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16 DECEMBER, KENT, ENGLAND

Wedding Day

I have the sudden urge to run.

That would be OK if: a) I was the running type and b) it wasn’t my wedding day.

No one mentions wedding jitters are this intense, do they? My bridal party excitedly chatter ten to the dozen, while I lock a rictus smile into place that hides my inner angst. It takes a surprising amount of effort to get facial muscles to cooperate. My laissez-faire expression can’t be fooling anyone because my make-up artist, Rox, says, ‘Blink twice if you need help.’

A burst of hysterical laughter escapes me. ‘Whaaat…? I’m fine. I’m good! I’m great.’ Her eyes narrow. Have I overdone it? I dig myself in deeper. ‘I’m marrying the man of my dreams in a Christmassy winter wonderland wedding. What’s not to like?’

Rox narrows her eyes but doesn’t probe further. Phew.

Truth be told, my fiancé Miles has been a little distant in the lead-up to the wedding, but then so have I. Life’s been chaotic helping clients with their last-minute Christmas travel itineraries, while tying up loose ends for our wedding and dream honeymoon. Miles hasn’t involved himself with any of the planning, until a month ago when he insisted on changing our intimate wedding into an extravaganza of epic proportions, so now I’ll be walking down the aisle with a lot more eyeballs on me than I’m comfortable with.

Miles is the type who likes the spotlight. I’m the other type. Opposites attract though, and isn’t marriage all about compromise?

There was a point I thought I’d remain single forever, because travelling the globe working remotely for years made it hard to find a soulmate. A summer fling here and there, sure, but those were only seasonal.

It’s not as if I didn’t want to find true love, it just never found me.

Until it did. In the shape of handsome, athletic Miles, an old high school crush, who blindsided me with his confident swagger and high-octane energy after I’d returned home for a ‘quick’ visit to see my family. Here I am, a year and a half later, having said yes to the dress! Putting down roots, of all things. Although I quietly worry that the travel bug will bite once more – staying put has never been my thing but Miles assures me we can deal with any forks in the road together as a team. A team of two!

‘I can handle a nervous bride,’ Rox says. ‘It’s the criers I find difficult.’

‘The criers?’ So it’s not just me? Do all brides feel this same seesaw of conflicting emotions on their wedding day? A mix of excitement and trepidation. Why doesn’t anyone mention this? It seems rather pertinent to know.

‘The criers are the worst and won’t be told, y’know? Mascara is the bane of every make-up artist’s life. Even waterproof isn’t infallible and once the eyes are bloodshot, there’s not a lot I can do. I’m not a miracle worker, am I?’ Rox shakes her head and continues with a litany of complaints about brides who’ve ruined her cosmetic artistry.

Right now, bloodshot eyes are the least of my concerns. It’s my escalated heart rate I’m worried about. Just how long can it beat double time before it gives up the ghost completely? It’s strange that I can confidently explore a foreign country where I don’t speak the language or know a single soul, but just the thought of a church full of hometown locals is enough to send me spiralling.

‘Like, why are they so overwrought? You’ve got the blubbering mess type…’ As Rox rambles on denigrating former clients, I picture holding my hand over her mouth until she runs out of breath and her face goes blue. Probably an overreaction but here we are. At least I know this panicked feeling is not unique to me.

‘I suppose they’re happy tears though?’ my mum interjects as she sits beside me getting her make-up done by a much less bitter make-up artist, the lucky thing.

‘Yes, tears ofjoy.’ Rox emphasises the word as if it tastes sour. ‘Be warned, once the mother of the bride starts, it all kicks off.’ She shoots Mum a withering glare in the reflection of the mirror. It’s all rather threatening but I bite my tongue against a retort because that would not be fitting under the circumstances.

Rox locks her gaze back on mine. ‘You do not want puffy eyes in your wedding photos.’

‘That’s what photoshop is for, dear,’ Mum says with a shrug. ‘If we cry, we cry.’

Rox sticks me a little harder than necessary with eyeliner while I try to control the spike of adrenaline coursing through me as I envision myself snatching the pencil from her fingers and snapping it in half. ‘Ow!’ I say as she gouges me once more.

‘Soz.’ Her eyes glitter with triumph as if she’s enjoying this.

Why didn’t Miles and I elope? That’s more my speed. We could have married atop a mountain in Peru. Exchanged wedding rings underwater while snorkelling in Tahiti. Shared our vows in a helicopter above Maui. Oh, that’s right, he said no to all of those ideas.

After a close-up inspection, Rox declares me ready. ‘Wait!’ she screeches. ‘Setting spray.’ She unleashes what looks (and burns) like a can of hairspray onto my face. I cough and splutter, worrying about aerosols and the ozone layer. You never hear about damage to the ozone layer any more. Why is that? It’s a problem for another day because right now I’m trying hard to pull oxygen back into my lungs amid the toxic cloud I’m engulfed in.

‘Was that really necessary?’ I eventually choke out.

She arches a perfectly manicured brow. ‘Probably not.’

‘For the record, you are the worst make-up artist I’ve ever met.’

Rox gasps. Mum sighs. My maid of honour Freya shakes her head.