too short to mess around wasting time.’
Cliché alert. Did you ever hear so much drivel in one sentence? I’d feel more inclined to believe David if I were certain he meant my mum, rather than her bank account. This early, who can tell? Although when it comes to choosing partners, I’m the last person to talk.
I let my eyes slide towards the garden for a few seconds’ respite. Big mistake. How could I have forgotten my mum pegs her washing out all year round as long as it isn’t raining? I’m staring straight at the rotary dryer, and the line of underpants I see hanging there almost brings sick into my mouth. Variations on the Superhero theme. It’s so not helpful to know your future step-dad wears Batman briefs. Although given how many pairs there are hanging there, it’s a pretty good indication he’s moved in.
‘Summer’s a fabulous time for a wedding.’ It’s a squeak, to move my mental image on from flapping boxers. Okay, it doesn’t exactly follow on, but I’m talking in the general sense, so I’m not being a hypocrite. ‘Lucky I’ll be here to help.’
‘You will?’ My mum can’t hide her immediate breathy panic. ‘How come?’
I sense I need to back pedal. ‘I’ll only help if you want me to.’ Then I push on to get the next bit over. ‘Jess made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, so I’ll be working at Brides by the Sea in the styling department. Doing flowers, and lots more. As of next week.’ Hopefully the spin will make it shine.
My mum’s face falls. ‘But what about your lovely hotel job?’ Believe me, it’s never had praise that glowing before.
Saying it out loud is a wake up call. St Aidan is not a consolation prize. It’s a safety net I’m choosing to throw myself into. As Jess says, it doesn’t have to be forever.
Not every question needs a straight answer. At least this time smiling brightly is easier than it was earlier. ‘I’ll be living over the shop. Good timing for discounts too.’
‘Great.’ Her expression doesn’t match the word. ‘We’ve decided to stay local for the wedding anyway. Get married in the village.’
‘Brilliant.’ I couldn’t cope with a ‘destination’. At least this means a welcome extra booking for Rafe and Poppy. ‘The farm house at Daisy Hill will be ready for then too. And weddings there are so fabulous. There’s even a grand piano.’ Despite myself, I almost feel a flurry of excitement.
‘The farm?’ My mum sends David a wild-eyed glance. ‘Actually we’ve rather set our heart on …’
David holds up his hand. ‘No Barbs, we haven’t decided anything yet. Don’t let Lily think it’s a fait accompli.’ He turns to me. ‘We’re going to have a second look at Rose Hill Manor. We were there this morning. And it ticked a lot of boxes.’
Oh shit. A personal trainer who speaks French too. That’s me put in my place. It’s already in the bag. ‘Lovely.’ It comes out as a rasp. So Mr Penryn wasn’t lying about his booking rush. Damned ironic that it was my mother though.
My mum’s wringing her hands. ‘You know me, I was never one for mud.’
Which reminds me, I’ve been here for what feels like an age, and I still haven’t caught a glimpse of the ring yet.
David goes on. ‘You could come with us to the Manor next time? As you’re in the business now.’
Talk about walking on eggshells. Although it’s a surprise he’s butting in, when this is between me and my mum.
‘I don’t want to intrude.’ If I had any sense, I’d keep right out of this. Viewing wedding venues with love birds has to be the ultimate gooseberry activity. Although if they’re anything like Thom and me, they’ll be at each other’s throats soon enough. But I’m torn, because for Poppy and Rafe’s sake, I should be jumping at the offer. It’s the perfect opportunity to check out what that damned Penryn is playing at. ‘Actually, yes, thanks for asking me. I’d love to come with you.’
My mum’s face crumples in horror, and her mouth opens. She knows all about brides getting railroaded. And wedding interference. She perfected the art when Thom and I married. But before her protest has time to hit the air, a figure appears on the grass outside, and there’s a knock on the French window.
‘It’s only Fred bringing logs.’ As she gets up there’s a gleam in her eye.
I catch my breath when I hear the name. Which is a complete accident.
‘He’s from a very nice farm, Lily. And sells the driest wood in the area. You could do a lot worse.’ By the time her hand lands on the door handle, she’s fixing me with her ‘now or never’ stare.
Here we go. This is what I have to put up with. ‘A “nice” farm? That would be one without mud then?’ I say.
But she’s not listening, because she’s flinging open the door. ‘Fred, do come in, there’s someone here I’m dying for you to meet.’ That old line. ‘No need to take off your boots.’
What? Who gets in here in their outdoor shoes? What’s more, why has my heart done the tiniest cartwheel in my chest when I’m having no part of this?
She presses a pair of bright blue shoe covers into Fred’s hand so fast, she must have had them up her sleeve. Then she seizes a tartan throw from under a cushion, and with one flap it’s open, and covering half a sofa. As Fred’s blue feet slither across the shiny oak floor, and my mum escorts him to his mud-proofed area, he sends me a grin over the top of her choppy blonde streaks. It’s obvious he’s done this before.
David has too, given he’s arrived at Fred’s elbow with a mug of tea, a plate and the tea trolley.
My mum waits until Fred unzips his hoodie and eases back onto his rug, then she launches the Exocet. ‘So, this is my daughter Lily, she’s currently on her own, and she’d love you to take her out for a drink. Or better still, dinner and a drink. Or even …’
If I cut in rudely, it’s to shut her up. ‘Or a mini-break in London would work for me. Or even a romantic trip to New York if you’re up for that?’ I only hope my mum’s happy I’ve been reunited with my sense of humour. And note how she flagged up my status without mentioning the ‘D’ word. Then I put on my best ‘appalled of Rose Hill’ face – I get a lot of practice at that with my mum – and shake my head at Fred. ‘I’m divorced, by the way. Excuse me while I crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.’
From the way Fred’s choking behind his hand, he has to be laughing. Eventually he stops shaking, and smiles. ‘I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you, Barbara. Matchmaking isn’t the best look for mums. In any case, you’re too late, I’m already taken.’
My insides deflate like a popped balloon. Which really isn’t my style. Not that I was interested in Fred. Because I wasn’t at all. But whatever.
‘B-b-but …?’ My mum’s even more confused than my flattened ego.
Fred’s lips twitch, and one eye narrows as he catches mine. ‘I met a lovely girl last night. Given she went home wearing my shirt, I’d say I’m well in there. Wouldn’t you, Lily?’ As he holds my gaze, a tiny part of me melts. Then he dips to adjust a foot cover, and slides me a wink.
It
