cupcake stand. ‘Twenty quid a chair. I tell you, I’m giving up law.’
Tess nodded.
The cupcake vendor was explaining her own tariff of extraordinary prices. ‘The price is per cupcake and varies according to how many you have. They start at seven pounds fifty per cake. Hire of the cake stand is extra.’
‘This is insanity,’ Kate said without moving her mouth. ‘How much does it cost to make a cupcake?’
The samples were passed around. Tess politely nibbled on a cake iced with a picture of a shoe.
‘And a shoe? For crying out loud,’ Kate hissed. ‘What’s this obsession with grown women and shoes?’
The vendor must have heard.
‘You can have any design you like. I’ve done shoes and handbags and sweet little dresses on padded hangers.’
‘For weddings?’
‘Yes, for weddings. Of course.’
‘I don’t think shoes and handbags are quite my fiancé’s style.’
‘Oh, you’re the bride! I thought perhaps you had a daughter getting married,’ said Mrs Cupcake.
Kate took the woman’s leaflet, but the moment the conversation was over, she dropped the leaflet on the floor. And then promptly felt guilty and picked it up again. To alleviate her guilt, she made a show of reading the leaflet’s opening paragraph. Apparently, Mrs Cupcake had given up a ‘high-powered job in the City’ to indulge her ‘passion for baking’. Kate wondered which bank had let such an obvious asset go. Seven pounds fifty for a flipping cake you could pick up for twenty pence at a Brownies’ bring-and-buy sale. If that woman was really as busy as she claimed, she had found a way to turn flour into gold.
Kate was ready to leave the bridal fair long before her mother and her sister, but they insisted on the scheduled lunch in the hotel’s restaurant. Kate tried to make her excuses over the roast lamb.
‘Want to get back to London before the traffic gets bad,’ she said.
She just wanted to get the hell out of there. If she heard one more version of ‘(Everything I Do) I Do It for You’, she thought she might scream. Not even the restaurant was safe. A Prince Charles impressionist was making the rounds of the tables, explaining how he could bring a bit of class to any ordinary wedding reception by announcing the speeches in the style of the future king.
‘Keep that man away from me,’ Kate hissed to her sister.
As if lunch wasn’t stressful enough, the strain of not mentioning the cancer was telling on everyone. Kate knew that her father wasn’t just tired from having looked after Lily. He was exhausted from all the bad news. Despite having plastered on the make-up, Elaine was looking grey with worry. Tess’s forced jollity was bordering on insanity. And somehow, pretending to be excited about bloody cupcakes just made the whole thing worse.
Diana and her mother were having an altogether better time. The Prince Charles impersonator who had given Kate the creeps was exactly what Diana was looking for.
‘We’ve got to have the Prince Charles impersonator, Mum, to tie in with the royal-wedding theme.’
Susie agreed that it was an excellent idea. It would fit in with the theme. Plus, Prince Charles’s £500 fee was one less pair of Louboutins for her ex-husband Dave’s new wife.
‘Quick lunch?’ Diana suggested. ‘Then I want to talk to someone about chair-dressing.’
Chapter Nineteen
While Kate was enduring the strained happiness of lunch in Washam, lucky Ian had spent the afternoon watching West Ham play Wigan. Ian was nuts about West Ham. He had been a season-ticket holder ever since he could afford it and attended home matches without fail. He had quite a group of mates among the regulars in his stand. They met for lunch before a match and went for a few beers afterwards. Kate could smell the beer on Ian’s breath as he hugged her when she got in.
‘How was the bridal fair?’ he asked.
‘A bit like my worst nightmare. I had no idea what a performance planning a wedding could
Tess nodded.
The cupcake vendor was explaining her own tariff of extraordinary prices. ‘The price is per cupcake and varies according to how many you have. They start at seven pounds fifty per cake. Hire of the cake stand is extra.’
‘This is insanity,’ Kate said without moving her mouth. ‘How much does it cost to make a cupcake?’
The samples were passed around. Tess politely nibbled on a cake iced with a picture of a shoe.
‘And a shoe? For crying out loud,’ Kate hissed. ‘What’s this obsession with grown women and shoes?’
The vendor must have heard.
‘You can have any design you like. I’ve done shoes and handbags and sweet little dresses on padded hangers.’
‘For weddings?’
‘Yes, for weddings. Of course.’
‘I don’t think shoes and handbags are quite my fiancé’s style.’
‘Oh, you’re the bride! I thought perhaps you had a daughter getting married,’ said Mrs Cupcake.
Kate took the woman’s leaflet, but the moment the conversation was over, she dropped the leaflet on the floor. And then promptly felt guilty and picked it up again. To alleviate her guilt, she made a show of reading the leaflet’s opening paragraph. Apparently, Mrs Cupcake had given up a ‘high-powered job in the City’ to indulge her ‘passion for baking’. Kate wondered which bank had let such an obvious asset go. Seven pounds fifty for a flipping cake you could pick up for twenty pence at a Brownies’ bring-and-buy sale. If that woman was really as busy as she claimed, she had found a way to turn flour into gold.
Kate was ready to leave the bridal fair long before her mother and her sister, but they insisted on the scheduled lunch in the hotel’s restaurant. Kate tried to make her excuses over the roast lamb.
‘Want to get back to London before the traffic gets bad,’ she said.
She just wanted to get the hell out of there. If she heard one more version of ‘(Everything I Do) I Do It for You’, she thought she might scream. Not even the restaurant was safe. A Prince Charles impressionist was making the rounds of the tables, explaining how he could bring a bit of class to any ordinary wedding reception by announcing the speeches in the style of the future king.
‘Keep that man away from me,’ Kate hissed to her sister.
As if lunch wasn’t stressful enough, the strain of not mentioning the cancer was telling on everyone. Kate knew that her father wasn’t just tired from having looked after Lily. He was exhausted from all the bad news. Despite having plastered on the make-up, Elaine was looking grey with worry. Tess’s forced jollity was bordering on insanity. And somehow, pretending to be excited about bloody cupcakes just made the whole thing worse.
Diana and her mother were having an altogether better time. The Prince Charles impersonator who had given Kate the creeps was exactly what Diana was looking for.
‘We’ve got to have the Prince Charles impersonator, Mum, to tie in with the royal-wedding theme.’
Susie agreed that it was an excellent idea. It would fit in with the theme. Plus, Prince Charles’s £500 fee was one less pair of Louboutins for her ex-husband Dave’s new wife.
‘Quick lunch?’ Diana suggested. ‘Then I want to talk to someone about chair-dressing.’
Chapter Nineteen
While Kate was enduring the strained happiness of lunch in Washam, lucky Ian had spent the afternoon watching West Ham play Wigan. Ian was nuts about West Ham. He had been a season-ticket holder ever since he could afford it and attended home matches without fail. He had quite a group of mates among the regulars in his stand. They met for lunch before a match and went for a few beers afterwards. Kate could smell the beer on Ian’s breath as he hugged her when she got in.
‘How was the bridal fair?’ he asked.
‘A bit like my worst nightmare. I had no idea what a performance planning a wedding could
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