I’m getting married. I’m really getting married.

‘Do you think I’m doing the right thing?’ I say, only half-joking.

‘Oh, I think so.’ Dad looks into the hallstand mirror, and adjusts his silk tie. ‘I remember saying to your mother, the very first day I met Luke, “This one will keep up with Becky.” ’ He meets my eye in the mirror. ‘Was I right, love? Does he keep up with you?’

‘Not quite.’ I grin at him. ‘But... he’s getting there.’

‘Good.’ Dad smiles back. ‘That’s probably all he can hope for.’

The driver is ringing the doorbell, and, as I open the door, I peer at the face under the peaked cap. I don’t believe it. It’s my old driving instructor, Clive.

‘Clive! Hi! How are you?’

‘Becky Bloomwood!’ he exclaims. ‘Well I never! Becky Bloomwood, getting married! Did you ever pass your test, then?’

‘Er... yes. Eventually.’

‘Who would have thought it?’ He shakes his head, marvelling. ‘I used to go home to the wife and say, “If that girl passes her test, I’m a fried egg.” And then of course, when it came to it–’

‘Yes, well, anyway–’

‘That examiner said he’d never known anything like it. Has your husband-to-be seen you drive?’

‘Yes.’

‘And he still wants to marry you?’

‘Yes!’ I say crossly.

Honestly. This is my wedding day. I shouldn’t have to be reminded about stupid driving tests that happened years ago.

‘Shall we get in?’ says Dad tactfully. ‘Hello, Clive. Nice to see you again.’

We walk out into the drive, and as we reach the car I look back at the house. When I see it again I’ll be a married woman. I take a deep breath and step into the car.

‘Stooooop!’ comes a voice. ‘Becky! Stop!’

I freeze in terror, one foot inside the car. What’s happened? Who’s found out? What do they know?

‘I can’t let you go through with this!’

What? This doesn’t make any sense. Tom Webster from next door is pelting towards us in his morning suit. What does he think he’s doing? He’s supposed to be ushing at the church.

‘Becky, I can’t stand by and watch,’ he says breath­lessly, planting a hand on the Rolls-Royce. This could be the biggest mistake of your life. You haven’t thought it through.’

Oh, for God’s sake.

‘Yes, I have,’ I say, and try to elbow him out of the way. But he grabs my shoulder.

‘It hit me last night. We belong together. You and me. Think about it, Becky. We’ve known each other all our lives. We’ve grown up together. Maybe it’s taken us a while to discover our true feelings for each other... but don’t we deserve to give them a chance?’

‘Tom, I haven’t got any feelings for you,’ I say. ‘And I’m getting married in two minutes. So can you get out of my way?’

‘You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for! You have no idea of the reality of marriage! Becky, tell me honestly. Do you really envisage yourself spending the rest of your days with Luke? Day after day, night after night? Hour after endless hour?’

‘Yes!’ I say, losing my temper. ‘I do! I love Luke very much and I do want to spend the rest of my days with him! Tom, it has taken a lot of time and effort and trouble for me to get to this moment. More than you can possibly imagine. And if you don’t get out of my way right now and let me go to my wedding... I’ll kill you.’

‘Tom,’ puts in Dad. ‘I think the answer’s no.’

‘Oh.’ Tom is silent for a moment. ‘Well... OK.’ He gives an abashed shrug. ‘Sorry.’

‘You never did have any sense of timing, Tom Web­ster,’ says Clive scornfully. ‘I remember the first time you ever pulled out into a roundabout. Nearly killed us both, you did!’

‘It’s OK. No harm done. Can we go now?’ I step into the car, arranging my dress around me, and Dad gets in beside me.

‘I’ll see you there, then, shall I?’ says Tom mourn­fully, and I raise my eyes heavenwards.

‘Tom, do you want a lift to the church?’

‘Oh, thanks. That’d be great. Hi Graham,’ he says awkwardly to my father as he clambers in. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘That’s quite all right, Tom,’ says my father, patting him on the back. ‘We all have our little moments.’ He pulls a face at me over Tom’s head and I quell a giggle.

‘So. Are we all set?’ says Clive, turning in his seat. ‘Any sudden changes of heart? Any more last-minute protestations of love? Any three-point turns?’

‘No!’ I say. ‘There’s nothing else. Let’s go already!’

As we arrive at the church, the bells are ringing, the sun is shining and a couple of last-minute guests are hurrying in. Tom opens the car door and dashes down the path without a backward glance, while I fluff out my train to the admiring glances of passers-by.

God, it is fun being a bride. I’m going to miss it.

‘All set?’ says Dad, handing me my bouquet.

‘I think so.’ I grin at him and take his outstretched arm.

‘Good luck,’ says Clive, then nods ahead. ‘You’ve got a couple of late ones here.’

A black taxi is pulling up in front of the church, and both passenger doors are flung open. I stare ahead incredulously, wondering if I’m dreaming, as Michael gets out, still in his evening dress from the Plaza. He extends a hand back into the taxi, and the next moment Laurel appears, still in her Yves St Laurent with the sleeves rolled up.

‘Don’t let us put you off!’ she says. ‘We’ll just sneak in somewhere–’

‘But... but what the hell are you doing here?’

‘Language,’ says Clive reprovingly.

‘What’s the point of being in control of a hundred private jets if you can’t fly wherever you want?’ says Laurel, as she comes over to hug me. ‘We suddenly decided we wanted to see you get married.’

‘For real,’ says Michael into my ear. ‘Hats off to you, Becky.’

When they’ve disappeared into the church, Dad and I make our way down the path to the porch where Suze is excitedly waiting. She’s wearing a silvery blue dress, and carrying Ernie, who’s wearing a matching romper suit. As I peep inside the church, I can see the gathered faces of all my family; all my old friends; all Luke’s friends and relations. Sitting side by side, all lit up, happy and expectant.

The organ stops playing, and I feel a stab of nerves.

It’s finally happening. I’m finally getting married. For real.

Then the Bridal March starts and Dad gives my arm a squeeze, and we start to process up the aisle.

***

We’re married.

We’re really married.

I look down at the shiny wedding band which Luke slid onto my finger in the church. Then I look around at the scene before me. The marquee is glowing in the summer dusk, and the band is playing a ropy version of ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’, and people are dancing. And maybe the music isn’t as smooth as it was at the Plaza. And maybe the guests aren’t all as well dressed. But they’re ours. They’re all ours.

We had a lovely dinner of watercress soup, rack of lamb and summer pudding, and we drank lots of champagne and the wine which Mum and Dad got in France. And then Dad rattled his fork in a glass and made a speech about me and Luke. He said that he and Mum had often talked about the kind of man I would marry, and they’d always disagreed on every­thing except one thing – ‘he’ll have to be on his toes’. Then he looked at Luke, who obligingly got up and turned a pirouette, and everyone roared with laughter. Dad said he’d become very fond of Luke and his parents, and that this was more than just a marriage, it was a joining of families. And then he said he knew I would be a very loyal and supportive wife, and told the story of how when I was eight I wrote to Downing Street and proposed my father as prime minister – and then a week later wrote again to ask why they hadn’t replied – and everyone laughed again.

Then Luke made a speech about how we met in London when I was a financial journalist, and how he noticed me at my very first press conference, when I asked the PR director of Barclays Bank why they didn’t make fashion cheque-book covers like they have for mobile phones. And then he confessed that he’d started sending me invitations to PR events even when they weren’t relevant to my magazine, just because I always livened up proceedings.

(He’s never told me that before. But now it all makes sense! That’s why I kept being invited to all those weird conferences on commodity broking and the state of the steel industry.)

Last of all, Michael stood up, and introduced himself in his warm, gravelly voice, and spoke about Luke. About how fantastically successful he is but how he needs someone by his side, someone who really loves him for the person he is and will stop him taking life too seriously. Then he said it was an honour to meet my parents, and they’d been so friendly and welcoming to a pair of complete strangers, he could see where I got what he called the ‘Bloomwood bloom’ of good-hearted happiness. And he said that I’d really grown up recently. That he’d watched me cope with some very tricky situations, and he wouldn’t go into details, but I’d had quite a few challenges to deal with and some­how I’d managed to solve them all.

Without using a Visa card, he added, and there was the hugest roar of laughter, all around the marquee.

And then he said he’d attended many weddings in his time, but he’d never felt the contentment he was feeling right now. He knew Luke and I were meant to be with each other, and he was extremely fond of us both, and we didn’t know how lucky we were. And if we were blessed with children, they wouldn’t know how lucky they were, either.

Michael’s speech nearly made me cry, actually.

And now I’m sitting with Luke on the grass. Just the two of us, away from everyone else for a moment. My Christian Louboutins are all smeared with grass stains, and Ernie’s strawberry-covered fingers have left their mark on my bodice. I should think I look a complete mess. But I’m happy.