Always With Love (27 page)

‘Remember, my friend. If I weren’t here I’d be running around the park after two crazy little rascals. This is a breeze in comparison,’ she laughs.

‘I’m not sure about that,’ I say, thinking of her incredibly polite boys.

‘Honestly, if anyone, it’s Shane you should be worried about. I think he’s the one who’s most likely to crack under the pressure tomorrow … I can picture him now stood in the middle of the field as the boys run off in opposite directions, testing him to see how he reacts.’

‘What would he do?’ I ask, feeling panicked for him.

‘He wouldn’t run after either of them, obviously,’ she scoffs. ‘He wouldn’t even shout. Instead he’d be frozen to the spot and swivelling around at each of them in turn, his eyes pleading with them,’ she says, doing the funniest impression of her poor husband and making us both howl with laughter.

‘Poor Shane,’ I cry.

‘Honestly, it’s a good job I love him,’ she sighs, taking the plug out of the sink.

‘So
what do you think?’ I ask Mum and Colin at seven o’clock that evening once we’ve finished transforming the space into somewhere fit for a wedding.

I thought we’d managed to make it look pretty spectacular for the proposal, but this is simply divine. Mum didn’t originally want a sit-down meal, but when the idea of an informal afternoon tea was suggested she fell in love with it. So we cleared out the shop furniture and brought in three long, thin decorating tables (the idea came to me when I was buying paint in B&Q and wandered down the wrong aisle). Colin has made the cheap tables sturdier before beautifying them by painting their legs a light cornflower blue (they’re the only bit the guests will actually see). Surrounding the long tables are thirty chairs on which we’ve hung individual black slate name signs as place settings, which the guests can then take home afterwards. On top of the tables we’ve obviously left plenty of room for the cake trays and sandwiches, but there’s also all the mismatched floral crockery, some posh silver cutlery (Mum and Colin each had sets from their previous weddings hibernating in cupboards), cornflower-blue cloth napkins and miniature glass jars of flowers spread all the way along the centre – each containing delicate sprigs of higgledy-piggledy flowers. We’ve continued to place the flowers in cups, jugs, jars and watering-cans
along the windowsills, on an old wooden ladder Colin found (it’s splattered with paint but looks fantastically rustic and romantic) and any other spot where there’s a flat surface. Fabric bunting of various different prints hangs across the room from the ceiling and dozens of tealights are scattered everywhere, waiting to be lit before we all arrive tomorrow.

The other area we’ve decided to decorate is the little courtyard out back. Having never used it properly before, we gave it a good tidy and placed two benches out there for people to sit on and get some fresh air … although these aren’t any old benches. They were handmade by Colin, who’s simply carved a ‘D’ into the back of one and a ‘P’ on the other – a lovely little tribute to their other loves. Surrounding them on the floor are buckets of flowers, and dangling above them are strings of fairylights. We’ve even laid out a few blankets for people to snuggle up in, especially if they’re still out there later in the afternoon when the weather can get a bit chilly.

I have a sneaky suspicion I’ll want all the decorations to stay out there after the wedding too. It’s so lovely and might help to provide customers with a nice little outside area if they want to eat their tea and cake al fresco.

‘I’m speechless,’ Mum says back in the shop as she looks at our handiwork. ‘I don’t know how we’ve done it.’

‘Determination, no sleep and a bit of magic,’ Colin laughs, stifling a yawn.

‘Tired, my love?’

‘Happily so,’ he replies, closing his eyes and resting his head against hers in a sweetly intimate way.

‘I should probably give you guys a moment,’ I say,
realizing they’re about to say goodbye for the final time before they see each other at the church and probably would rather I wasn’t loitering next to them. ‘See you at the altar, Colin,’ I say with a grin on my face as I walk away.

I head behind the counter and double-check on the food Rachel and I prepared earlier, although it’s all covered in cling film and tin foil, so I can’t really see much anyway. It all looked delicious earlier, though. It’s so wonderful having Rachel by my side here. Not discrediting Billy at all, but it’s far easier having someone who can get stuck in without me having to explain how to do each and every task. And, of course, she’s so easy to get along with.

Realizing I haven’t messaged Peter about timings for tomorrow I go to my coat, pull out my phone and find two messages. One from Billy saying he’s just got on the flight and can’t wait to see me in the morning (I’m gutted I can’t be there when he walks into Arrivals, but I know he understands that I’ll be getting ready with Mum) and the other from Peter.

Just bumped into Rachel and she said I’m no longer needed tomorrow as you’ve got everything under control. Not surprised. Hope the day goes beautifully. Send your Mum and Colin my love. See you soon. P. X

A paradox of emotions hit me. I’m disappointed that I won’t be seeing him as it’s been weeks, but I’m also relieved that we won’t have to be in the same place with Billy and some locals who are sure to be a bit suspicious if they hear we’ve been spending time together. We’ve not heard any more whispering of rumours, but that doesn’t
mean they’re not still lurking about or set to restart if fuel is added to the fire. I’ve no doubt what Rachel has done is for the best.

Instead of messaging Peter back I text Rachel a simple thank you, to which she replies with a winky face, confirming what I already knew – that she had definitely deduced that Peter was the guy I was seen with in the park.

I should have stopped Peter coming to help out myself, but I was avoiding the situation by doing nothing about it. Plus, Mum and Colin were expecting to see him there and I didn’t want to have to lie or explain myself. To be honest, I was being a total coward. Rachel would have known the position I was in and how important tomorrow is on so many different levels. I bet she pounced on Peter as soon as she saw him, blurting out that he wasn’t needed before even thinking.

It’s nice to have a friend like her and to know that she’s looking out for me.

‘Right, ready when you are.’ Mum reappears, hoisting her bag over her shoulder. Her little face looks a little swollen and apprehensive.

‘You OK?’ I ask, grabbing my belongings and going to her, giving her arm a quick squeeze.

‘I will be,’ she smiles, looping her arm through mine as we leave the setting of her intimate wedding party behind for the night.

‘Indian, Chinese or pizza?’ I ask Mum as soon as we get home. We’ve both been so busy all day that neither of us has properly eaten (despite being surrounded by food
in the shop) and now that we’ve stopped I realize I’m famished.

‘Indian will bloat me …’ Mum tells me sadly while rubbing her flat tummy (which I’ve never ever seen bloat before). ‘Plus I’ll want onion bhajis and I don’t think Colin will thank me for that tomorrow.’

‘Fair enough, we can’t have that,’ I laugh.

‘Maybe Chinese?’

‘Fab. Our normal?’ I ask, taking out my phone and pulling up the number.

‘Perfect,’ she nods, opening up the bottle of sauvignon blanc we picked up from Budgens on the way home and pouring out two glasses while she listens to me order. We’re not big drinkers, but tonight definitely calls for a little glass of something to mark the occasion. ‘Here you go,’ she says, handing me a glass as soon as I’ve put down the phone.

‘Thanks!’

‘Toast?’ Mum suggests, raising her glass to mine.

‘Definitely,’ I say, letting her take the lead.

‘To Dad, our home, and our futures … and to us for persevering.’

‘To Dad, our home, our futures and to us,’ I repeat with a smile as we clink glasses and take a much-needed gulp of their contents.

What a life I’ve lived here …

Lowering my glass, I let out a sigh as I look around me. The house feels empty and cold now that Mum’s belongings have been moved over to Colin’s, leaving just my stuff behind.

‘Odd moving out like this … slowly,’ she says. ‘I wonder when it’ll get sold.’

‘Does it matter that it won’t be furnished?’ I ask, feeling guilty because I’m taking quite a bit of the bulky items like the sofa, TV and some cabinets with me when I go into the flat. Actually the only thing I’m treating myself to straight away, while I settle in, is a bed.

‘I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference – although it might be best that we empty it entirely once you’ve moved too,’ she says, frowning as she thinks it through. ‘Not like we’re in a rush, anyway.’

‘True.’ There’s a comfortable pause as we both quietly take it in, lost in our thoughts. ‘So what’s your fondest memory of the place?’ I prompt after a few moments.

‘Sophie, I’ve lived here for almost three decades. That’s not the easiest question to answer!’ She shakes her head with a smile at me.

‘Try …’

Mum looks into her glass thoughtfully, as if the wine will magically make an answer appear. I sit silently, giving her time to think while searching my own brain for those little golden nuggets of the past.

‘The day we brought you home from the hospital was extremely special,’ Mum eventually says, smiling at me before tilting her head and frowning. ‘Actually, so many other emotions were mixed in with that too. Fear mostly.’

‘Thanks,’ I laugh, enjoying her honesty.

‘No,’ she chuckles back. ‘I just mean that we were new parents and we had no idea what to do with you. We were terrified we were going to break you. So we just sat there
in silence staring at you and checking you were still breathing every two minutes.’

‘All right, doesn’t sound quite as magical as I’d dreamt.’

‘It was still magical, don’t you worry about that, but the day we first found out we were expecting you – now that was special,’ she recalls, her face lighting up.

‘Really?’

‘Yep. I’d gone to the doctor’s on my own because your dad had to work. But the first thing I said to him when he came through the front door that evening was “Hello Daddy”. He burst into tears on the spot. Wept in the hallway for a good ten minutes.’

‘Aww …’ I murmur, a mixture of happiness and sadness swirling in my chest.

‘When he eventually calmed down he wouldn’t stop rubbing my tummy and talking to you – even that early on. He doted on you from the very beginning,’ she muses, her eyes clouding over at the memory.

‘And Christmases were always pretty spectacular,’ I say, looking through to the lounge and remembering how much of a fuss was made over the occasion.

‘We wanted you to believe in the magic.’

‘Well, I definitely did,’ I admit, because they did everything – the bells ringing outside, the muddy boot prints by the chimney, even sprinkled the presents in fairy dust (well, silver glitter), insisting that’s how Father Christmas had got them down the chimney and under the tree. I fell for it all. But then I believed everything Mum and Dad told me. I had no reason not to. That’s one of the reasons it was so tough when he died. We had plans, places we were set to see, things we were ready to explore.
How was it possible, I wondered back then, that those things were no longer going to happen?

‘Painting your room was a pretty spectacular day …’ suggests Mum, choosing a day that has always held a rather special place in my heart too, as it’s the last time I can recall us all being together and laughing. ‘Although you cried your heart out when your dad first suggested that pink wouldn’t be a good idea.’

‘He thought I’d want it changed within a week,’ I remember.

‘He’d be surprised to see it’s the same colour now.’

‘I haven’t wanted to change it once.’

‘No … a lot of the house is like that,’ Mum nods, not at all surprised by my admission. ‘Stuck in its ways. That’s why I think it’s a good job we’re both moving and getting a fresh start.’

‘So we no longer have to put up with pink walls?’ I joke.

‘So that we can live in our homes and not feel guilty every time we want to change something.’

‘Yes, but this is the ultimate guilt, right? Leaving it all behind for good.’

‘It’ll always be with us. The memory of the pink walls, the brown kitchen units, the avocado bathroom set.’

‘Gosh, it’s all quite ghastly really,’ I joke, making Mum laugh as I look at the place in disgust with my nose turned up. ‘Anyone would think we were still living in the nineties.’

‘I don’t know how we’ve coped,’ laughs Mum. ‘Are you going to be OK here without me?’

‘I’ll have Billy, and it won’t be for long,’ I say, hoping
that I will still have Billy here with me when he finds out about the flat. Although listening to Mum echo some of my own thoughts about this house makes me even more resolute in the decision I’ve made.

‘I have something for you,’ Mum says, getting up and going to the dining room.

‘I’m intrigued,’ I call after her.

‘For obvious reasons, I don’t feel I can take this with me, so I want you to look after it,’ she says, bringing in a cream box.

‘Your wedding album?’

‘Yes,’ she grins, visibly reining in her emotions as she opens the box and takes out the leather-bound cream album I remember from my childhood, which has been delicately wrapped in white tissue paper. After removing it from its wrapping, Mum places her hand on top and strokes it fondly.

‘Are you sure you want me to take it?’

‘I know Colin would understand if I took it over there. You know, they’ve still got pictures of Pauline on the walls that I’d never ask or want him to take down,’ she says, ferociously shaking her head at the idea of asking him to do such a thing. ‘I know it’s important for the kids to be able to see their mum and feel like she’s still a part of their lives.’

‘Well, you understand that better than most,’ I reply, wondering if any part of Mum finds that difficult.

‘I am taking some photos with me. I have my own memories to treasure,’ she says firmly. ‘But I want you to have this. It’s special.’

She holds it out towards me. Hesitantly, I reach out and
take it, finding myself mirroring her own action and stroking the top of it. Setting it down on the kitchen counter, I open the album to the first page and instantly see a photo of Mum and Dad at the altar. Crazy to think they were far younger than I am now when this picture was taken. Like many dresses at the time, it’s clear to see mum was influenced by the late Princess Diana, with shoulders puffed out to double the width of her slender frame, while the skirt and bodice of the dress are covered in frills and lace. She looks more like Little Bo Peep than a bride, but that could be because underneath her veil her hair sits in heavy ringlets, as though it’s been permed. Dad looks dashing in his grey suit and light grey tie, although the dodgy moustache and shoulder-length hair make the whole thing comical.

Despite all this, though, there’s one thing that stands out more than anything in the picture and that is their faces. Both Mum and Dad look young, foolish and madly in love … it’s a beautiful sight to see.