‘Yes, and friends.’ I sound defensive. ‘We thought of getting through the initial embarrassment by just getting pissed and shagging each other. After all, we’ve both done it to other people often enough in the past. But now that seems so tacky and cheap. I realized that the reason I can’t rush this is because I want it to be really special. A few more months without sex will be good for me.’
‘It might grow over, you know,’ teases Issie. I throw a cushion at her but we both shut up as Josh comes into the room with a tray of wine and Pringles.
‘Why do I get the feeling you were talking about me?’ He sits in-between us. Issie and I exchange glances.
‘Just singing your praises,’ Issie says.
Little white lies are a way of life. Issie could hardly say, ‘Oh, actually we were just talking about yours and Cas’s vow of celibacy.’
Although in the past we did discuss every aspect of our lives. The nitty gritty, not just loose morals but, when travelling in India, loose faeces too.
Tonight after Issie leaves I’ll tell Josh what we were really talking about. It’s a small shift in the dynamics, almost imperceptible and certainly not important.
Issie’s brother is designing our wedding invites so Issie has come round tonight to help us decide on the wording. Which is the other tiny change – Issie rarely pops round just to hang out any more. She only ever visits when she has a reason. Still, there are plenty of reasons – choosing dresses and flowers, repainting Josh’s flat, returning a casserole dish. Her visits are just as frequent, so it’s not really a problem.
‘So, Issie? Have you decided – are you going to be the bridesmaid or the best man?’ asks Josh.
‘I’m going to be the bridesmaid. I like the outfit better.’
‘You like me better,’ I screech playfully.
I notice she doesn’t answer me but instead asks, ‘So where are you getting married?’
We answer simultaneously and differently.
‘In London,’ I say.
‘At home,’ says Josh.
‘At home,’ I offer quickly.
‘In London,’ he presses.
‘We haven’t worked out the details,’ I smile apologetically to Issie. Wisely, she doesn’t comment.
‘We do have a date,’ says Josh. I snuggle closer to him.
‘Well, that’s good,’ smiles Issie. ‘When?’
‘June,’ I say.
‘July,’ says Josh at the same time. We both laugh. ‘Look, I don’t mind. Do what you want. I’m just thrilled. It’s going to be the best party ever.’ He leans in and kisses me. I wiggle away because I don’t want to embarrass Issie.
Josh leaves for rugby practice and Issie and I set to on Project Wedding. I approach it exactly as I approach projects at work.
‘OK, we need a list.’
Issie jumps up and finds paper and pen. I grab a bunch of bridal magazines and I open the bottle of Chardonnay.
‘So you are still working on when and where?’ says Issie quietly as she carefully writes ‘Cas and Josh’s wedding’ at the top of the page. Her handwriting is round and childish and familiar.
‘July and Esher, Josh’s family home.’
‘Good progress,’ grins Issie. ‘Which church?’
‘A church? I hadn’t thought of a church.’
‘They usually feature.’
‘I was thinking of a civil ceremony. Maybe in a garden or a smart hotel?’ I cross my legs underneath me.
Issie gently probes, ‘Have you discussed this with Josh? I mean he’s quite godly.’
‘Considering he plays rugby,’ I add.
We both laugh. It’s true Josh is a long way from being a bible basher but he does believe in God and goes to church at Easter, Christmas and at least two or three other times a year. I do recall him taking his godfather duties very seriously when he became godfather to the children of his head of chambers. I’d sort of put it down to brown nosing. But maybe not. I consider it.
‘Of course he’s godly, Issie. He went to a posh school which had obligatory Mass. Look, I’ll discuss it with him.’
‘Well, if you are hoping for a July wedding you’d better discuss it pretty damn quickly. It’s April now. I take it you mean this July?’ She’s doodling hearts and bells on the corner of the list.
‘Yes, I mean this July.’
We move on and begin to draw up a list of costs. I’m somewhat perturbed to discover that tradition has it that the bride’s parents are supposed to pay for just about everything; the groom’s parents get off with the odd bunch of flowers and the rings. I doubt very much that my mother has had a secret trust fund that magically matures as I meet Prince Charming. I think her budgeting for my wedding would truly have been a leap of faith; I’d hardly indicated that I was marrying material. Unless I want to give my guests sausages on sticks and cheese and pineapple chunks, Josh and I will have to pay for the wedding. I hope that won’t offend anyone. People have been acting rather strangely recently. Indeed, if I’d had a pound for every time anyone had said the words ‘traditional’, ‘the done thing’ and ‘expected’, I’d be a millionaire. I’m surprised that these words have been showered on me with such frequency because I’d never heard them previously in my entire life.
‘OK, so what else needs to be included in this project plan?’ I ask.
‘No one could ever accuse you of being overly romantic, could they, Cas?’ grins Issie wryly.
‘I just want to be well organized.’
She shrugs and then reverts to the bridal magazine; I revert to the wine bottle.
‘Well, for the service, civil or church, you need wedding rings and a form of service. You need to select music and readings. You’ll have to consider cars, photographers and guest accommodation. There is a lot to think about. You’ll need a guest list, and an acceptance list, lists of menus, lists of drink, gift lists. There are caterers to consider. You need to book a photographer and videographer. If I were you I’d decline my dad’s kind offer to bring his cinecamera along. It’s older than I am. What type of reception do you want?’
There’s only one type, isn’t there? The after-ceremony type.’
Issie rolls her eyes. ‘Sit-down meal, buffet, melon balls and chicken or something a little less traditional, Asian, sushi, Italian, Mexican? What about your silverware, napkins, menu design, flowers? Are you going to invite children? And if so, you should consider their menu and an entertainer. What about the favours, the balloons, the seating plan? Round tables or square ? Who’s going to sit in the seat that is traditionally saved for the father of the bride? Will you have speeches? Will you make one?’ She finally draws to a halt.
‘Oh, I see. Well, what do you think?’ This is the question Issie has been waiting to be asked all her life.
‘Well, if it were me, I’d want it to be sit-down and with a seating plan. I wouldn’t try to mix oldies and youngies – because that only works in books. I’d allow the people with things in common to sit together. I’d want tuna carpaccio, followed by tempura fish with chilli salad and Parmesan polenta and then summer berries, which I’d have stacked in huge mounds as table centrepieces. I wouldn’t have a traditional cake but I’d have a bitter chocolate profiterole mound instead.’
I’m left stranded somewhere between horrified and admiring. When has Issie had time to think of all this? Then I remember she does this imaginary wedding thing instead of t’ai chi.
‘Er, sounds good. Let’s have that.’
‘You can’t have that! That’s what I’m having!’
I don’t point out that Issie isn’t even seeing anyone on a regular basis. It doesn’t seem like a nice thing to do.
‘Well, erm…’ I’m unsure what to say next. ‘I don’t really mind and I’m pretty sure Josh is relaxed about it too. Let’s ask my mum. She’ll love getting involved. Planning my wedding will cheer up her drab little life.’