Mother of the Bride

‘That’s what I was ringing up about. I was talking to my boss, Bert, yesterday and he wondered if you might like to have the wedding here.’

‘At Vanguard Hall?’

‘Uh-huh, I mean you can at least think about it.’

‘Oh God, that would be perfect. It’s lovely there.’

‘I think you’d probably have to have the legal bit somewhere else but you could have the reception here if you wanted to. He suggested you come over and take a look round. He was thinking you might like to use the Tythe Barn – after all it’s got loos and fire exits and all that stuff for when we open the gardens up in the summer. Do you know the room I mean?’

‘The one they do tea and cakes in?’

‘That’s the one. Anyway, it’s something to think about. Bert’s been mulling over whether to go for the wedding trade. It’s big business – and I know he won’t be offended if you say no.’

‘Oh no, God, it would be wonderful,’ Jess murmured. ‘Did he say what it would cost? Only I haven’t spoken to Dad yet so I don’t have a clue what we’ve got to spend.’

‘It’s on the house. Bert is keen on family. And besides, because he’s toying with the idea of opening the hall up for weddings he wants to get a feel of what he’s letting himself in for.’

‘How many people do you think it would hold?’

‘No idea – come and take a look around and see what you think. I’d imagine you could easily get a hundred people in the barn, say ten tables of ten. I’ll ask him.’ Jack paused. ‘And well done you. Seems so grown-up. I hope you and Max are really happy.’

‘Thanks, Jack.’

There was a warm silence and then Jack continued, ‘I was going to ask, is he on some sort of medication? Only he must be mad taking you on, maybe I should warn him.’

Jess laughed; that was more like it. ‘Cheeky bugger. How are you anyway?’

‘Me, I’m fine – I can’t talk for long, me and Ollie are supposed to be working, or at least I am.’

‘Ollie?’

‘Yeah, head gardener and chief slave driver. I’ve got to water the walled garden. How about you ring me later to sort out when you’re coming over?’

‘Ok, I’ll talk to Mum.’

Jess didn’t really have much chance to think about the revelation that Max was down in Hampshire until she came off the phone, and then it hit her.

‘Bastard,’ Jess hissed as she wandered back into the house. Why on earth had he lied to her?

Molly looked up from the piles of lists. ‘Sorry?’

Jess waved the words away. ‘Nothing,’ she said.

Molly smiled back at her. ‘So how was Max?’

‘Absolutely fine, just off to lunch,’ Jess said, trying to sound matter of fact. ‘Now where were we?’

‘Lunch,’ said Molly, handing her a plate. ‘And how’s his work going?’

‘Just fine,’ lied Jess, sitting down at the kitchen table, not quite meeting Molly’s eye. ‘And it looks like we’ve got a cake and possibly a venue.’

‘Great,’ said Molly, peering at her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, just hungry,’ Jess said. The last thing she wanted was to talk about Max, because she knew that it wouldn’t take much to make her cry. What the hell was he thinking of? Old-fashioned or not, surely it wouldn’t have hurt for them to have gone down to see his parents together.

Chapter Seven (#ulink_da7a6fab-af20-500f-b5e3-66fb28cd483a)

The day just went on and on and so it was almost eight by the time Jess and Bassa finally left for the drive back to Swaffham.

Molly was exhausted. They had spent all day looking at wedding magazines and websites, and drawing up endless lists. They had eaten dinner in amongst a pile of wedding plans. Nick had been an absolute star; he’d fed them, oohed at all the pictures Jess had pushed under his nose, said all the right things in all the right places and was now busy packing the dishwasher.

Not for the first time Molly marvelled at her good fortune in finding a man like Nick after all these years, a man who loved her and her children – who repaid the compliment by loving him right back – and who loved her in ways so numerous and so palpable that she couldn’t imagine what life had been like without him.

‘Right,’ said Nick, handing her a mug of tea and settling himself down alongside her. ‘Hit me with it.’

‘Well, Jess’s idea is that we plan everything all in one big go, present it as a fait accompli to Jonathon and Max and then just get it all booked and organised, maybe with a couple of tweaks en route. Which sounds perfect in practice but in reality everything we looked at gave Jess something else to think about.’

‘You want more champagne? I think there’s another bottle in the fridge.’

Molly groaned. ‘Give me a break.’ She felt as if she had been mugged by a froth of organza and baby’s breath. She pushed the pile of magazines and notes and torn-out pages to one side of the kitchen table and slumped forward, head on hands.

‘Thank God she’s gone.’

‘You were brilliant.’ Nick grinned. ‘Don’t flag now – I’ve got a night of wild passion planned. Blindfolds, baby oil, furry handcuffs.’

His grin held until Molly laughed.

Nick aped rejection. ‘Don’t tell me; what you really want is a hot bath, and an early night?’

‘What would I do without you?’ asked Molly.

Nick considered the possibility for a moment. ‘Have all of the duvet yourself and get to watch what you want on the TV?’

Molly nodded. ‘There is that. You know that the next few weeks are going to be total hell, don’t you? And this is even before my nearest and dearest start moaning that they haven’t got an invitation or it’s too far away or on the wrong day.’

‘You’ve done the guest list already?’

Molly pulled a sheet of paper out from the pile. ‘More or less. Actually I don’t think there is much we haven’t taken a stab at.’

Nick moved behind her and rubbed her neck and shoulders, thumbs working into a great raft of knots and creaks, making Molly groan with a mixture of pain and relief.

‘Any woman who can deal with a juggling bear can cope with organising a wedding.’ He pulled Molly’s notebook back across the table and scanned down the list. ‘Registry office, followed by a humanist wedding at Vanguard Hall, wedding dress by Helen, invitations by Jess, Max’s mum to organise the cake, a ceilidh, food, photos and bar TBA.’ He paused. ‘There, you see. Fantastic. You’ve already done most of it.’

Molly looked up at him, loving his naïve optimism. ‘That’s provisional. We’ve got about a million other things to organise.’

Nick bent down and kissed her tired, weary lips. ‘TBA,’ he said. ‘Piece of cake.’

Which sparked something deep in Molly’s fuddled brain. ‘Oh God, yes, cake,’ she said, grabbing a pen and pulling the notebook towards her. ‘I’ve got to buy cake boxes to send to the people who can’t come.’