Digging Deeper (38 page)

“He should go to hospital to be checked out but I think I can understand why he’d prefer not to,” the paramedic said. “I’ve put a butterfly strip on the cut. But if he has a headache, feels dizzy or unexpectedly falls asleep, he needs to be seen by a doctor. He knocked himself out so you need to watch him.”

“Flick! My very own nurse,” Giles mumbled. “Come and give me CPR.”

“Yes, definitely concussed,” said Flick as Giles lurched toward her and grabbed her round the waist. “Or you soon will be, if you don’t let me go.”

Beck pulled him away.

One of the paramedics crouched down to peer at Flick’s legs.

“I could give you a concussion too,” Flick said.

“She means it,” Beck warned.

The paramedic opened his bag. “Let me clean you up first.”

Flick winced as he wiped her knees and toes with antiseptic pads.

“You’ll live,” he said with a smile and got back to his feet.

“Thank you. You don’t know how happy that makes me.”

“If you’d like a bit of job experience, I’m based in Menston.” He winked at Flick as he left.

“Maybe I could be a nurse,” she mused.

“No, you couldn’t,” Beck said. “Sit still and don’t move while I help Giles get ready.”

“Is my tie straight?” Giles asked.

“Fine. How do you feel?”

“Headache but otherwise all right.”

“You need to get a non-slip mat on that bathroom floor.”

“Yep.”

They both knew that the mat was non-slip. Giles had been nervous and fainted.

“Can I ask you a favor?” Giles said as Beck struggled to fasten Giles’ cufflinks.

“What?”

“Are you and Flick okay now?”

“Why?”

Giles hesitated.

“What is it?” Beck asked.

“Can I kiss her?”

Beck stared at him. “Is this that fucking game?”

“X, that’s all I want and then it’s over. Just a kiss. I don’t want to…I don’t want anything else.”

“No,” Beck said.

Giles sighed. “Well, can I ask her?”

“Go ahead.”

When they emerged, Flick smiled and did a wolf whistle.

“How do we look?” Beck asked.

“Like a pair of artful dodgers.”

“Our reputation precedes us.” Giles smiled. “Give me a kiss, Flick. One last unmarried kiss.”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“I want a proper kiss,” Giles said.

“No. Get Beck to kiss you,” Flick said.

“He won’t use his tongue.”

“Neither will I.” She grinned. “Not with you anyway. Now hurry up or Willow will have to go round twice and you know what traffic’s like in Ilkley.”

They were late setting off but not so late they had to ring and let the vicar know. By the time Flick had waved goodbye and thought about the way Beck had kept looking at her, she realized they’d locked her blue dress in the house so she’d have to manage with the nurse’s outfit. It didn’t look too bad. The dress wasn’t as short as the black skirt she’d worn as a waitress, though the top gaped more, her black lace bra clearly visible. Fuck it, Flick thought, she just didn’t care. She didn’t care about earning the money, she didn’t care what Celia thought. She and Beck were okay again and that was all that mattered. She set off back up the drive to the Hall, carrying the ladder.

———

Beck sat next to Giles on the front pew and stared in fascination at the way his friend’s hands were shaking. Giles clenched his fists and then unclenched them but his fingers still trembled.

“You okay?” Beck whispered.

Giles nodded.

Beck glanced behind him. The church was full. He recognized a few faces. A couple of mutual friends from Cambridge were ushers and the stag night lot sat with girlfriends or wives looking as though ice-cream wouldn’t melt in their mouths. Celia was in an enormous pink and black hat with a swathe of black spotted pink net billowing in every direction. Behind them Willow’s mother was in a hat so small it looked as though she had a teacup on her head. One red feather stuck straight up in the air. Beck wished Flick was with him, though not in that nurse’s outfit.

He thought they were all right now, though there were still issues to be sorted, the business about her arrest for a start. He wished she’d talk to him about Grinstead’s. He’d made a few enquiries of his own and it was as Henry had told him—forty thousand had turned up in Flick’s bank account with another hundred and forty still missing. Beck had checked who’d left the company after Flick had been sacked. Four people, including her boss. On Monday, that was what Beck was going to be working on. They could manage without him at the Hall while he did a different sort of digging.

As the wedding march started, Giles looked panic-stricken and grabbed Beck’s arm. Beck pulled him to his feet, standing close enough to support him without looking as though he was holding him up. They moved in front of the altar and turned to look down the aisle. Willow walked holding her father’s arm, such a blissful smile on her face, it made Beck gulp and Giles sag. Beck kept a firm grasp on the groom’s arm and then had his eightieth reassuring feel for the rings.

Giles thought Willow looked so beautiful he wanted to cry, only he knew he shouldn’t otherwise his bloody nephew manning the video camera would have the tape off to some funniest video program before the reception ended. So Giles took a deep breath, stood up straighter, moved away from Beck and thought about how much he loved Willow and how happy she made him.

The ceremony was a bit of a blur. He spoke out in a clear voice. Beck hadn’t forgotten the rings. No one shouted “I object” when the “just impediment” bit came up though a loud cough from someone in the congregation made his heart jump and a few vicious sods laugh. The vicar didn’t get their names wrong. Nor did he subject them to an overly religious address, which Giles thought was decent of him. Everyone sang nicely, though he couldn’t for the life of him remember what the hymns were and that was it. Married. Willow’s dad had handed responsibility for his daughter over to him and Giles intended to love her and look after her until the end of his life.

Flick watched from a quiet corner as the car with Giles and Willow pulled up at the Hall. Willow looked like a fairy-tale princess, her hair curled in twists and laced with pearls and silk flowers. The dress was an off the shoulder ivory sweep of shimmering material that trailed away to nothing. Giles kissed Willow with such tenderness it made Flick sigh out loud. A long-haired photographer leaped around but the pair took no notice. Flick could see that they were both somewhere else.

Beck and the bridesmaids arrived in the next car. The bridesmaids’ dresses were as hideous as Kirsten had described and Flick grinned. They made Willow look even more beautiful which was exactly the point. Considering the size of the dresses worn by Willow’s four attendants, Flick was surprised Beck hadn’t suffocated. He was the last to emerge. He looked dark, delicious and dangerous, and Flick wanted to push him back in the car and suffocate him herself.

Celia and Henry arrived smiling at each other, which made a change. Gertrude was helped from the same car looking miserable. No change there then. Celia glanced around, saw Flick and her smile turned into a scowl. No change there either.

Flick delivered Gertrude’s wheelchair and helped her into it.

“Was it a lovely service?” Flick asked.

“I need the toilet. My bladder is full to bursting. I think I’m leaking,” Gertrude announced in a loud voice.

“Right.” Flick propelled her back to the house.

“I blame that doctor who delivered Celia. He wouldn’t listen when I told him the stitches were too tight. It was a terrible infection. The worst they’d ever seen.”

Flick tried to close her ears but Gertrude continued even in the bathroom. Flick could hear her in real-time and over the monitor. By the time Flick pushed her back down to the garden, everyone held a glass of champagne or orange juice. Flick went to get a glass for Gertrude and then wheeled her chair toward a couple trying, with limited success, to hide behind a bush. They only emerged when Gertrude called them by name.

“There’s no need to stand so close, Felicity,” Gertrude said. “I’ll call you if I need you. The monitor is switched on.”

Flick found a quiet spot at the side of a tree and people watched. She was looking for Beck but Henry caught her eye. He handed her a glass of champagne.

“Hello, Nurse Knyfe,” Henry said with a smile.

“Hello to you, Ksiel.”

Henry frowned. Flick gasped.

“Nope, you’ve got me,” Henry said.

“Rigid one of God.”

He burst out laughing. “Right, I owe you fifty quid.”

“Henry, I’m sorry I’m in this stupid outfit. I was wearing something respectable over it, but it sort of got lost. How’s Giles?”

“Headache but otherwise he seems fine. I think he’s rather pleased he’s done this while he’s got concussion. He’ll be able to claim he can’t remember a thing. If only I could do the same.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I? Enjoy yourself while you still can, Flick.”

Moments after Henry walked away, Celia approached with a face like a plate of mashed potato and gravy. She wore the excavated necklace. It looked lovely now it had been cleaned. Celia snatched the glass out of Flick’s hand and tipped the champagne on the grass.

“I’m paying you to look after my mother, not help yourself to our alcohol and what on earth are you wearing? How typical of you to go over the top. Take Mother into the marquee before there’s a rush. There’s a blanket on her chair. Wrap it around her legs and be careful. She has delicate skin.”

Flick wheeled a protesting Gertrude down the wooden pathway and into the marquee.

“You’re pushing me too fast. It’s too bumpy. I’m going to need the toilet again.”

The marquee was full of fresh flowers and looked fabulous. A string quartet played in one corner and serving staff lined the perimeter waiting for guests to take their seats. The folded napkins had the little organza bags at their hearts and Flick thought Willow must be pleased with the way the tables had turned out. The theme of purple and white ran throughout the marquee, from the striped awnings lining the roof, to the balloons and name cards tied to the chairs with purple ribbon, right down to the heart-shaped confetti on the tables.

“Push me past the cake,” Gertrude demanded.

It was a towering monster of a confection, tier upon tier of beautifully iced layers, decorated with purple flowers and an edible bride and groom on the top that actually looked like Giles and Willow.

“It looks too good to eat.” Flick sighed.

“Cost a bloody fortune,” Gertrude said. “It better be delicious.”

“The marquee is lovely,” Flick tried again.

“I’m cold.”

Yes, you are
, Flick thought.
Like an iceberg.

As the marquee began to fill with people looking for their tables, Flick wrapped the tartan blanket around Gertrude’s legs.

“You don’t need to stay. You’re not a guest. I’ll call you on the monitor if I need you.”

“Fine.”

Flick slipped out of the tent, now teeming with the well-dressed and well-heeled. No sign of Beck but she did catch sight of someone she hadn’t expected to see. Her former boss at Grinstead’s, Gordon Lowe, headed for a table at the other end of the marquee. He didn’t see her. Flick felt the gloom descend. She stepped out of the marquee and although the sun still shone, for her the light had been snuffed out. She’d half-joked to Henry about running away. Maybe she should give it serious consideration. If she had money she could go to Greece and find work in a taverna or go to Italy and work on an archaeological dig. Beck would come and find her. Yeah, right.

Flick sighed. Just as she and Beck looked as though they might get somewhere, her past was going to rear up and bite them. Maybe she should try and talk to Gordon, only it wasn’t fair to do it today. Talking of biting, there was a ton of food a few feet away, but Flick suspected the moment she sank her teeth into a bread roll, Celia would materialize in front of her. Flick could hear one hundred and sixty-eight people chomping and slurping their way through a banquet. Torture. She could hear Gertrude eating and drinking which was worse than torture.

Beck had Celia one side of him and a brides-troll on the other. He couldn’t remember which one she was. If he was ever again asked to be someone’s best man, he’d think of the bridesmaids and say no. As far as Beck was concerned one was more than enough. Four was truly terrifying.

“Do you ride,” the fluff asked.

“No,” Beck said and tried to sound interested when she launched into a description of her horse.

The sooner this was over, the sooner he’d have Flick in his arms.

The monitor around Flick’s neck crackled continuously. She could hear Gertrude talking, though it wasn’t distinct above the general buzz of conversation, strains of Vivaldi and continual chinking of glasses. She wanted to hear Beck’s speech so once it went quiet she’d slip back into the marquee. Gertrude mumbled something about cake and there was a roar of noise. Flick licked her lips. She would love a slice of wedding cake.

Gertrude coughed. And coughed. Flick hoped she’d shut up for the speeches. It took a moment before it sank in that this was more than “Give me some attention”. She raced inside and pushed her way though the people who’d gathered to watch the cake cutting to find Gertrude red-faced and gasping for breath.

Flick wasted no time. She hoisted Gertrude to her feet, turned her around and brought her hands up under her diaphragm. After two thrusts, a piece of food shot out of her mouth to hit Celia on the back of the neck. Flick lowered a trembling Gertrude into her chair and stroked her hand. She hoped she hadn’t hurt her, though knowing her luck she’d probably broken her ribs. As she bent to ask Gertrude if she was all right, Celia grabbed Flick’s arm and dragged her out of the marquee.

“What on earth do you think you are doing, throwing food around? This is a wedding, not a school canteen.”

“Gertrude was—”

Celia smacked her so hard across the face it made her eyes water. Flick gaped at her.