It was Emma and she sounded in a panic. So far the morning had gone smoothly enough. We’d had breakfast in the hotel restaurant, had our manicures and pedicures, my hair was finished and Emma was supposed to be getting hers done while I did my make-up. ‘Coming,’ I shouted back. I walked into the bedroom expecting to find some sort of chaos. I thought there’d be tears and recriminations or, at the very least, Emma and her mum going at it. Maybe the photographer had called in sick or the caterers had double-booked. From the high-pitched tension in her voice, it must have been something awful. However, when I walked in, Emma was standing in front of me in her dress looking absolutely incredible. ‘What do you think?’ she said with a radiant smile. ‘You look absolutely beautiful, Em.’ ‘Thanks,’ said Emma and then we both started to cry. Maybe it was the occasion, the fact we were both so tired from being up most of the night, that we were hung-over, or maybe we were being sentimental, but we hugged and wept for maybe five minutes.
