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  ‘Wouldn’t miss it. Go, go, go!’ We waved each other off and got back to our jobs.

  It was an outdoor forest wedding. Unusual for this early in spring, but the weather was just perfect, clear blue sky, bright sun and a biting crispness to the air, cold but refreshing. The seats had already been laid out. I ran a display of lilies laced with ivy down the aisle, and placed two giant floral arrangements on the altar. There had been a trend to create floral walls as a backdrop, and while they could look spectacular in photographs, they were tricky to produce – one misplaced flower could throw the whole symmetry off. When there was a wall I always had to bring help to carry it into position too, which, on a tight budget, could bring costs in high. I took a quick photo of the display and marvelled at how spectacular it looked.

  I retreated back into the castle. Excitement was building inside me for my favourite part of the day: handing the bouquet to the bride. That moment was so magical. I felt like I was passing on love, as corny as that sounded. A bride was special. A bride had dreamed of this day for an eternity. It had been imagined and parcelled up into a box of happiness and expectations. I tapped gently on the door of the bridal suite, which was slightly ajar, the sound of high-pitched chatter and laughs floating behind it. I pushed it open and stretched my neck to peer inside. A burst of perfume, so thick I could taste it in the back of my throat. There were five or six women in the room, clinking champagne glasses and chattering like excited parrots. The peach room was sunlit and dotted with comfortable-looking armchairs no one was sitting in. The bride, Portia, dressed in a white towelling dressing gown, was sitting on a stool, regal, eyes closed so the make-up artist could paint and sketch her face. A small boy ran at my knees, bumping into me, and straight out the door.

  ‘Get back here, Finn,’ one of the parrots squawked, and then noticed me. ‘The florist?’

  I nodded, quickly flashing a glance at my embroidered apron with ‘Blooming Brilliant’ in pink and green emblazoned on it. The bride’s eyes popped open. She inhaled excitedly.

  ‘Right on time, thank you, Freya.’ She stood up, holding her hands out expectantly, a nervous quiver to her voice. ‘Oh my goodness.’

  I couldn’t help myself. Right on cue, my eyes began to well up and my nose started to drip as my chest simultaneously swelled with pride. I held the bouquet out. A noise escaped from Portia’s mouth, which slowly turned into a sob as her hands flew towards the flowers. Her shoulders started to shake, and her beautifully made-up face crumbled.

  ‘It’s . . . I can’t even . . .’ Her trembling fingers reached forward and took hold of the bouquet, grasping it to her chest. Inhaling deeply, she whispered into the flowers, ‘I’m getting married today.’

  She swung back to the room, where a reverential quiet had descended as the multicoloured ladies gazed on, sharing this joyous moment. ‘I’m getting married today!’ Portia roared, and triumphantly waved the flowers in the air.

  The women all whooped and cheered in response and spontaneous applause broke out. ‘You are, you are.’

  ‘Thank you, Freya, they are perfect.’ She beamed at me, and I filled up with sunshine and happiness.

  That smile was payment in itself. I was delighted with myself. I was Freya the magnificent florist. If I could have managed it without falling on my arse or breaking something, I would have run and clicked my heels in the air.

  Two hours later, Enzo and I were hiding behind a tree, camouflaged by a few overgrown branches, peeping out at the ceremony. As a rule, the bride and groom were never too happy to spot the staff at their nuptials. Portia looked breathtaking, and it wasn’t just the dress, the hair and the magnificent make-up – it was love. She was wearing it, in her eyes, her smile, her walk.

  Unsurprisingly, Enzo and I were both crying.

  ‘The flowers are beautiful,’ Enzo sobbed onto my shoulder.

  ‘Thanks, it all comes together so well, doesn’t it?’ I sniffed, marvelling at every little detail, including the ivy leaf design on the cushions of the chairs, which was reflected in her dress and on the cards the well-suited celebrant held. There was a magnificent harpist playing angelic music, who I guessed played at the gates of heaven in her spare time.

  Enzo squeezed my shoulder affectionately. ‘This wedding is top of the class; you should take notes for yours.’

  I swallowed and instantly stopped crying. That would be me, I would be Portia, ethereal, heavenly, happy and in love. I made a little noise in agreement.

  ‘Here we go.’

  Enzo and I clasped hands as the celebrant steadied himself into the vows and listened as the words echoed through the trees: to have and to hold, from this day forward till death us do part. The rings slid on and the guests stood up and clapped as the bride and groom kissed for the first time as man and wife. After much cheering and whooping, the celebrant hushed the guests.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce the bride and groom.’ He paused, as the guests continued to clap even louder. ‘The happy couple have chosen to sync their BBest accounts today, as a symbol of their love and commitment to each other, and to have complete transparency for their lives, their past, their present and their combined future.’

  ‘It’s so romantic,’ I whispered to Enzo.

  We watched as the most adorable flower girl carefully walked down the aisle in a flippy white layered dress. She was concentrating hard, not smiling, balancing two phones on a green velvet cushion. She made it to the altar intact, the bride and groom took their phones and the flower girl released a cute giggle, thrilled with herself. The guests melted.

  The celebrant continued, ‘I ask that Portia and Elliot place their phone screens together, here today, in front of their loved ones, as a gesture of openness and in the spirit of sharing each other with each other.’

  We watched as they kissed their screens together, smiling happily. Then Portia bent at her knees and did an excited wiggle. The celebrant held the microphone to the phones and we all waited to hear the tinkle and the electronic voice: ‘BBest accounts synced. BBest accounts synced.’ Portia and Elliot threw their arms around one another, jumped up and down a little, kissed and then turned to their guests and twirled their phones around their heads victoriously.

  ‘Amazing, amazing.’ Enzo handed me a tissue.

  I sniffed. ‘Come on, we better get out of here before the guests start to move.’

  We backed away from our tree and walked towards the castle.

  Enzo looped his arm through mine. ‘You’ll have to sync, you know, everyone’s doing it, it’s the new vintage bicycle at weddings.’

  ‘It would probably be weird if we didn’t, wouldn’t it?’ But I wasn’t sure . . . are there some things that you shouldn’t share? Mason had seen every inch of my body, including the wobbly cellulite bits, but to let him into my phone? I didn’t know. It just felt so intimate.

  ‘You need to know everything, you can’t just believe people anymore. Dios mio, you trust someone, give them the keys to your flat, your casa, and then they go and sleep with the waiter in your favourite restaurant.’

  ‘Well, Marco wasn’t the right guy for you.’ I squeezed his arm gently.

  ‘I know, but if I’d seen his telefono I would have known. And now I can’t go back to Dali’s again. Do you know how much I miss their turkey meatballs?’ I knew he was only half joking.

  ‘I’m sorry, Enzo.’

  I heard the crunch of the gravelled driveway underfoot. I had to pick up my van and get out of here.

  ‘How’s your handsome housemate Jay?’

  ‘Still not dating. I’ll put in a good word, Enzo.’

  He exhaled heavily. ‘I need a husband, I need a wedding, I need to sync my life with someone fabulous. I need a Mason.’

  I gave him a quick hug and we double kissed again. ‘Go drink some champagne on the sly and flirt with the best man.’

  He grinned at me. ‘I am the best man, darling.’

  I burst out laughing. ‘Get out of here, go make s
ome money.’

  I ran quickly to my van, anxious to get out of the car park in case it was spotted by one of the guests as a reminder that the bride didn’t magically produce this wedding herself, but that, gulp, tradespeople were involved. My phone had started to tinkle. I pulled it nervously out of my pocket and quickly exhaled a sigh of relief.

  Reviews were popping in. The caterers, the wedding planner, even Mrs Crayling, had all given me five stars. It was fabulous. Delighted with myself, I climbed into my van. Enzo was right, I had Mason. I could have a picture-perfect wedding like Portia and Elliot’s. It would be incredible.

  6

  I had far too much make-up on. I could roll with the clowns if the circus came to town. There wasn’t a millimetre of my face that hadn’t been oiled, brushed, lacquered and glossed. My freckles had somehow disappeared, along with my natural complexion. I’d even wrestled with false eyelashes, just those little corner ones that look like wobbly spider legs but still, they’re there. My nails were perfectly painted a coral pink, my cuticles had been pushed back, and my hair was so shiny I looked like I’d washed it in an oil slick. I can’t even discuss how much perfume I had on. I was practically retching. I was also wearing a dress and due to a tiny bit of recent weight gain that I was refusing to admit to, the hem of the dress now jumped an inch to kiss my thighs. All this, for what? The bank manager? Did I really think he was going to feel more comfortable handing his money over to a clown who failed make-up school than a fresh-faced florist? Is that why I did it? I had no idea. It was like my make-up bag had a mind of its own, and the more make-up I could apply, the more grown-up and responsible I might look. It didn’t quite work out that way, I thought, as I pushed the bank’s door open, announcing myself in my head with a drum roll as the final contestant for the Drag Ms Universe title.

  Entering the bank was like walking into a minimalist health spa. It was all white walls, calm lighting and bamboo water features. The BBest green infinity symbol was emblazoned on the floor. There was a distinct hint of eucalyptus oil in the air, and the ambient trance music that greeted me automatically caused my eyelids to drop to half-mast snooze mode. There were a few people who looked to be having friendly conversations on bean bags and marshmallow-type couches. I twirled self-consciously on my heel, wondering where I should go or what I should do. I’d never actually been into a bank before, and I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to do. I always thought a bank would be quite intimidating, what with all the money there that you want and they have, but this seemed friendly enough.

  A small, dark-haired man wearing shorts and a soft green hoodie walked towards me with a large smile on his face.

  ‘Freya?’ He came at me with a two-arm embrace and lightly kissed my cheek. ‘It’s Aziz. So good to meet you face to face.’ He pulled back, still holding my shoulders with the enthusiasm of a long-lost relative.

  I nodded, surprised.

  ‘Thanks so much for coming in. I know it’s a little bit old-fashioned but we still like to meet our clients in person, and to get a signature. We’ve prepared a presentation for you to welcome you to our bank, it will all be a bit of fun.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘But first, let me offer you a herbal tea.’

  ‘Great, thanks. Peppermint would be lovely,’ I said, wondering exactly when banking became a bit of fun. Maybe my cunning disguise was working after all. I must have looked like a responsible adult who would make regular payments and maybe even invest in money things like bulls and bears.

  I followed him over to the tea station, pulling my dress down as I walked, not entirely sure that shrewd investor types would wear something quite so short. The gentle gurgle of boiling water was released into a mug with AHHHHHH BLISS written on the side. Aziz smiled at it, and directed me with his free hand into a light-filled corner room, which looked a lot more like an office, with a table, chairs and a TV on the wall. He waited for me to choose a seat before sitting down himself and popping the mug onto a coaster in front of me.

  ‘You took the train.’ This was a statement, not a question. My tracker was enabled on my phone.

  ‘I used to work in Palermo’s restaurant down the road, so I know this neighbourhood very well.’ I smiled, my nerves trickling away. Of course he knew I used to work in Palermo’s but he was polite enough to raise an eyebrow as if this was all new information.

  ‘I know it well; they serve this aubergine and parmesan dish there that is delicious.’

  ‘Oh yes, I remember it.’ I felt my mouth salivate. ‘The food there is really good.’

  Subconsciously I ran my finger across my left wrist where I have a two-inch waitressing injury from Palermo’s. One crystal wine glass and one dropped half-eaten chicken parmigiana that sent one clumsy waitress hurtling to the polished cement floor.

  He paused, gave that full-toothed grin, and started to tap on the screen in front of him. I guessed that this was the signal that the small talk was over and we were moving on to the business at hand. I stifled a laugh at even thinking that phrase, ‘business at hand’. I was really very impressed with myself. I was positively a grown-up.

  ‘Like I said, Freya, we have prepared a short presentation to welcome you. We hope we’ll be doing business for many years to come. We want you to know that we know who you are, so therefore we know what you need and we’re here to accommodate your choices for success.’

  ‘Sounds great.’ And it did sound great. It sounded marvellous. I felt a melty warm glow inside.

  ‘Take a look.’ He gazed at the screen on the wall and up popped my name in giant letters: FREYA. I was blown away by what followed. For maybe four minutes my life flashed in front of me. Not my full life, but the last twenty years. A well-spoken male American accent, with just a hint of gruff, said, ‘Freya is confident, loved, secure, happy.’ A montage of my childhood years appeared on screen, lots of lovely family moments. There I was blowing out waxy candles, my sticky cheeks exploding with greedy delight at the prospect of eating my mother’s hedgehog chocolate cake. The voice continued, ‘From a young age, Freya has shown herself to be an early adopter of trends and fashionable items. She has a preference for high-priced consumer goods but is a wise shopper, at all times waiting for prices to reduce before purchasing items over €232.’ Up popped a ticker-tape display of some of my more indulgent purchases over the years: my beautiful tan Chloé handbag; diamante sandals; a pair of leather trousers that were actually a bit of a mistake; my ostrich leather wallet that was sitting in my bag; a lot of make-up. I didn’t realise I’d bought so much or that make-up was considered a luxury item. Seemed a bit harsh – surely a Chanel lipstick was a necessity?

  ‘Financially, she is cautious and reliable.’ This was news to me. ‘Freya has never missed a car repayment, is up to date on student loans, and has no debt.’ Well, this was true, but it wasn’t because I didn’t want to spend more money, it was that I was terrified of debt.

  The voice continued, spreading good news: ‘Her bank account has never fallen below €74, even during those meagre student years.’ There was a short video of a much chubbier, younger-looking version of me drinking a bottle of beer in about four seconds at the student bar.

  I looked at Aziz and laughed out loud. This was great fun.

  ‘By choosing to live in shared accommodation, Freya tells us that she is financially careful. She splits all household bills three ways; this is manageable and effective.’ And I really, really liked my flatmates, but he didn’t say that. Up popped a little video of Cat and Jay dancing very badly and completely out of sync with the music and each other at a house party we threw last Christmas. I got really drunk on this rancid mulled wine and woke up in the bath. It wasn’t my best move, so thankfully there’s no photographic evidence of that to haunt me.

  ‘Launched nine months ago, Blooming Brilliant has continually ascended through BBest’s ranking system.’ A number of stars burst across the screen, leaving a trail of words behind them. I recognised the reviews. Astounding, beautiful, h
eavenly, punctual, reliable. Pictures of my many floral displays formed the backdrop and, as always, I felt incredibly proud. ‘Maintaining these projections, we predict that Blooming Brilliant has an eighty-two per cent chance of reaching a top-five small floral business ranking within twelve months.’

  I gulped in shock. I would never have dreamed of that kind of success. I had been far too nervous to hit up BBest’s projected forecast app for a while, just in case I didn’t like what I saw. Now I really liked what I saw.

  ‘Freya is a valued, fully synced and informed member of the BBest community. She trusts BBest’s preferences for her, knowing that we always put her interests first.’ BBest icon options flashed up on the screen. My options. Things like breakfast, train routes, outfit choices, and each muted orange icon turned to green as I chose. I recognised some of them, others not so much – they passed by in a blur. There was a pattern, even I could see it. I always took the BBest-preferred option.

  ‘Recently engaged to her ninety-three per cent BBest Match and preferred option, Mason Williams.’ A picture of Mason and I grinning with our arms wrapped around each other flashed on screen. Then all these numbers exploded into thin air. ‘Accesses BBest on average one hundred and sixty-two times a day, chooses BBest preferred option ninety-nine per cent of the time, one hundred per cent of the time for lifestyle decisions, eighty-seven per cent of purchases made through BBest stores, ninety-eight per cent likely to engage in BBest communications.’ The numbers turned into a fireworks display, and the music changed to an almost victorious chant, like something you’d hear on replays of a hundred-metre sprint win at the Olympics. ‘Freya, you are our friend, you are loyal to us and we are so grateful to have your friendship. Thank you. Thank you. To show our appreciation, we are over the moon to endorse your loan, and we look forward to many more healthy financial and personal experiences with you in the future. We cannot wait to watch you and Blooming Brilliant prosper. Thank you, Freya.’