"Query. Would it be a serious breach of etiquette to run out of my own wedding?"
This is the question Becky Steele asks herself as she clings to the window ledge of her parents' bathroom, grimly regarding the ten-foot drop into the dustbins below. She stares in disbelief at the meringue dress for which she has drunk only skimmed water for four weeks to fit into. This is the fairytale wedding all right. Scripted by the Brothers Grimm.
The jiltee is Julian, human rights lawyer. He airs the world's dirty linen for a living. Basically, the man frees the world's underdogs from their kennels.
So why can't Becky commit to this Knight in Shining Armani? Because as far as she's concerned, the word commit should only be used next to the world murder - which marriage surely is? Once married, will she never again get the urge to lambada naked in front of her pets? Never again be a painter of towns? Yes, Julian's the right man. But has she had enough wrong ones?
Then there's the matter of the bionic buns of rock star toyboy Zack. Nothing like a touch of IBS (Irritable Boyfriend Syndrome) to make you horny and reckless with a complete stranger. But having an affair with a younger man is exhausting. How can Becky keep herself young without drinking embalming fluid?
