Should Have Known Better

by A J McDine

  ‘What?’

  ‘The flowers?’

  ‘Yes. They’re from Adam, your not-so-secret admirer, in case you were wondering,’ she lied.

  Her mum was positively glowing. ‘How lovely! I guess I’d better go and find a vase.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  KATE

  Kate would have liked to have drifted through the next week daydreaming about her future as the next Mrs Sullivan, but she never had the chance. On Saturday, The Willows was the venue for its first high-profile celebrity wedding.

  ‘Celebrity is overstating it somewhat,’ Pete said in an aside to Kate as they sat in Patrick’s office on Thursday morning, checking menus and table plans for Pippa Harrington-Jones and Edison Cooper’s nuptials one last time.

  ‘Six million people watched Edison win Love Island,’ Kate countered, ‘including Chloe and me. It’s my one guilty pleasure,’ she added, seeing his pained expression. ‘And Pippa is a mega social media influencer.’

  ‘What in God’s name is one of those?’ Pete asked.

  ‘Someone who has more than fifty-thousand followers on Instagram,’ said Patrick, who was stepping in as wedding organiser while Lola celebrated her thirtieth birthday on a beach in the Maldives. She’d booked the holiday eighteen months previously and had refused point-blank to cancel, much to Kate’s dismay. Saturday was going to be stressful enough without Patrick micro-managing everything. He was already on edge. By Saturday morning he would be a nightmare.

  Patrick handed Pete a copy of the menu. ‘It’s vital you take this wedding seriously, Peter. Pictures of Edison and Pippa’s wedding will be pored over by thousands of people. This kind of publicity is priceless. That’s why every single detail has to be faultless. How are you getting on sourcing those organic quails’ eggs?’

  As Patrick and Pete discussed the menu, Kate let her mind wander. She’d been so busy since the weekend checking and rechecking table decorations, planning staff rotas and overseeing a deep clean of the whole venue that she hadn’t had a chance to see Adam. Not that he’d actually asked her on a third date. But he was also snowed under at work. No peace for the wicked, he’d said in a text the previous day, with a winking emoji and two kisses that had made Kate’s heart beat a little bit faster.

  ‘I said, have you had a final count-up of napkins?’ Patrick said.

  Kate consulted her clipboard. ‘Sorry, yes. I’ve checked napkins, tablecloths, cutlery and glasses. The florist is delivering the displays for the tables first thing on Saturday, so I was going to arrange the tables and chairs on Friday night.’

  Patrick nodded. ‘Kaz can give you a hand. How many tables?’

  ‘Two hundred guests with a top table of eight means sixteen tables of twelve.’

  ‘Two waiting teams?’

  Kate nodded. ‘And we have four extras to be on the safe side.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Patrick gave them a businesslike smile. ‘The helicopter is bringing the groom, best man and ushers at eleven. I want perfection from the moment they arrive. Understood?’

  Kate and Pete nodded dutifully.

  ‘Understood,’ they said in unison.

  At a quarter to four on Friday afternoon, Kaz texted Kate to say she’d come down with the flu and couldn’t work that evening.

  ‘Going on the piss with your mates, more like,’ Kate said, swearing under her breath. Arranging the tables and chairs would take hours on her own. She dashed off a quick text to Chloe, whose bus was due in at four.

  Fancy earning some cash? I need an extra pair of hands for a couple of hours this evening. Mum x

  Chloe texted straight back.

  My time is precious. What’s it worth?

  Kate rolled her eyes.

  We can stretch to time-and-a-half.

  She’d have to pay the extra, but she was so knackered she didn’t care.

  Double time or nothing, came back the response.

  ‘Cheeky little minx,’ Kate said, typing back, All right, just this once. Come over as soon as you’re home.

  Chloe appeared, in jeans and her favourite Abercrombie and Fitch hoody, at half-past four.

  ‘Is Patrick here?’ she asked without preamble.

  ‘Hello to you, too. No, he’s gone to pick up the meat order. Why?’

  ‘No reason.’ She rolled up her sleeves. ‘Where shall I start?’

  They spent the next couple of hours hefting tables into place and making sure each chair was spaced evenly like the numbers on a clock. Chloe passed the time speculating what famous guests might turn up. Kate, who had a copy of the guest list, would have loved to have told her, but had been expressly forbidden by Patrick to divulge a single detail. The happy couple had imposed a blanket ban on anyone posting anything on social media as they’d sold exclusive rights of the ceremony and wedding breakfast to a celebrity magazine.

  A bit rich for a couple who’d built their fortunes on the lucrative foundations of Instagram, but as the magazine fee was probably paying Patrick’s over-inflated prices, and Patrick paid Kate’s under-inflated wages, who was she to argue?

  Once the final chairs were in place, they laid the tablecloths and hung a length of bespoke bunting featuring the bride and groom’s names on the wall behind the top table. Satisfied they’d done as much as they could, Kate jingled her keys.

  ‘Great job. Let’s go home and eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’

  ‘I’m just going to wash my hands. They’re filthy,’ Chloe said.

  ‘OK. Take the keys and lock up. I’ll see you outside.’

  Kate lobbed the keys to Chloe, who caught them one-handed.

  ‘Remember to double-lock the main doors.’

  ‘I know how to lock a door, Mum. I’m not stupid.’

  Kate sat on a wrought iron bench in front of the water fountain that was a popular spot for wedding photos. Hoping Adam might have texted, she checked her phone but found only a WhatsApp message from Lola and a picture of a deserted beach with white sand and a cornflower-blue sea. With a pang, Kate was reminded of Thailand and Noah. Her spine tingled.

  How’s everything going? All set for the big day? Lx

  Why? Afraid we won’t cope without you?! You enjoy your holiday and don’t worry about us. Everything is sorted, and it’s all going to run like clockwork. We’re going to give everyone a day they’ll never forget. See you soon. K x

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  KATE

  The alarm on Kate’s phone wrenched her from sleep early the next morning. Even though the ceremony wasn’t due to start until one, she knew from bitter experience that time had a habit of running away with itself. She needed to be at The Willows by eight at the latest.

  Showered and dressed, she headed downstairs. Her father was already in the kitchen, sitting at the table flicking through a seed catalogue, which amused her given he never lifted a finger in the garden.

  Max wandered over, biffed her thigh with his head and stood by his bowl, looking at her expectantly.

  ‘He’s been out,’ her father said. ‘And the kettle’s just boiled. Cup of tea?’

  ‘That would be lovely, thanks.’ Kate fixed Max’s breakfast and poured herself a bowl of bran flakes. ‘I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day. Patrick wants everything to be perfect.’ She pulled a face.

  They sat in companionable silence while Kate finished her breakfast, thinking about the day ahead, mentally double-checking they’d covered every eventuality. It was important for The Willows that the wedding went without a hitch.

  She placed her bowl in the dishwasher, gathered her bag and coat and patted her pockets. ‘You haven’t seen my work keys, have you, Pa?’

  Her father looked up from his seed catalogue. ‘Aren’t they on the hook?’

  Kate peered at the key rack by the back door, scanned the dresser and double-checked her pockets. ‘Nope.’ She riffled through a pile of papers and magazines on the table and glanced underneath the fruit bowl.

  ‘Say a prayer
to my namesake.’

  Kate looked blankly at her father.

  ‘Saint Anthony, the saint for lost objects,’ he said.

  Kate turfed the contents of her handbag onto the kitchen counter. She picked through her scuffed red leather purse, hairbrush, a small tub of Vaseline, a packet of tissues and a few receipts. But no keys. She raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Saint Anthony, can you please tell me where my bloody work keys are?’ She raked her hands through her hair. ‘I can’t be late today of all days.’

  Her father patted her shoulder on his way to the sink. ‘Work backwards. When did you last see them?’

  ‘When I locked up last… Wait a minute, Chloe locked up for me. They’re probably still in her pocket. Thanks, Pa, you’re a lifesaver.’ She brushed her lips against his stubbly chin as she flew out of the kitchen and up to Chloe’s room.

  Kate eased the door open and poked her head around the frame. Chloe was fast asleep, her hair fanning across the pillow like spun gold. She gave a small sigh and turned over to face the wall. Her coat was hanging on the back of her desk chair. Kate crept into the room and felt in each pocket. A lip balm, more tissues but no keys. Shit.

  ‘Chloe, it’s Mum. Can you remember where you put my work keys last night?’ she said, shaking Chloe’s shoulder gently.

  Chloe groaned and buried her head in the pillow. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Half seven. What did you do with my keys? I need to get to work, and I can’t find them anywhere.’

  ‘I left them on the dresser.’

  ‘They’re not there now.’

  Chloe muttered something under her breath, then said, ‘Grandpa’s probably put them in the fridge or something. I told you he’s getting more and more confused. I caught him putting Stork margarine on his toast the other morning. Yuck.’

  ‘That’s because we’d run out of butter,’ Kate said. ‘Are you sure that’s where you left them?’

  Chloe sat up in bed. ‘Of course I’m sure!’ she snapped.

  ‘Fine. I'll look again. Go back to sleep, and I’ll see you at two.’

  Kate checked the dresser in the kitchen again and glanced inside the fridge, just in case Chloe had been right about her grandfather. Not that Kate thought he’d do anything so absentminded.

  ‘No luck?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I’ll have to hope Pete’s already in the kitchen and use the spare set today. I’d better go. I won’t be home until late. Can you make your own tea tonight?’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll manage. Good luck with today.’

  ‘The way things are going so far, I'm going to need it.’

  To Kate’s relief, Pete’s pickup was already in the staff car park. She scurried into the kitchen and found him laying out two hundred small plates in the prepping area.

  ‘Is Patrick around?’ she asked breathlessly.

  ‘I haven’t seen him yet. Luckily for you, I was the first to arrive. I found these,’ he said, reaching into his pocket and dangling a set of keys on his finger, ‘left in the back door.’

  Kate frowned. ‘But we went out of the front door last night. Are you sure they’re mine?’

  He held them out to her. ‘No-one else I know has an elephant keyring.’

  Kate took the keys. Sure enough, there was the little silver elephant she’d bought from a market stall in Chiang Mai nineteen years ago. Chloe must have let herself out the back, accidentally left the keys in the lock and then come around to the front of the house. Silly girl. Head in the clouds half the time. She’d give her a rocketing later. Imagine if someone had found the keys before Pete? The thought sent a frisson of fear down Kate’s spine. She shook her head. Don’t dwell on it, she told herself. No harm done.

  ‘Thanks, Pete, you’re a lifesaver,’ she said, slipping the keys into her back pocket.

  He grinned. ‘No worries.’

  ‘Has the florist been?’

  He picked up another pile of plates. ‘I haven’t been into the house yet, but I’ve not seen her car.’

  Kate strode through the kitchen, heading for the main part of the house. She stopped at the fire door. There was a smudge of crimson on the white paint, as if someone had cut themselves and touched it with bloodied fingers. Wrinkling her nose, Kate pulled a length of blue roll from the dispenser over the sink, ran it under the tap and dabbed at the smear. It didn’t rub off.

  Not blood then. She touched it with her index finger, drawing back as if she’d been burnt. It was tacky, like fresh gloss paint. But they hadn’t been decorating. Her scalp prickled as she pushed the door open, fearing the worst.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  KATE

  At first glance, everything seemed fine. The tables and chairs were where Kate and Chloe had left them. The large easel displaying the seating plan was in its place and the cake stand was ready and waiting for the cake. Kate let out a long breath and turned back into the kitchen in search of the napkins they’d folded the night before.

  She loaded them on a trolley along with two hundred sets of cutlery. Laying the tables would take a couple of hours, but it was her favourite part of the day. She loved the mathematical precision of it all: working outwards from the main knives and forks, getting everything just so.

  She could have waited for the first couple of waitresses to arrive so they could help, but no-one took as much care with the plate settings as she did. It was easier to do it herself.

  She wheeled the trolley over to the top table where the bride, groom, and their parents would be sitting, along with the best man and chief bridesmaid, a Premier League football player and an up-and-coming actress, widely tipped to become the next big thing. Kate made a mental note to remind the staff not to gawp. Patrick had already warned them he’d be locking their phones in his office, removing the temptation to snatch an illicit picture of the happy couple.

  Kate counted out eight napkins and laid them on the table. That’s when she saw the scrawl of red graffiti on the white linen tablecloth, right where the bride and groom would be sitting. Her stomach clenched as she read the words, Patrick Twyman is a dirty paedophile.

  She shot a glance over her shoulder as if the culprit might still be lurking somewhere in the building, but the huge hall was empty. Her eyes were drawn to the tablecloth. The red paint matched the smudge on the kitchen door. The meaning behind the words was clear. But who would have done it, and how the hell had they got in?

  With a swooping sensation in her stomach, she remembered the lost keys. Shit. Someone must have found them, let themselves in and…

  ‘Kate!’ Patrick barked from somewhere in the belly of the house. ‘Have you seen the box of wedding favours?’

  Kate froze. They ought to call the police to report the graffiti, but in less than three hours Pippa and Edison would be arriving, bringing their whole entourage with them. And she could hardly tell Patrick. He’d go ballistic. Kate gazed around the room, checking nothing else was amiss, but the sixteen other tablecloths were pristine, and everything else was in its place. The only damage was to the table linen on the top table. She had freshly-laundered spares in the storeroom. There was still time to clear up the mess.

  ‘Kate!’ Patrick hollered again.

  Kate wavered for a second then came to a decision. Bundling up the defaced tablecloth, she stuffed it onto the bottom shelf of the trolley as Patrick swept into the room.

  ‘I’ve been calling you for the past ten minutes,’ he grumbled. ‘Have you seen the favours? Pippa’s been on the phone. She’s just found out one of the guests has a nut allergy and wants us to take out the sugared almonds.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s happened to the tablecloth on the top table?’

  Kate forced a smile. ‘The favours are in the prep room, where they always are. And there was a red wine stain on the tablecloth. I’m on my way to get a clean one.’

  Patrick huffed. ‘I’ve a good mind to swap laundry services. That’s the second time they’ve delivered dirty linen.’

  ‘Leave
it to me,’ Kate said hurriedly. ‘I’ll have a quiet word with them on Monday.’

  He gave a curt nod. ‘Is everything else on schedule?’

  ‘I think so. Is that all?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Right, well, I’d better get on.’

  With the rolled-up tablecloth under her arm, Kate headed out of the kitchen and across the staff car park to the storeroom, her heart still beating uncomfortably fast in her chest. She shoved the cloth in a black rubbish sack which she double-knotted and stuffed into a corner behind some broken chairs. A glance at her watch sent her pulse even higher. It was almost half-past eight, and she hadn’t even made a start on the tables. She called Chloe, who answered on the third ring.

  ‘Triple time if you come over to help me now.’

  ‘I’m trying to revise.’

  ‘Please Chloe. I wouldn’t ask, but I’m really up against it.’

  ‘Triple time, you say?’

  ‘And I’ll let you have Netflix.’

  ‘Deal. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  Kate was laying the dessert cutlery when Chloe arrived. She handed her a bag of small forks and a pair of white gloves.

  ‘Put the forks under the spoons like this.’ Kate demonstrated on the nearest table. ‘Put the gloves on so you don’t smear the cutlery. And remember, keep everything nice and straight. Everything needs to be -’

  ‘Perfect. I know. I’ve heard Patrick going on about it enough. Where is he, by the way?’

  ‘Why?’

  Chloe jerked her head back. ‘Don’t jump down my throat. I was only asking.’