Page 22 of The Last Saturday In July
Jess pointed out the items she had selected and discussed each with Simon who seemed hesitant about them. Ken made suggestions and displayed other possibilities.
‘Maybe everyone would just like to take home a slice of cake,’ Simon said eventually. He turned to Jess as Ken clicked onto a page showing a selection of decorative sweet boxes. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever eaten the cake at a wedding.’
‘We have profiteroles, remember?’ Jess said. ‘They’ll bedemolished.’ She slipped her hand into Simon’s. ‘I just think we should be picking things that say “Jess and Simon”, you know?’
Simon looked confused. ‘Things with our names on them?’
Ken made a delicate sound in his throat. ‘I think what your fiancée means is that she’d like your wedding souvenirs to be special to you both, to reflect your personalities, your relationship and your unique day.’
Jess was starting to like Ken more and more. ‘I love those vintage-y-looking cups with the candles in them. And those tiny heart-shaped soaps and the little packets of tea that can be monogrammed with our initials.’ Maybe they could give everyone a goody bag? They could have five things in each bag. No, seven. And the items didn’t all have to be from here. They could throw in a giant bar of chocolate and a little packet of mints. People would love it.
‘I think we’ll choose one small token for each place setting,’ Simon said. ‘Perhaps one of those little bundles of sugared almonds. They’re simple and tasteful. And people don’t want ...’ he seemed to be searching for a suitable word, ‘odd bits they might feel obliged to keep afterwards.’ He turned to Jess. ‘What do you think?’
Jess stared at him.Bundles of sugared almonds?Úna would approve, of course.
Simon got to his feet. ‘I’m afraid I have to go, Jess. Can you look after it from here?’
‘Absolutely.’ Jess gave a bright smile. ‘No problem.’
‘Thanks, darling.’ He bent down and pecked her cheek. ‘See you this evening.’ He straightened and stuck his hand out to Ken. ‘Thank you so much for your help.’
Jess tried not to feel too disappointed as she watched Simon leave. She turned back to Ken, who gave a diplomatic smile.
‘Shall we look at those sugared almonds?’ he said.
Jess sighed. Feck it, it was her wedding too. ‘And those miniature bottles of mead too, please.’
Chapter 11
WHAT had possessed her to eat a chicken sandwich that she’d kept in a drawer overnight? Jess could almost hear her mother warning her about the hazards of food safety and salmonella poisoning. She’d clearly lost her mind. And judging by the sinister gurgling noises, she was about to lose the contents of her stomach. She sat as still as she could on the sofa, as Simon walked from one room to another, putting things away and talking about something she wasn’t following.
The man really was obsessed with tidying. Which was great, she reminded herself, given how bad she was at it. As he came back into the living room to examine his tie in the mirror above the fireplace, Jess tried to remember where he was going. Maybe he’d arranged to meet David for a drink. Although wearing a tie to the pub was a bit formal, even for Simon.
Pain and nausea were coming in waves now, and she hoped desperately that the throwing-up part wouldn’t start until after Simon left. He’d never been good around her when she was sick.
‘Aren’t you getting ready?’ Simon turned away from the mirror to look at her.
She looked at him blankly.
‘The opera?’ he said.
Shit, the opera!She’d promised to go. Offered, in fact: Operation Be a Better Fiancée.
‘I was thinking, if we get to the theatre early, we could have a glass of wine first.’ He gave her an expectant look.
‘Oh, great.’ She waited until Simon disappeared back to the bedroom. Okay, she’d be fine, she’d just take it slowly. She made an effort to stand, but another wave of nausea surged through her, and she crumpled back onto the sofa, before sliding further onto the polished oak floor. That felt better, it was cooler down here. She’d just crawl instead.
‘Jess? What are you doing?’
She looked up.
Simon looked startled as he peered down at her from the doorway.
‘I’m going to be sick.’
‘What? Hang on!’
Before she could do anything, he pulled her to her feet and practically dragged her to the bathroom. She fell to her knees and heard the door click behind him as he left, She hung over the toilet bowl and vomited. After a few minutes, she pulled herself up, gasping, and leaned back against the tiled walls, pressing her hand experimentally against her tummy.
