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‘Lily … how often do I ask anything of you?’

Okay, here we go. Whenever I hear that whine in my mum’s voice, I brace myself. At times like this I completely understand why my brother chose to live on the other side of the world, and not visit. It’s why Bath worked for me. And why St Aidan may not be the best idea, however desperate I am.

She gives a disgusted sniff. ‘Quite simply … never.’

‘That’s not entirely true.’ I close out the passing village green as I clamp my eyes shut, although that’s not going to save me. This is always how it goes. The times when my mum slips into her martyr-drama-queen persona are not her best.

‘I ask you to contribute one thing towards my dream of future happiness, and you refuse. As for your father … he’d be mortified to know you didn’t care.’

Since dad died, she always calls him that. As if he’s nothing to do with her any more. And this is nothing to do with me caring about her.

‘Leave Dad out of this.’ I’m croaking, because my mouth is dry. It’s the ultimate below-the-belt manipulation, because he’d most likely be telling me to stand up to her, and do what was right for me. And we both know that. What’s more, if he were here, she wouldn’t be needing flowers to get married to another blinking man.

‘That’s another thing.’ She’s tapping her fingers on the dash. ‘Refusing to go on a date with Fred is foolish. At least if you’re in his greenhouse you might warm to him. If you carry on as you are, you’re going to be single, old and lonely.’

The ‘old and single’ chestnut. I heave a big sigh. ‘The point is, that will be my choice.’

David clears his throat, as he pulls the car around into the lane. ‘Why can’t we buy flowers, like everyone else does?’

If anyone apart from him said that, I’d say good point well made. Although he seems to have missed that I’m the one who’ll make up the bouquets. Unless they defect to the opposition again. Which they might do, given their form so far. But this is between Mum and me. He should stay the hell out of it.

‘I might give the seeds a try.’ As it comes out, I’m as surprised to hear it as anyone. It’s something to do with David. And that same feeling I had as a stroppy teenager. If there’s a competition between wanting to stand my ground with my mum, and wanting to defy David, there’s a clear winner. ‘We’ll see.’ I’m not quite sure what I’ve let myself in for here.

‘Talking of Fred …’ It’s my mum again, brightening, as we round the corner.

David joins in, as we swerve to a halt behind a row of waiting cars. ‘Watch out, logs in the road.’ There’s a blast of cold air as he winds down his window.

As Fred saunters up, pushing back his waves, I almost swallow my tongue. He grins at me as he leans his forearm on the car roof. ‘We lost our load right outside the Manor entrance. It’s taken a while, but it’s pretty much clear now. Only blocked the open day for a couple of hours, so we’re all good.’

A likely story. ‘Fred …?’

He gives a shrug. ‘Accidents happen. I don’t think he’s lost too many customers. The joys of country house weddings, eh?’ Just as he’s about to go he dips back. ‘Do let me know if you think of anywhere my new girlfriend would like to go, Lily. She’s proving hard to pin down.’

Then he’s gone. Off down the lane, and swinging up into the tractor. And a few minutes later we’re driving down a gravelled avenue, between huge oaks, towards tall roofs glinting in the sun. And a country house that’s jarringly familiar all these years on, yet completely living up to its build up this time around. As much as I want to hate it, for Poppy and Rafe’s sake, somehow I can’t.

Chapter 9 (#ulink_d45f7037-1434-5ec3-b312-90998d4681b9)

Saturday, 25th February

Open Day at Rose Hill Manor: Ice breakers and sharp claws

‘So you see why we like it?’

My mum’s suddenly less sure of herself, hanging back as we get out of the car.

It’s one of those times when my memory plays tricks with scale. Somehow now we’ve pulled up on the gravel at the front, Rose Hill Manor’s bigger than I remember from the few times I came here as a teenager. Sharper too. But the windows are irregular, and the stone is so mellow, its warmth pulls you in. And the huge front door is open and inviting. Although whoever’s organised the parking has scored a mammoth fail, because there’s no signage, and there’s a jam of cars as drivers try to work out where to go.

‘It’s lovely.’ My hand’s on the handle of the car door, when it hits me that my mum’s about to commit to something huge here. ‘You are sure about this? You don’t want to wait a bit?’ She wouldn’t be the first woman to sign up for a wedding just because she fell in love with the venue.

She picks up her handbag, and she’s missed the point by a mile. ‘So long as we’re quick, we should beat the stampede. There were a lot of cars in that queue.’

I let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m not talking about now, I’m asking if you should be waiting longer to get married. You could have the wedding next year instead?’ I mean, how would she react if I said I was rushing into marrying someone I barely knew?

My mum’s expression is determined, as she catches my eye in the sun visor mirror. ‘Time’s short. At my age, I have to make the most of the youth I’ve got left.’ As she snaps away her lippy, she glances at a band on her wrist. ‘If I skip round the Manor, I should get to ten thousand.’

She’s lost me. ‘Ten thousand what?’

‘Steps, silly – on my Fitbit.’ She shakes her head at my frown. ‘Never mind, we’d better hurry.’

As we arrive at the entrance, David’s standing next to a balding potted pine, hitching up skinny jeans that could be borrowed from an eighteen-year-old. Believe me, if I’d picked up on the spray-on denim earlier, I’d never have left Heavenly Heights. But as we go into the lofty hallway, I take Poppy’s advice, to pick out the positives.

‘Fabulous staircase, and it’s lovely and cosy.’

There’s a flash of dayglow lycra as my mum unzips her jacket. ‘What a crowd. And it’s positively tropical. Lucky I’m wearing my technical top.’ She picks up my blank look. ‘Special exercise fabric – it wicks away the sweat, darling.’

On a need-to-know basis, that’s way too much. Whatever happened to her love affair with Phase Eight and a sedentary lifestyle? But she’s not joking about the crush. Despite Fred’s delaying tactics, the place is rammed. As we thread our way through the wide-open plan reception rooms that flow from one into the next there are couples hugging the walls.

‘Any idea which way we go?’ I ask, as I squeeze my way into a room with polished boards, and linen covered sofas. Even though it could have dropped straight from a Country Living magazine, there’s no hint of weddings at all. And there’s a thrumming sound track, that sounds like it came from a Driving Rock CD. As Meatloaf gives way to Led Zeppelin, at least the chaos is eclipsing David’s embarrassing trouser situation. It’s not like you can see anyone’s legs.

A girl rolls her eyes at me over her glass of fizz. ‘Bubbly’s in the study. We served ourselves, but we haven’t got a clue where to go next.’

When it comes to listening in, my mum’s a pro. ‘Don’t worry, we know our way around, we’ve been before. Follow us.’ As she begins her running commentary, more people start to tag along. ‘The winter garden’s where the ceremonies take place, then the ballroom’s the party space.’

David’s right behind her. ‘You can have marquees by the terrace, or even a lakeside tipi.’

Not that I’ve landed a styling commission yet, but at least soaking up the spaces and the atmosphere makes me feel less like a spare part. Although it would make me a traitor to Poppy, a job here would be a dream if I had the courage to do it.

‘And upstairs there are masses of luxury bedrooms, and a bridal suite.’ My mum can’t hold in her enthusiasm. ‘We’d better head up there now, if we’re going to get to spinning.’

‘Spinning?’ As I puff up the stairs, trying to keep up with her, I get my first clear view of her state-of-the-art Nike trainers. Given how pink they are, I can’t think how I missed them earlier. What’s more, it’s the first time I’ve ever known her leave the house without four inch heels.

She laughs over her shoulder. ‘It’s all go. The hazards of having a fiancé who’s a personal trainer. As soon as you see the four poster you’ll understand why I want to marry him here.’

The thought of my mum on her wedding night makes me shudder. ‘Maybe I’ll check out the other rooms. Give you two some “couple” time in the bridal suite.’

Linking arms with David, she heads for an elegant panelled door. ‘We’re in here then, you’ll need to be on the next floor. The single rooms are up under the eaves.’

There’s no point taking the truth as a jibe, but it still stings. ‘With your insider knowledge, they should be employing you as a guide.’ As I back down the landing, I’m visualising cupcakes. ‘I’ll wait for you by the refreshments.’

It’s a fight to reach the study, but I know I’m there when I spot a hand-written sign blu-tacked on the door. Drinks and Bookings. Kip Penryn is obviously an optimist then. The bad news is there’s not a crumb of cake in sight. It’s an indication of the entire event. I’d give ten out of ten for venue, zero for effort. But on the plus side, the study’s delightfully empty, with an array of bottles and ice buckets on a long oak desk. I’m helping myself to apple juice, when I hear a voice in the corridor outside.

‘If the fizz is as good as the rest of the place, they’ll be splashing round the Bolly. Fingers crossed for smoked salmon blinis.’

Someone blagging smoked salmon blinis? How’s that familiar? My stomach wilts, although it’s all my own fault. I’m the one who was shouting about the open day.

It’s a good thing I’ve put down my juice, because the next moment the door pushes open, and an apparition in white fur is storming towards me, arms out-stretched.

‘L-i-l-eeeeeeeee …’ Someone elongates my name as they drag me into a strangle-hold. ‘I was soooo hoping you’d be here.’