The Wedding Diaries Read Online Free Page B

at me, but something in my stomach had shrunk from that figure. Yes, it was lovely, but it was also only £400. Weren’t engagement rings the one thing that you’d wear forever and ever? I pulled him a little bit away from the stall.
Me: Shall we look at some shops in town?
Thom: But you love this! [laughing] Do you think it’s too much?
Me: [queasily] It’s just … aren’t engagement rings supposed to cost one month’s wages? It’s got to be an extra-special piece of jewellery, to show how much … your husband … loves … you …
Thom: If that’s what you really want, Kiki. [turning to vendor] Sorry mate. Looks like I was wrong.
    It turned out that Thom had snuck over to the market a few days before, spotted the ring and, knowing I’d love it, asked the guy to keep it for me. Thom told me all about how special he knew I’d find it, with its own personal history and a unique story that no ring in a jewellery shop would ever have, of how it was originally made for a young wife by her new husband, with stones to signify passion and constancy for their life ahead. Unfortunately, he didn’t tell me this until he’d turned off the light after finally coming up at midnight; he’d driven us home without talking and had been watching the TV in a terrible silence, until I’d lost my nerve and slunk off to bed alone. I’m writing this now in the bathroom by the shaving light, wondering whether my dearly beloved is tempted to call off the whole thing. Oh God. What have I done?
    TO DO:
    Dress – still needed?
    Venue – as above?
    Honeymoon – see if Susie is available to accompany me on the solo holiday I may need to get used to, in my new single life

 
September’s Classic Wedding!
Everybody was asked to the fêtes of the marriage. Garlands and triumphal arches were hung across the road to welcome the young bride. The great St Michael’s Fountain ran with uncommonly sour wine, while that in the Artillery Place frothed with beer. The great waters played; and poles were put up in the park and gardens for the happy peasantry, which they might climb at their leisure, carrying off watches, silver forks, prize sausages hung with pink ribbon, etc. at the top.
Vanity Fair
William Makepeace Thackeray

September 2nd
    Thank bloody God. Thom went back to the market the next morning and bought the ring without telling me. I hadn’t said one word to him since we’d left the market the day before (besides a whispered but heartfelt apology when I finally got into bed with him after writing this last night) and felt nauseous all the next day – what a horrible way to behave! When he came home last night with a poorly hidden smile and a tiny parcel of ring, I was full of promises and apologies, leaping at him like an overexcited puppy.
    When I wore the ring to work today, Alice was in raptures over it, and even Norman raised an approving eyebrow. Carol could only muster, ‘Couldn’t afford a new one?’ which earned a guffaw from Norman. He might not give two figs about your weekend plans or the small talk of an office, but I have my suspicions that he may actually be human after all.
    Tony gave me Jacki Jones’s email address so I could get in touch with her to start planning the book. Her agent is also her fiancé so I’m to avoid letting him know anything about the book, which, I have to say, is probably just about the worst business sense I’ve ever heard. Still, her wedding has been set for April next year, and the book will be rushed out to hit the shelves three weeks afterwards. Tony’s promised me a definite promotion if this book works out. Not only a whole new job title (not Editorial Assistant – oh no – now I would be Assistant Editor . Woop!) but more money too (which in publishing terms probably means only enough money that I can switch from ‘takeaway’ to ‘eat in’ at the café at the corner, but still). And if I ever want to make it out of Polka Dot’s hallowed doors and into the world of the