White Wedding by Milly Johnson

being a very odd and cold wedding, and not at all what was expected of
people with such wealth to their name.
    The Bishop elders kept a quiet dignity about the proceedings, but it was quite obvious from Madeleine’s face that she was furious. Her scowl was even more pronounced than usual – and
that was saying something. She had spent a fortune on her navy outfit and was wearing a hat the size of a spaceship. She made Vanoushka in her Dior look like Bob Geldof climbing backwards out of a
hedge. For all the expense she had gone to, she wanted to be immortalized in her son’s album and be the talk of the neighbourhood. She was also absolutely disgusted about the non-presence of
any press. Typical of commoners, she adjudged. Still, there was always the hope that this farce might be the first step towards a divorce.
    ‘Well, if this is what a “plain” marriage is like, I’d rather not have one,’ said Max outside the church. ‘That has to be the most miserable ceremony
I’ve ever been to.’
    ‘Hmm,’ said Stuart again, climbing into Violet’s car.
    It was a short drive to Maltstone Lodge, where the reception was to be held. Dark-pink cocktails with sugared rims were waiting for the guests.
    ‘Bloody hell, that’s strong,’ said Stuart, coughing as the alcohol hit the back of his throat. He made Violet laugh. She had liked his smiley, warm self on sight.
    ‘What is it?’ She took a sip and nearly choked. Blimey, more than one of these and she wouldn’t be able to drive anywhere for a fortnight.
    ‘It tastes of vodka and some more vodka,’ said Max, licking her lips.
    ‘And there’s deffo a big splash of vodka in there too.’
    ‘It’s called a “Viva Las Vegas”,’ said the waitress, overhearing them.
    ‘Ah, that’ll be because they’re going to honeymoon in Vegas,’ said someone behind Max, picking up what the waitress said. ‘How very sweet.’
    Violet caught Bel’s eye across the room and waved, but Bel didn’t wave back. Her face was like granite.
    Bel saw lovely Violet wave to her and she turned away, pretending she hadn’t seen her. She had to keep away from nice people and carry on mixing with the odious Liam and her stepfamily
and all the Bishop side of the clan that she didn’t know all that well and wanted to know even less. Only that way would she stay true to her convictions.
    ‘Where’s the cake?’ asked Vanoushka, looking around. ‘Surely she hasn’t cocked that up as well.’
    ‘I’m sure she hasn’t,’ said Faye, feeling terribly guilty now that she hadn’t insisted on helping. Bel must have been under such pressure to arrange everything, and
had so obviously failed.
    ‘I’m starving,’ said Martin. ‘When’s the lobster happening?’
    Bel was posing for snaps for those guests who had brought their own cameras. Unlike Shaden, she wasn’t relishing any attention from the lenses, merely enduring it. Then she excused herself
and slipped away to the ladies’ toilet, picking the furthest away of the ten cubicles. She sat on the seat, letting her head drop into her hands. It seemed to weigh a ton, as if all the hurt
and anger in there were solid rocks jarring against each other. She felt the jabbing of her fifth stress-headache in two months.
    The pain in her temple momentarily weakened her. She wasn’t sure she could do this any more. This is recoverable, if you want to back out , said a soft, seductive voice inside her. No one need ever know if you change paths now . She was married. Her name was officially Belinda Bishop – even though anyone looking closely enough to decipher her scrawl would see she
had signed the register Bellend Bastard . . . The voice continued: This could all be over now .
    Then she heard Vanoushka enter the toilet.
    ‘I just hope the meal makes up for it.’ She thought she was whispering, but the acoustics of the toilet carried the sound down to Bel. ‘If I’d known it was going to be so
hideous, I wouldn’t have bought