Chapter 22
Elle
Olive has adopted her favourite Dead Dog pose and is out cold on her back, paws in the air, catching flies. She’s asleep on a pile of jumpers and therefore not helping my packing much, but she’s so bloody cute I’ll forgive her anything. I’m going to miss her so much.
Shooting starts tomorrow at Elstree Studios up in Hertfordshire.
While it’s perfectly commutable from London, I don’t fancy an hour’s car journey each way at the end of long shoot days, so I’m staying up there Monday to Friday for the next few weeks.
They’re putting us up at The Grove, which is a lovely country house hotel in nearby Watford.
I’ll be home at the weekends to hang out with my baby girl and her foster mother, who can’t wait to get her to herself.
‘Can we FaceTime every evening?’ I ask said foster mother.
‘By we, you mean you and Olive,’ Nora says. It’s not a question.
‘Obviously.’
‘Why not? You guys will have so much to catch up on. And you can confide in Olive if Josh Lander’s tongue accidentally ends up in your mouth.’
‘Nora Wilder! Have a little faith in me. It may well end up in my mouth in the next few days, though. On camera. We’re shooting the first kissing scene this week.’
Nora strokes Olive, who swats her away in her sleep with a paw. ‘They won’t make you use tongue, will they? Isn’t that a bit creepy?’
I cock my head. ‘Dunno. Sometimes, yes. It can be hot, too. Depends on how it’s done.’
‘I remember how cringey I found that silhouette of Tom Cruise’s tongue slipping into Kelly McGillis’ mouth in Top Gun when I was, like, twelve.’ Nora does a full-body shudder. ‘Ugh. It was so pervy.’
‘But if you watched it now, you might think it was great. I re-watched Pretty Woman recently, when I was recovering from a flare-up, and that moment where they finally kiss is so romantic. And Richard Gere gave it some tongue, and it was so hot. I was like, go Richard! He was so sexy in that movie.’
‘You’re so weird. Anyway, it’s not like you haven’t had Josh Lander’s tongue in your mouth before, and loved it. Is it?’
‘That is precisely the problem.’ I chuck a few pairs of socks in my case.
‘Interesting wardrobe choices.’ Nora rifles through the clothes I’ve put in my case so far. ‘Not planning on making much of an effort, are we?’
‘I’ll be sitting in hair and makeup in yoga pants, then I’ll be in costume all day, with corsets, which are fucking crucifying, apparently. When I get back to the hotel, I’ll be in a bathrobe faster than you can say Netflix. I really don’t need much stuff.’
My phone screen lights up and I glance at it. It’s a WhatsApp from Mum. I click through.
‘Oh! My cousin Miles is engaged! That’s so lovely.’
Miles is a great guy who’s had a shit time of it recently.
His parents (our mums are sisters) founded Montague Hotels Group, which he now runs.
He was married to a beautiful but shallow-as-fuck socialite, who left him and his gorgeous little daughter, Bea, and ran off to the US just before lockdown.
This new relationship has been a whirlwind, according to information gleaned from Mum. Miles hired a nanny for Bea a few months ago, just before Christmas, and fell head over heels in love. She’s Irish, and apparently absolutely lovely. He must be seriously smitten if he’s proposed this quickly.
Nora glances at me shiftily. ‘Theo Montague’s brother?’
‘The very same.’ I beam at her, unable to hide my glee.
My cousin Theo overlapped with us for a year at Cambridge.
He was the reason I applied to Emmanuel College, actually.
He was at Emmanuel, two years ahead of me, and let me go stay with him when I was doing my UCAS applications.
It was love at first sight. Me and Emmanuel, I mean.
Not me and my cousin. That would have been creepy.
Other people were less immune to Theo’s charms. I made the mistake of introducing him to my brand-new friend Nora one night during our Fresher’s week, when we were wide-eyed and innocent and he was a predatory Third Year.
He and Nora snogged in the shrubbery, and she’s always claimed, albeit resentfully, that it was the best kiss she’s ever had.
She had scratch marks down her back afterwards.
From Theo’s fingernails.
Not the shrubbery.
Anyway, I get huge enjoyment from winding Nora up about Theo.
Even if she met Jonathan shortly afterwards, and dated him for not only the whole of uni, but years after.
They only broke up a few months ago. It was a massive shock to us all, but especially to Nora, and she’s still devastated and determined to win him back.
Jonathan’s a bit like a labrador, all big and golden and good-natured.
He’s never done anything controversial in his life.
Until he dumped Nora out of the blue and promptly got himself a new girlfriend.
She’s called Lucy, and she went to one of those all-girls schools in Gloucestershire that basically teach you how to play lacrosse, cook and find a wealthy husband.
Horrific. (You’ll have established by now that Nora and I are raging intellectual snobs.)
‘Is Miles as much of a dick as Theo?’ Nora asks with feigned disinterest.
‘No, he’s not. He’s a really good guy. A lot more reserved than Theo—he can be a bit grumpy, even. But according to Mum, this new girlfriend, Saoirse, is really good for him. Apparently, he can’t stop smiling.’
‘Ugh.’ Nora rolls her eyes. ‘Happy, loved-up people. Who’d have ‘em?’
I pull out a pack of disposable incontinence pants and stuff them in the case. Unfortunately, I daren’t travel without them. Especially for a shoot I know will have my tummy in permanent knots. ‘Remind me why you’re a wedding planner again?’
Nora, if you haven’t worked it out, is not the most obvious fit for an industry that revolves around celebrating other people’s (hopefully) lifelong happiness.
‘Disrupting the industry, bitch.’
It’s true. Nora left uni with that rare thing: an actual job.
She went to work for one of the senior editors of the Times online edition, and this woman, who was a total cow, basically made Nora plan her whole wedding for her.
Nora was horrified by the general flakiness and sloppy pricing in the industry and went on to plan her boss’ wedding with military precision, using hostage-negotiator tactics in her haggling, supply chain software for logistics, and excel spreadsheets that looked like the financial reports of a FTSE 100 company.
Thus, Nora Wilder Weddings was born, and Nora runs this mini empire with laser focus, zero emotion and a team of clones-slash-minions doing her bidding.
‘Do you want the job?’ My fingers hover over my screen. ‘Mum’s saying I should text Miles and congratulate him and recommend you.’
‘And this is why we love Linda,’ Nora sighs. ‘Yes, please.’
My lips twitch. This is an excellent distraction from the relentless reminders my brain keeps serving up that this week Josh Lander will be kissing me—what was it Dominic said?—most ardently. Fuck fuck fuck.
‘I’ll message him now,’ I tell Nora. ‘You realise Theo will probably be best man, right? Just saying.’