Sneak Peek!

Forty Going on Nineteen

Prologue

The pulsing dance rhythm of Basshunter’s “Now You’re Gone” thunders through the speakers at the back of the barn, providing a jump-scare for the wedding guests, who’re now giggling, smiling, and whispering. It is an unusual walking-down-the-aisle choice, but Jessica is an unusual bride.

Standing at the front with the groom, I wrinkle my nose and nod to show my full appreciation for the thumping beat, while also keeping a firm grip on my cue cards. When Jessica and Nathan first mentioned the song to me, I frowned before I engaged my brain, and they rushed to justify their energetic electropop selection.

“We love to belt it out in the car together,” Jessica explained. “Blasting the tune at full volume and seat-shimmying—our own private party.”

I must admit, it’s a catchy number.

Focus, got to focus. Everyone else—the parents, the guests, the wedding party—can relax and enjoy. I’ve got to lead this thing.

I glance at my notes. “The Partridge Wedding” is printed at the top of each tiny page in a curly, elaborate font. No one will see my hand-sized cards, but I still like to posh them up so they’re wedding appropriate. After checking, double-checking, and triple-checking my carefully crafted script, I smooth my black dress. It’s figure-hugging and plain, with a round, jewel neckline, and the hemline is below the knee to ensure I appear smart, unassuming, and professional.

The volume softens and alerts me. It’s time. The entire congregation shuffles and turns to gaze toward the woman of the moment, beginning her emotional yet fun-filled walk to the man of her dreams.

I steal a quick glance at Nathan. He is completely enthralled by his wife-to-be and is keeping it together—just. His watery eyes and shaky hands give him away.

Looking back to the approaching bride, I’m once again struck by how similar Jessica and I are. It could be me in the fancy white dress, lapping up the attention as I slowly dance toward the love of my life. She’s a more confident, “extra” version of me. Who I’d likely be if I was a bit braver. We’re both bright blonde, the same sort of age—she’s forty-four and I’m thirty-nine—and she’d been single for a long time before meeting Nathan. She has a daughter, Seren, whom she had when she was a teenager. Same again, except mine’s a boy—well, man now. Jamie was still asleep when I left the house this morning. He does like his lazy weekends, though I wish he had a bit more get-up-and-go sometimes.

I warmed to Jessica as soon as I met her, and the whole wedding preparation process has been a breeze. She was actually excited to fill out the questionnaire I always hand out when planning a service. This is not always the case with my clients, though it’s such a useful tool. It helps me get to know both parties beforehand—how they met, when and where, their likes and dislikes, when they knew they were in love, their hopes for the future. If I really get to know the people I’m marrying, I can write the best service, making it more personal for the couple.

Nathan and Jessica’s kind of union—two people in their forties—is super special and offers me hope. Jessica said she’d given up on finding “the one”; had started to believe it wasn’t going to happen for her and accepted that the only love in her life was going to be from her daughter, friends, and family. She’d truly believed she’d missed the romance bus after running to the bus stop since her late teens, usually missing it. If she did manage to clamber on, it’d break down after a few streets or get lost . . . I’m glad now I took the bus metaphor out of the ceremony; it wouldn’t have worked.

Without turning my head, I check the large clock on the wall. She’s taking her time to boogie down the aisle—well, corridor between the chairs in this ancient barn. The owners converted the space about three years ago after realizing their farm was no longer profitable, but weddings definitely are. The older couple did a brilliant job. These sorts of venues are all the rage nowadays: pared-back farm buildings with beams and the skeleton of the place on show; fairy lights and fresh flowers everywhere; chairs wrapped up in silk fabric with a bow on the back. Purple Lavender Barn is a prime example of the desired aesthetic. This is my eleventh wedding here and I love it. The couples are consistently happy, and for me it’s a quick hop over the border into Derbyshire from Nottingham.

Jessica finally reaches us at the top of the aisle. Her lacy dress is beautiful and so intricate up close, with beads and sparkles on the bodice, and a full princess skirt exploding from the waist. Her eyes are shiny, and her smile is wide. Nathan beams at her and takes her hand. Such a delightful pair. They met when he took in a stranded hedgehog to Jessica’s rescue center, which she runs from home in her free time. I’m actually thinking about volunteering for a few hours a week.

They share a private moment before we begin this very public celebration of their love. The audience is facing the front; a sea of expectant faces showcasing a mix of serious expressions and waterworks, emotions already high. I nod at the wedding planner, and she turns off the music.

“Ready?” I murmur to Nathan and Jessica. I ask this question every time before commencing a ceremony. It serves to relax the couple and warn them that the thing they’ve been planning for years is about to start.

“Yes,” he replies in a hushed tone.

I turn to Jessica, anticipating her reply, but she doesn’t speak. Her face is pale, almost as white as a piece of paper. She’s sweating and her breathing is ragged and quick.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “All you need to do is follow my lead. I’ll guide you through the whole thing.” I smile, then clear my throat and survey my notes, preparing to present my first line in my booming public speaking voice, ready to enunciate each syllable.

“My back . . . my chest,” Jessica mumbles. She rubs between her breasts and at the base of her spine.

I tap my foot and again surreptitiously peer behind her at the big clock. We’re already behind schedule and I haven’t even started yet. I wasn’t expecting to deal with last-minute jitters; I haven’t factored in gentle coaxing time.

“Are you OK, darling?” her fiancé asks, no longer talking quietly, his face contorted with concern.

“No,” is her barely audible answer.

In a split second, her body becomes limp and floppy.

Jessica collapses.

Nathan catches her.

A woman with long gray hair screams then moans like an injured animal. She’s an older version of Jessica. It’s her mum. I recognize her from photos.

Nathan glares at me, and out into the audience, and back at me. “Help!” he screams. “Louise, what do I do?” He adjusts his stance, bending his knees as he struggles to hold his unconscious bride.

I quickly shake my head. My eyes wide, I take a step back. My mouth opens, but no words tumble out. I can’t find my voice. The dance song’s punishing beat from moments earlier is swelling and blistering through my ears. I step forward and crouch a little, hovering over them, before standing up straight again. What is happening? I want to help. I had first-aid training years ago at school, but my mind is blank.

“Lay her down!” a woman shouts as she gets out of her seat and clambers over people’s laps.

Stand up, you idiots! I mean to shout the order, yet it simply rattles around inside my head.

“I’m a nurse,” the woman says as she approaches.

I’m as still as a statue, frozen in horror, but the medical professional speaking to me snaps me out of it.

“Bethanny!” I call to the wedding planner at the far end of the barn. “Run to the farmhouse and call an ambulance from the landline. There’s no signal here.”

She nods and bolts out of the huge wooden door. It thuds closed behind her.

Chairs scrape and screech on the ground as worried guests stand, trying to see what’s happening. A huge man with jutting-out muscular arms shouts, “What the hell is going on?”

I look back down at Jessica, Nathan, and the nurse. The nurse is performing CPR.

“I think it’s a heart attack.” Her words are breathy as she pumps at the bride’s chest, working hard to save her life.

I take another step back, or maybe it’s a stumble. Is the loud breathing mine? The ocean of faces sways, rolls, and crashes violent waves against crumbling cliffs. I put my hand to my chest. My heartbeat is completely undetectable. I press harder. Nothing.

Seren is being embraced by her grandma. Her head buried in a silver mane. I stare at Jessica’s bleached hair. It’s wet and stuck to her temples. I gulp down a sob. Lovely Jessica, please don’t die. My mum springs to mind. Worrying about her has become instinctual and it’s jarring to redirect my concern to someone younger, and on a day that should be filled with the best memories.

This shouldn’t be happening. None of it should be happening.

I continue to watch, helpless, “Now You’re Gone” playing on repeat in my head.