in larger sizes; presumably comfort-eating after all that planning, thought Molly miserably as she returned to the to-do list.
Top of the list was choosing where they would get married. Would they want a church, or a registry office, or one of the myriad venues where you could hold a civil service? Was Max religious? Was he Jewish, Greek Orthodox, Zoroastrian, maybe he was a Buddhist? Maybe they would want a humanist ceremony in a field or something involving a hand-fasting, organic rice cakes and biodegradable confetti?
She really needed to talk to Jess.
And then there was the matter of who should they invite, and who was going to chauffeur the old aunties or ensure that Uncle Eric from Chester knew where the cheap hotels were? Looking down the who-does-what list Molly could hazard a guess.
Besides all of that, Phil was right, if you went for the full nine yards there was so much to arrange: the frocks and cars, and flowers, photographs and videos, and then the reception, the food, drink, cake. Just thinking about it made her feel slightly queasy.
News, like flu, spread fast through the office of EAA, so by mid-afternoon there didn’t seem to be a soul in the building who didn’t know Jessica was getting married.
Working on the radio station was like being part of a warm, if dysfunctional, family. Each presenter had a back-up team; sometimes there was a co-presenter and there was always a producer who worked with the presenter to create programme content. There was at least one broadcast assistant per team to act as gofer, chauffeur and general dogsbody. This made up the basic family unit, and then there were the cousins and second cousins; the editors, the weather men, news readers and sports reporters, two guys who worked on website content, people who answered the phones, PAs, cleaners and receptionists, security and all manner of techies as well. By the state of Molly’s email inbox there didn’t seem to be anyone on the station who hadn’t heard the news.
‘Could be worse,’ said Stan, her producer, as handed her the notes for their up-and-coming meeting with their boss.
‘You mean Jess could be making me a grandma instead?’
Stan held up his hands in protest. ‘Seriously. All I’m saying is, “Wedding Countdown Special”.’ He handed her a clipboard. ‘I’ve already heard it muted by the water cooler.’
‘Over my dead body,’ said Molly grimly.
Nina tapped the agenda. ‘Item four, programming ideas for the new season. It would be easy pickings, Molly. Just think about it,’ she said with a grin.
‘I have and it still sucks.’
‘Conference room in ten minutes. And Rob’s on his way down apparently,’ said Stan, pointing to his watch. ‘Oh, and here comes