Arriving at Twickenham Road is a breath of fresh air. I walk the rest of the way to Syon Park, stopping for a bite to eat on the way. The last thing I want is to draw attention to myself with a growling tummy in the middle of a wedding.
The ceremony will take place in a garden full of colourful blooms, and it’s decorated the only way my friends could. It’s tasteful and minimal, but with the air of sophistication they share. Plain white chairs sit in rows facing the altar, which is an arch of linen white blooms. I take a seat at the rear when friends and family start arriving.
I can do nothing now but wait. I spend what feels like an age checking my phone, digging through my bag and inspecting my fingernails, before rolling back through the cycle again.
‘Katharine, God am I glad to see you.’ Frank appears at my side, squatting beside my chair and reaching for my hands. He looks gorgeous in his suit and bow tie, hair slicked back and clean-shaven. ‘I owe you the world’s biggest apology.’
‘Hey, you,’ I say quietly. ‘You look incredible, by the way.’
‘Don’t scrub up too badly, do I?’ He takes a moment to enjoy the compliment, as he should. ‘But, how are you? Is the gallery coming along well?’
I smile, realising I’m enjoying spending the day away from the place – even if it does mean having the tough conversations. ‘I am ready to rock and roll tomorrow night. Everything is up, I just need to open the doors.’
‘You know it’s going to go off without a hitch, right?’
If only that were true.
‘If I can say something, though, I am so sorry about what happened. I can’t—’ he taps his hand to his forehead ‘—I truly can’t believe the night ended like that. What I told Hunter was not what came out of his mouth.’
‘What did you tell him?’ I ask, remembering Fiona’s words yesterday. He’s the source of the trouble, so he must be the source of the solution.
‘I told him that you were, are, a dear friend, that we’d love to see you meet someone just as wonderful as you, and that you’d had enough of quick flings,’ he says carefully. ‘When we were on the way to pick you up, I did mention how much he might like you because you were always up for a good time, in that the three of us would go out and have a literal good time. I certainly didn’t intend to give him some mental image of, well, you know.’
‘That might have given him an impression though, don’t you think?’
He nods. ‘I can see that now, and I take full responsibility for that. I am so sorry.’
‘I appreciate that, thank you.’
‘Are you still joining us for the reception?’ He grimaces. ‘Please say yes. We’d hate for you to miss it.’
I pull the top of my handbag open to flash the menu cards at him and he smiles.
‘Lainey’s going to be thrilled.’ He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. ‘As am I. You are incredible. Don’t let anyone tell you any different, okay? When this is all done and dusted, we’ll catch up for a night out. My shout. You can bring that guy, too. Is it Kit?’
I nod as he makes his way towards the celebrant to wait for Lainey.
She arrives fashionably late, making it seem like the breeziest thing ever, as only she can. Now, if I thought her dress looked beautiful on her in the bridal shop, it looks a million times better today. Her hair is swept up in an effortless ponytail, and her make-up is so flawless you’d think it was her natural skin. She looks incredible and, far from being jealous, I’m thrilled for her.
Like all wedding ceremonies, which seem to be months of planning boiled down to a twenty-minute timeslot –a terribly unromantic view – it goes past in such a flash. Frank kisses his bride, the register is signed, and they’re bounding past everyone at a rate of knots on their way to have their photos taken.
I can’t be sure Lainey even knows I’m here yet, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest, because today is not about me. I follow the crowd to the Conservatory where there’s a framed seating chart awaiting our perusal.
I’m glad to find my name is still there. Not only is it there, I’ve been shuffled over to one of the family tables, on the other side of the venue from Hunter. I duck inside and, after a quick chat to staff, replace all the bubblejet printed cards with my handwritten menus. Everything matches now, eggshell blue and white place cards and menus in a spidery yet precise font, just as it should have been.
While I’m relieved that I’ve spoken to Frank, I can only hope Lainey is happy to see them. And me.
Hunter steers clear of me, a nervous look thrown my way as I scuttle past his table and up towards my new one. If he stays on that side of the room tonight, everything will be fine. But I’m still nervous as I join everyone in standing for the bride and groom. They’re both beaming beyond what I ever thought possible for two human beings. It’s gorgeous, and it makes me so happy.
They work their way through the centre of the room, waving and mouthing thanks to parents who leap out to hug them again. When they reach the bridal table, I stop and hold my breath as the look on Lainey’s face changes. She goes from beaming bride to something close to sobbing in no time flat as she picks up the first of the menu cards from her table.
As soon as she’s able to, immediately following the first toast, she makes a beeline to my table, scooping me up from my seat and clutching me so tightly anyone would think this was our farewell. But it’s okay, because I’m holding her just as tightly. We don’t have to say anything, we just know: it’s okay.
‘Frank told me.’ She smiles. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘I wasn’t sure if you wanted me here or not, but I really wanted to be here,’ I say. ‘If that’s okay.’
‘It’s more than okay.’ She looks at me.
‘You look beautiful, just so you know.’
‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you all week,’ she says in a teary whisper.
‘Likewise.’ I look around the room. ‘I really regret what happened.’
‘Did you bring someone with you?’ She looks around me. ‘We left the spot next to you free.’
I blow my cheeks out. ‘Boy, do I have a story or two, or ten, for you.’
‘What? Really?’ she asks. ‘What happened?’
We’re back in our impenetrable huddle. People are trying to get her attention, wanting to drag her away for photo opportunities, so I don’t get to tell her much right now, but that’s what the dance floor is for later on.
Chapter 33
A champagne cork pops behind my head, bubbles frothing and spilling over the mouth of the bottle and directly onto the freshly mopped floor. I’m not even the least bit concerned because, seconds later, the fizz is joined by laughter and the clink of glasses. Finally, I’m having a party – the Katharine Patterson Gallery is open for business!
There was a small crowd waiting to get in the door. Mostly students with a smattering of family and friends, their excitement palpable. And contagious. I’m carried along on a cloud of introductions and handshakes as we make our way to the middle of the front room. That’s where we stay, a dozen of us, huddled in discussion for the next thirty minutes. Eventually, one person breaks off and the rest follow, dispersing around the gallery.
It was a long, late trip back from London last night, but I was wired from the buzz of seeing Lainey married. We had the quickest of reconciliations and debriefings on the dance floor where, I think for the first time, I openly gushed to someone about Christopher. She almost brought the place to a standstill when I told her about John and the fallout from that, offering to call Christopher herself by way of verbal referee.
Getting back on the train, and before the night had officially wound down, was difficult, but not as difficult as not attending her wedding altogether. I’m relieved and proud of myself for taking charge. Because of that, I barely slept a wink. But I can’t possibly think of yawning when I see excited faces cramming for space by their own art.
Cameras flash and selfie sticks are whipped out, the notifications on my pho
ne start rolling over like the arrivals ticker at Heathrow, and all I can do is wait for the night to play out. The work is done, all that’s left to do is enjoy the night. A little like the wedding yesterday. So much planning and, if I don’t pay attention, everything will be gone in the blink of an eye.
Local press filter in and out, and I’m chuffed to see a few critics have made the trip up from London. They’re armed with their phones and busily taking notes as they walk the room and chat to artists. When a group of colleagues from Webster arrive, we laugh about the last time we all saw each other and pop another bottle in celebration. I delight in regaling them with stories of paint pots, floorboards and broken toilets; the trials of the new business owner.
The first sale of the night whisks me away from them just before 9 p.m. A collector who’s driven down from Edinburgh with their chequebook ready looks primed to buy Fiona’s set of prints. So excited am I that I grab her by the arm and drag her into the far corner of the room to meet the buyer, where we talk numbers and sign contracts. It’s one of the best possible things that could have happened tonight. For both of us.
I watch as she races back into the crowd, searching out an ebullient Dad, who bursts into tears at her news.
I slip away from the crowd and hide away upstairs for a few moments so I can fish my phone out of my bag. I’d love to say there’s a message waiting for me, or even a quick voicemail from Christopher, but there’s nothing, and the realisation hurts. Even more so when I consider that my phone is full of messages from random strangers, all wanting a piece of the action. Even Lainey, who’s busy packing for her honeymoon, has sent texts demanding pictures.
When I dial his number. It goes straight to voicemail.
‘Hey you, it’s me. Don’t really want to leave you another rambling message into the abyss, so I’ll make it quick. Tonight has been, it is, amazing. You’d be so proud everyone. We’ve just had our first sale, so we’re not quite there yet, but I’m hopeful. Anyway, I just wanted you to know. I wish you were here.’ I stop. ‘And I’m sorry for everything. It was utterly my fault and I would love to sit and talk about it if you’ll hear me out. Anyway, I love—’
I reach the time limit and the phone cuts me off.
‘—you.’
Back downstairs, Adam has arrived and is already deep in conversation with Lolly, the red-headed girl from Dad’s shop. There’s a lightness about them that fits effortlessly, and every time he makes her laugh, she blushes a bit more. I skirt past them with the offer of a fresh drink and search out Fiona.
When she hasn’t been busy selling paintings, she’s been doing her best to be my personal assistant, walking and talking with any member of the press who stands still long enough to warrant a hello. If she’s not doing that, she’s latching onto the catering team, wandering around with trays of drinks and nibbles and making sure I get my share of food.
‘Come with me.’ I wave her over as she whizzes past for the third time in fifteen minutes. ‘I want to show you something.’
‘Me?’ She exchanges a look with Dad, who ambles over, as well as Adam when we brush past him.
Dad’s wearing the best suit he owns, bless him. His shoes are polished, he’s had his hair trimmed and his tie is straighter than a die. He’s a minor celebrity in his circle of customers, not that he’d ever admit it. I do a quick lap of the room, clocking the front door opening in the corner of my eye, before excusing myself.
There’s one more thing I want to do tonight, and it involves the small room that currently features Christopher’s art.
‘What a lovely painting.’ Dad stands right up close to the portrait of me. ‘Not as handsome as me, obviously, but the blue is an interesting touch.’
I blush nervously, knowing full well what that afternoon signified. Gosh I miss him. In all the time I had to think last night, I came to the unsurprising conclusion that he is everything I’ve ever wanted. Someone I can talk to, work and celebrate with. What happened between us was entirely my fault, I get that now. In the rush to bury my past, I hadn’t told him enough to be prepared, if there was such a thing as being prepared for John.
‘He really is amazing, isn’t he?’ Fiona looks on in wonder as if she’s seeing it again for the first time over. ‘I wish I had half his talent.’
‘You’ve got his talent and more,’ I interrupt her thoughts. ‘Fi, I want to offer you this room.’
She looks around, confused. ‘But it’s full of Kit?’
Oh, how I wish that were true. ‘Yes, but what I mean is after that. Once this first exhibition is done, if you’d like to hold a permanent display here, this space is yours.’
She makes a noise not unlike a startled mouse and looks to Dad like she’s not quite sure she’s heard right. Dad’s heard, and he’s dabbing at his eyes with the end of his tie.
‘What do you think?’ Adam creeps up from behind and hugs her. ‘I told her she’d lost the plot, that you should have the big room because you’re amazing.’
‘Oh, my heart,’ she says with a jittery laugh. ‘I would be thrilled.’
‘Really?’ I clap my hands to my face. ‘I didn’t want you to think I was being—’
She leaps forward and hugs me like she never has before. ‘I’ve tried for years to get into a gallery. I think I’m a little too left of centre for some people, so this is just … it’s everything I’ve ever hoped for. Of course I’ll accept.’
I pull back and hold her by the shoulders. ‘You are absolutely perfect; you’ve been the most amazing help these last few weeks and I love you more and more every time I see you. Don’t you ever change.’
‘Oh, you.’
‘You’re like Mum two-point-oh,’ Adam adds. ‘Mum squared? No, that’s not right.’
Fiona wipes at her eyes and laughs. ‘I don’t know, if I keep eating those canapés you’ve got on offer tonight, I might end up mum cubed.’
‘Mum to the power of pie?’ I try.
It may be that I’m feeling a little peaky from the champagne but, damn I love group hugs. The four of us hold tight in the back room while Fiona has a sobby moment, Dad has a sobby moment, and Adam tells us he’s moving home to open his own law firm. Apparently, I made upending my life look easy.
I really didn’t.
When we gather ourselves, they leave me alone to collect my thoughts before I head back out into the fold. They’re wild and scattered, but as I stand in front of this painting of me, I know that I’ll be heading out to Loxley tomorrow morning. I’m going to tell him how I feel and let the chips fall where they may.
‘Would it help if I begged you not to marry him?’
There it is, that feeling, that bump that says: here he is. I turn to find Christopher standing there, hands in pockets, shoes sparkling and suit freshly pressed. As I hope for a moment of peace, we’re greeted by the steady stream of shoulder pats and backslaps as people walk past the small room. One forceful thump pushes him forwards into the room.
For the first time all week, we share a knowing look.
‘What would help is if you checked your messages.’ I reach forward and take his hand.
‘Oh, I heard them,’ he says. ‘And saw them. I just want to be sure that, if you marry anyone, it’s going to be me.’
I thread my fingers with him and pull him closer. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Scarily enough, yes.’ He smooths a hand over my head. I love it when he does that. ‘Katharine, I was done for you the second we met.’
‘That, sir, is a lie,’ I say with a snigger. While twelve-year-old me, who flipped through bridal magazines and traipsed downstairs Homer Simpson-style with a bouquet of garden variety rosemary, is screaming that is a for real proposal, my adult brain is trying to temper this with reason. ‘I got the distinct impression you found me insufferable.’
‘Not quite insufferable.’ He narrows his eyes and I copy. ‘Challenging, absolutely, but that’s what I love about you.’
‘You love about me?’
‘Well,’ he starts with a shrug, ‘one of the things, anyway.’
I go to speak again, but he stops me with a look.
‘Katharine, I have been completely unfair to you,’ he says. ‘I should have stayed. I should have listened to you.’
‘Yes, but I could have, I don’ t know, warned you about him,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, too.’
‘Did you know that he was coming?’ he asks.
‘What? No,’ I say with a disbelieving laugh. ‘Absolutely not.’
He rolls his eyes and sighs. ‘I am absolutely filling my pants right now because I don’t want this to come out the wrong way.’
‘There is no wrong way.’ I reach up and hold his cheek. ‘Just spit it out.’
‘You drive me bloody insane. You are brilliant and smart and funny, and you are so unbelievably beautiful, and you are the only, only person who can hold a decent conversation with me about art, who can take me to task in the most wonderful way. And I was so determined to keep you at arm’s length.’
‘No,’ I mock. ‘You?’
‘Worked well, didn’t it?’
‘Slipped through.’ I pinch my thumb and forefinger in his face. ‘Completely accidental, I assure you.’
‘Maybe you were an accident, but I’m so glad you were. I don’t connect with many people.’
I chuckle and clutch at the lapels of his jack, eventually slipping my arms around him and, boy, is it good to hold him again. He’s warm and solid and totally real. There’s nothing loud or flashy about him, it’s all genuine. I’ve either just wet myself, or that’s the warm flood of affection that’s filled me from head to toe.
Love, huh. How good is it?
‘Fancy that, you being difficult.’
‘Another fun fact.’ He leans down and pops a kiss on the tip of my nose. ‘The school was actually struggling before you came thundering along. I just couldn’t find my groove, class numbers were low, and then you arrived and saw through every stupid excuse I had. Now with this exhibition, because of you, I can’t keep up. You are a challenge and you challenge me and, God, I love you. I do. Maybe that’s too much, I don’t know, but I know how I feel.’
Accidentally in Love: An utterly uplifting laugh out loud romantic comedy Page 31
