My hand goes to my tummy, but Kell doesn’t notice. She’s not reading her audience very well.
‘That sounds like a blast,’ Cressida says, ‘but I thought you weren’t drinking till the wedding, Emma?’
Kelly looks like it’s Cressida’s fault that drinking in a pub isn’t exactly ideal for a pregnant bride. ‘Okay, something else, then, but we’ll still go out and have fun, right?’ she says to me. Her look is defiant and hopeful all at once.
‘Definitely.’
‘What about a canal cruise?’ Cressida suggests. ‘Where you hire a private boat that goes around London and you can bring your own food and drink on board.’
‘I like that idea!’ I tell her. ‘Then people could eat or drink whatever they like. Auntie Rose might even be able to come, and Mum and Philippa.’
Kelly is shaking her head. ‘No offense to Elaine and Philippa but don’t you want your hen do to be just your friends?’
‘Everyone would be welcome,’ I say.
‘But then we may as well just go sit in your lounge and not have to pay for a private boat. Don’t you want to get out there where everyone can see us? Otherwise it’s not a laugh.’
Personally, I’m happy to skip the L-plates and rubber willies. ‘I think I like the more relaxed idea,’ I say.
‘I think it’s a shit idea.’
I swing my legs off the sunlounger. ‘Kell, could you help me with something back downstairs? We’ll be right back,’ I tell Cressida.
I round on Kelly as soon as we get back out by the lift. ‘What’s wrong with Cressida?’
She shakes her head. ‘I have no idea. She’s got some really stupid ideas, doesn’t she? Floating around on a canal boat. Bor-ing. Don’t worry, though, I’ll sort us out something fun.’
‘That’s not what I mean. I want to know why you’re being horrible to Cressida and trying to wreck this day for me.’
‘Me?! I’m not doing anything! I’m agreeing with you, she’s really–’
‘She isn’t doing anything but being nice. Like she’s always been to you. You’re the one who’s being horrible. Why? What has she ever done to make you hate her like this?’
‘See? I knew it. She’s turning you against me,’ says Kell. ‘You can see that, can’t you? You used to be happy just going to the pub and now it’s all champagne and spas. You know, we never used to fight before she came along.’
‘We’re only fighting now because you’re being so unfair to her. She’s probably paid a huge wedge for us to come here today. Why can’t you see how generous that is?’
‘You call it generous. I call it manipulative. She’s always throwing money at you. I’m surprised she hasn’t offered to pay for the wedding. Then you’d be in her debt forever. That’s fine for some, but if you’ll excuse me, I’d rather not be bought. I’ve got more self-respect than that, thank you very much.’
Kelly has always been a no-BS kind of person, but this is harsh even for her. ‘And I suppose you’re saying I don’t.’
‘You seem awfully pleased to make her your new best friend whenever she opens her purse, so you can draw your own conclusions. You know what? Actually, I’m not feeling very much like a spa day today, so I think I’ll head off. I’m sure Cressida can get her fee back for me if she wants to.’
‘Come on, Kelly, don’t be like this.’
But she’s already pushing the lift button. ‘Maybe I’ll see you later. Have fun with your friends.’
I could follow her downstairs and try to get her to change her mind, but to be honest it’s easier when she’s not around Cressida. ‘See you later, then,’ I say.
She stares at me till the lift doors close.
When I get back to the pool, Philippa and Mum are talking about the wedding. I’m still fuming from Kelly’s accusation, but I force myself to listen. I’ll tell them Kelly’s not feeling well when they notice she’s gone. It’s best to let her burn off some steam. I can yell at her again when she’s cooled down.
‘A garden square – I never thought of that. How wonderful!’ says Philippa. ‘Was it hard to arrange?’
‘We’ve got it covered.’ Uncle Barbara taps the side of his nose.
‘All right, Goodfella,’ I say. ‘We haven’t picked the exact place yet, but we’ve found out that the council hires out its public spaces, so we’ll just need to fill in some paperwork when we decide. Daniel’s meeting me later to have a walk around.’
‘It’s going to be so fabulous!’
‘But low-key, Philippa,’ I warn her.
‘Yah, no, yah, low-key, absolutely. Like Abby said, ironically casual, I’ve got it.’
Something tells me she doesn’t, really.
‘If you need any advice about the plantings, just let me know.’ Philippa turns to Mum. ‘I’ve been a gardener for nearly thirty years. It’s just a little business, designing and planting gardens.’
‘Mummy’s being modest. She’s won awards,’ Abby calls over from her sunlounger. ‘She’s ever-so good.’
Mum’s brow creases. ‘But you don’t have to work.’ Implication: so why on earth would you?
‘Right, but, Elaine, I want to. I love doing physical work every day. I’ve been mad about flowers since I was a child. I trailed around after our gardener like his shadow, so I suppose that made me his apprentice, whether he wanted one or not.’ She smiles at Mum. ‘Emma tells me you’re a professional cleaner, so we both work with our hands.’
I can see Mum redden, but Philippa doesn’t seem to notice it.
‘There’s something satisfying about it, don’t you think? It frees the mind to wander. One couldn’t do that in an office.’ She reaches over to grasp Mum’s hand. ‘We are lucky!’
When Mum nods, her smile for Philippa seems genuine.
Somehow my future mother-in-law might be managing to bridge a gap that seemed wider than the Grand Canyon.
Daniel’s hand goes straight for my tummy when I kiss him hello at the Tube station. ‘You know it’s only about the size of a kidney bean,’ I tell him. ‘It’s not much of a baby yet. More of a legume.’
‘It’s got fingers and toes and a nose, though. Look.’ He shows me an app on his phone. ‘I’m keeping track. Something new happens every day. It’s incredible. That’s our baby.’
My hormones must be off. Looking at phone apps doesn’t usually make me teary.
One glance into my eyes sets him off too. God, the pair of us!
As we walk from the station, Daniel wants to have a look at Victoria Park. One of his colleagues went to a festival there last summer and now Daniel wants to recreate it for our wedding. ‘We could have stages and everyone wearing wristbands and–’
‘Smelly Portaloos and mud and falafel trucks,’ I finish for him. ‘Sounds romantic. Your mother would especially love the falafel truck.’
‘She does have the rubber boots already.’
‘Which she’s probably not planning as part of her mother-of-the-groom outfit.’
Smiling, he leans in for a kiss. ‘Possibly a bit over the top?’
‘Possibly a bit. I’m thinking of somewhere more intimate. I know it’s got to be a public space but maybe a little less public than headlining at Weddingbury.’
‘I don’t care if the whole world sees us married, Emma. I can’t wait to do this with you.’ His gorgeous blue eyes bore into mine.
But it’s not the well-wishers walking by who worry me. It’s all the fancy handbags and jewellery on the West London guests. ‘I’d like something more private,’ I say. Secure, I mean. No reason to give the area’s pickpockets a rollover jackpot. ‘Maybe with railings around it.’ A guardable perimeter, in other words. ‘I’ve got an idea. It’s not far.’
His guesses get wilder as we walk away from the Tube station, till he’s convinced we’ll have our reception at The Globe Theatre or the O2 Arena. I almost hate to disappoint him that we won’t be swooping in from a cable car.
It’s not a very inspiring walk, with a mix of council flats,
industrial workshops and closed-up pubs flanking the road. Then we round the corner and the confusion of building styles gives way to two-storey workers’ cottages built in London’s yellow brick with white-trimmed windows and flanked by wrought-iron railings. ‘So? This is Carlton Square. What do you think? Do you love it? I love it.’ The square itself is also ringed with black railings and if it weren’t for the smattering of cars parked alongside, we could be standing here in the mid-eighteen-hundreds when the houses around it were new. ‘Look at the streetlights. They’re like the old-fashioned gaslit ones. Imagine how pretty they’ll be at night.’
‘It’s gorgeous,’ he says. ‘We could string fairy lights around the trees and in the box hedges too.’
The grassy little square comes alive in my imagination as we step inside. I can see all our friends and family wandering along the paths there. Pretty tables set up, draped with colourful cloths and dotted with fresh flowers. There’s laughter and clinking glasses and music and love. So much love.
‘This is rahly perfect,’ he says as we stand with our arms around each other breathing in the leafy green peace of the square. ‘And the company I found can put the marquee just over there.’
‘Mmm hmm.’ That’s the marquee I cancelled after Daniel booked it. I’m not sure yet how to replace it for free, but I’ll have to think of something. ‘Let me ring our vicar now. It shouldn’t take long to get permission.’
Just as I think it’ll go through to voicemail, Del answers.
‘Excellent choice, Emma, excellent choice,’ he says when I tell him about Carlton Square. ‘Leave the necessary arrangements to me. Congratulations, it will be a memorable event.’
There’s no doubt about that. ‘Thank you, again, Del. I guess you’ll let me know the fee?’
‘That’s not necessary, Emma. There’ll be no fee.’
‘Oh, you’ve already talked to the councillor?’
‘Not yet, but there’ll be no fee. Speak soon, Emma, thank you for the call.’
‘It’s great that your vicar can organise this for us,’ says Daniel as I hang up. Dear, innocent Daniel.
I nod. ‘He’s got a certain way with people.’
Chapter 12
‘To make up for being a total nightmare at the spa, you’re going to do two things for me,’ I tell Kelly’s answerphone as soon as I’ve opened the dealership. ‘One. Meet me at Mrs Delaney’s after work today. You need to help me remodel her shop. Two. Don’t make any plans for after because we’re baking a cake. I’ll explain when I see you at Mrs Delaney’s. I finish at five.’
She’ll turn up out of guilt. She’s already texted twice to test the waters for an apology. She knows her accusation was way off-base. As if I’d ever be friends with a person just because she was rich.
Kell only hurt herself by storming off like that. I loved every minute of the pampering. No wonder Philippa’s spa Tuesdays are sacred.
Mum liked everything except the massage. She spent the whole time tensing her buttocks, she said, in case the masseuse caught sight of her slack behind.
I couldn’t care less about my slack behind or anything else. It was all hanging out by the time I’d done my facial, foot massage and the all-over body scrub that reached areas I’ve probably even missed in the shower. I’ve never been so polished in my life.
Our vicar rang back to say that he’s booked the square for us. I’d never doubt the word of a man of God, but I did ring the council anyway just to see if there’s anything else we should do to make it official. I’d hate to see my in-laws handcuffed for trespassing on our wedding day.
But Del did work a miracle because Carlton Square is really ours! I was sure to thank the councillor when I saw him in Uncle Colin’s. He flinched a bit when I tapped him on the shoulder, but I’m sure that’s just because I startled him.
I do a double take when our boss’s son strolls into the dealership just before lunchtime. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘Pop thinks you and Zane are slacking off. He’s sent me to check,’ Ant says.
‘Talk about the lunatic taking over the asylum. You slack off more than either of us.’
He shrugs. ‘So I’m not really here to judge, right? What’re you doing for lunch? I’m starving.’ He pats his stomach. He’s totally fit. The problem is that he knows it.
‘You only got here thirty seconds ago. Seriously, your dad’s expecting you to take over when I go. Do you have any idea how the shop works?’ He’s been coming in here for over a year, and I’ll bet he still doesn’t know where the window shutter controls are.
‘Pop is deluded,’ he says. ‘This is just a short-term gig till my music takes off. I don’t want to get too comfortable or I’ll lose my edge. You’ve got to be hungry to make it.’
‘You’d better have a back-up plan.’ I’ve heard Ant’s music. He’ll definitely go hungry without a back-up plan. ‘I’ve already told your dad that I’m only giving a month’s notice.’
‘He should sell up anyway. He thinks it’s still the eighties. Nobody wants to work here. You don’t really, do you? Zane doesn’t. We’ve all got better things to do.’
I can’t really argue with him when I’m planning to quit the dealership as soon as I find something else. Still, it’s sad to think of my boss’s family business going down the pan. This place’ll probably be a Burger King in a few years.
Kelly raps on the front window after work just as I’m wheeling my favourite scooter back to its spot inside. Usually I sit on it for just a minute, imagining that it’s mine, but not with Kell watching me.
‘Hey, how was work?’ she asks when I meet her out front.
‘I made a sale.’
‘Good. Good.’ She looks at me from beneath her fringe. ‘Are we okay? I am sorry for the other day,’ she says. ‘Did they say anything about me leaving?’
‘No, everyone was too polite. Unlike you.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. You’re right, I was being a nightmare. You do forgive me, though, right?’ She hesitates. ‘Any idea how long it might take? Just so I know.’
‘I’ll let you know.’ I smile.
She grins back. You don’t throw away twenty years just because of one fight. We both know that.
Mrs Delaney takes forever to answer our knock. ‘I hope she’s not sleeping,’ says Kell, listening for movement inside. ‘Or worse.’
‘God, that’s morbid.’
‘Well, she’s like a hundred years old.’
‘Oh, look, she’s risen from the dead,’ I murmur as Mrs Delaney comes to the door.
‘Sorry, girls, I was just finishing up a hem. Come in.’
My heart sinks as I glance around. Somehow in the weeks since I first talked to Mrs Delaney about updating her shop, it’s morphed in my head from a nearly-derelict room to one that was romantically antique.
It’s just a nearly-derelict room. ‘Kell, I’ve told Mrs Delaney that I’ll help her update the shop so she can sell her business, and you’re going to help me. Mrs Delaney, have you got a toolbox?’
She roots around under the counter to unearth a sewing box. ‘Will this do?’
There’s a little hammer, a few nails and loads of yarn in the quilted box. We could probably hang a picture, but not much more. ‘That’s okay. I can get whatever we need from home for next time. And we could probably knit a scarf from what’s here.’
Mrs Delaney is perfectly happy to let us tear her shop apart as long as it’s better than before when we’re done. We gather at the front window where a raised wooden display area was added at some time in the past fifty years or so. It’s only plywood and sticks out into the room. It needs to go. ‘Then people can see directly into the shop,’ I say.
‘It ain’t much to look at,’ Mrs Delaney admits.
The casing is flimsy and already coming away from the frame in places. As we clear the bolts of lace from the display window, they release a mushroom cloud that kicks off our sneezing fits.
‘Those used to be some of my bestsellers,�
�� Mrs Delaney says when she returns with a stack of gardening gloves for our demolition. ‘That’s handmade lace from Belgium.’ She runs her fingers over the cloth. ‘I haven’t used any of this in years. Decades.’ She sighs. She must miss the old days when she wasn’t just hemming skirts and trousers.
‘They might be worth something to a dressmaker who’s interested in the shop.’
‘Nah, there ain’t enough to worry about on most of those bolts, just a few yards each.’
Still, they’ll look pretty on the shelves behind the counter. I move them to one side. ‘Kell, help me pry this off.’
‘Careful, let me do it,’ she says, shooting me a warning look.
Oh, right. Sometimes I go entire hours forgetting I’m pregnant. I nearly had a heart attack after the spa day when I suddenly wondered whether all that salt rubbing might have hurt the baby. It didn’t, as it happened, but Google scared the crap out of me. I’m lucky I didn’t have any essential oil massages. I’ve got to be more careful and remember there’s a baby on board now.
As the first plywood board easily gives way with a squeaking crack, a chunk of light streams in through the window. We’ll need a crowbar and maybe a saw to take the frame apart, but the other sheets peel away, exposing the shop to the road, maybe for the first time since the Blitz.
‘I remember it opened up like this,’ Mrs Delaney says, ‘when my Gran and Grandad had it. Gran used to sit by that window with her old Singer. I loved it in here, though it was bleedin’ cold in winter. Grandad didn’t use the fire unless he had to.’
Kelly and I look at each other. ‘Have you still got your Gran’s sewing machine?’
‘I don’t throw much away.’
That’s obvious from the state of the place.
Behind the faded curtain, the back of the shop is a treasure trove of tailoring paraphernalia. The old sewing machine sits on its wooden table with a cast-iron foot pedal to propel it. I spot two more machines, one with a flywheel hand crank and a more modern one.
The Big Little Wedding in Carlton Square Page 15
