Taylor Swift
Rebecca’s home isn’t a stylised abode; it’s more of a temple of good bargains.
Every piece of furniture comes with a story of where her husband, Tight Tim, found it and how cheap it was.
I’m sitting on the third-hand brown leather sofa, which Tim is proud to have obtained from his grandma, and on the coffee table (found on Facebook Marketplace) is an unopened bottle of Tesco Value Prosecco.
‘You all look beautiful, but you don’t have to wear the same dress. It’s not a cult,’ I say.
‘We do have to wear the same dress. It’s tradition,’ Rebecca says with exasperation. I’m getting the feeling she’s running out of patience for this wedding.
‘It’s also tradition to be a virgin when you get married,’ Nina cuts in.
‘And to not get divorced, but most do,’ Abi says.
‘Reassuring, thanks,’ I say. (Abi has spent most of her adult life in a lab experimenting on mice, so I forgive her for her lack of human skills.)
‘So, is it a yes?’ Rebecca asks.
‘Yes. Perfect. Thanks,’ I say.
‘Great. Done. Let’s open the bottle. I have four hours without a baby, and I plan to take full advantage of it,’ Rebecca declares, already unzipping herself.
A minute later, they are all back in their regular clothes and opening the bottle of Prosecco.
Three bottles later, Abi is dancing and singing aggressively to ‘I Can Do It With a Broken Heart’.
She can’t sing, but what she lacks in pitch, she makes up for in passion.
She closes her eyes and throws one arm in the air as she shouts the chorus.
If there is anything she likes more than her mice, it’s Taylor Swift.
I’m watching her from a battered green leather footstool from Oxfam.
Nina, meanwhile, is ranting at Rebecca about everything that is wrong with the world, from the manspreader on the Northern line to the way social media has knocked the confidence of young girls, and now she’s digging into Dr Therone.
‘She obviously wants to have sex with Josh,’ Nina says quietly. ‘That’s why he got the promotion . . .’ She drifts off, and I can sense it’s because she’s worried I am listening, which I am.
‘Everyone loves Josh,’ Rebecca says, not in a friendly way.
I pretend I’m too distracted by Abi’s dance to ‘Love Story’ to hear them.
Rebecca said something to me once that made me think she wasn’t entirely on Team Josh.
I was training to be a teacher, and Josh was chilling at his parents’ house.
After months of him whining about the prospect of a job, I persuaded him to become a teacher.
I filled out the forms and got him onto the course, and when I told Rebecca this, she said, ‘Oh, Amy, you’ll forever be making that man’s life happen for him’. It stuck with me for some reason.
‘I don’t,’ Abi says over the music.
‘You don’t what?’ I ask.
‘Love Josh,’ she says and does a twirl. She’s being her usual overly accurate self.
‘Not love him, but you like him,’ I say.
‘Nope.’ She does another twirl. I count the empty bottles of Prosecco in front of me; now there are four.
She sways and says dreamily, ‘That night at Leeds, when he was dancing with Natalie, I realised then he was a knob.’ She does another twirl and mimes the chorus.
I didn’t think anyone remembered the Natalie night, let alone had an opinion on it. I jump to his defence.
‘Oh, that was so long ago, Abi! And also, it was me who overreacted!’
She’s still dancing when she says, ‘I don’t think calling him pug penis was an overreaction. He deserved it.’
Nina and Rebecca choke on their Prosecco. Abi keeps dancing.
Josh and Amy’s Wedding 2025
To Do:
Wash the purple dress before the hen party.
Show Josh the seating plan.
Buy flowers from Petunia.
Email Velvet Cats to ask if they do song requests.
Talk to Mum about being civil to Dad and Jean-Ivy.
Do Josh’s Seven-Week Wedding Body Blitz Diet.
Bleach hair.