My friend ruined my wedding day so I cut her out of my life

Telegraph

19-05-2025

It took me and James 18 months to plan our wedding meticulously at a beautiful Georgian manor house in Wiltshire, back in 2023. It cost a fortune, but his parents are well off and they insisted on paying the venue costs. I was so grateful to them, and determined that nothing would mar our special day. We pored over menus, DJs and arrangements daily, and when it came to the guest list we invited 100 carefully chosen people.
I was initially unsure about inviting my old girl gang from Bristol University. They were great fun but all big drinkers and could be fairly raucous in a group. But James pointed out that they had been a significant part of my life back then, that we'd all kept in touch over the years and that they should attend. In the end, I invited all four.
I was with the make-up artist in the bridal suite before the ceremony when my old pals burst in, clutching bottles of champagne and shrieking with excitement. The loudest, Helen, whom I hadn't seen since before Covid, had always been a party girl. She was immediately splashing booze into glasses and turning up the music as if we were getting ready for a massive club night, rather than my wedding ceremony. I laughingly asked her to tone it down a bit, and she told me not to be 'boring'.
Luckily the others were better at reading the room, and dragged her away to get dressed. I didn't see them again until after the ceremony when we were having drinks and canapés on the lawn. I noticed a few of James's friends glancing over at Helen and I realised she was wearing a skintight, emerald green satin strapless dress. She's quite well-endowed, and the men's eyes were on stalks.
James is from a very upper-middle-class background, he went to boarding school and his friends all understand social rules. They were beautifully dressed, with the women in chic silk frocks and expensive hats. In contrast, Helen looked like a Vegas showgirl. My other friends said nothing, but I saw a few raised eyebrows as she sashayed past, tipping back her champagne flute and brandishing it for refills. I knew she wasn't on a great salary, and I assumed she was making the most of the free fizz and would calm down over dinner.
We had chosen a typical English summer feast of poached salmon and asparagus followed by Eton mess, and then it was time for the speeches.
The best man's jokes were perfectly pitched for the crowd, funny without being filthy, and very affectionate. But when my dad stood up to speak, and was telling a sweet story about how neat and tidy I had been as a child, I heard Helen's voice yell, 'She wasn't f---ing tidy when I lived with her!'
I assume she'd hoped for a laugh, but there was a frozen silence. My dad eventually said, 'Well, not many students are,' and carried on. I had seen my new mother-in-law briefly close her eyes in horror, and I felt so mortified that I could barely focus on James's lovely speech, which he'd been worrying about for weeks – even though afterwards, people told me it was one of the day's highlights. During the applause, I heard Helen shrieking, 'Whoooh!' and whistling, as if we were at a rock gig.
I tried to ignore my humiliation as the evening party got under way. We'd booked a DJ to play old favourites; our first dance, to Unforgettable, went beautifully; and I was enjoying myself. I was dancing with various family members when my sister nudged me and nodded at someone across the dance floor.
I had a sinking feeling, and I was right. To my horror, Helen was dirty-dancing with – or more accurately, at – Clive, James's 70-year-old, ex-military father. She was shimmying up and down, pulling his tie to lead him along, running her hands up and down his chest… Clive wore an expression of bemused alarm, and was clearly trying politely to extract himself, but Helen was too drunk to notice, draping her arms around his neck and pressing up against him.
Thankfully, the best man saw Clive's predicament and stepped in to dance with her. Clive shook his head wearily as he left the dance floor, saying, 'Your friend's certainly enjoying herself.'
I was very embarrassed, but I didn't want her antics to spoil the day – she was drunk and having fun, and everyone else was having a great time too, albeit less chaotically.
Later on, at about 10pm, James and I were in the lobby, saying a polite goodbye to his elderly aunt and uncle, when a blur of emerald green rushed past us, swiftly followed by loud vomiting noises.
The couple had to make their way out past a pool of sick on the front steps, ignoring Helen, who was now standing barefoot on the lawn, presumably sobering up.
James found someone to clean it up, apologising profusely, and we returned to the party – but Helen's behaviour was all anyone could talk about. I'd hoped our wonderful wedding would be remembered only for its warmth and elegance, but she put paid to that.
Before we went on honeymoon the next day, I apologised to the staff, and to James's parents, who were very gracious and laughed it off, albeit rather stiffly. But Helen had checked out first thing, and hadn't left a message. I had expected a fulsome apology, but none was forthcoming. As the days, then weeks, went by, it became clear she wasn't going to apologise at all.
Perhaps she was too embarrassed. I spoke to the other university friends from our group, and they hadn't heard from her either. I would have forgiven her awful behaviour, but as she didn't have the decency to acknowledge it, I blocked her on social media and – in my mind, at least – ended the friendship. I didn't feel sad. Helen wasn't in my life day-to-day, and clearly, we no longer had anything in common. Now, I just wish I could remember our wedding day without thinking about Clive's horrified expression and the terrible mess the staff had to clear up. It was certainly memorable – but not quite in the way I'd hoped.