was almost a joke. After a couple of minutes speed-reading she pulled away.
‘Are they serious? It says here,’ she pointed indignantly at the screen, ‘that traditionally the bride’s family organise it and pay for it all and then when everybody else has finished necking your champagne, and you’ve Hoovered the confetti out of the Axminster, you’re the one who sends slices of cake to the people who didn’t make it. Did no one tell the guys who wrote this that they abolished slave labour a while back?’
‘Apparently not. I was planning to print the list off and tick things off as we go.’
Nina gave her a long, hard look. ‘I don’t think we’ve got that much paper in the office, Molly. Or, come to that, that you have that much time. Surely you can’t be expected to do it all, not these days. Have you considered suggesting that the pair of them elope?’
‘It’ll be fine. Knowing Jess, she’ll want to do most of it herself.’
‘You hope,’ said Nina with a wry grin.
‘We’ll get it sorted out, I mean, how hard can it be?’ said Molly with a confidence she didn’t feel.
She flicked back to the Mother of the Bride outfitters’ websites. One thing that was very noticeable was just how many sites offered the perfect outfit in larger sizes; presumably comfort-eating after all that planning, thought Molly miserably as she returned to the to-do list.
Top of the list was choosing where they would get married. Would they want a church, or a registry office, or one of the myriad venues where you could hold a civil service? Was Max religious? Was he Jewish, Greek Orthodox, Zoroastrian, maybe he was a Buddhist? Maybe they would want a humanist ceremony in a field or something involving a hand-fasting, organic rice cakes and biodegradable confetti?
She really needed to talk to Jess.
And then there was the matter of who should they invite, and who was going to chauffeur the old aunties or ensure that Uncle Eric from Chester knew where the cheap hotels were? Looking down the who-does-what list Molly could hazard a guess.
Besides all of that, Phil was right, if you went for the full nine yards there was so much to arrange: the frocks and cars, and flowers, photographs and videos, and then the reception, the food, drink, cake. Just thinking about it made her feel slightly queasy.
News, like flu, spread fast through the office of EAA, so by mid-afternoon there didn’t seem to be a soul in the building who didn’t know Jessica was getting married.
Working on the radio station was like being part of a warm, if dysfunctional, family. Each presenter had a back-up team; sometimes there was a co-presenter and there was always a producer who worked with the presenter to create programme content. There was at least one broadcast assistant per team to act as gofer, chauffeur and general dogsbody. This made up the basic family unit, and then there were the cousins and second cousins; the editors, the weather men, news readers and sports reporters, two guys who worked on website content, people who answered the phones, PAs, cleaners and receptionists, security and all manner of techies as well. By the state of Molly’s email inbox there didn’t seem to be anyone on the station who hadn’t heard the news.
‘Could be worse,’ said Stan, her producer, as handed her the notes for their up-and-coming meeting with their boss.
‘You mean Jess could be making me a grandma instead?’
Stan held up his hands in protest. ‘Seriously. All I’m saying is, “Wedding Countdown Special”.’ He handed her a clipboard. ‘I’ve already heard it muted by the water cooler.’
‘Over my dead body,’ said Molly grimly.
Nina tapped the agenda. ‘Item four, programming ideas for the new season. It would be easy pickings, Molly. Just think about it,’ she said with a grin.
‘I have and it still sucks.’
‘Conference room in ten minutes. And Rob’s on his way down apparently,’ said Stan, pointing to his watch. ‘Oh, and here comes young Phil with the tea.’
At which point the phone on her desk rang. Molly picked up the receiver and tucked it under her chin, waiting until Stan and Nina moved away before she spoke and starting to flick through the MoB’s outfit website.
‘Hello, you’re through to Molly Foster at EAA.’ All she could hear was a peculiar distant clicking and crackling. At first Molly thought it might be an automated cold call until she realised she could hear someone breathing heavily on the other end of the line, and was about to slam the phone down when Jonathon said, ‘Molly, is that you? You there?’
‘Yes, how are y—’ she began, but before she could get any further Jonathon snapped, ‘Is Jessica pregnant?’
As was often the case when Molly spoke to her ex-husband, she instantly found every word he said infuriating.
‘Does it matter if she is?’ she demanded, while thinking how very like Jonathon not to have asked Jess himself.
‘Well – well no, obviously, of course not. I mean I didn’t say anything when she rang because I didn’t want to upset her, she sounded so happy,’ he blustered. ‘But if she is I just didn’t want her to think that she has got to get married to this Max just because she’s – well, you know.’
‘Pregnant? A fallen woman? Unclean? An awful lot has changed since the dark ages of our youth, Jonathon, people don’t have to get married any more, in fact they don’t seem to have to do anything they don’t want to. Those days have long gone. Thank God.’
‘I suppose we should just be relieved that given all that, he’s still going to stand by her.’
Stand by her? Molly groaned inwardly; Jonathon Foster, closet Victorian.
Jonathon paused, obviously needing a moment or two to catch up. ‘So are you saying that Puss isn’t pregnant?’
‘As far as I know, no, I’m sure she would have said something but I will ask.’
‘In that case, what’s the bloody hurry? I mean she barely knows the chap.’
‘She’s young…’
‘Well, he isn’t. What is he? Forty? What’s the hurry? They barely know each other.’
Molly decided to ignore him and press on. ‘She’s in love and, let’s face it, when you’re that age you think waiting for anything is a silly idea.’
‘Personally,’ said Jonathon, using a tone that suggested Jessica’s news was entirely Molly’s fault, ‘I don’t understand what the rush is – I mean we weren’t like that, were we?’
Molly laughed. ‘Of course we were. I remember my mum and dad suggesting we waited another couple of years and saved up and you were absolutely furious.’
‘Things were different then,’ snapped Jonathon. ‘We were more mature, more sensible. We took things seriously.’
‘Did we? I seem to remember the real reason we wanted to get married was so that your mother would let us sleep together when we stayed at your parents’ house – I don’t think it had much to do with
