“Come on, love, we’re going to be late,” shouted the dad from the bottom of the stairs.
“Yes, yes,” replied Louise, “Cathy’s still doing my hair. Remember it has to look perfect!”
Cathy meticulously combed Louise’s flaxen hair and arranged it neatly on Louise’s head. She put the veil on Louise’s head and told her to stand up. “Oh don’t you look gorgeous!” she said, smiling at Louise. Louise looked at herself in the mirror: she did look very lovely. She had chosen a beautiful ivory white dress for the wedding, and it fit snugly and made all the big bits look smaller. Cathy flicked a strand of her own raven hair behind her ear and started for the door. “Don’t keep Steve waiting at the altar!” she said.
“You get in first!” shouted Louise to Cathy, who quickly scrambled into the back seat of the car. “Come on, Alice, get my train in,” she said to Alice who crammed it all in afterwards and then got in herself.
“Are you nervous yet?” asked Alice as the car pulled away from the drive.
“God am I!” said Louise; “about ready to piss me pants!”
“Oh I’m so envious of you,” said Cathy in a laughing manner, waving to one of the children on the street who were seeing them off.
“Oh don’t worry you’re only twenty-two. Plenty of time to land yourself a fella.”
“I’m not even thinking about marriage!” said Alice, which was good, as she was only eighteen.
They soon arrived at the church and hurried out, and Cathy eyed up the photographer who was outside the door having a last minute fag. “Isn’t he a dish!” she thought with a smirk, and, as they passed him going into the building, “and tall, too!”
The noisy chit chat of the congregation silenced as they entered, heads turning to see the bride, as she and her father begun the slow march to the end. You can probably picture the scene: relatives wiping their eyes and taking pictures, kids telling their dads how bored they are, and so on. Steve stood at the end, looking back anxiously as Louise got nearer. Alice caught the glimpse of the best man, Paul, whom she hardly knew very well, but thought was very good-looking and shaggable anyway, even if he was much older than her at twenty-nine. His eyes were mischievous and somewhat cheeky, and he had a wry grin as he looked at her. Was that a wink? I think it was.
The service went as you’d expect, all very lovely and romantic and all that. After the vows were made, Louise and Steve had a good snog and made their way out the door. The handsome photographer took various pictures of everybody and the throng of people gradually began to disband soon after Louise and Steve were driven away in a just-married-adorned car.
Cathy caught the photographer having a sneaky fag round the side of the church. “Now’s me chance to get to know him,” she thought. She slinked her way over and leant against the wall beside him.
“Gizza one of yours, left mine at home,” she said. He smiled and passed one across, and lit it. She felt his warm hands and smelt the vague scent of aftershave on his body.
“So you didnae catch the bouquet, then,” he said, grinning at her as she puffed away merrily.
“Oh, he’s Scottish!” she thought, his level of charm reaching dizzy new heights. “Oh, me? Goodness no! Silly superstitious nonsense, isn’t it?”
“You think?” he said, mysteriously, grinning inanely.
“You didn’t…”
“Oh Christ no! Marriage!? You must be joking!”
They puffed away for a few minutes in silence. Eventually, Cathy said,
“So, are you coming on to the party?”
“Oh, no, I only do the wedding photos.”
“Oh, you should come, it’ll be a right laugh.”
