“Grand, grand, whatever,” I said. “They can eat the bread rolls.”

I was far, far more worried about the bridesmaid issue. I really felt I couldn’t cope with all four of my sisters arguing over color and style and shoes. But in a fantastic stroke of luck, Helen refused to be one because of the superstition that if you’re a bridesmaid more than twice, you’ll never be a bride. “Not that I’m planning anything,” she said, “but I want to keep my options open.”

Once Mum heard that, she forbade Rachel from being a bridesmaid because that would put the kibosh on her ever marrying Luke, then after a big summit, it was decreed that I would have no bridemaids but that Claire’s three children would be flower girls. Even Luka, her son.

Then there was the dress. I had a vision in my head of what I wanted—a bias-cut satin sheath—but couldn’t find it anywhere. In the end it was designed and made by a contact of Dana’s, a woman who ordinarily made curtains.

“I can see the headlines now,” Aidan said. “‘New York Bride in non–Vera Wang dress shocker.’”

And, of course, there was the invitation list.

“Okay with you if I invite Janie?” Aidan asked.

It was a tricky one. Naturally I didn’t want her there if her heart was broken and if, at the “Does anyone object?” bit, she was going to jump to her feet and screech, “IT SHOULDA BEEN ME!”

But it would be nice if we could meet and be civilized.

“Sure. You’ve got to invite her.”

So he did, but we got a nice letter back, thanking us for the invitation but saying that, as the wedding was in Ireland, she wouldn’t be able to attend.

I didn’t know whether I felt relieved or not. Anyway, she wasn’t coming and that was that.

But it wasn’t.

Because when I went on to our wedding-list Web site, I saw that someone called Janie Sorensen had bought us a present. For a minute I thought, Who on earth is Janie Sorensen? Then I thought, It’s Janie! Aidan’s Janie. What had she bought us? I clicked like mad to get the details, and when I saw, I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. Janie had bought us a set of kitchen knives. Really sharp, pointy, dangerous ones. Fair enough, we’d put them on our list, but why couldn’t she have got us a cashmere throw or a couple of fluffy cushions, which were also on the list? I sat staring at the screen. Was this a warning? Or was I reading too much into it?

Later I tentatively put it to Aidan and he laughed and said, “That’s typical of her sense of humor.”

“So it was deliberate?”

“Oh yeah, probably. But nothing to be scared of.”

There was more to come.

Less than a couple of weeks later, on a Friday night, I was at Aidan’s place, looking through take-out menus and calling out dinner suggestions to him. He was pulling off his tie and, at the same time, opening his mail, when something in one of the envelopes shocked him. I felt it across the room.

“What?” I asked, staring at the card in his hand.

He paused, looked up, and said, “Janie’s getting married.”

“What?”

“Janie’s getting married. Two months after us.”

I was carefully watching his reaction. He was smiling like billy-oh and he said, “This is great. Just great.” He seemed genuinely happy.

“Who’s she marrying?”

He shrugged. “Someone called Howard Wicks. Never heard of the guy.”

“Are we invited?”

“No. They’re doing it in Fiji. Just close family. She always said that if she got married she’d do it in Fiji.” He read through the letter again and said, “I’m really happy for her.”

“Do they have a present list?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but if they do we could send her a garrote or something? Maybe a nice big machete?”

Despite delegating as much as we could, organizing the wedding was three horribly stressful months. Everyone said it was our own fault, that we hadn’t given ourselves enough time, but I suspected that if we’d given ourselves a year the stress would have expanded to fill the available time, so that we’d have had a horribly stressful year instead of just three months.

But it was all worth it.

On a bright, blustery blue day, on a church on a hill, Aidan and I got married. The daffodils were out, throngs of shocking yellow, bobbing in the brisk breeze. Spring-green fields were all around us and the foamy sea sparkled in the distance.

In the photos taken outside the church, men in shiny shoes and women in pastel frocks are smiling. We all look beautiful and very, very happy.

26

I checked Aidan’s horoscopes. Hot Scopes! said:

Oh, boy, you are HOT today. Smokin’. Solar activity in Scorpio means this is the right day to get that new romantic relationship off the ground.

Hot Scopes! was the worst site. It always said something to upset me. I shouldn’t do this, I really shouldn’t. I knew it was all crap but I couldn’t stop myself. I was desperate for some sort of indication of how things were for him. Stars Online said:

Yes, it’s hard for you to rein in your natural urge to leap before you look—in affairs of the heart especially. But showing self-restraint is the only way forward if you want a happy ending.

That was more like it. And what had Today’s Stars to say for itself?

Keeping a firm grip on reality is vital for you over the next seven days.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Monday’s clothes

A red satin embroidered cheongsam (that’s Chinese dress to you), over cutoff jeans and red patent sneakers. My hair is in an updo held with chopsticks, in a cunning ruse to avoid wearing a hat. It is now 6 days since I’ve worn one, I’m having a quiet little rebellion. I wonder how long it will take for someone to notice, and believe me, they will notice.

I’d really like to hear from you, I love you.

Your girl, Anna

When I walked into the office, Franklin did a quick sweep over me, resting slightly longer on my hair. He knew something was missing, but was too agitated to decide. That’s because it was time for the MMM (Monday Morning Meeting); an hour and a half in hell would be preferable.

In preparation, Franklin corralled his “girls”—the people working on Candy Grrrl, Bergdorf Baby, Bare, Kitty Loves Katie, EarthSource, Visage, and Warpo (a brand that was even more edgy than Candy Grrrl—you’d want to see what they had to wear; I lived in dread of being moved to their team).