This page contains a Flash digital edition of a book.
True life STORY!


&Brides don’t go!


Bridges


pointing backwards and shaking their heads. Our driver put down his window and someone shouted ‘They’ve closed the Bridge, someone’s threatening to jump’. The police were trying to talk the man


Emma works at Littlewoods. T


This is the true life story of her Wedding Day. A day - or two - she’ll never forget for good reasons - and wrong reasons!


he big day had arrived, my emotions were running at top speed as you’d expect, but I managed to keep myself in check. Unlike my sobbing sentimental sister Andrea. Bless.


Anyone would have thought it was her tying the knot today! I had arrived at her house at the crack of


dawn to get ready. My fiancé Martin Coffey 38, spent the night at his parents’ with our son Luke 4, I stayed at home with our 3 year-old daughter, Elizabeth. Martin and I had been together for 5 years


- I was six months pregnant with Luke and we were holidaying in Menorca when Martin popped the question. After several hugs and big kisses later, Martin assumed that was a yes. It was. As I stood in Andrea’s dining


room, proudly admiring my dress, she tapped me on the shoulder, ‘Mum and Dad would have been so proud’ she said. Mum died when I was


13, and Dad passed away 6 months later. Andrea was 21 at the time, and immediately took on multiple roles. She became my mum, as well as sister and best friend. Andrea had helped


with everything from choosing my strapless white dress and


deliberating over flowers, to sorting out the Runcorn Register Office and the hall in Widnes for the reception.


LETS GET READY! Now we were both giddy with excitement


as was my daughter Elizabeth. She looked so gorgeous in her little white dress. Andrea laced me into mine, just as the vintage Rolls Royce pulled up outside. Now excitement turned to full on nerves! At that moment the phone rang, it was


my friend James Magee. ‘Err... Emma... bit of a problem’ he said,


‘The bridge is grid locked, we can’t move!’ . The bridge was the 330 metres long Silver Jubilee Bridge that crosses the Mersey to Runcorn. Runcorn, where the Register Office is! For us to avoid it would mean a detour that would take hours. So not an option. It was 3:10pm now and the ceremony was at 3:45pm. We set off immediately, knowing the only route was


Emma & Martin. Emma works at Littlewoods as an Assistant Merchandiser in the garden DIY department.


over the Bridge. Within 10


minutes the Bridge was in sight. 30 seconds later we ground


to a halt. People in other cars were


down. He was on top of the Bridge. My heart went out to him. But, today of all days! We phoned ahead to the Registrar who kindly agreed to move proceedings to no later than 6pm. Just ahead of us in the traffic was an identical Rolls Royce. It was Martins. Thank heavens I thought. It was so hot in the car, all I wanted to do


was get out for some air like everyone else was. But Andrea said ‘No, you can’t, it’s bad luck for Martin to see you - and let’s face it you’re having your fair share already!’ she smiled and hugged me. Our driver went up to Martin’s car. He was


told not to look back, while I stepped out. That was interesting. Being dressed in a flowing white dress, walking around at the top of the Jubilee Bridge in the middle of the afternoon causes quite a stir you know! A couple of chaps wolf whistled, a group of children gathered around to admire my dress and a kind lady from a nearby home brought cold drinks over.


MY FIRST POLICE ESCORT! The whole situation was getting weirder


by the second. Then the police arrived. ‘We’re going to give you an escort over the Bridge’, he exclaimed! ‘Thank you so much’, I said . And as if by magic the traffic parted and we proceeded to the start of the Bridge. We came to a barrier. Another policeman


came over. ‘Sorry, we can’t let you go over’, he said. Apparently the man who was going to


Err... Emma... bit of a problem’


he said, ‘The bridge is grid locked, we can’t move!


jump, had said he had planted a bomb. ‘It’s going to take an hour or so before anyone can cross’, the policeman added. That was too late, it was nearly 5pm, we wouldn’t make it. I rang the Register Office in tears. ‘All we can do is marry you tomorrow at 2pm’, he said. I just couldn’t believe it. What about the reception?


50


Page 1  |  Page 2  |  Page 3  |  Page 4  |  Page 5  |  Page 6  |  Page 7  |  Page 8  |  Page 9  |  Page 10  |  Page 11  |  Page 12  |  Page 13  |  Page 14  |  Page 15  |  Page 16  |  Page 17  |  Page 18  |  Page 19  |  Page 20  |  Page 21  |  Page 22  |  Page 23  |  Page 24  |  Page 25  |  Page 26  |  Page 27  |  Page 28  |  Page 29  |  Page 30  |  Page 31  |  Page 32  |  Page 33  |  Page 34  |  Page 35  |  Page 36  |  Page 37  |  Page 38  |  Page 39  |  Page 40  |  Page 41  |  Page 42  |  Page 43  |  Page 44  |  Page 45  |  Page 46  |  Page 47  |  Page 48  |  Page 49  |  Page 50  |  Page 51  |  Page 52  |  Page 53  |  Page 54  |  Page 55  |  Page 56  |  Page 57  |  Page 58  |  Page 59  |  Page 60  |  Page 61  |  Page 62  |  Page 63  |  Page 64  |  Page 65  |  Page 66  |  Page 67  |  Page 68  |  Page 69  |  Page 70  |  Page 71  |  Page 72  |  Page 73  |  Page 74  |  Page 75  |  Page 76  |  Page 77  |  Page 78  |  Page 79  |  Page 80  |  Page 81  |  Page 82  |  Page 83  |  Page 84  |  Page 85  |  Page 86  |  Page 87  |  Page 88  |  Page 89  |  Page 90  |  Page 91  |  Page 92