talk about it again. Not now.’
Gaby spoke with a surprising firmness, which had the instant effect of making Stephen change the subject.
‘Incidentally, Mother, have you talked to Dad?’
After another little internal wince, Carole replied, ‘Well, I spoke to him soon after you announced your engagement.’
‘But not since then?’
‘No.’
‘You said you were going to.’
The reproach in Stephen’s voice put Carole instantly on the defensive. ‘Yes, but I didn’t say when.’
‘No, but you must.’
‘I will.’
‘It’s very important that you and Dad are relaxed with each other at the wedding.’
‘I can assure you,’ said Carole with some asperity, ‘that your father and I will be as relaxed as it is possible for us to be. But neither of us is about to pretend that the divorce didn’t happen.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting that. I was just thinking, the more contact you’ve had before the event, the easier it will be for you.’
‘That, Stephen, is a matter of opinion.’
‘But you will try.’
‘Of course I’ll try!’ Carole was surprised at how close she had been to putting a ‘bloody’ in her reply.
‘I spoke to him a couple of days ago, and said that you’d be ringing him soon.’
And I’m sure I will. But I’ll do it without prompting from you, Stephen.’
‘OK, fine.’
The spectre of David loomed closer in Carole’s consciousness, and it was a troubling presence. There was a lot about the whole wedding business that troubled her. Not that her son was marrying Gaby Martin – that seemed a piece of unqualified good news – but the attendant details that this basic fact gave rise to. A reconciliation – at whatever level – with David was the most worrying of these. And now it had been joined by the fact that the wedding was to take place on Carole’s home patch. She knew she should be pleased and flattered by the news, but all it had done was to raise her anxiety. In spite of her mental strictures about Gaby’s mother’s response to the idea of organizing a wedding, Carole didn’t want to find herself forced into too much responsibility for the event.
As these two worries jostled for prominence, a third, which had been lurking in Carole’s unconscious, rose to join them – the prospect of meeting Gaby’s parents. Carole had the social skills of any middle-aged woman who’d been brought up in the right middle-class way, so she was not going to disgrace herself, but the mere thought of the encounter disturbed her. It was fear of the unknown. These two people were about to become inextricably involved with her, and that knowledge brought to Carole Seddon the familiar terror of losing control of her carefully circumscribed existence. In her Fethering retirement she had simplified everything – she had her comfortable Home Office pension, High Tor all paid for, her Labrador Gulliver to prevent her from looking like a lonely single woman. She resented anything that threatened to recomplicate her life.
As if reading her thoughts, Gaby said, And we really must fix a date for you to meet up with my mum and dad.’
‘Yes,’ Carole agreed, envying the ease of that ‘mum’. Without total honesty, she went on, ‘I’m really looking forward to that.’
‘I’ll ring them this evening and try to sort something out. Are weekends best for you, or would a weekday be as good?’
‘It doesn’t make a lot of difference,’ replied Carole, suddenly overwhelmed by the bleakness of her social calendar.
‘I’ll get back to you when I’ve talked to them.’
‘Fine.’ Everything seemed to be ‘fine’ that lunch-time, Carole thought wryly. At least, everyone kept saying everything was fine.
‘We’re going to have to move soon,’ Stephen announced, looking at his watch. ‘Want to look at some churches.’
‘I thought you’d decided that you were going to get married in Fethering.’
‘Near Fethering. If there’s a prettier church in one of the other local villages, then we’ll go for that. Since Gaby isn’t a resident . . .’
‘And since neither of us has a shred of religion,’ his fiancée contributed, anticipating his thought.
‘. . . we may as well make our choice on purely aesthetic grounds.’
Gaby’s face took on an expression of mock-guilt. ‘And the only person who’ll be offended by that will be my grandmother. Still carrying a very large candle for the Catholic Church, I’m afraid, Grand’mère. Still, she lives in France, and I think she’ll be too frail to make it to the wedding – so, as Steve says, we’ll just go for the prettiest church we can find.’
‘Yes, well, fine.’ Though Carole had no more religious feeling than they did, she had found her son’s words a little offensive. Without buying into the belief side of the church, she felt there were still certain social niceties that should be respected.
She reached for her handbag. ‘I’ll settle up.’
‘I’ll get it, Mother.’
‘No, my treat. My patch. My idea to meet here.’
‘I won’t hear of it.’
And he wouldn’t. Before Carole had time for further remonstration, Stephen was up at the bar, wallet at the ready.
Gaby eased her body against the hard back of the settle in their alcove, wincing as she did so.
‘You all right?’
‘Getting a bit of pain from my back.’
‘Have you had it looked at?’
‘No, I’m sure it’ll sort itself out. Just tension.’
‘Worried about the huge step you’re taking in getting married?’
It was an atypically direct question for Carole, but Gaby just laughed it off. ‘No, a client at work’s giving us a hard time. Actor who’s just hit the big time – or may have hit the big time. He keeps talking about moving on to another agency, and my boss is on my case all the time, trying to make sure I don’t allow that to happen.’ She grinned weakly. ‘Usual stuff.’
Carole wasn’t entirely convinced by the answer. She thought her own diagnosis might be nearer the truth. Suddenly she noticed how pale and stressed Gaby looked, how different from the vivacious young woman she had first met only a few months previously at the Hopwicke Country House Hotel. Though her body retained its plumpness, Gaby’s face seemed to have thinned. There were deep hollows under her eyes and the tight blonde curls had lost their lustre.
