The Big Little Wedding in Carlton Square by Lilly Bartlett

Author:Lilly Bartlett [Lilly Bartlett]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780008226589
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Limited
Published: 2017-06-29T04:00:00+00:00

Kell’s sense of humour has completely failed by the time we’re finished in Selfridges, but I feel like we should at least have a drink together to celebrate the fact that we’ve found a dress idea that everyone likes.

‘There aren’t any good pubs round here,’ Kell says when I suggest the drink.

‘I have a better idea than a pub and we don’t even need to leave the shop!’ says Cressida. ‘The champagne bar is right through here.’

‘Well…’ I start to say. Champagne? ‘I’m not really drinking till the wedding.’

‘My treat. Please, I insist. Won’t you let me buy everyone a little glass?’

‘You can buy me a big one,’ Kelly says. ‘As long as you’re offering.’

Cressida smiles. ‘I’m offering.’

The waiter pushes two small tables together for us. ‘So this is how the other ’alf lives,’ Uncle Barbara says, staring around the room with its dove-grey upholstery and mirrored chandeliers. ‘Do you come here a lot?’

‘Not often, but it’s nice after a bit of shopping. Emma, are you thinking of having bubbly at your wedding?’

‘She’s not made of money, you know,’ Kell snaps.

‘I do know. She’s told me.’ She points to the menu as the waiter takes the order. ‘But you don’t have to spend a lot. Look, this prosecco is twenty-nine quid. If we were downstairs in Harry Gordon’s, the cheapest bottle would be about fifty. We’ve saved twenty quid just by being here instead. And these are restaurant prices. In a shop you could find drinkable prosecco for under twenty pounds a bottle.’

‘She does know what she’s talking about,’ Abby offers.

‘Yes, it’s always important to economise on the champagne,’ Kelly says.

I glare at her. ‘Kelly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were taking the piss.’

‘Well, I mean, come on! She’s congratulating herself for saving money on champagne, Emma. Champagne. Tell her how we’ve had to look down the back of settee cushions to find twenty pence for the gas meter.’

‘You’re exaggerating, Kell. It was never that bad.’

‘Speak for yourself.’

‘I am speaking for myself and I’m saying lighten up, please.’

I can’t meet her eyes, though, because it was that bad after Dad couldn’t work. I don’t actually remember raiding the settee, but I do remember Mum’s creativity at teatime. It kept us from going hungry, but it put me off tinned beans for life.

My parents couldn’t really blame me for not taking up the chance to go on with my education then, what with the situation at home. They howled about it for weeks, but how else were we supposed to live when most of Dad’s disability allowance went for rent and Mum’s carer’s allowance didn’t come close to making up for the cleaning jobs she had to give up to look after him when he had a relapse?

We made an ironclad deal, Mum, Dad and I. I could work for two years, but then I had to go back to studying. Which I’ve done. I wasn’t about to break their hearts twice.

When the waiter brings the bottle and glasses to our table, nobody questions my excuse to have water instead.

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