by Annie Lyons
‘Don’t ask. My godmother and mother are being control freaks and my fiancé seems to have lost interest.’
‘Well more fool him. He needs to realise how lucky he is.’
Emma is suddenly aware of someone standing by her side. She turns expecting it to be David, the café owner, who has been extremely attentive today and made gestures of approval behind Richard’s head. So she is mortified to see Martin with his arms folded, looking slightly cross.
‘Martin! What are you doing sneaking up on people like that and how did you know I was here?’
‘I was hoping to take my fiancée to lunch actually. Your receptionist told me where you were.’ Emma curses Lauren’s helpfulness. ‘Why are you discussing me with a stranger?’
Richard stands up to address Martin. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Richard Bennett,’ he says holding out his hand.
Martin surveys him with narrowed eyes but doesn’t take his hand. He turns back to Emma. ‘I was trying to make amends for last night but I’m wondering why I bothered.’
‘Martin, I’m working.’
‘Why are you discussing our wedding then? And for your information, pal,’ says Martin jabbing a finger back towards Richard, ‘I do know how lucky I am, thanks.’
Richard reaches for his jacket. ‘Look, I feel as if I’m intruding and I’m sorry if I offended you, Martin. Far be it from me to interfere in domestic spats. I’ll give you a call after the weekend, Emma, OK?’
‘Richard, you don’t have to go. Martin, apologise!’
Martin sits down in Richard’s vacated chair and folds his arms. ‘I’ve got nothing to apologise for.’
Richard holds up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Emma, it’s fine. I’ll speak to you soon,’ he says, disappearing out of the door.
Emma contemplates running after him but realises how this will look. Instead she glares at her fiancé. ‘What was all that about?’
‘You tell me.’
‘OK, I’m sorry, I was talking out of turn. I’m just frustrated that you’re never around to discuss stuff.’
‘Oh fine, well that’s great, isn’t it? The first sign of trouble and you go running off to your new author.’
‘And what about you? Charging in like some stag about to fight for his mate.’
‘At least it shows I care.’
‘Yes, in a bloody alpha-male “hands off my woman” kind of way.’
‘Well, sorry for giving a damn.’
They sit in a sulky silence for a while before David approaches the table nervously. ‘Everything all right here, Emma?’ He gives Martin a sly glance.
‘Fine thanks, David. This is Martin by the way; my fiancé.’
‘Oh delighted to meet you,’ gushes David. ‘Is the other chap coming back?’
‘No, he is not,’ says Martin firmly.
‘OK. Can I get you anything to eat then?’
‘I’ll have a tuna baguette and a lime and soda thanks, David,’ says Emma. ‘Martin?’
‘A cheeseburger and chips please. And a coke.’
‘Very good,’ says David.
Emma fiddles with her knife and fork and steals glances at Martin, who is sitting with his arms folded looking cross. ‘Oh come on, Mart, don’t give me the silent treatment!’ she says at last.
‘What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?’
‘Well, you did scare my author away.’
‘Well, he should mind his own bloody business.’
Emma snaps her mouth shut. She knows there’s no point in arguing with Martin when he’s like this. She excuses herself and goes to the bathroom. She splashes cold water on her face and eyes herself critically in the mirror. What are you doing, Emma Darcy? she says to her reflection. She wishes she knew the answer.
She returns just as David delivers their food. Martin flips open his burger and wrinkles his nose in disgust as he spies a gherkin. He looks over at Emma and gives her a small smile before offering her the offending object as he has done many times before. ‘Peace offering?’ he asks.
She doesn’t want to give in but she doesn’t know what else to do. ‘I’ll take it,’ she says with a small sigh.
‘Friends again?’ he asks. Typical Martin: comes in all guns blazing and then just wants everything to be back to normal.
‘Friends,’ she says, wishing she could remember what normal was.
Diana scrapes the remains of the fish into the bin and stacks the plates into the dishwasher. Edward walks into the kitchen, phone in hand.
‘All right. darling. Have a lovely trip. Mum’s here. Do you want a quick word?’ He passes the phone to his wife.
‘Rachel? Are you all set? Now remember, don’t make any rash decisions, will you? Yes, I know you’re not a child. I’m just trying to help. OK, OK. Well, have a good trip and give the children a kiss from me. All right. Bye.’
Edward watches his wife as she replaces the phone and turns back to the kitchen.
‘It will be all right, you know?’ he says.
‘Oh and how can you be so sure? You know how impetuous Rachel can be. She’ll probably have them moved up there by next week!’
Suddenly, Diana is crying and Edward is at her side, putting his arms around her.
‘Come on, love. You know they’ve got to do what’s best.’
‘I know! I just – it’s just that –’
‘What is it, my light, my love?’
‘I’ll just miss those children so much.’ She hides her face in his chest and sobs.
‘I know, but listen, they haven’t said they’re going yet. There’s still a long way to go and even if they do, we can always visit or have the kids to stay.’
‘Oh Edward, you know it’s not the same,’ says Diana through her tears.
‘Well, we could always move up there?’
‘What? Don’t be so ridiculous!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, this is my home and I’m too old and it’s in Scotland.’
‘Yes, Edinburgh tends to be in Scotland and you’re not too old, you’re barely in your sixties and everyone knows that home is where the heart is.’
‘Oh really Edward, stop talking in clichés. You’ve got to be realistic. What about if they don’t like it and move back? What will we do then?’
‘Move back?’
‘You know that’s silly, don’t you? We can’t just keep moving up and down the country and anyway, I don’t want to live in Scotland.’
‘What’s wrong with Scotland?’
Diana gives him a withering look that indicates the end of this line of questioning.
‘Anyway, what about Emma? We can’t abandon Emma and Martin.’
‘True. Let’s just see how things go, eh? Let’s not be too hasty. Nothing has been decided, all right?’
Diana kisses her husband on the cheek. ‘All right. I knew there was a reason why I married you.’
‘And there was me thinking it was something to do with my wit, charm and film-star good looks.’
The phone rings and Edward answers it. ‘Oh hello, Rosie, how are you?’ Diana’s heart sinks. ‘Look, Rosie, can I give you a call some other time? I’m just a bit busy now.’ He smiles at his wife as he replaces the phone. ‘Now, how about we settle down and finish this wine in front of Gardener’s World? I know how you like to ogle Joe Swift.’
Diana smiles and follows her husband into the living room.
Chapter 16
‘Is that man a terrorist?’
‘No.’
‘What about that man?’
‘No!’
‘He has a beard.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything. Now please can you stop pointing at people, Lily.’
‘Actually, Abraham says that Muslims cut their beards off before they blow themselves up,’ says Will.
‘Does he? Does he?’ asks Rachel wondering how long it can take one man to buy lattes, juice and a muffin. She takes out her phone and starts t
o text Emma: ‘At airport tryng 2 stop kids talking abt terrorists. U OK?’
A reply comes back straightaway: ‘Good luck! Off to lk at flowers wth Martin.’
‘Good luck 2 u 2!’ replies Rachel.
‘Do bits of you fly everywhere when you blow yourself up?’ asks Lily. A sweet white-haired old lady, who had been smiling at the children, moves to a different table.
‘OK, can we stop with the suicide-bomber chat now please? Ah here’s Daddy with the drinks.’
‘Sorry, sorry. Awful queue and a Japanese tourist in front of me who had to do a lot of pointing. Right, who’s for a smoothie?’
‘Meee!’ shout Lily and Alfie.
‘Euuurgh. Smoothies are for babies!’ declares Will.
‘THEY ARE NOT!’ shouts Lily.
‘OK, OK!’ says Rachel desperate to avoid a scene. ‘Now, who would like some muffin?’
Children appeased, they are just relaxing into the café experience, albeit the Gatwick café experience with coffee-ring stained tables and sticky floors, when an announcement comes over the tannoy.
‘This is a final call for the Summers party. Would Mr and Mrs Summers and their children please make their way to gate 36 as we are about to close the gate.’
Rachel looks at Steve and then longingly at her latte. ‘I thought we had at least half an hour!’
‘Right you lot, who wants to have a race?’ says Steve.
Happily the children are very much in favour of a race. Unhappily, gate 36 is the furthest one from the terminal building. They arrive breathless and wound-up, having had to apologise to the fifty or so people and their injured ankles. The stewardess on the door is Scottish, pasted with thick orange make-up and bright blue eye shadow, and is extremely unsympathetic.
‘It clearly says at check-in that you need to leave enough time to reach the gate. We were about to unload your bags,’ she drawls.
‘Yes, sorry. We thought we had more time,’ wheezes Steve.
The woman frowns at him and then at Rachel and finally at the three children. She processes their tickets with taloned false-nail fingers and no further communication.
‘They’re heeer Boab,’ she calls to her colleague, a ferrety man wearing an orange tabard.
‘Aye, OK.’
‘Thanks very much. Sorry again,’ says Steve.
‘Why was that lady so cross?’ asks Lily too loudly.
‘Because we were a bit late for the plane,’ says Rachel.
‘Is that why she was a funny orange colour too?’
Rachel ushers Lily down the boarding tunnel not daring a backward glance.
‘What about these?’ says Emma.
‘Ahh, the Calla Lily, a very popular choice for the bride to be,’ says the florist with an admiring smile.
‘What do you think, Martin?’
‘What? Oh yeah. Lovely. Really lovely.’
Rachel looks at the man she is destined to marry and sighs. ‘Martin? Can we have a little word?’ she says, and then to the florist, ‘Excuse us.’ The woman gives her an ingratiating smile. Emma pulls Martin to the front of the cavernous, heavily scented shop. ‘Earth to Martin! Do you read me?’
‘What?’
‘We’re supposed to be looking at flowers, getting some ideas?’
‘I know. I am looking.’
‘OK, so what are these?’ Emma points to some delicate delphiniums.
‘Erm, lovely purple flowers?’
‘Martin!’
‘Look, I didn’t realise that looking at flowers would require me to bring along my I Spy Guide to Floristry. Can’t we just go with the ones that look the nicest. What about these? These are nice.’
‘They are flaming tulips! Not necessarily ideal for a July wedding or indeed any event where you need the flowers to last longer than twenty minutes!’
‘OK, OK. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. Come on, Emma, this isn’t really my thing. You have to be honest. Flowers are more of a girl thing.’ Emma looks at her fiancé with murderous intent and notices the florist scurry into the safety of the back room.
‘A girl thing, are they?’ begins Emma with a dangerous edge to her voice. ‘I suppose I should stick to dresses and flowers and wrapping flipping sugar almonds in tulle, should I?’
‘Em, I didn’t say that. Come on, don’t be so sensitive.’
‘Oh, sensitive now, am I? I tell you what, why don’t I just go the whole hog with the girly thing and agree to “obey” you?’
‘I thought we were going to include that in the vows. I’ve already told the vicar.’ Emma’s look tells Martin that his lame attempt at humour is a mistake.
‘Is that supposed to be funny?’ she growls.
‘OK, all right. I’m sorry. We’re obviously not on the same wavelength today. Are you still pissed off with me about yesterday? Because I thought we’d sorted that.’
‘No, I’m pissed off with you because you’d promised we’d get on with sorting stuff for the wedding today but you don’t seem that bothered!’ Emma is actually still cross about yesterday but she’s not about to tell Martin.
‘I thought we were going to do guest lists and gift lists. Don’t be grumpy. I’m just a bit out of my depth here. I don’t really know what I’m looking at.’ He prods a beautiful purple orchid and its petals melt to the ground. ‘Oops.’
‘OK, OK. We can do it another time. Let’s go.’ Emma grabs him by the arm calling back over her shoulder. ‘Thanks for your time. I’ve got your card and we’ll give you a call.’
Back on the street, they walk side by side and Emma folds her arms as Martin tries to catch her hand.
‘Actually, we could go for lunch,’ suggests Martin.
‘Oh right, where?’
‘Well, Charlie and Stacey –’
‘Oh great, so not just the two of us then?’
‘Well, Charlie just sent me a text. He and Stacey are in the pub watching the football so it would be kind of rude not to.’
‘Martin! We’re supposed to be spending the day together, sorting out wedding stuff, not sitting in the pub while you and your mate watch football.’
‘Oh come on, Em. It’s only round the corner and we do need to eat.’ Martin sticks out his bottom lip like a small child. ‘Please? For me?’
Emma assesses her options and takes his arm. ‘All right, but you’re bloody paying.’
Rachel takes a deep breath as the taxi drops them outside one of Edinburgh’s swankiest hotels.
‘Now, don’t touch anything,’ she says to everyone including Steve. A top-hatted man with a red face, red uniform and bulbous nose holds the door open for them and smiles. Lily grins and swaggers past.
‘Oh thank you so much,’ she says in a breathy little voice.
‘Aye, you’ve got a heartbreaker there, sir,’ says the man to Steve who nods politely.
‘That man looked like a tomato,’ declares Lily as they enter the glimmering luxury of the foyer.
Rachel shushes her daughter and looks round. ‘Where’s Will?’
They all turn to see a small figure spinning round in the revolving doors like a sock in a washing machine, while a queue of impatient looking people wait outside.
‘Daaaad! Help!’ squeals Will, his voice increasing and decreasing in volume as he spins past them.
‘Will! Get out at once!’ cries Rachel.
‘Is there a problem, madam?’ Rachel turns round to find a thin man with a melancholy face at her side.
‘Erm, I’m afraid he’s got stuck in your revolving door. His dad is just going to get him out.’ Rachel looks over and is mortified to see both Will and Steve spinning in the revolving doors. The doorman is trying to help from the outside and Steve is trying to calm Will, who is now racing around, unable to stop, like some kind of maniac hamster. Alfie starts to cry, fearful that he will never see his big brother or dad again. Rachel and Lily exchange glances and stride towards the door.
‘Release the big money balls!’ commands Lily, which causes Will to lau
gh and shoot from the door like an Exocet missile closely followed by his father.
‘Right! Is it possible that we can make it to our room without further incident?’ asks Rachel.
Will looks sheepish. ‘Sorry Mum.’
‘Really!’ comments a superior looking woman on her way past. ‘It’s like being at the zoo!’
Rachel and Lily both round on the woman but Lily gets in first. ‘This is not a zoo, it is a hotel, and that is my brother and he only got stuck in the doors which wasn’t actually his fault so don’t be so mean!’ The woman looks at Rachel who shrugs her shoulders and puts a protective arm around Will.
‘Well I never!’ says the woman and heads for the lift closely followed by her amiable mole of a husband who turns and winks at them. ‘All looked rather fun to me!’ he says with a smile.
‘Gooooooooooal!’
Emma looks at the two men in front of her, who are now in the middle or some kind of primal celebration dance.
‘Men, eh?’ laughs Stacey placing her immaculately French manicured fingernails around her straw and taking a long slurp from her drink.
‘Three sausage and mash and a chicken Caesar salad!’ yells the landlord.
‘Lovely grubbly!’ shouts Charlie.
‘Oooh, what’s that?’ asks Stacey peering at Emma’s lunch.
‘Well, it’s supposed to be chicken Caesar salad,’ says Emma, poking her fork at a depressed collection of limp lettuce, stale croutons and yellowing chicken in salad cream.
‘I told you to go for the sausage,’ says Martin.
‘Oi, oi, none of that!’ says Charlie, laughing like Sid James on speed. Martin giggles.
‘Honestly. What are they like?’ asks Stacey with an indulgent smile. Emma doesn’t reply. ‘So, Em!’ she squeaks, flicking a hair extension and patting Emma on the knee. ‘Tell me about the wedding plans!’
Emma smiles at Stacey. She is a lovely girl, always very friendly and kind. Emma finds her taste in boyfriends questionable but tells herself that it doesn’t make her a bad person. She and Stacey are just different people. ‘Well, I think I’ve found my dress,’ she confides.
‘Wicked! What’s it like?’ Emma looks over to check Martin isn’t listening but he and Charlie are engrossed in their food and the football.
