A Husband is Always an Afterthought

Mama came up from the country this morning. Marjorie’s flying in from Madrid tomorrow. The other six bridesmaids are already here. My sister won’t make it ‘til the evening before the wedding. I’ve assured her that I understand. “Don’t fret, Margot,” I find myself repeating over and over again. “The evening before will be plenty of time. I completely understand why you can’t come earlier. You’ve got your hands full with little Jane and the twins.” In all honesty, I don’t understand. It’s not every day your only sister gets married. She could bring the new baby with her and leave the twins with the nanny. Hell, the nanny could handle Jane as well. They’re certainly paying her enough. If you ask me, my sister’s being selfish. But Margot has always put herself first.

Mama clearly agrees with me. She won’t go as far as condemning Margot, but she’s hinted that it’s bad form. “That baby’s almost three months old,” she said a minute ago. “You were six weeks old the first time I left you overnight, and it didn’t do you any harm.” I could get angry. I’m not going to bother. Anger’s not good for the complexion and, with three days to go before the wedding, I have to be thinking about my skin. I have a ten step regimen planned. Facials. Face masks. Toner. Detox. I’m determined to look radiant on my big day, not to mention skinny. I won’t be eating anything but iceberg lettuce and Ryvita ‘til I head off on my honeymoon. My dress is absolutely perfect. It cost daddy an arm and a leg. It’s vintage lace and hand-embroidered, with six thousand individual diamantes, sewn into the bodice. I’m going to make Kate Middleton look like a trollop if I can just lose another six pounds or so.

It’s a shame the dress is as tight as it is. It means I’ll only be able to nibble at the six courses I’ve chosen for the post-wedding dinner. We came up to London three months ago and sampled everything the chef suggested before settling on the final menu. It’s classy but also a little playful. All seven bridesmaids were blown away. Marjorie said she’s never tasted anything like the starter. Clarissa said she’d kill for another sample of the desert. It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d served them beans on toast, they’d all have gushed similarly. When it comes to bridesmaids never underestimate the importance of sycophancy. I’ve chosen my bridesmaids carefully. Three friends from my childhood. Two friends from uni and Miranda, who’s also part of my practice. Mama originally suggested a cousin but as my cousins are all rather ugly, I soon put paid to that idea. The bridesmaids will be wearing teal coloured silk, floor-length, sleeveless and with subtle ruching. They’ll look stunning. But obviously not as stunning as me.

I’ve booked one of those all day photographers who’ll capture us girls getting ready back at the hotel, then follow us to the chapel and afterwards, to the hotel. I’ve asked for candid but flattering pictures. I don’t want old-fashioned, posed photos. Nobody looks good when they’re lined up like a firing line. I want to look naturally effervescent throughout proceedings. Obviously, this will take a little pre-planning. Natural is hard to pull off. My bouquets will also fit with the natural aesthetic: assorted wildflowers bound with rough-look twine and hemp. We’ll arrive at the chapel in an old-fashioned limo and walk up the aisle to the strains of a string quartet. 

Mama says I’m an absolute wonder. I could plan the Olympics single handed. I have thought of absolutely everything. My seating plans are a thing of beauty. My playlist for the afterparty will ensure the dancefloor’s bunged all night. Every guest will receive a hand-crafted souvenir of the day: tiny porcelain brooches for the ladies, bespoke cufflinks for the gents. Mama says it will be the best wedding this city has ever seen and I know she is absolutely right. I’ve been dreaming about this day since I was four. I’ve considered ever detail. There are scrapbook underneath my bed, bearing witness to years of planning. I know exactly how to make it perfect. The only thing I haven’t considered is the husband but men are ten a penny in this city. I have plenty of time to pick one up, tomorrow or the next day. The weddings not for another couple of days.

Inspired by a line from Agatha Christie’s 1962 novel, The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side.