Brides will be absolutely fine without you for a couple of days, you know,’ Tinks had added, with a warm but business-like shaking of her head. ‘You can trust us.’
‘I know I can. You’re all amazing. You and Josie and Ayda are all brilliant.’ They were; her assistant and Tinks’ assistants were all fantastic at their jobs. She’d been very, very careful when she’d hired them; the interview process for each of them had gone on for days.
JoJo had smiled and pulled the belt of her Burberry raincoat tighter. There had been light summer showers all day, so far, but with any luck they would clear for tonight, at least in Wiltshire – she quite fancied a wander around The Retreat’s boating lake at some point this evening. She’d leave her BlackBerry in the room for that, definitely, of course she would . . .
‘No need to even have your phone on.’
‘It’s on vibrate.’ She had both a phone and a BlackBerry, which was better for emails.
‘Right. And don’t rush back on Monday.’
‘I’ll try not to.’ The return train to Paddington was booked for 10.31. JoJo and her friends would be back in London for 11.45 and she was planning on heading straight to the boutique.
‘You didn’t need to come in at all today.’ Tinks straightened up the appointments book and smoothed down the skirt of her navy shift dress.
‘I know,’ said JoJo. She’d settled her sister, Millie, into her Maida Vale mews and had kissed her daughter, Constance, goodbye, several times. She should have gone straight on her way.
‘Have a great time,’ Tinks had said, with a note of finality. It appeared she had been actually ushering JoJo to the door. ‘You deserve it. And try not to think about work. Boutique Brides will still be here when you get back.’
JoJo got it. She needed a break and she should enjoy that break without thinking about work all the time, but Tinks was kidding herself that was going to happen. JoJo was always thinking about work. JoJo loved work; second only to Constance, she lived for work. She was fiercely proud of what she had built up and what she had achieved – what was there not to love? As she stood outside the shop and continued her lingering glance at the window display and her beautiful dresses, all she could feel was immense pride.
The little bell of the shop door rang and Tinks poked her head round it. ‘You still here? The shop really will be fine without you, you know.’
‘Sorry!’ said JoJo, with a start. ‘I’m going!’ And she set off down the street, her heels clacking on the now-drying pavement. She must try to make a concerted effort to forget all about the shop. She had booked something so lovely for herself and her friends; she should now focus all her energies on the weekend ahead and ignore that BlackBerry already burning a hole in the bottom of her bag.
JoJo had browsed and booked the hen weekend one lunchtime, in between brides. She hadn’t had much time, and the phone had kept going, but it hadn’t taken her long to find The Retreat, in the heart of Wiltshire and not far from the historic National Trust village of Laycock, which Constance reliably informed her was where parts of the Harry Potter movies were filmed. The Retreat was quite pricey, but it looked so worth it. Wendy deserved a wonderful hen do. Their wild and crazy Wendy . . . she, the first to kick off her shoes and dance on the tables in restaurants; the one to wear the brightest, clash-iest colours and make Helena Bonham Carter look like a conservative dresser; who danced the longest and laughed the loudest and had the craziest hair . . . It had taken Wendy so long to find Frederick, and they needed to celebrate her upcoming marriage in absolute style.
JoJo thought about her good friend as she walked. Wendy had met Frederick at a scientist convention in Maidstone: she was representing the destruction of aphids, or whatever it was she did; he was a corporate lawyer representing one of the big research firms. Wendy had told them that he’d approached her at the Morning Mingle, where they drank coffee and discussed science-y things in white coats, and that he’d ‘had her at molecular phylogenetics’. It made for a lovely story. Then she, Sal and Rose had met him last Christmas, when he’d joined them for dinner on their weekend away before leaving them to it for dancing and more cocktails. They’d all liked him enormously. He was quietly spoken, but with a lovely sense of humour. He was extremely polite. He rocked a very nice white, unbuttoned shirt and smart trouser combo. His build was lean, his face was handsome and he was, undoubtedly, a catch.
‘He’s very straight,’ Sal had observed, as he slipped off politely and quietly into the night and they’d finished their third round of Cosmopolitans. ‘In the old fashioned sense of the word, I mean. Posh, too. I doubt he’s the swinging from the chandelier type,’ she added, winking at Wendy, ‘but he’s straight and steady and polite and really, really nice. I like him.’
‘Me too,’ Rose had said.
‘Oh, me three!’ chimed in JoJo. ‘He’s gorgeous.’
‘You’d be surprised, actually . . .’ Wendy had smiled, raising her glass for an impromptu, celebratory chinking of them round the table ‘. . . about the swinging from the chandeliers thing . . .’ This was met with a rather raucous cheer. ‘But thank you for your kind words, all of you. I’m punching way above my weight, I know. He’s far too good for me. But I’m so excited about him! He’s perfect!’
And now Wendy was marrying her perfect man, mused JoJo, walking onto the concourse at Paddington Station and making her way to the departures board, and she didn’t have to wait much longer to do so. The wedding was next Saturday. All that remained was to have the most brilliant weekend, starting now – the perfect girly send-off for their fabulous friend, who deserved the very best before she sailed off into the sunset with Mr Right.
JoJo sighed with happiness; she saw so many women off into the sunset with their perfect men, and in the perfect dresses . . . nothing gave her more pleasure, actually. She’d just check her BlackBerry to see if Lucy Stoker, the girl who worked at Hamleys, was still coming in on Monday afternoon for her final fitting. There was a little work yet to be done on that beaded hemline and the darts at the back of the dress might need adjusting slightly . . .
‘Put that down! Right now!’
‘Step away from the BlackBerry!’
Wendy and Rose were under the departures board, grinning their heads off and holding giant bags. Wendy had one of those wheelie cases, like air hostesses have. She was also wearing a giant pink and gold sash that said ‘Bride’ in big black letters, and a comedy veil. So much for JoJo’s instructions! She could have sworn she’d said no tacky props! Still, Wendy looked like she didn’t mind one bit; she was positively glowing and giving a little twirl for the benefit of passers-by. An old man gave her a bit of a wolf whistle and said, ‘Good luck, darlin’’ and Wendy beamed.
‘All right!’ said JoJo, ‘I’ll step away from the BlackBerry.’ She shoved it back in her bag and approached her two friends for a hug. ‘How are you both?’ she asked, giving them a squeeze. ‘It’s so lovely to see you. It feels like absolute ages . . . And where the hell is Sal?’
Sal
Sal was late. Novelty hen items were falling left, right and centre out of her badly zipped-up overnight bag and spilling onto the pavement outside her pub. She bent down and scrabbled to retrieve a pink fluffy set
