mobile phone, which Cyb happened to know used to belong to his youngest granddaughter, as if it were the latest in modern technology. “Got to stay connected, haven’t we?”
“Did she really mind? I mean, it needed doing, didn’t it?” Cyb asked, worried. After all, there was little point putting in new carpets and curtains if the whole building might fall down around them.
“Yes, it did,” Moira said firmly. “It’s going to need a whole lot more doing to it, too. But at least this way it won’t have sunk into the marsh before they can get round to it.”
“And who’s going to do all that work, I’d like to know?” Stan muttered. “After Nate got rid of the builder, too.”
“She’s got a builder,” Moira told him, leaving Stan looking surprised. “Nate called some friends of his, and they’re coming out to the inn to give her a proper estimate this afternoon.” She gave Stan a sideways glance. “I imagine it was one of them at work on the terrace this morning.”
Stan stared at her, obviously not wanting to ask how she knew more than he did, until Moira pulled a considerably shinier and more streamlined phone from her handbag. “Nate keeps me informed.”
Cyb held back a fond smile. Yes, he wasn’t without his faults, but Stan was a good man. A caring, passionate man. And Harry had been gone a very long time. Maybe it was time for her to start living again, at last. Once she’d figured out a way to make Stan think it was his idea.
Stan cleared his throat, shrugged, and tried to take back control of the meeting. “Well, obviously the most important thing is that we keep the lines of communication open between ourselves. But let’s get back to the real issue. If we don’t want Carrie to know we’re helping, how are we going to help?”
They all sat in silence for a moment, considering their options.
“Well, let’s look at this logically,” Stan said, but Cyb wasn’t really listening. She was remembering how surprised Carrie had looked the night before when she’d realised how detailed their forties night had been. How much effort they’d put in. “We want to help her, but she can’t know we’re helping—” Stan went on.
“I’ve got an idea,” Cyb interrupted, before she could think about it enough to convince herself it was a stupid idea, like so many of hers. “Carrie needs to deal with the big problems, right? Keep the inn standing.”
Stan sighed. “Yes, Cyb. That’s what we’ve been saying. So how can we help her? Moira? Any ideas?”
Moira shook her head. “I want to hear Cyb’s idea.”
Cyb couldn’t remember the last time anyone actually had wanted to hear one of her suggestions. They were happy to let her ramble on about the good old days, but when it came to things that mattered, everyone turned to Stan and Moira. But not this time. “Well, if we can’t help with the big things, we need to take care of the details, all the little things Carrie won’t have time to think of.”
There was silence, for a long moment. Cyb was just about to laugh and pretend she was joking when Stan spoke.
“Right. So. What sort of details are we talking about here? Perfumed soaps and things?”
Cyb smiled so widely she could feel new laugh lines forming. Maybe convincing Stan about other things would be just as easy. Then she started telling them the rest of her idea.
* * * *
Carrie stared at the piles in front of her and sighed.
She’d finally caved and moved into Nancy’s office, a tiny, cluttered room behind the kitchen, just about big enough for a desk and a chair. Until then, she’d only popped in long enough to grab a file or a folder she needed to compile her lists. The sheer level of disorganisation made it impossible to work in there.
But she couldn’t possibly get everything done camping out in the Green Room. It was time to start taking this seriously. Beginning with clearing out the damn office so she had somewhere to work.
She’d hoped to have it done before Nate’s builder friends showed up that afternoon, but she’d barely even cleared enough space to sort papers in. Maybe she could just bin it all and start again from scratch.
Jacob brought her some coffee after she’d been working for an hour or so.
“You are a coffee god,” she told him, taking a grateful sip.
Jacob shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. “I just fill the coffee maker. How’s it going?”
“Oh, you know.” Carrie didn’t want to tell him she’d cried the first time she came across one of Nancy’s scrawled notes on a printed page. “I think I’ve dug out the computer, at least.” She waved her mug at the yellowing plastic hulk on the corner of the desk.
“Just think, when you finish sorting the actual files, you can see how bad Nancy was at digital filing, too.” With that, Jacob disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Carrie glaring at the computer.
When her phone rang a few minutes later, Carrie knew she’d never find it before it rang off. But since it was probably Ruth returning her call she had to at least look, so she started rooting around amongst the papers.
The phone, silent again by that point, finally reappeared in one of the file drawers.
“Carrie!” Ruth said, picking up immediately when Carrie rang back. “I’ve been trying to call you all day. Doesn’t Wales have mobile reception?”
“Apparently not,” Carrie told her cousin, dropping onto the recently cleared desk chair. “How’s the wedding planning going?”
“Mother is already driving me insane over the guest list.”
Carrie thought having Aunt Selena as a mother would have driven her insane years before, but she didn’t mention it. Ruth was amazingly forbearing. “It’s a big day for her too,” she said in a half-hearted attempt to play devil’s advocate. “It’s not every day your only child gets married.”
“Graeme keeps suggesting we elope.” Ruth sighed on the other end of the line. “I’m pretty sure he’s joking.”
“I’m pretty sure he isn’t,” Carrie said, and laughed. “And I can’t say I blame him. One thing I’ve learned from my years of wedding planning is that it’s almost never an enjoyable experience for the groom.”
“Well, I’ll have to make it up to him after all this is over,” Ruth said. “I haven’t got time to do anything that isn’t wedding-related at the moment.”
Carrie resisted the temptation to suggest that the groom was somewhat wedding-related himself. Apart from anything else, she knew from past experience that wasn’t always the case until the big day.
“Well, you have set yourself a tight deadline,” she said instead, nurturing a faint spark of hope that Ruth might decide to push the wedding back by a few months. As long as she still booked, Carrie would have both money and time to make things really special for her cousin.
But Ruth said, “And thank God I did! It’s not my ideas for the day that are the problem. It’s the way my mother keeps trying to derail everything I want. I turn
