Wedding Night

it.”
    “
I’ll
deal with it,” he contradicts me. “I’ll talk to Ben.”
    God, this guy is winding me up. Who says he should be in charge?
    “I’ll talk to Lottie,” I counter as authoritatively as I can. “I’ll fix it.”
    “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” He talks straight across me. “I’ll speak to Ben. The whole thing will be forgotten.”
    “I’ll talk to Lottie,” I repeat, ignoring him. “And I’ll let you know when I’ve sorted everything out.”
    There’s silence. Neither of us is going to concede, I can tell.
    “Right,” says Lorcan at last. “Well, goodbye.”
    “Goodbye.”
    I put down the receiver, then grab my mobile and dial Lottie’s mobile. No more Ms. Nice Sister. I am stopping this marriage. Right here, right now.

6

FLISS
    I can’t
believe
she’s ignored me for a full twenty-four hours. She’s got some nerve.
    It’s the following afternoon, the wedding is due to start in an hour, and I still haven’t spoken to Lottie. She’s sidestepped my every call (approximately one hundred of them). But at the same time she’s managed to leave a whole series of messages on
my
phone, about the registry office and the restaurant and meeting for pre-wedding drinks at Bluebird. A purple satin bridesmaid’s dress arrived at my office at lunchtime by bike. A poem arrived by email, along with a request for me to read it aloud during the ceremony:
It will make our day so special!
    She doesn’t fool me. There’s a reason she’s not been taking my calls: she feels defensive. Which means I’m in with a chance. I know I can talk her out of this nonsense. I just need to work out exactly where her vulnerability is and exploit it.
    As I arrive at Bluebird, I can see her already sitting at the bar in a cream lace minidress, with roses in her hair and adorable vintage-style shoes with button straps. She looks radiantlybeautiful, and for a moment I feel bad, coming in to derail her.
    But, no. Someone has to stay sane around here. She won’t be looking so radiant when she’s being billed for her
decree nisi
.
    Noah’s not with me. He’s having a sleepover with his friend Sebastian. I fibbed to Lottie, saying it was really special and he would be “so sorry to miss the wedding.” The real reason is that I’m not intending for there to be any wedding.
    Lottie has spotted me and waves to get my attention. I wave back and approach with an innocent smile. I’m walking into the paddock quietly, unthreateningly, the halter hidden behind my back. I’m the Bride Whisperer.
    “You look gorgeous!” As I reach Lottie, I give her a huge hug. “How exciting. What a happy day!”
    Lottie scans my face without replying, which proves I’m right: she’s on the defensive. But I keep my smile steady, as though I haven’t noticed a thing.
    “I thought you weren’t keen on the idea,” she says at last.
    “What?” I act shocked. “Of
course
I’m keen on the idea! I was just surprised. But I’m sure Ben is absolutely wonderful and you’ll be happy for many, many years.”
    I hold my breath. She’s visibly relaxing. Her guard is coming down.
    “Yes,” she says. “Yes, we will. Well, sit down. Have some champagne! Here’s your bouquet.” She hands me a little cluster of roses.
    “Wow! Fabulous.”
    She pours me a glass and I raise it in a toast. Then I glance at my watch. Fifty-five minutes to go. I need to get cracking on the derailment strategy.
    “So, any honeymoon plans?” I say casually. “You probably didn’t manage to book anywhere at such short notice. What a shame. A honeymoon is such a special time, you want it to be perfect. If you’d held on a few weeks, I could have helped you arrange something amazing. In fact … shall we do that?” I put down my glass as though seized by a brilliant new idea. “Lottie, let’s put off the wedding just a
teeny
bit and have fun planning the perfect honeymoon for you!”
    “Don’t worry,” says Lottie happily. “We already have the perfect honeymoon arranged! One night at the Savoy and then off tomorrow!”
    “Really?” I get ready to trump it. “Where are you going, then?”
    “We’re going back to Ikonos. Back to where we met. Isn’t it perfect?”
    “To a backpackers’ guest house?” I stare at her.
    “No, silly! To that amazing hotel! The Amba. The one with the waterfall. Didn’t you review it?”
    Damn. The Amba is pretty untrumpable. It opened three years ago and we’ve reviewed it twice since