June 14
I was sitting in the kitchen, tea steaming in my mug, when my daughterinlaw, Poppy, started bragging about the wedding she wanted. She brushed a stray curl from her forehead and her eyes lit up like shed just discovered a treasure. No, no, Helen, she said, moving closer to the table as if she were about to reveal a grand secret, I want a lavish celebration, a professional photographer, and a video to keep forever.
I tried to temper her enthusiasm, but she cut me off. And fireworks! she insisted, her voice rising. A big display at the endimagine how stunning that will be. All my friends will be green with envy.
I set my tea down, frowning. James makes a decent wage, and Ive been proud of his hard work. For his twentieth birthday I gave him a twobedroom flat in a respectable neighbourhood, a solid start to adult life. Yet Poppys plans seemed excessive, even for him. She earns about £2,000 a month as an office manager, not enough to fund such extravagance.
How will you both afford all this? I asked gently, taking a sip. I didnt intend to meddle, but the numbers were already looking bleak. She waved it off as if we were discussing a new dress. James will take a loan, she said with such ease that the tea spluttered in my mouth. Its standard practice, Helen. Everyone does it.
A loan for the wedding? I repeated, placing my cup carefully. What about the cost?
Exactly that. The cash gifts at the reception will cover most of it, Poppy smiled, as though she already held piles of banknotes. And then well whisk off on a romantic getawaymaybe Italy or Greece.
I stared at her, bewildered. Guests arent ATMs, and she seemed convinced the event would pay for itself. I kept my doubts to myself; the young are supposed to learn their own lessons.
A few days later I met James at a café near his office. He looked tired but happy. I ordered a coffee and got straight to the point. James, Ive heard about your wedding plans. Taking a loan for something like thisdo you think its wise?
He nodded, his resolve firm. Mum, I get the risks, but Poppy wants a beautiful wedding. Shes dreamed of this her whole life.
But you realize this is a serious financial burden? I leaned forward, trying to make him see the danger. What if the guests dont give as much as you expect?
Itll be fine, Mum, he replied, though his smile was tight. Dont worry about us.
I left the café feeling a knot of anxiety. The wedding drew nearer and the projected costs kept swelling. Poppy called almost daily, bubbling with updates.
Helen, Ive found the perfect dress! Its £2,000, but its from a renowned designer, she chirped, oblivious to my concern.
£2,000 for a dress? Isnt that a bit steep, love? I asked.
Its normal! Its the most important day of my life, she snapped, a note of hurt in her tone. I cant get married in anything less.
The venue she chose was a pricey riverside restaurant with floortoceiling windows and a menu that could fund a small fortune. I could only shake my head at the extravagance.
On the day of the ceremony I took a black cab, a sealed envelope with £3,000 tucked inside my handbag. Id decided to contribute what I thought reasonable. Inside the restaurant, live flowers dangled from the ceiling, ice sculptures glimmered, and a towering multitiered cake stole the spotlight. About a hundred guests filled the tables, many faces Id never seen before.
When night fell, fireworks burst above, painting the sky as guests cheered. I handed the envelope to Poppy, who accepted it with a strained smile, eyes darting to the other envelopes as if eager to rip them open. I watched the guests gorge themselves, plates emptied, and saw the envious glances some women cast at Poppy in her opulent gown. She seemed to bathe in the attention, glowing with pride. The celebration stretched well past midnight; the newlyweds left in a rented luxury car. I hailed another cab and headed home.
The next morning a knock sounded at my door. Poppy stood there, cheeks swollen from tears, and James followed, looking grim. I ushered them inside, bewildered by what could have happened overnight.
Poppy collapsed onto the sofa, sobbing, Everything is wrecked, Helen! Everything!
James sank into an armchair, his voice hoarse. Mum, we opened all the envelopes. In total, the guests gave about £600.
Six hundred? I sat down, stunned.
He massaged his temples, looking exhausted. Most gave just five pounds, some gave nothing at all.
Poppy sprang up, furious. How could they do this to me? Come to such a wedding and give peanuts! Now we have a twomillionpound loan hanging over us! No Italy for us!
I let out a weary sigh. I warned you both. I said this was a bad idea.
She snapped back, Its the guests fault! Theyre not supposed to show up, eat, and give crumbs!
I shook my head. No guest is obliged to hand over huge sums, especially when nothing was agreed in advance.
Through her tears she whispered, I just wanted the perfect wedding, like everyone on social media!
I shrugged, looking calmly at her. Well, youve got it now. And youll have to pay for it.
James opened his mouth to suggest I could help, but I raised a hand. No, James. Running a wedding on credit is a poor plan from the start. I told you so, but you didnt listen.
Poppy grabbed her bag and fled, dragging James after her. I was left alone in the armchair, realizing there was little point in arguing further. She blamed everyone, not seeing shed set herself up for this mess.
The couple now scrapes by, making steady repayments. James has become more frugal, calling less often. A cousin, Amelia, told me Poppy has been pestering relatives for larger gifts. She called me, demanding I give at least twenty pounds! Amelia laughed, I just hung up. You cant reason with that.
I didnt step in for the youngsters. They ignored my counsel when it mattered most. Let them learn the hard way. Life is a stern teacher, but sometimes only it can deliver a lesson that sticks.
Lesson learned: Pride and a desire for spectacle can blind you to reality; modesty and honest budgeting spare you future regret.
