‘Right,’ Christopher said again. The needle was stuck in his groove.
Deborah must have sensed the uncertainty, because she got up from her club chair and smoothly excused herself. ‘I’ve just got to check in on the stables,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave you two to discuss.’
I watched her back retreat down the corridor. ‘They have horses?’ I said weakly. ‘I love horses.’
‘Right,’ Christopher said, and I resisted the urge to slap him on the back to unstick him. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s perfect,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘And cheap.’
‘And we could choose the date based on when the most people could come.’
‘With the rooms in the Hall, we wouldn’t have to worry about where most of the guests would stay.’
‘And there are horses,’ I added.
‘Yes. There are horses.’
We looked at each other, each trying to read the other’s mind. Finally, I opened my mouth. ‘Let’s do it.’
He looked at me carefully. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure!’ I cried. All of my dreams for this wedding – every single one of them – were fulfilled by this place. How could I not be sure? The memory of Jackson’s lips on mine popped, unwelcome, into my head and I swatted it away. Yes, I was sure. ‘September would be nice,’ I murmured.
He gave me a tight nod. ‘September it is.’
Deborah’s perfectly coiffed head appeared at the door. ‘Any decisions?’ she asked brightly.
‘We’d like to put down a deposit for the first weekend of September,’ I said. I looked down to see that my hands were still trembling slightly, and I moved to still them.
‘Lovely!’ Deborah sang. ‘But no need to put down a deposit now. I’ve met you, so I know I can trust you. I’ll just pop your names in my book and you can give me a bell when you’re ready.’
Christopher and I exchanged an incredulous look. It was too good to be true, and yet here was our new best friend Deborah beaming at us like a beatific angel.
‘Okay,’ we said cagily. ‘If you’re sure …’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I should probably be getting on with the day. Not that I wouldn’t love to spend it with the two of you!’
‘Of course!’ We sprang out of our chairs as if there were flames beneath them. She shepherded us out of the hall and back down the little pathway past the barn and out to our car. ‘It’s been a pleasure spending the afternoon with you. You’re a lovely couple.’
‘Thank you,’ I blushed. ‘We really appreciate you taking the time.’
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘And if you have any questions or concerns, just give me a bell on this number.’ She handed me a card with her name and number written on it in embossed gold.
Christopher stuck out his hand and shook hers. ‘Thank you again,’ he said. ‘We’ll be in touch.’
‘I certainly hope so!’ Deborah said, giving us a little wave before turning and walking back up towards the Hall.
‘What a nice woman,’ I sighed as I buckled in.
Christopher nodded. ‘Incredibly so.’ He turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine. ‘It’s all working out, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Perfectly.’
The Red Lion was perfect, too. Downstairs, it was a cosy little pub with an open fire, walls covered in pictures of ye olde people, and a stack of board games. Our room upstairs was positively palatial, with beamed ceiling, a four-poster bed and a basket full of those little individually-wrapped cookies I loved so much. Once again, we marveled at our luck.
‘It’s a turn-up for the books,’ Christopher said as he surveyed the claw-footed tub.
‘It really is,’ I agreed as I fell back on the down comforter.
We chucked our bags on the bed and headed swiftly downstairs to the pub. It was nearly five o’clock, but the place was empty save for an elderly couple and their decrepit greyhound. I love decrepit greyhounds.
‘What do you want?’ Christopher asked as I settled down in a beaten-up old armchair.
‘Gin and tonic,’ I called. He looked surprised – I almost never drank spirits, and definitely not first up – but my nerves were all over the place and I needed something strong to settle them.
‘Good idea,’ he said, pulling out his wallet and making a beeline for the bar.
I watched him as he waited for the bartender, his back turned to me. I’d always loved his back. In those three long years we were apart before I moved to London, I’d ask him to turn around when we Skyped so I could see it. There was something reassuring about his broad shoulders and slim, narrow waist. Something secure.
He returned with two gin and tonics (each with a single ice cube floating in it) and a pack of salt and vinegar, which he tore open with his teeth. The decrepit greyhound caught the scent and lumbered over to us. I gave him a scratch behind the ear while Christopher sneaked him a crisp.
‘Sorry about him!’ the elderly man cried from across the room, but we told him not to worry and kept petting the dog and feeding him crisps until he collapsed in a satisfied heap at our feet.
‘Well,’ Christopher said, raising his glass to mine, ‘to Tillbury Manor.’
‘To Tillbury Manor,’ I said, clinking merrily. ‘It really is perfect, isn’t it?’
He took a long slug of his drink. ‘It is,’ he agreed.
‘And so reasonably priced.’
‘Very reasonable.’
‘It’s good to have it booked,’ I said. I took a sip of my drink and winced. Christopher had ordered doubles. Still, the warmth of the alcohol was nice as it made its way down my throat. ‘Now that we have a date and a venue, we should look into invitations.’
‘I meant to mention that to you,’ Christopher said, pulling out his phone. ‘A woman I used to work with – Becky, you remember Becky? – well, she’s started a letterpress company.’
‘Becky has a letterpress company now? I thought she was on the partner path.’
He shrugged. ‘She got passed up for promotion last autumn and just thought, sod it. She’s some sort of Instagram star now.’ He swiped on his phone and tapped something into the search engine. ‘I’m sure this is the name of the company … Ah! Here we are!’ He held out the phone to me and I took it from him.
‘Oh,’ I said quietly. The page was full of beautiful images of stationery. Notecards printed on thick card stock, the letters embossed so deeply you could practically feel the ridges. Elegant invitations printed in silver and gold, the edges artfully frayed. All straight from my Pinterest board. Again. ‘They’re gorgeous,’ I sighed.
‘I thought you’d like her stuff,’ he said, taking another sip from his drink. ‘She said she’d give us a discount, too.’
‘Seriously?’
He nodded. ‘I helped her out on a big case once.’
‘Wow. That’s the invitations done, I guess.’
‘I guess.’
We drank in silence for a minute, the decrepit greyhound snoring peacefully under the table.
‘Fancy a game of Monopoly?’ Christopher said, leaping to his feet.
‘Sure.’ I was grateful for the offer of a distraction. ‘But only if you promise not to stockpile property on Bow Street.’
‘I promise nothing,’ he said, leaning down and giving me a quick peck on the lips. ‘Another round?’
‘I’ll get it.’ I reached under the table and felt for my wallet, but found a decrepit greyhound’s snout instead.
‘Nah, you stay where you are,’ he said, waving me away. ‘I don’t want to upset our friend down there.’
I peered under the table at the sleepy dog. ‘Do you think his owners know we’ve stolen him?’
He shot a quick glance at the elderly couple, who were both wrist-deep in thick paperbacks. ‘I think we’ve just about pulled it off.’
We spent the rest of the evening playing board games (despite my protests, Christopher b
uilt three houses and a hotel on Bow Street AND I was sent to jail six times) and drinking gin and tonics. Eventually, the bartender called last orders, the elderly couple reclaimed their dog, and we decided it was time for bed.
‘We’re going to feel this tomorrow,’ we said as we weaved uncertainly up the narrow staircase to our room.
But we didn’t. Both of us woke up the next morning feeling positively jaunty. ‘It must be something about the country air,’ Christopher remarked as he hopped into the shower. ‘Do you want to go down to breakfast?’
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I think I might go for a walk in the village. I’ll bring you back a scone or something.’
‘Sausage roll, please!’ he called.
I pulled on my sneakers and headed out onto the sidewalk. The village consisted of a single street lined with sweet little shops, rising to a beautiful sandstone church topped with a soaring spire. It was Sunday morning, and the church doors had just flung open, releasing a chattering group of parishioners onto the street. They bustled down side streets and into shops, calling out to each other as they went. I smiled shyly at the locals as they passed and they rewarded me with hands raised in greeting and the occasional hello. The whole place was so friendly, so chocolate-box perfect, that it was mildly unnerving. It was like being in an Agatha Christie film before the body turned up.
I was peering into the window of a vintage homewares shop when I saw it in the reflection of the glass.
I spun around on my heel and hurried across the street. The shopfront was painted a cheery yellow, and the sign above the door read ‘Jenny’s Bridal Suite’. The shop was named after me! It must be a sign. And sure enough, there in the window hung my perfect wedding dress.
Snow-white, sweetheart neckline, vintage lace. I could tell you what it looked like from behind, even though I couldn’t see it – low-backed, with a row of tiny pearl buttons leading down to the just-fitted-enough skirt. I held my breath as I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered into the window. There was a price tag dangling from the neck of the mannequin and I squinted to read it.
My heart dropped. It was eye-wateringly expensive. Way, way beyond my budget – in another dimension, in fact. I sighed and leaned against the window. I guessed we’d already exhausted our wedding luck, what with booking the perfect venue on the cheap, and Becky’s gorgeous discounted stationery. I couldn’t expect it all to work out so seamlessly.
I heard a knock on the window and looked up. A brassy-haired woman in a tightly buttoned shirtdress waved at me from inside the shop. I looked around to see if there was anyone else she might be waving at, but the street had cleared and I was the only one standing on the sidewalk. ‘Come in!’ she mouthed, smiling broadly. I really didn’t have a choice.
A little bell above the door chimed as I pulled it open. My stomach was heavy with dread. I was going to be trapped in this boutique with a crazy woman – presumably Jenny – and she was going to hoist dress after dress on me until I was forced to admit that I couldn’t afford any of them, and then I’d have to slink shamefaced back onto the street.
‘I saw you standing out there and thought you might like a cup of tea,’ the woman said, ushering me into the store. ‘We’re usually shut today, but I came in to do a stocktake.’
‘Oh,’ I said, backing towards the door, ‘I don’t want to intrude …’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s nice to have the company – I hate being in here on my own. Do you take milk and sugar?’
‘Oh – uh, just milk please,’ I stuttered. She disappeared into the back of the shop and left me standing there, stunned, surrounded by the most beautiful wedding dresses I’d ever seen. None of them could compare to the one in the window, though. I approached it gingerly, careful not to get too close in case I accidentally sneezed on it or somehow set it on fire. It was my dress, all right. There was the long line of pearl buttons trailing down its back. It was more perfect than I could ever have imagined.
‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ I spun around to find the woman holding out a steaming mug of tea. ‘Careful,’ she warned, ‘it’s hot.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, taking a tentative sip. I normally wasn’t a tea drinker – not in my DNA – but this was delicious. Warming and comforting and just perfect.
‘I’m Jenny, by the way,’ the woman said, patting me gently on the arm. ‘Very nice to meet you.’
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘I mean, my name’s Jenny, too. And it’s nice to meet you.’
‘So have you set a date?’
I looked at her in surprise. ‘Yes. Early September.’
‘Ah, a wonderful time of year for a wedding. And the venue?’
‘Tillbury Manor.’ It was strange letting these details roll off my tongue, and it struck me how much had come together over the weekend. It was all sliding neatly into place, just like I’d planned.
‘Lucky you! Such a lovely place for a wedding. Deborah is an old friend of mine – she’ll take good care of you.’
I nodded and took another sip of tea. ‘She seemed great.’
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ She gestured towards the dress in the window and smiled. ‘I couldn’t help but notice you admiring it.’
‘It’s my dream dress,’ I said, looking at it longingly.
‘Well then, what are we standing here for? You’ll have to try it on!’
I sighed. ‘There’s no point. I can’t afford it. I’m sorry – thank you for inviting me in here, and for the cup of tea, but I should probably be going. I don’t want to waste your time.’
‘You’re not wasting my time at all, dear,’ she said, smiling kindly. ‘I always love hearing about a bride’s wedding plans, even if she doesn’t end up buying her dress here. But,’ she added, a twinkle in her eye, ‘have I mentioned we’re having a bit of a sale?’
My heart leaped. ‘You are?’
‘I am! That’s why I’m doing the stocktake today.’
‘What sort of sale?’ My mind raced. Even if it was twenty per cent off, it would still be out of my price range, and there was no way she would discount it for more than that—
‘Fifty per cent off!’ she declared.
My jaw dropped. ‘Wait – you’re having a half-off sale?’
‘I am!’ She gave me a sly look. ‘Would you want to try it on now?’
I’m pretty sure I left scorch marks as I ran for the fitting room. It fitted perfectly, of course. Like a dream. Jenny even teared up a little when I came out to show her.
‘It was made for you,’ she said, clasping her hands in delight. ‘I can’t imagine it on anyone else.’
After I’d gleefully handed over my credit card and begged Jenny to hold the dress for me in her stock room until I could come back and get it taken up a bit, I strolled back to the inn to find Christopher in the pub with a coffee and the papers. ‘Nice walk?’ he asked as I settled down beside him and snatched the review section.
‘I bought a dress!’ I announced.
‘That’s nice,’ he said, face buried in the paper.
I tugged on the page. ‘I mean, I bought a dress. A wedding dress!’
His eyes widened. ‘Are you serious?’
I nodded. ‘I found it at a boutique in the village. It’s perfect.’
‘God.’
‘I know.’
‘Well,’ he said finally, ‘it seems we have a wedding on our hands.’
‘Looks that way!’
We laughed nervously.
Even the drive back was easy, and we made it in record time. By five o’clock, we were back in the flat and unpacked, Chinese food on its way.
It was like as if the stars had aligned, and all of the plans I’d made were clicking seamlessly into place.
Just … perfect.
15
So, of course, I didn’t meet Jackson on the bridge. When the clock hit nine as I was crossing Green Park, I felt a little twinge when I thought of him standing there, alone, waiting, but then I pushed it out of my mind. He pr
obably wasn’t even there, I reasoned. He’d probably forgotten all about it. Even if he was there, it didn’t matter. Jackson wasn’t real life. He was a distraction – a speed bump. Christopher was real. This wedding – now more than ever – was real. I wouldn’t let myself get rattled again.
Monday morning passed uneventfully at my desk, a haze of coffee and post-weekend chatter and deleting a weekend’s worth of spam emails. Ben swept in at a quarter to ten, cheeks flushed and eyes giving out that telltale glow.
‘You spent the weekend with Lucy, huh?’ I said, as he deposited his bag under his desk and threw himself down in his chair.
He looked pleasantly surprised. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because you look like a man who’s just spent two days having more sex than he ever thought possible.’
‘Jenny!’
‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’
He gave me a sly smile. ‘Maybe.’
‘I knew it. Tell me everything. Wait – no, not everything. Just the G-rated, lovey stuff.’
He beamed. ‘She’s amazing.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely, positively amazing. It’s like she was beamed out of my brain or something.’ He looked like a cat that had just been presented with the world’s largest bowl of cream.
‘So you saw her on Friday …’ I prompted.
He nodded. ‘We went to dinner, and then for drinks, and then we walked and talked for hours.’
‘Aw.’
‘And then we just holed up at my flat for the weekend and watched movies and ate takeaway and …’ The sly smile made another appearance.
‘I get it!’ I cried. ‘No details necessary!’
He shrugged happily. ‘She’s just brilliant. I feel like I finally know how you and Christopher feel, you know?’
I laughed nervously. ‘Sure.’
‘What about you? Good weekend? You went to the countryside, didn’t you?’
I nodded.
‘Shoot any pheasants? Hunt any foxes?’
I was horrified. ‘Of course not!’
‘That’s what people do in the countryside, isn’t it?’ Ben grew up in Clapham.
‘Actually,’ I announced triumphantly, ‘we found a wedding venue.’
Jenny Sparrow Knows the Future Page 25
