“Definitely,” says Mum. “If you don’t, you’ll only wish you had.” She puts down her magazine. “You know, Becky, one thing I will say to you is, don’t do this by half-measures. Remember, you only do it once—”
“Hellooo?” We both look up as there’s a tap on the back door. “It’s only me!” Janice’s bright eyes look through the glass, and she gives a little wave. Janice is our next-door neighbor and I’ve known her forever. She’s wearing a floral shirtwaister in a virulent shade of turquoise, and eye shadow to match, and there’s a folder under her arm.
“Janice!” cries Mum. “Come on in and have a coffee.”
“I’d love one,” says Janice. “I’ve brought my Canderel.” She comes in and gives me a hug. “And here’s the special girl! Becky love, congratulations!”
“Thanks,” I say, with a bashful grin.
“Just look at that ring!”
“Two carats,” says Mum at once. “Antique. It’s a family heirloom.”
“A family heirloom!” echoes Janice breathlessly. “Oh, Becky!” She picks up a copy of Modern Bride and gives a wistful little sigh. “But how are you going to organize the wedding, living in New York?”
“Becky doesn’t have to worry about a thing,” says Mum firmly. “I can do it all. It’s traditional, anyway.”
“Well, you know where I am if you want any help,” says Janice. “Have you set a date yet?”
“June 22nd,” says Mum over the shriek of the coffee grinder. “Three o’clock at St. Mary’s.”
“Three o’clock!” says Janice. “Lovely.” She puts down the magazine and gives me a suddenly earnest look. “Now, Becky, there’s something I want to say. To both of you.”
“Oh yes?” I say, slightly apprehensively, and Mum puts down the coffeepot.
Janice takes a deep breath. “It would give me great pleasure to do your wedding makeup. You and the whole bridal party.”
“Janice!” exclaims my mother in delight. “What a kind thought! Think of that, Becky. Professional makeup!”
“Er… fantastic!”
“I’ve learned such a lot on my course, all the tricks of the trade. I’ve got a whole book full of photographs you can browse through, to choose your style. In fact I’ve brought it with me, look!” Janice opens the folder and begins to flip over laminated cards of women who look as though they had their makeup applied during the seventies. “This look is called Prom Princess, for the younger face,” she says breathlessly. “Now, here we have Radiant Spring Bride, with extra-waterproof mascara… Or Cleopatra, if you wanted something more dramatic?”
“Great!” I say feebly. “Perhaps I’ll have a look nearer the time.”
There is no way in a million years I’m letting Janice near my face.
“And you’ll be getting Wendy to do the cake, will you?” asks Janice as Mum puts a cup of coffee in front of her.
“Oh, no question,” says Mum. “Wendy Prince, who lives on Maybury Avenue,” she adds to me. “You remember, she did Dad’s retirement cake with the lawnmower on it? The things that woman can do with a nozzle!”
I remember that cake. The icing was virulent green and the lawnmower was made out of a painted matchbox. You could still see “Swan” through the green.
“You know, there are some really amazing wedding cakes in here,” I say, tentatively holding out an issue of Brides. “From this special place in London. Maybe we could go and have a look.”
“Oh, but love, we have to ask Wendy!” says Mum in surprise. “She’d be devastated if we didn’t. You know her husband’s just had a stroke? Those sugar roses are what’s keeping her going.”
“Oh, right,” I say, putting down the magazine guiltily. “I didn’t know. Well… OK then. I’m sure it’ll be lovely.”
“We were very pleased with Tom and Lucy’s wedding cake.” Janice sighs. “We’ve saved the top tier for the first christening. You know, they’re with us at the moment. They’ll be round to offer their congratulations, I’m sure. Can you believe they’ve been married a year and a half already!”
“Have they?” Mum takes a sip of coffee and gives a brief smile.
Tom and Lucy’s wedding is still a very slightly sore point in our family. I mean, we love Janice and Martin to bits so we never say anything, but to be honest, we’re none of us very keen on Lucy.