Naked in Knightsbridge (31 page)

She could choose to let the answering service take it, but then he might call Lady Margaret for directions to the church. And as coked-up as she was, the old bitch would definitely give them to him.

Shit. There goes the vain hope that he had forgotten all about the wedding and had legged it to Topshop to trawl for a new girlfriend. Jools thought for a moment. The only choice was to send him so far in the opposite direction, there would be no chance of his making the ceremony.

There was a church near Southend-on-Sea, wasn’t there? At least a couple of hours away, one way. By the time he figured out where he was, she’d already have said ‘I do’ and be cutting cake at The Dorchester, where she’d have told the doorman he was a crazy on the run from the law and needed to be kept out at all costs.

‘Really?’ Charlie Grand queried as he took down the address. ‘Kind of a long way out of town. Why would the Wetherspones change plans and have the wedding all the way over there?’

‘We’re trying to avoid the media attention,’ she said.

‘Oh, right. Well, that makes sense. Those photos were pretty gruesome. You should get that cellulite sorted, love. Anyways, see you at three, Joolsy. Can’t wait.’

Her nemesis, the ten thousand pound organza-and-silk white whale in size 12, hung from the top of her wardrobe. The stylist – a new one on loan from Harvey Nicks since Debonaire was somewhere in the Med styling Kylie – led her over to it, eyeing them both gloomily.

‘Let’s give it a go, shall we?’ the stylist chirped, her tone at odds with the look of doom on her face.

She handed Jools an industrial-grade girdle, which she slipped on over her BIG LIE pants. Then Chirpy commanded her to suck her gut in as much as was humanly possible. Chirpy pulled and yanked and squished poor Jools’ internal organs into an arrangement that couldn’t be healthy and definitely wasn’t natural.

It was massively uncomfortable, but when she got into the dress and the zipper actually went up, Jools was so relieved that the fact she couldn’t breath or bend over was of little concern. At least, the paparazzi wouldn’t see flesh oozing out of the dress like lava from a volcano.

‘What’s going on?’ Jools asked worriedly. She’d never seen the woman cry. Maybe she’d forgotten her daily dose of coke. Or maybe Lady Margaret was having second thoughts and was planning on telling Rodney not to marry and to live a full and free life as a gay man?

There stood a slightly overweight but glowing bride. Her loosely curled hair framed her face in a way that was actually flattering. She
did
look lovely. Well, about two stone overweight but aside from that, the Trio had done an exceptional job. She looked like a bride. Tears filled her eyes but she managed to stop them from spilling over. Tangy would stab her with her tweezers if the makeup got ruined.

Despite the transformation, Jools was melancholy as she considered her reflection. She’d never been the kind of girl to dream about weddings. But the few times she’d actually thought about it, this certainly wasn’t how she imagined it – slathered in makeup, wearing a frothy white wedding gown two sizes too small; marrying a gay man she didn’t love for money; and settling into a life of lies and deception.

Lady Margaret interrupted her thoughts. ‘The car, dear. Try to suck in that huge stomach, and let’s go.’

So much for the tears, then.

Her car pulled up in front of the church at quarter to two. What if Rodney failed to show? She definitely got to keep the money then, didn’t she?

As it was early she stayed in the car, watching people flood through the massive ornate doors, protected from view by the car’s tinted windows.

She’d specifically requested one of the Wetherspones cars instead of a wedding limo – wanting to remain anonymous until the last second. Rodney had decided to drive himself and was just now pulling up in his Mercedes, his best man (yet another balding MP – there must be a factory somewhere churning them out) beside him. The two of them got out and the paparazzi swarmed as they headed into the church. Some police officers did their best to keep the aggressive photographers away, but their diversionary tactics did little to curb the seasoned professionals.

But Rodney didn’t seem to mind. He stopped at the top of the church steps and posed for a few shots, shook a few hands and smiled for the cameras.

Jools watched him, imagining what the faker was saying to people. ‘So good of you to come. We’re so happy to have you here on our special day. Yes, I am a lucky man to be so very much in love with my bride. We will be happy together, thank you for your kind wishes.’

Louis nodded, walked briskly across the road and patted the man on the shoulder. He looked confused and Jools could see his mouth snap open and close in protest as Louis lead him back to the car. Louis opened the door and ushered him into the back seat.

‘Joolsy!’ He didn’t look happy.

‘Dad, what are you doing here?’

‘That’s a very good question, isn’t it? I shouldn’t be here, right? I should be all the way across town at a church that knows nothing about this wedding, shouldn’t I?’

‘Yes, fine, I lied. I didn’t want you here. I don’t want you here!’ She was done tiptoeing around the subject. She’d been too nice for too long. It was time to reveal how she truly felt.

‘And you know, if things were different, if I weren’t overseas, I would have been here for you the whole time. Helping plan, paying for things. You know.’

Jools laughed. ‘Yeah, I’m sure. In a completely different world, as a completely different person, you might have been around to help me. But this is reality, so forgive me if I’m not entirely pleased to see you now.’

‘I’ve just had a spot of bad luck . . .’

‘A spot of bad luck that’s lasted thirty years,’ she yelled. The car was silent and for a moment Jools thought he might start to cry.

‘Come on. Soon all that juicy Wetherspone money will be at your fingertips. They adore you. I’m sure Rodney would do anything to make you happy.’

‘Rodney hates me!’ she yelled. One of the buttons on the back of her dress popped off and ricocheted off the window.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. He wouldn’t marry you if he hated you.’

‘He’s gay, Dad!’ The words just burst out and once she’d started, she couldn’t stop. ‘He’s gay and he needs a foil and he paid me to go along with this sham.’

For once, her dear old dad was stunned into silence.

‘I owed thousands to the bank and they were going to sue me for it. I could have gone to jail so I needed the money. But he hates me. More than anything. And I don’t want to marry him, but I don’t know what else to do.’

‘Do, what can you do?’ Her father was, as usual, no help at all. ‘Run away?’

‘No, Dad. This is my only option – at least until I get myself together and make a little money of my own. And I won’t be able to do that if you’re here.’

Charlie Grand opened his mouth to protest but Jools cut him off. ‘What if they find out that you’re back in the country? What if the cops show up at the reception? The Wetherspones can’t know about you. It’d ruin everything. And really, you’ve ruined enough in my life already.’

Jools finally stopped talking and slumped back onto the car seat, exhausted. Keeping all of those secrets was really starting to eat away at her. It felt good to have released them to somebody, even if it was her shocker of a dad.

He nodded and opened the car door. ‘I really am shocked by your attitude, Jools. I never thought a daughter of mine could be so selfish. They say the apple never falls far from the tree, but you’re in a different orchard all together.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’ She meant it. She wanted to be as far away from his tree as possible. She watched him cross the street and walk away from the church.

Taking a moment to collect herself, she informed Louis she was ready. He came around and opened the door and the paparazzi swooped down, flashes popping insanely. Hundreds of people had gathered outside the church and Jools was surrounded on all sides by the curious and rude, begging for pictures and autographs; telling her how lovely or horrible she looked; asking ridiculously personal questions like where she and Rodney would do it on their honeymoon; what size her dress was; did she enjoy all doughnuts or just those from Doughy?

Louis held them back as best as he could and with some help from the police, Jools made it safely into the church. At the start of the aisle, she glanced around and noticed that Rodney’s side of the church was packed – people were even standing at the back – while hers held only a few cleaners she’d had to pay to show up, along with Mrs Pho, who shook her head and mouthed ‘arsonist.’

Everyone on Rodney’s side was extremely well dressed and had their noses so high into the air she doubted they could see what was going on. Jools’ cleaners had come in their work overalls, and Mrs Pho was edging away from them towards Rodney’s side.

The familiar first notes of the wedding procession filled the church and Jools started down the aisle. As she passed the rows and rows of Wetherspone guests, the power of their stares stung like nettles. They were judging her, clearly thinking that Rodney was making a terrible mistake.

Jools summoned the strength to keep going, even though she was missing a button and the strings of her corset were starting to unravel. Oh, to be out of this dress and back in a comfy Juicy tracksuit. Back in her room, away from the stares and sniggers; nestled warm and cosy in bed with a pint of ice cream and a few dozen gourmet cupcakes.

Rodney was waiting for her, another plastic smile stuck on his perfect, tanned face. The temptation to smack that smile right off was almost too strong, but she forced herself to focus on breathing instead.

Finally, she made it to the altar and turned to look him in the eyes, hoping desperately that no one could read her mind.

*

Louis the driver was sneaking a fag outside the church, leaning casually against the hood, when one of the paparazzi appeared.