Revenge of the Wedding Planner by Sharon Owens

could almost see her pouting. ‘I’m on holiday. I really need this holiday, Mags.’
    ‘Call him, then.’
    ‘No. There’s no point. He’ll only race down here and cause a scene.’
    ‘Please, Julie! This isn’t like you. You’re strong, you know you are. Write him a letter, then, if you must? Just don’t ask me to drop him for you, please. You haven’t told Gary about your weird childhood, have you?’
    ‘No, and you mustn’t tell him either. Just give him the message and let’s have an end to it.’
    ‘Look, Julie, this little escapade has gone far enough,’ I said, biting my nails with the stress of walking on such micro-fine eggshells. ‘You can’t put me under this kind of pressure even if we are best friends. I know you love Gary and this is just a case of cold feet. I blame your parents, personally. This is simply a childhood trauma that’s come back to haunt you. You know Gary would never be like your father – he’s a good man and you will so regret ditching him like this. I want no part of it. Now, come straight home. Okay?’
    ‘Mags,’ she said gently, ‘I know you think I’m losing my mind but I’m not. Last night, I felt like a teenager again but it was like being a teenager with brains, if you know what I mean? We talked and talked and we could have slept together at one point when this amazing kind of energy happened between us but we didn’t go down that road. Not yet, anyway. Jay’s only twenty-eight. He’s gorgeous, Mags!’
    ‘You haven’t slept with him? Thank God for small mercies! At least no real harm has been done, then. You haven’t officially cheated on Gary. What age did you say that fella was, by the way?’
    ‘Oh, Mags,’ she said sadly, ‘infidelity isn’t just about sex. We connected, do you understand? We felt easy together, at peace under the stars. Look at the way I’m talking, Mags. I never used to talk like this. I’m opening up in ways I never imagined. Last night, I didn’t worry about my age, about my wedding to Gary, about the fact I can’t have children. I block things out, you see? I always have. So do you, Mags. I thought you would understand.’
    Let’s take a moment.
    You know, it’s amazing how things can change in one generation, isn’t it? My parents went to school in bare feet in the summer and were working full-time by the age of twelve, my father as a shop delivery boy with a big black bicycle, and my mother as a cleaner in the linen mill. By contrast, I was still buying pop posters when I was eighteen and taping the charts for hours every Sunday night, painstakingly writing down all the titles on cassette cards. I lived in a sort of bubble for most of my childhood,that’s the truth of it. I didn’t like to hear or see anything that might upset me so I blanked it out and created a little world of my own in my bedroom. I had all my posters in there, my books and cassettes, a beanbag and cushions, a blue plastic crate of make-up and cheap jewellery, incense sticks and a bedside lamp that looked like an oil lamp but wasn’t really an oil lamp. Bill still teases me about my ‘bubble mentality’ and asks me how my ‘bubble integrity’ is at stressful times in my life. He understands, though, why I put so much effort into creating our perfect home. It’s because I want to create a perfect world, but deep down I know I can’t.
    Julie couldn’t have children.
    I couldn’t believe it.
    ‘What was that you said? What was that you said, Julie? You can’t have children?’ I never knew Julie was infertile. She never brought the subject up and I’d always assumed she wasn’t the maternal type.
    ‘Years ago, on holiday. I caught an infection off this idiot. A cheesy nightclub crooner with platform shoes. It didn’t matter to me, Mags, when I found out. I didn’t want children anyway but I should have told Gary before he wasted three years of his life on me.’
    ‘Julie, is this what it’s all about?’ I tried to be extra