The Big Little Wedding in Carlton Square: A gorgeously heartwarming romance and one of the top summer holiday reads for women

Something for Lloyds, he’d told me. We used to have a Lloyds branch not far from us, but it closed down. Nobody working there looked like they could afford all this, even if they were the manager.

But I’ve got it wrong. It’s not Lloyds the bank but an insurer by the same name, and Daniel’s father is a lot bigger than a branch manager.

‘He helps underwrite their insurance.’ Daniel catches my expression and shrugs. ‘It means he provides the money to pay out when insurance claims are made.’

‘Like when someone wrecks his car or gets his phone nicked,’ I say. ‘What’s in it for him if he’s fronting all this money?’

‘They give him a percentage of the insurance premiums and he hopes there aren’t too many claims. They’re specialist insurers so they underwrite bigger things than stolen phones. More like military coups and earthquakes. Or Michael Flatley’s legs or Bruce Springsteen’s vocal chords or …’ He clasps his chest. ‘Dolly Parton’s breasts.’

‘Dolly Parton’s breasts are definitely bigger than a mobile phone. And your dad gets a cut of these premiums.’ My head swims as I take this in. ‘I see. Is this his only job? I only ask because keeping up a gaff like this must be expensive. My dad had the same problem with our council flat, so he was a taxi driver and a trader down the market, as you know.’

He laughs at my lame joke. ‘He’s got his own investment portfolio too. I’ve told you, it really doesn’t matter.’ Pronounced rahly. He looks worried that I might bolt at the news that he’s genuinely minted. ‘You’re marrying me, not my family.’

‘I know, it’s just that I’m not used to a house quite like this.’ That’s the understatement of a lifetime, considering that I share a bedroom with Auntie Rose at home.

He runs his fingers through his blond thatch. ‘Right, darling, I haven’t been completely honest with you, but please promise you won’t judge me.’ He waits for me to nod, though my tummy is starting a series of forward rolls that doesn’t feel nice. ‘I did mean to tell you about my family. I don’t usually have to say anything when I meet people in our circles. Everyone knows everyone, at least by reputation. But we met and I liked you so much and it’s just that you’re so …’

‘Poor? Working class? Not like you?’

‘Normal. I was going to say normal, Em. And we got along so well that our backgrounds didn’t seem to matter. Or at least I hoped they didn’t. You can see why I didn’t mention anything at first, can’t you? Then as time went on it got harder to say “Oh, by the way, my family is wealthy” without sounding like a tosser. Besides, that’s them, not me. I only work for a charity, remember?’

He looks honestly anguished about his family. ‘You make it sound like they’re criminals,’ I say. ‘So you’re a rich boy done good, eh? Breaking that horrible cycle of wealth?’

That makes him laugh. ‘I sound like a spoiled twat, I know, I’m sorry. It sounds ridiculous no matter how I explain it, but wealth does seem like a crime to some people.’

‘And you were worried that I might think so too?’

‘I was too bowled over by you to take a chance like that, even though I should have known you wouldn’t judge. I’m rahly sorry my family is wealthy,’ he says. ‘There’s nothing I can do about that.’

So he did shield me from the worst of it. I mean the best of it. I’ve got to stop saying that. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get over it,’ I tell him. ‘Somehow I’ll manage to overlook your bank account.’

‘My bank account only has my salary in it … and not even much of that these days.’

‘There you are!’ Abby bounces toward us. It’s a welcome interruption, to be honest. I’m not wild about the idea that Daniel kept all this from me, but I have to admit I see why he did it. It’s been tricky enough breaking the news to my side that I’m in love with a public school-educated bloke who shops organic. I’m not going to be the one to tell them that the prime minister is probably on his family’s Christmas card list too.

Abby is Daniel’s little sister and could have been cloned from their mum, except she’s a few inches shorter with longer blonde hair, the same shade as Daniel’s. Watching them together always makes me think of golden retrievers. ‘How long do I have to stay?’

‘Are you not enjoying our engagement party?’ Daniel asks.

She rolls her blue eyes. ‘It’s the same people we always see. Besides, nobody does engagement parties anymore. Not since Mummy and Daddy were married back in the dark ages.’

I feel the flush creeping up my neck as I think about the do Mum wanted to throw for us.

Daniel remembers it too, because he says, ‘Do try and keep up. Everyone’s doing them now.’ He puts his arm around me. ‘Come along, Em, duty calls. We’ll say hellair to all the bores and then we can relax.’

It’s not easy keeping track of who’s a lord and who’s a sir, so I just end up nodding and smiling at everyone as Daniel lets his mother drag us round the room. Every so often she pulls my hand in front of one of her friends for inspection.

I haven’t been able to stop staring at the ring since Daniel put it on my finger. Mum nearly fell over when she saw it.

Frankly, I’d have been just as happy if he’d stuck a Foster’s pull tab on my ring finger. I can’t wait to marry this man.

‘Emma works for a Vespa dealer!’ Philippa volunteers to the group I’ve just met. ‘You know, those darling little Italian scooters that are so fun.’

I thought she was just being polite when I first told her where I work, but for some reason she thinks selling scooters is interesting. Maybe it’s because everyone else she knows is busy running boring old banks or funding coups or whatever Daniel’s dad does.

‘Do you know that Anna Green got them for her grandchildren at Christmas? To ride round the estate,’ says one of Philippa’s friends.

If anyone rode a Vespa round the estates near me, it’d get nicked before it turned the first corner. I’m guessing Anna Green’s estate is a bit different. It would be, if she’s handing out five-thousand-quid scooters to her grandkids.

‘And not only that,’ Philippa carries on like nobody has mentioned Anna Green and her grandchildren, ‘she’s about to graduate from uni! Working and studying, clever girl! I couldn’t do both.’

‘You’ve barely done either,’ says one of Philippa’s interchangeable friends, though Philippa doesn’t seem to hear her. ‘When’s the big day?’

Everybody’s eyebrows rise towards the ornately plastered ceiling when I tell them we’re doing it in three months.

‘There’s no reason to wait,’ Daniel explains. ‘I’d marry Emma next week if Mummy wasn’t so set on the party.’

Everyone asks us this question and believe me, we’ve looked at it from all angles. No matter how we do our sums, we won’t have much more money in a year than we’ve got now. Sure, we could save a bit if we moved in together, but then my rent would go to a landlord instead of my mum and dad, and that would cause a whole other set of problems. They don’t like to talk about it, but my parents can really use that money. So if anything, it’s not the approaching wedding that worries me but the dent that my moving out is going to put in their household budget.

‘It won’t be a big wedding, though,’ I say. ‘Maybe sixty people? Just our families and close friends.’ We could go over the top and take an age to plan a big do, but we’re not bothered about the groomsmen’s bowties matching the serviettes or making photo montages of Daniel and me drooling through our childhoods. We just need someone to marry us. Throw in a bit of food and lots of drinks and everyone will be happy.

‘Sixty!’ Philippa laughs. ‘We’ve got more than that just from our side, darlings. It’ll have to be bigger, but don’t worry, I’ve got lots of ideas.’

My mouth feels a little dry.

‘What kind of ideas?’ her friend asks as Daniel’s godfather, Harold, and his wife join us. There was a slightly awkward moment when Daniel first introduced me to Harold and I said, ‘So you’re The Godfather,’ making Italian hand gestures and talking like I had a mouth full of cotton. Everyone stared at me and I had to pretend I hadn’t just done that. Harold is a lord too, but I don’t curtsy or anything. The less attention I draw to myself, the better.

‘I thought that as it will be summer we could have the whole thing under arched trellises that make a roof woven with flowers. Yah, and hang them with crystal chandeliers!’ Philippa beams. ‘Or even build a structure to suspend an entire hanging garden!’

The assembled crowd all nod, murmuring yah, yah. Philippa’s got a feverish glint in her eye that’s making me nervous. Hanging gardens? Where are we – Babylon?

‘I’m not sure–’

Bless her, she picks up right away on my discomfort. ‘Oh, darling, I don’t want to step on your toes, not at all! Maybe chandeliers aren’t your style. Of course we could use whatever you’d like. Maybe something more modern, like those gorgeous exposed lightbulbs that Heston has at his restaurant in the Mandarin. Only we could have hundreds of them lighting up the night. Wouldn’t that be romantic? Imagine!’

Yeah, imagine. Imagine the cost. I bet Heston didn’t get his lights from the B&Q sales bin like I’m planning to do.

And imagine Mum and Dad’s reaction if I tell them we’re building hanging gardens so we can suspend chandeliers. They’d send me straight to the GP to have my head examined. No, they wouldn’t need to. I’d make the appointment myself.

But Philippa looks perfectly serious. ‘If you want something more traditional, we could do crystal, yah, for the tables, and silver cutlery. Or gold? Does anyone do gold anymore? I can’t keep up with all the trends! And a gorgeous vintage pattern for the plates. We could even use my pattern if you like it, though you’d need to hire since I’ve only got place settings for forty-eight.’

Who has actual china for forty-eight people? The only time I’ve sat down to eat with that many people was at Uncle Colin’s fundraiser for the RNLI. We ate off the Tesco Value range.

Now’s probably not the time to tell my future mother-in-law that Mum and Dad suggested a casual do in Uncle Colin’s pub after the wedding. Actually, it’s probably not the time to tell Daniel, either. He looks pretty excited about his mother’s ideas. We’ll need to talk about this.

‘What do you think of fish?’ Philippa asks.

‘I like fish.’ Though I wasn’t thinking of a sit-down meal. Maybe some snacks. We could push the boat out and get them from M&S.