Книга - Mother of the Bride

Mother of the Bride
Kate Lawson


3 women. 1 wedding. Whose big day is it anyway…?Grab your big hat and pearls for the funniest read of the year, a must-read for fans of Carole Matthews and Jane Green.Molly Foster's daughter Jess is getting married…To Molly's delight - and surprise. And with Molly's show featuring a wedding countdown, the whole town of Wells-next-the Sea is ecstatic - even as Molly worries that groom-to-be Max's commitment may not be all it seems…Meanwhile, Jess's control freak step-mother Marnie is determined to turn the event into a chi-chi society bash - a world away from the day that Jess envisaged.But does Jess really know what she wants? Especially when she meets the gorgeous Oliver… Though there's no going back now - is there?Can Jess take back control of her wedding - or will the mothers of the bride run the show?









Mother of the Bride

Kate Lawson














Copyright (#ulink_1f6fbd34-c860-51c8-ac40-2f8ee8d6f7ad)


This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.



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A Paperback Original 2010



FIRST EDITION



First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2009

Copyright © Kate Lawson 2010



Kate Lawson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work



A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library



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Ebook Edition © MARCH 2010 ISBN: 9780007370979

Version 2016-09-23


Mother of the Bride is dedicated to Speedy and the Hellhound, to my lovely boys, their gorgeous women, and my brilliant friends, to Maggie Phillips, my good friend and agent, and all the great people who I sing with in Singers Inspired. You know who you are.




Table of Contents


Cover Page (#ub57e925b-2d42-5b00-b373-31aa4300988a)

Title Page (#ubfaf7f87-4635-51b2-b9b7-da9052b6295d)

Copyright (#u95b4de1d-4380-5345-a054-bdfcb58043f6)

Dedication (#u6a34f2f8-b00b-5ea8-bc26-b3edd72a7d0a)

Chapter One (#u927f8462-bdfe-55ef-896e-1976d894c8ed)

Chapter Two (#uc6f78751-22a4-5da2-87e2-edbc98533fdd)

Chapter Three (#uc734a2a5-6c88-5000-aa3f-64fa958525cd)

Chapter Four (#u6e44ff7d-8b95-5361-9cf7-6916be7b3b49)

Chapter Five (#u6ae4fa00-626e-51d8-99fa-a2a64f4a34f5)

Chapter Six (#udee4a45d-2b6f-559e-a43c-36167b819dc3)

Chapter Seven (#ue82329bc-5c22-56cf-8a56-20b5eab0ac3f)

Chapter Eight (#ub68ae9ff-54de-55f8-89b4-62bc515fde61)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Preview (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

By the same author (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#ulink_8512e9c9-ccf6-5b82-a0cc-c53771a352ed)


Lunchtime on the last Bank Holiday of the summer and Molly Foster was standing on the quay at Wells-next-the-Sea close to the radio car, where a man dressed as a bear was juggling rubber herrings. Alongside him stood an Elvis impersonator in a white jumpsuit and rhinestones, and beside him a woman called Linda, who knitted jumpers from the fur collected after grooming her three Newfoundlands – encounters that were all in the day’s work for a presenter on a local radio station.

Molly had one side of her headphones pressed to her ear, keeping the other one off so that she could hear the activity on the quay. The last track had played out and the East Anglian Airwaves FM station jingle was coming to a close. Ready with the mike, all the while nodding and smiling inanely at her guests, holding eye contact so they didn’t wander off, Molly was waiting for the moment when they went live to air.

‘You okay? All ready?’ she mouthed. Everyone nodded in unison, all except Elvis who curled his lip and said, ‘A-huh-huh. ’

‘Here we go then,’ she said, smile widening.

Phil, her broadcast assistant, should have been doing the sheepdogging but, thanks to some technical glitch, he was hunched over in the back of the radio car – a converted people carrier with a retractable mast that the station used for outside broadcasts – fiddling with the control panel.

Molly hoped that what she could see billowing out from the open door was steam from Phil’s coffee and not smoke.

Meanwhile through the headphones, Molly heard her producer, Stan, back at the studio, cue in her next caller. The music faded out at which point Molly said, ‘Great track, that. Perfect for a sunny day by the seaside – speaking of which, we’re here live on Bank Holiday Monday at beautiful Wells-next-the-Sea as part of our Great British Summer Days Out series. We’ve got some fantastic guests lined up for you in today’s show. But first of all on line one we’ve got Maureen from Little Newton, who wants to talk about – what is it you’re talking to us about today, Maureen?’

‘Death,’ said Maureen in a monotone. ‘I want to talk about how it felt when my cat Smokey died.’

‘Right,’ said Molly, pulling faces at Phil, who had stopped fiddling and was now busy flirting with two teenage girls in bikinis.

‘I’m sure that we all feel very sorry for your loss, Maureen. I know that my pets are very important to me but we were hoping that you were going to talk to us about your memories of the good old British seaside holiday – kiss me quick, fish and chips on the prom.’ Molly jollied the unseen woman along.

‘Smokey loved fish, particularly the heads,’ said the unstoppable Maureen. ‘We used to save them for him. Little tinker used to bury them down the back of the sofa if you didn’t watch him. I had him cremated last March. Fourteen, he was. I’ve got the urn here with me. He loved the radio. Not you but that other chap, the one with the glasses, what’s his name?’

‘Right,’ said Molly, waving now, desperately trying to drag Phil’s attention away from the wriggling, jiggling, giggling girls and back to the job in hand.

From somewhere close by she could hear a mobile phone ringing with the distinctive Laurel and Hardy theme, downloaded by her live-in lover Nick as a joke. She felt a flush of heat; how the hell had she managed to leave her phone on? It was the ultimate no-no. On TV and on radio, before you go on air you always check your mobile is switched off and if you’re not sure then you take the battery out, except of course hers was ringing and it seemed to be getting louder. It rang once, twice – after six rings it cut off and Molly turned her attention back to her caller.

‘I’ve been having grief counselling,’ Maureen was saying. ‘And we’ve had a séance – he’s still here, you know. Him and Timmy the rabbit…’

‘Well, thank you for that, Maureen. And we’re lucky enough to have Ken Barber with us here today,’ said Molly, praying that someone back at the studio would have the good sense to pull the plug on Maureen.

To her right the bear man was mid-throw.

‘Ken is currently working his way around the coastline of Great Britain, staging a one-man show to raise public awareness about the state of the British fishing industry. Now for the listeners at home, Ken, let’s just describe what you’re wearing, shall we?’ At which point Ken growled at her.

Molly forced a laugh; bloody man. ‘So, not very talkative, our Ken – maybe listeners would like to ring in and guess what Ken is dressed as…’

‘Jess from Norwich is on line two,’ said Stan in her ear.

‘Let’s go to our next caller, Jess from Norwich,’ said Molly. ‘Hello there, Jess. How’s your Bank Holiday shaping up?’

‘Mum?’ said a familiar voice.

‘Jess?’ Molly could feel her colour rising.

‘I couldn’t get through on your mobile so I got the studio to put me through instead,’ Jess gushed excitedly.

‘Well, that’s nice of them,’ said Molly, with forced good humour. ‘We’re live this morning here on Radio EAA –’ Molly swung round to Phil and made frantic throat slitting gestures so he would cut the live feed, but he was oblivious.

‘I know,’ said Jess.

‘You know?’

‘Of course I do,’ Jess sounded drunk. ‘Stan said this couldn’t wait. Actually I told him I couldn’t wait. I’ve got the most brilliant news, Mum – I wanted you to be the first to know. Max just asked me to marry him and I’ve said yes. I’ve said yes, Mum. I’m going to get married!’ The last few words were a shriek of pure delight followed by giggling and then Molly heard Jessica say, ‘Here, you talk to her – just say hello. Yes, she’s on air, but it’ll be fine, go on, yes, just say hello. She wants to talk to you…’

Which wasn’t strictly true, mainly because Molly hadn’t quite caught up yet. But there was nothing much she could do, short of pulling the lead out, and then Max came on the line and said in that deep, dark, self-assured voice of his, ‘Hi there, Molly. Jess is insisting that we ring everyone. She wanted you to know straight away.’ He paused. ‘Mum.’

Before Molly could say anything, back in the studio Stan put on a Robbie Williams number and while it was playing Jess came back on the line, all squeaky and excited and full of joy.

‘Isn’t it brilliant? I mean, I am just so excited. Max went down on one knee and everything and he’d already got the ring and it fitted. It’s like this big flower and all these little coloured stones and it was just so romantic. God, there is so much to do; we were thinking Christmas? Sleigh bells, reindeer – maybe we should fly everyone out to Lapland, what do you think? I’m going need your help to get this together because Max is really busy. I mean, what are the chances of there being any decent snow in England? And you know I’ve always loved snow, mind you maybe we could hire one of those machines. Is that a bit naff? Oh, isn’t it exciting, Mum? If we had snow I could have one of those fur-trimmed hoods and a long cloak and the pageboys could wear tartan waistcoats. Maybe we could have it in Scotland. Oh my God, they could all wear kilts then – Max is shaking his head. What do you think? Aren’t you going to say something?’

Molly opened her mouth to speak but there weren’t any words in there.

‘Mum? Are you still there?’ asked Jess, sounding a little anxious, and then presumably to Max, said, ‘I think she might be cracking up.’

Never a truer word was spoken, thought Molly. Finally she found her voice and said, ‘Well, well done you – both of you – congratulations. Look, do you think I can ring you back later? We’re right slap-bang in the middle of a show here…’

‘I know. They’re playing our song,’ said Jess wistfully.

‘Look, I’ve got to go, sweetie. We’re interviewing some guy who is singlehandedly trying to save the British fishing industry. He uses comedy to make his message more interesting.’

‘Uh-huh, the bad-tempered herring juggler in the bear suit,’ said Jess.

‘That’ll be the one,’ said Molly. ‘How did you know?’

‘Stan told me about him. You are pleased though, aren’t you? You know, about me and Max?’

‘Of course I am, I’m really pleased for both of you. Have you rung your dad yet?’

‘No, he and Marnie are still away on a cruise at the moment. We’ve just emailed them. And then we’re going to ring Max’s parents. You don’t sound very pleased,’ said Jess.

‘I’m working, sweetie.’

‘I wanted you to know first.’

Robbie sang on in Molly’s headphones.

‘So you are pleased?’

‘Of course I’m pleased. Just a bit shocked. You know me, it’s not often that I’m speechless.’ Molly forced a laugh, trying hard to recover her composure. ‘It’s a bit of a surprise, that’s all. I mean, I hadn’t realised that it was that serious.’ Inwardly Molly groaned. ‘Though I mean, obviously it is,’ she stumbled on. ‘Look, can I ring you back later?’

‘Okay,’ said Jess, giggling.

‘Have you rung Jack yet?’

Jess snorted. ‘Not yet, every time I ring my little brother’s phone it goes to voicemail. I’m sure he’s trying to avoid me.’

‘I don’t think it’s you, Jess, I think it’s Pippa.’

‘No! Pippa? She’s not still after him, is she? Are you serious? They split up months ago. She must be mad…’

‘I think that is the general consensus. He thinks she’s stalking him.’

‘Really? God, shows how long it is since I’ve talked to him. Mind you, she must be desperate if she’s stalking Jack. Anyway, I’ll leave him a message.’

‘I’ve got to go –’

‘Talk to you later,’ Jess said, and then the line went dead.

‘You okay?’ asked Stan through Molly’s headphones.

‘What do you think? What the hell are you playing at, putting Jess through live on air?’

‘It was lovely. Really touching – and I thought you’d want to know.’

‘I did, but not on air – it was nuts to put her through. What the hell are they going to say upstairs?’

‘They’ll love it,’ said Stan. ‘Trust me. The phone lines are jammed solid. See you at three.’



As soon as they finished broadcasting Molly unhooked the pocket battery pack for her radio mike and her headphones and handed them back to Phil. ‘I just need to thank the guys who were on the show.’

‘Sure thing – and congratulations, Mum,’ Phil said, with a grin.

Molly turned to her guests and the impromptu audience that had gathered around the radio car. ‘Thanks for coming along, you were brilliant. Great show, we’ve had lots of calls. Well done,’ she said warmly, shaking hands and paws and smiling, signing autographs and handing out pens and balloons and various other station freebies to anyone who wanted them.

‘Congratulations on the wedding,’ said one woman brightly.

Molly smiled. ‘Thank you.’

‘Very exciting. Did you know anything about it?’

‘No, not at all – bit of a surprise,’ said Molly, scribbling her name on a glossy eight-by-ten.

‘Oh, it’ll be lovely,’ said the woman. ‘One minute you’re taking them to nursery school, next thing you know they’re getting married. My oldest daughter got married last year – I’m a granny now.’

Phil meanwhile was putting away the PA system, and retracting the giant aerial which very slowly slid down into the body of the car like a giant periscope all clad around with a curl of gold cable.

‘Ah, show business,’ he said, as Molly handed out an autographed paper sunhat to a small child with a horribly runny nose and what looked like it might be impetigo.

‘Thanks for coming,’ said Molly, ignoring Phil. ‘And I hope you have a lovely holiday.’ The little boy skipped away to rejoin an exhausted-looking young woman in a sundress who, along with a bad case of sunburn, had a baby on one arm and was heavily pregnant. Molly caught herself staring; the young woman looked a lot like Jessica. Another five years or so and it could be Jessica. Looking away Molly dropped the give-aways back into a plastic stacker box.

‘You are extremely cynical for one so young,’ she replied, sliding the box into the back of the car.

Phil apparently took it as a compliment. ‘Jess telling everyone she was getting married on air was a masterstroke. Did you know she was going to do it?’

‘Of course I didn’t know,’ said Molly indignantly. ‘It’s incredibly unprofessional –’

‘There’s nothing people like better than a bit of romance. We could do a feature on the show, do a countdown to Jessica’s big day. Have a competition – I can see the strapline on the website now, “Be a bridesmaid at Jessie’s Big Fat Norfolk Wedding” You want me to bring it up at today’s planning meeting?’

Molly fixed him with an icy stare. ‘No, I do not, no, don’t you dare bring it up at the planning meeting. Okay? No one’s interested.’

‘All those people coming up to get your autograph were interested.’

Molly said nothing.

‘Oh come off it,’ said Phil. ‘Anyone who is anyone has got their wedding all over the glossies these days. Everyone’s obsessed with it. Who’s marrying who, what they’re wearing, who’s invited, who isn’t, who’s likely to have a fist fight break out over the canapés, are they going to fly out to Italy or up to – where’s that castle in Scotland they all schlep off to?’

Molly held up her hands. ‘Stop it, you’re scaring me – you’re a boy. Boys hate weddings.’

‘It’s not me, it’s my girlfriend and all her mates. Our whole flat is stacked with celebrity magazines, who’s got fat, who’s far too thin, who’ll never love again, who’s had lipo. I can’t help it. I never used to read that kind of crap, I was strictly an Autocar and What Hi-fi guy, but it’s addictive. The weddings are a bit of light relief really.’

‘Okay, okay, I’m getting the picture.’

‘So how about talking to the management? Shoehorn Jess’s big day into the show?’

‘Have you got no shame?’

‘Not much, why? You could probably wangle all kinds of freebies.’

‘So when my daughter and future son-in-law kneel down at the altar rail instead of having price tags on the bottom of their shoes they’ll have little stickers on there saying, “Sponsored by Linda’s Luxury Buffet Services?”’

‘Why not? The price weddings are these days. And you could invite all the famous people you know. Get the paparazzi there.’

‘I don’t know any famous people, Phil,’ said Molly, heaving one of the PA speakers into the back of the car.

‘Yes, you do. You’ve interviewed loads of celebrities.’

‘Yes, but there is a big difference between interviewing them and inviting them to your daughter’s wedding. Give me a hand with this, will you?’

‘Says who?’ persisted Phil. ‘There was that bloke off “The Bill”, oh and that girl who was on “Holby City”. Some of the guys at Norwich City football club, Delia – oh, and that really famous artist bloke who got that big prize.’

Molly raised an eyebrow. ‘Remind me not to hire you as Master of Ceremonies on the door announcing the arrivals. “Oh look, here’s the woman who used to go to school with the one that’s getting married.”’

Instead of being offended, Phil grinned. ‘Oh wow, does that mean you’re going to invite me to the wedding?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. Come on, let’s get the rest of this stuff stowed.’

‘A few celebs would really add a certain something to Jess’s wedding.’

‘That’s right, Phil, a security nightmare and lots of photographers elbowing my family out of the way so they could get a good shot of some bird with a trout pout and a sprayon tan.’

‘But you got on with them really well.’

‘That’s what I’m paid to do, Phil, I got on with that clown in a bear suit but it doesn’t mean I’m going to invite him round for tea.’

‘So where’s Jess having her engagement party?’

Molly looked up from the box of electronic oddments she was currently packing away under a seat. ‘What?’

‘The engagement party. I mean, presumably she’s having one, isn’t she?’

Aware that she had her mouth open Molly closed it fast and said, ‘Phil, I only just found out that they’re getting married. I don’t know what she’s having yet, or come to that where or when.’

But Phil was on a roll. ‘When my sister got married we had this big engagement party at the Norwich Arms – and my parents put an announcement in The Times. And then there was the stag night and hen night. We had a great time. My sister and my mum and all my sister’s mates flew to New York, and the blokes all went to Amsterdam, and then my parents organised a do for the groom’s family so we could all meet up and get acquainted before the big day.’

Molly decided that she had heard quite enough. ‘Fish and chips?’ she suggested, nodding towards the parade of shops that fronted the little harbour.

Phil grinned. ‘Do you want me to go and get them in case someone nicks the van?’

Molly glanced at the EAA radio car. Painted in the station’s livery, it was an unmistakable mix of orange, pink and lime green with ‘EAA’ emblazoned down one side and across the roof. At least if it was involved in a police chase it would give everyone a sporting chance of picking out the right vehicle.

‘We’ll eat in,’ she said.

While Phil finished off the lock-down, Molly broke out the lipstick and dealt with the ravages of headphone hair.

‘My sister used a wedding planner,’ said Phil conversationally as they headed off across the car park and joined the queue outside French’s chippie, where holiday-makers were gathered two abreast.

Molly wasn’t really listening; her stomach was rumbling, she was tired and they still had to get back into Norwich to drop the radio car off before going on to a management meeting.

‘They asked me to be an usher. We all had these cravats and cummerbunds that matched the bridesmaids’ dresses.’ He mimed.

Molly settled into line. ‘The wedding planner, was it a person or a wall chart?’

‘She was called Cheryl-Ann. She did all the arrangements at the hotel where my sister had her wedding. She was very keen on themes.’

‘Who, your sister?’

‘No, Cheryl-Ann. She had a whole book full. My sister brought it home for everyone to have a look through – pirates, princesses, wenches.’ He grinned. ‘And that was just for the civil partnerships. My sister picked this one Cheryl-Ann had done before called Spring something or other – there were a lot of daffodils involved and a lamb.’

Molly decided not to ask whether the lamb was gambolling up the aisle with a ribbon round its neck or on the buffet in slices.




Chapter Two (#ulink_6c9b8bf4-9997-5c90-b801-f0d75659a111)


‘Hello? Hello, Dad, can you hear me?’

In a cottage on the Somerset coast, Jess was curled up on an enormous floral sofa that dominated the tiny sitting room of the place Max had rented for their romantic break. Despite it being summer it was chilly and Max had lit the fire. Mobile phone pressed tight against her ear, Jess was straining to pick out her father’s voice amongst a sea of static.

‘Puss?’ said a familiar voice. ‘You there?’

‘Dad? Dad? Is that you? How are you?’

‘Fine. We got your email. Congratulations. Sorry if the line’s a bit strange but I’m using some sort of internet phone thing that the chap here’s rigged up for me. I just wanted to let you know that we’re delighted. Aren’t we, Marnie? Absolutely delighted – couldn’t be more pleased for you. Presumably you’ve already told your mother?’

‘Yes, I rang her a little while ago,’ said Jess, enunciating every syllable in case he missed some important detail, her finger wedged in her other ear so that she could concentrate on his voice. Max was watching her from the armchair pulled up at the other side of the hearth.

Her father sounded as if he were a million miles away.

‘How’s the holiday going?’ she asked.

‘Fine. I’ve had Delhi belly and Marnie has come out in some sort of a rash – we’re having a lovely time,’ he said, without a hint of irony.

‘So where are you?’

Jess heard him turn away from the phone and say, ‘Where are we again?’

Her father, Jonathon, had an innate distrust of all things foreign and when Jess and Jack were small had refused to take them anywhere abroad for holidays and only begrudgingly travelled there for business – there being anywhere other than Britain.

After her parents had split up and Jonathon had married Marnie they had come to a compromise, based on the two of them taking frequent cruises, which Jess suspected was acceptable only because her father felt that cruising wasn’t so much travelling as moving a little piece of England closer to all those countries Marnie was so keen for him to see.

‘We’re somewhere in…’ He hesitated as if waiting for a prompt. ‘Croatia.’ He made it sound like the outer reaches of the Horsehead Nebula. ‘We went to see some thing this morning and I think Marnie’s planning to go and see more things tomorrow. But anyway, never mind me. You and Max – it is Max, isn’t it? Well done, I’m really pleased. We’re really pleased. Obviously we’ll need to talk about the arrangements for the wedding and what your plans are when I get back. I want to see the cut of his jib and all that – make sure his intentions towards my little girl are honourable.’

Jess winced at her father’s idea of a joke.

‘So, have the pair of you set a date yet?’

‘We were thinking maybe Christmas – well, December anyway.’

‘Ah, right. December? So not that far away then. Have to get your skates on with the planning. You say you’ve spoken to your mother?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what did she say?’

‘Not much but I’m sure we can sort it out between us.’ Jess put her hand over the receiver. ‘Do you want to talk to him?’ she mouthed to Max.

Max shook his head. Meanwhile her father was saying, ‘I’m sure you’re right, Puss, and your mother has always been good at that kind of thing. Okay, well, look, why don’t the two of you come over as soon as we get back home? Not quite sure when that is – I’ll ring you. Lost all track of time, you know how it is with holidays.’

Jess smiled as they said their goodbyes; what her dad meant was that he didn’t know when they were due home because Marnie had made all the arrangements.

‘Are you going to ring your mum and dad now?’ she asked, waggling the phone in Max’s direction after she had rung off.

He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I was thinking that maybe we should go back to bed. I could light the fire in the bedroom. What do you think?’

Jess smiled. You didn’t need to be much of a mind-reader to work out what he meant. ‘Or we could just huddle together for the warmth,’ she said, all innocence.

‘Sounds like a plan, be terrible to freeze to death in the middle of the summer, wouldn’t it?’ Max purred as he kissed her, which made her heart do that funny, fluttery, skip-a-beat, horny thing.

‘Are you going to ring your mum and dad later?’ asked Jess, as Max took her by the hand and led her up the steep, winding stairs.

‘I was thinking that maybe we ought to go round and tell them. They’re a bit old-fashioned about that sort of thing.’

‘Oh, okay,’ said Jess as he started nibbling at her neck and unbuttoned her shirt. ‘What sort of thing?’ she started to ask, but the words got lost as he kissed her harder and pulled her down into a great billow of duvet, bolsters and pillows.




Chapter Three (#ulink_762596d5-01b6-5009-9bd8-dd1da1d7261b)


‘Flowers, food, frocks, cars, dresses – balloons, doves. My sister had doves.’

‘Yes, all right, thank you,’ said Molly to Phil, who was busy counting off what you needed for the perfect twenty-first-century wedding. ‘Why don’t you go and make us some tea?’

They were back in the offices of EAA FM and Molly, who was sitting at her desk waiting to go in to their regular strategy meeting with their manager, had been Googling weddings. The good news was that there were hundreds of thousands of websites, offering every kind of service and paraphernalia imaginable – dozens of books, CDs and DVDs and lord only knew what else online, as well as innumerable sources of advice to help her help Jess in the quest for the perfect occasion.

There were Wild West-themed weddings, weddings with Liberace lookalikes, weddings in caves by candlelight. Molly’s main problem was, having spent most of her working life looking for weird and wonderful things to attract her listeners, she found it impossible not to be drawn towards the bizarre. What couple in their right mind wanted to be married underwater or, come to that, while bungee jumping? As she scrolled through the pages Molly hoped Jess had something a little less strenuous in mind.

Nina Holman, the station’s senior office administrator, stood behind her, peering over Molly’s shoulder.

‘So if that’s the good news, what’s the bad news?’ Nina asked conversationally.

Molly sighed. ‘Well, according to this we should have started organising the wedding in June last year.’

Nina waved the words away. ‘Oh, come on. How hard can it be? I mean, even Phil knows what you need. It’ll be fine. Surely the bride and groom do most of it themselves these days, don’t they? Oh look – great outfit. That’s half your problems solved.’ Nina pointed towards the screen. ‘That bluey-green one on the end with the straw hat. Don’t look so worried, let’s face it, we fly this place by the seat of our pants all the time. Organising a wedding will be a doddle.’

Molly bypassed the frock commentary. ‘Yes, but that’s because we’re dealing with the great British public – and I know they can be fickle and peculiar, but unlike Jess they’re not likely to cry all over me and use emotional blackmail to get what they want.’

Nina took a sip of coffee. ‘Oh, I dunno, there was that bloke in Great Yarmouth last summer…’ She laughed. ‘All right, all right, I hear what you’re saying. And I’m here for you. If you need a hand or a shopping buddy or just a shoulder to cry on, count me in. I’ve always been a sucker for a big hat and matching shoes. I’m thinking maybe lavender and cream…’

‘And I’m thinking it’s going to take a lot more than a decent frock to pull this off. Look at this list.’ Molly flicked back to a page she had previously bookmarked and then scrolled down, and down, and down.

‘Bloody hell.’ Nina leaned in closer to pick out some of the details. The list was so long it was almost a joke. After a couple of minutes speed-reading she pulled away.

‘Are they serious? It says here,’ she pointed indignantly at the screen, ‘that traditionally the bride’s family organise it and pay for it all and then when everybody else has finished necking your champagne, and you’ve Hoovered the confetti out of the Axminster, you’re the one who sends slices of cake to the people who didn’t make it. Did no one tell the guys who wrote this that they abolished slave labour a while back?’

‘Apparently not. I was planning to print the list off and tick things off as we go.’

Nina gave her a long, hard look. ‘I don’t think we’ve got that much paper in the office, Molly. Or, come to that, that you have that much time. Surely you can’t be expected to do it all, not these days. Have you considered suggesting that the pair of them elope?’

‘It’ll be fine. Knowing Jess, she’ll want to do most of it herself.’

‘You hope,’ said Nina with a wry grin.

‘We’ll get it sorted out, I mean, how hard can it be?’ said Molly with a confidence she didn’t feel.

She flicked back to the Mother of the Bride outfitters’ websites. One thing that was very noticeable was just how many sites offered the perfect outfit in larger sizes; presumably comfort-eating after all that planning, thought Molly miserably as she returned to the to-do list.

Top of the list was choosing where they would get married. Would they want a church, or a registry office, or one of the myriad venues where you could hold a civil service? Was Max religious? Was he Jewish, Greek Orthodox, Zoroastrian, maybe he was a Buddhist? Maybe they would want a humanist ceremony in a field or something involving a hand-fasting, organic rice cakes and biodegradable confetti?

She really needed to talk to Jess.

And then there was the matter of who should they invite, and who was going to chauffeur the old aunties or ensure that Uncle Eric from Chester knew where the cheap hotels were? Looking down the who-does-what list Molly could hazard a guess.

Besides all of that, Phil was right, if you went for the full nine yards there was so much to arrange: the frocks and cars, and flowers, photographs and videos, and then the reception, the food, drink, cake. Just thinking about it made her feel slightly queasy.

News, like flu, spread fast through the office of EAA, so by mid-afternoon there didn’t seem to be a soul in the building who didn’t know Jessica was getting married.

Working on the radio station was like being part of a warm, if dysfunctional, family. Each presenter had a back-up team; sometimes there was a co-presenter and there was always a producer who worked with the presenter to create programme content. There was at least one broadcast assistant per team to act as gofer, chauffeur and general dogsbody. This made up the basic family unit, and then there were the cousins and second cousins; the editors, the weather men, news readers and sports reporters, two guys who worked on website content, people who answered the phones, PAs, cleaners and receptionists, security and all manner of techies as well. By the state of Molly’s email inbox there didn’t seem to be anyone on the station who hadn’t heard the news.

‘Could be worse,’ said Stan, her producer, as handed her the notes for their up-and-coming meeting with their boss.

‘You mean Jess could be making me a grandma instead?’

Stan held up his hands in protest. ‘Seriously. All I’m saying is, “Wedding Countdown Special”.’ He handed her a clipboard. ‘I’ve already heard it muted by the water cooler.’

‘Over my dead body,’ said Molly grimly.

Nina tapped the agenda. ‘Item four, programming ideas for the new season. It would be easy pickings, Molly. Just think about it,’ she said with a grin.

‘I have and it still sucks.’

‘Conference room in ten minutes. And Rob’s on his way down apparently,’ said Stan, pointing to his watch. ‘Oh, and here comes young Phil with the tea.’

At which point the phone on her desk rang. Molly picked up the receiver and tucked it under her chin, waiting until Stan and Nina moved away before she spoke and starting to flick through the MoB’s outfit website.

‘Hello, you’re through to Molly Foster at EAA.’ All she could hear was a peculiar distant clicking and crackling. At first Molly thought it might be an automated cold call until she realised she could hear someone breathing heavily on the other end of the line, and was about to slam the phone down when Jonathon said, ‘Molly, is that you? You there?’

‘Yes, how are y—’ she began, but before she could get any further Jonathon snapped, ‘Is Jessica pregnant?’

As was often the case when Molly spoke to her ex-husband, she instantly found every word he said infuriating.

‘Does it matter if she is?’ she demanded, while thinking how very like Jonathon not to have asked Jess himself.

‘Well – well no, obviously, of course not. I mean I didn’t say anything when she rang because I didn’t want to upset her, she sounded so happy,’ he blustered. ‘But if she is I just didn’t want her to think that she has got to get married to this Max just because she’s – well, you know.’

‘Pregnant? A fallen woman? Unclean? An awful lot has changed since the dark ages of our youth, Jonathon, people don’t have to get married any more, in fact they don’t seem to have to do anything they don’t want to. Those days have long gone. Thank God.’

‘I suppose we should just be relieved that given all that, he’s still going to stand by her.’

Stand by her? Molly groaned inwardly; Jonathon Foster, closet Victorian.

Jonathon paused, obviously needing a moment or two to catch up. ‘So are you saying that Puss isn’t pregnant?’

‘As far as I know, no, I’m sure she would have said something but I will ask.’

‘In that case, what’s the bloody hurry? I mean she barely knows the chap.’

‘She’s young…’

‘Well, he isn’t. What is he? Forty? What’s the hurry? They barely know each other.’

Molly decided to ignore him and press on. ‘She’s in love and, let’s face it, when you’re that age you think waiting for anything is a silly idea.’

‘Personally,’ said Jonathon, using a tone that suggested Jessica’s news was entirely Molly’s fault, ‘I don’t understand what the rush is – I mean we weren’t like that, were we?’

Molly laughed. ‘Of course we were. I remember my mum and dad suggesting we waited another couple of years and saved up and you were absolutely furious.’

‘Things were different then,’ snapped Jonathon. ‘We were more mature, more sensible. We took things seriously.’

‘Did we? I seem to remember the real reason we wanted to get married was so that your mother would let us sleep together when we stayed at your parents’ house – I don’t think it had much to do with having noble plans for a shared life of poverty and pain and procreation.’

There was a pause and then Jonathon said, ‘So, what do you think of him?’

‘Max?’

‘No, the Pope. Of course Max, who else is my only daughter planning to marry?’

‘Our daughter,’ Molly said tersely.

‘Whatever. The thing is, what is he like?’

‘You’ve met him, haven’t you?’

Jonathon sniffed. ‘Of course I’ve met him. Once or twice but only in the “Hello, pleased to meet you, so you’re the bastard who is sleeping with my little girl” kind of way.’

Molly laughed; sometimes, Jonathon could also be delightfully self-aware.

‘They dropped in on their way back from somewhere or other and then Jess brought him over to have Sunday lunch with us,’ Jonathon continued. ‘What does that tell you about anybody? He seemed nice enough, but who knows? He could be an axe-murdering psychopath for all I know. Something in banking, isn’t he?’

‘No, that was Glenn. The one before, the one who went off to America? San Francisco?’

‘Ah.’ There was another pause and then Jonathon asked, ‘So what does Max do?’

‘IT, project management, I think. I’m not sure what exactly.’

‘Ummmm, not a banker then? I suppose we should be grateful really.’

‘We have to trust Jess to make her own mind up, after all she knows him better than we do. These are her decisions to make. She’s not a child any more.’

‘So you say.’

‘Jonathon, we’d already got her and Jack by the time I was her age.’

‘Yes, but we were different,’ said Jonathon. ‘Things were different.’

True, now it seemed that adolescence lasted until you were well into your thirties, thought Molly ruefully, whereas when she and Jonathon had been dating, it ended as soon as you left school. She felt younger now than she had in her twenties – probably looked younger too, she decided, catching sight of her reflection in the monitor.

‘Right, well, I suppose we should get together and discuss the wedding, then. Money and the arrangements and things. I know that in the good old days the bride’s father used to stump up for the whole shebang but as you said, times have changed.’

Molly groaned inwardly; the one time Jonathon took notice of something she’d said it was obviously going to rebound.

‘Before all this kicked off I had been thinking of giving Jess something towards the deposit on a house or a flat,’ Jonathon said.

‘They still might prefer that…’

Molly looked back at the website she’d been browsing through. With the cost of a wedding today Jonathon wouldn’t be far out. The price of a deposit on a first time home equalled just about what it would cost to throw a half-decent wedding. In fact the all-inclusive charge on a featured venue of the month cost more than Jonathan and Molly had paid for their first house.

‘How about we talk everything over once Marnie and I get back?’

‘Fine by me. So you’ll ring Jess and make the arrangements?’

‘Oh.’ Jonathon sounded genuinely surprised. ‘I was rather hoping you’d do that.’

‘But if we’re coming to yours…’

Jonathon gave a funny little throaty cough.

‘You want everyone to come to mine?’ said Molly. Mindreading was right up there on the list of talents required to deal with Jonathon. She certainly didn’t miss being married to him one little bit. ‘Not your place?’

‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea, do you? I don’t want to upset Marnie,’ he said.

‘But it’s all right to upset Nick?’ asked Molly, her tone level.

‘You know how things are, Molly –’

What Jonathon actually meant was he didn’t live with Nick and therefore he didn’t give a rat’s arse about how upset Nick might or might not get, because Nick wasn’t anything to do with Jonathon, and Marnie – five foot two, six stone wet, with a tongue that could strip paint, and a temper to match – most definitely was. Seeing the way Jonathon ran around trying to placate Marnie, Molly had come to the conclusion that sometimes it paid to be difficult.

‘Besides,’ he was saying, ‘your place is so much easier to get to, and you’ve got more parking. Our place is a bit tucked up for all those cars.’

All those cars – two more at most. Molly wondered just how many reasons Jonathon would be able to come up with before she put him out of his misery. On screen she had found a really beautiful oyster-coloured suit with a hat – apparently a complete snip at nine hundred pounds.

‘Fine,’ she agreed.

‘Fine?’ said Jonathon.

‘Look, I’m at work, Jonathon, I’ll email you. Have a nice holiday.’

‘See you when we get back, then.’ Jonathon sounded crestfallen at not having managed more sparring. ‘So you’re all right about everything?’

Molly looked heavenwards. What was that supposed to mean? She decided not to ask him. ‘I’ll ring Jess when I get home and then we can arrange a time for you to pop over.’

‘Oh,’ said Jonathon.

‘Oh? What do you mean, “Oh”?’

‘Well, I’d rather assumed I’d be coming over for lunch. We’ve got a lot to talk about. And I am going to be coughing up the lion’s share for the wedding.’

The sheer gall of the man took Molly’s breath away. What she wanted to say was, ‘In that case maybe you should invite Jess and Max over to your place instead and count me out. You could arrange it between yourselves – after all, it is your only daughter who is getting married.’

But she knew from years of experience that the resulting hissy-fit wouldn’t be worth it, so what she actually said was, ‘I have to go, Jonathon. I’ll let you know what Jess says.’ And with that she hung up, which was perfect timing as she could see their boss, Rob Harwood, making his way into the conference room.

Picking up her notepad and clipboard Molly hurried over to catch him up. For all his apparent bonhomie and great show of just being another one of the station crew, one of the team, no one was under any illusions about who was top dog or what would happen if you ever made the mistake of treating Rob as just one of the boys.

In the conference room Stan was already sorting out a drink for Rob, Nina was there to ensure no one forgot budget or logistics, a girl from the front office was there to take notes while someone up from the sales department was there to talk about advertising.

Molly had already emailed her outline plan for next month’s shows, although it was fairly academic; the framework for programme content in the broadest sense was more or less the same every year, give or take a public crusade or two.

In the summer they rolled out some kind of seaside special in August, finishing up on Bank Holiday Monday, before heading towards back-to-school and then autumn themes, beginning in September with harvest festivals and late-season breaks. October there were debates over Hallowe’en versus Bonfire Night, then there was Christmas and all that that entailed – the presents and pantomimes and cookery tips and how-tos. And then the New Year, with lots of phoneins about presents you hated and resolutions made or broken, followed by the January blues and sales, segments on credit cards and canny ways with money, and the year rolled slowly into a new spring with lambs and farm visits and the first snowdrops, how this February was the wettest, driest, coldest, hottest or sunniest since records began, and before you knew it they were round to planning holidays on air, with a mix of local destinations and travel companies who had bought air time, and before you knew it, it was summer all over again.

Molly quite liked the slow seasonal rotation in programme planning; while some people saw it as dull, for her it had all the comfort of visiting old friends.

Rob looked up from his notes as Molly came into the conference room and smiled broadly. ‘I hear congratulations are in order,’ he said, as she pulled out a chair. ‘Phone lines are still buzzing. Marvellous news, please pass my best wishes on to your daughter and the groom-to-be. Max, isn’t it?’

Inwardly Molly groaned. Whoever was it said only bad news travels fast?




Chapter Four (#ulink_36ca16f5-d0e5-5940-9f3e-0b318a6cab78)


‘I know that I promised not to turn into Bridezilla,’ said Jess. ‘But there are things we ought to talk about, things I need to ask you, and want your opinion on. We haven’t got that long to sort everything out – so what sort of wedding do you think we should have?’ She paused. ‘Max, you are listening, aren’t you?’

The two of them were curled up under the duvet in bed in the little cottage with its view out over Watchet Harbour. Outside it was raining hard, but Jess couldn’t have cared less about the weather. She had barely had time to catch her breath since Max had gone down on one knee and now the full weight of what he had asked her was beginning to sink in.

If Jess could have planned exactly how she wanted to be proposed to she would have been hard-pressed to top Max’s efforts. It was breathtakingly romantic and so unexpected that, despite it being a horrible cliché, she had to keep from pinching herself to check that she wasn’t dreaming.

At first Jess had thought Max was kneeling down to tie his shoelace and then just when she was going to ask him if he was all right he had caught hold of her hand. And even then Jess hadn’t guessed, she just thought he might need a hand up because it was cold and they had walked for miles with her dog, Bassa. Then Max had said, ‘Jess, I want to ask you something.’

And before she could think what it might be, Max had asked her to marry him.

Although replaying the scene in her head – and Jess had replayed it many times since Max had said it – Jess wasn’t sure exactly whether Max had asked her so much as told her. She seemed to remember that what he had actually said was, ‘Jess, I think that we should get married.’ Because it didn’t seem as if there had been any question that she could answer yes or no to. But it didn’t matter, because it had all been so magical and so very special and incredibly romantic and then Max had said, ‘I was thinking December – maybe Christmas, certainly before the New Year. What do you say?’

And although Jess hadn’t said anything to Molly, it had been a surprise. In fact it was so unexpected that for a few moments Jess thought she must have misheard him.

All the time they’d been going out together Max had said things about how much he liked his own space, and how he wasn’t really good with girlfriends, like they were some kind of pet, and how, although he really enjoyed being with her, he was a happy bachelor – which, although they seemed to get on fairly well and however smitten Jess was, hadn’t given her much hope that the relationship was going anywhere.

And when on girly nights out Jess had expressed her concerns, her friends – who hadn’t met Max yet because he was usually busy midweek – had said that maybe he was just playing with her, that whole protesting too much so he wouldn’t get hurt when she finished with him kind of thing.

‘He’s got that little-boy-lost look. You can just tell he’s been really hurt,’ Jess had said to them. ‘And he’s gorgeous and is so mature – he makes me feel all fragile and feminine. And he is such a gentleman – a proper grown-up.’

One of other girls from her office had giggled. ‘God, he sounds perfect, shame I was away when he came in. I’d hang on in there, sweetie.’ And so Jess had.

Jess just hadn’t thought Max was that serious, even if when they first started going out together he’d done things like whisk her away to Paris on Eurostar for the weekend, and when she had been feeling a bit down had a dozen red roses delivered to the design office where she worked. But then he’d come over all Mr Darcy and be preoccupied and prickly, which sometimes Jess saw as a challenge and other times was just bloody annoying. Then again no one was perfect and he always apologised. When he did and looked at her with those big brown eyes, she could feel herself melting.

Recently it had all slowed down a bit and they’d both been busy and tired and finding it hard to make time for each other. In fact until he’d gone down on one knee Jess had begun to wonder if maybe they had already peaked and whether there was any future in the relationship at all. Well, apparently there was. Jess grinned. Not just a future but a happy ever after.

She turned over and snuggled up against him. ‘Are you awake?’ she whispered.

They had been drinking champagne and talking and leaving garbled messages on answer machines the length and breath of the known world, and now more sober and very slightly hung over, it was all beginning to sink in.

Jess ran her fingers down his arm. She had always imagined eventually marrying someone like Max – the classic older man, someone urbane, mature, slightly distant, calm, generous, someone who would take care of her, look after her. Someone who was already established. If she had had a list Max would tick almost all the boxes. She suppressed another giggle.

Up until now she hadn’t even been sure that Max loved her. I mean how mad was that? She knew that Max liked her but he had never mentioned the ‘L’ word, not at all, not once. Not ever. And now they were getting married. The grin was back. Married.

Mrs Jessica Peters – it had such a nice ring to it. Mrs Jessica Peters – she rolled the words around inside her head. She was going to get married. And it would be fine, just fine. After all Max was sensible and he was kind and exactly what she needed. Someone strong and understanding – an old-fashioned man, someone who had seen a bit of life, someone who knew what he was doing.

As she lay there Jess made an effort to quell any little flurries of doubt that surfaced. After all, everyone was nervous about getting married. It was only natural, marriage was a big thing and okay, maybe she had just got a little bit swept along by the moment, but who wouldn’t?

Obviously Max hadn’t got any doubts about it or he wouldn’t have asked, or maybe he could see something in her that she couldn’t? The idea made her smile. It was quite exciting to think that he could see her hidden depths.

Down on the beach, when Max had asked – or told – her, there had been this funny, awkward silence and then he’d said, ‘So what do you say then?’

It was all Jess could do to stop herself from laughing because it sounded ridiculous that anyone wanted to marry her. Then, without really stopping to think about it, she’d said, ‘Yes, please.’ Which, on reflection, made it sound as if he had just offered her an ice cream or something.

In amongst all her thoughts and feelings there was a terrible sense of being overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the plans that needed making to make a wedding happen. They had sixteen weeks tops to get it all together; she’d worked it out in the back of her diary. The biggest thing Jess had organised up until now was a table for fifteen at the local curry house. At the same time she had a funny sense of joy and excitement and anticipation. There was part of her that was ready to settle down. ‘There is so much to get organised, you will help, won’t you?’

Max yawned and stretched. ‘What did you say?’

‘Plans – we’ve got to make plans. And lists. You will help, won’t you?’

He blinked and then rubbed his eyes and reached out to brush the hair back off Jess’s face. ‘You worry too much,’ he said.

‘And I was thinking – does this mean I’m officially moving in?’

He grinned. ‘Well, I certainly hope so.’

‘I meant when we get back. After all it would make life a lot easier and my lease is up.’

‘I’d kind of assumed we’d wait until after the wedding,’ Max said after a few seconds. ‘I know it’s a pain in the arse but would you mind waiting? It’s not long and I’d really like to get the house sorted out. Decorated.’

‘We could do that together. I’m a dab hand with a paint roller. I wouldn’t mind helping.’

‘I know you wouldn’t, eager beaver,’ said Max. ‘But I’m up to my eyes with work at the moment. I’d been thinking I’d get someone in to do it, and it’ll be a lot easier if the house is empty. I need to clear my office out and move the servers first…’ He paused. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Well, no,’ Jess said with a shrug, masking her disappointment. ‘No, not at all, it’s fine.’

He laughed and poked her. ‘No, it’s not. You’re annoyed.’

‘Well, I just thought…’ she began, but he was ahead of her.

‘It won’t be for much longer. If I were you I’d enjoy it. In another few years you’ll probably be sick of the sight of me.’ Max smiled and then leaned in to kiss her. ‘I know my place isn’t all that huge but it’ll do us to start off with and then maybe later we could buy somewhere bigger – you happy with that?’

He kissed her again, more tenderly this time, and as she pulled away, and not for the first time, Jess admired the view. There was no doubt about it: Max Peters was a catch.

They’d met when he’d been brought in to upgrade the computers where she worked. He wasn’t the normal engineer but had been doing a favour for a friend and as he came in, their eyes met and Jess had had one of those totally heartstopping moments of lust. He was gorgeous and knew it.

Debbie, who sat at the desk opposite, and was about to go on maternity leave, had purred and then whispered, ‘Wipe the drool off your chin, sweetie.’ And then five minutes later Max had walked over to her desk and before she knew what had hit her he had asked Jess out for dinner and she had said yes. Just like that.

‘Way, way too smooth,’ Debbie had said, swigging Gaviscon like it was vodka, not quite able to hide the appreciation in her voice as Max went off to sort out one of the other machines.

And now here she was six months later, getting married to him. Jess drank him in with her eyes; she liked those nicely defined muscles in Max’s arms, those broad shoulders and the way his hair – thick and almost black, and shot through here and there with grey – curled into the nape of his strong muscular neck. He swam and worked out two or three times a week and there was something about those big brown eyes of his that suggested he had been hurt, but with a lot of love the right woman could heal him – and apparently it turned out she was that woman.

Jess grinned lazily. Maybe happy ever after wasn’t just a fairy story after all.

By some stroke of genetic good fortune his skin turned the colour of golden syrup at the merest glimpse of sunshine, so that as she moved closer and slid into the crook of his arm, Jess was aware of how very pale and delicate and feminine she looked next to his strong, beautiful golden body. It gave her a little ripple of pleasure. No two ways about it, Max Peters made her mouth water and she was going to marry him and be Mrs Peters. As he pulled her closer all her doubts began to ebb away. She was going to marry Max Peters and live happily ever after and the very thought of it made her smile.

‘So, about these plans and lists,’ she murmured.

‘Plans and lists?’ he teased.

Jess nodded. ‘Uh-huh. Lots of them.’

‘That’s what the bride’s mother’s for,’ Max said, stretching again. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘I’m being serious,’ Jess said.

‘And so was I – I’m absolutely famished.’

‘About the wedding.’

‘Oh, don’t look so worried; mothers, they love it, all that arranging, the frocks, the flowers, the caterers.’

‘I’m not sure my mum’s like that,’ said Jess. ‘She’s really busy.’

Max laughed. ‘They’re all like that once you scratch the surface. You okay?’

Jess nodded. ‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m tired, a bit hung over.’ She looked at Max’s face, trying to work out what he was thinking. ‘You’re frowning? You’re not cross I asked you to help, are you? I am really excited.’

He smiled. ‘I’m not cross, baby. I’m just not great at all that kind of thing. Actually, I’m rubbish, if you want the truth. And I’m incredibly busy at the moment.’

Jess wrinkled up her nose. ‘What about when you got married first time around, didn’t you help with the arrangements then?’

‘That was a long while ago now,’ Max said, pulling himself up onto one elbow. ‘Lucy’s mother organised it all. We got married in the chapel on their family estate. All I did was turn up. If I remember correctly she even sorted out the morning suits for me and the best man. Let’s not talk about that. What do you fancy to eat? We could take a drive along the coast if you like or nip into town. Pick up something and cook it here.’

Jess made the effort to smile.

Lucy. The Honourable Lucy Troughton-Warbridge-Hays, Max’s first wife, the woman who had left Max with that whipped-puppy look. The wife who he had married when they were both too young and who he had loved with all his heart. The wife whose photograph still hung in his office even after all these years.

When Jess had pointed it out Max had blushed furiously and taken it down. ‘Sorry – you know I didn’t even notice it was there,’ he’d said, sliding it into a drawer. Lucy Troughton-Warbridge-Hays, the wife who had run off with his best friend and best man Stephen, who between them had broken his heart and ensured that Max Peters had been a career bachelor – up until now. Jess couldn’t help wonder what it was that had changed his mind. Was it that finally at forty he thought it was time that he settled down? Time to put down roots and have a family? Did he see Jess as someone special, the kind of woman he could trust and wanted to spend the rest of his life with? Surely the answer had to be yes? The thought made her feel warm and fluttery inside.

Jess looked up into his big dark eyes. ‘Do you love me, Max?’

He smiled and kissed the end of her nose. ‘What do you think?’

‘And you will help with the wedding, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will,’ Max said, and rolled back the duvet. ‘But I’ve already told you that I’m not great at that kind of stuff.’ He sounded offhand and casual, but Jess needed him to be keen, eager, and enthusiastic – and told him so.

Max, feet on the floor now, sighed. ‘I am, Jess, sweetheart, and I trust your judgement. Absolutely. After all, you’ve agreed to be my wife, haven’t you? Just shows you’ve got great judgement and the most fantastic taste.’

Jess laughed and threw a pillow at him.

And then Max got out of bed and pulled on a robe. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘it’s no big deal.’

Jess was about to protest when Max leaned over and held a finger to her lips and then, leaning closer still, kissed her briefly. ‘Poor choice of words. What I meant was, it will all get sorted out. You have to understand I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment, with the McKeeley project and Jacobson going live in the spring as well as all the usual crap. It’s going to be a busy few months.’

Jess stared at him, wondering whether it was meant as a joke. ‘Well, if you’re that busy maybe we ought to wait – I mean, I don’t mind waiting.’

‘Well, I do,’ said Max emphatically. ‘In my line of work you can never guarantee what the schedule is going to be. We’ve just got to seize the moment.’ Laughing, he made a tickling, nipping lunge at her which made Jess shriek and giggle, then stood over her, hands flat on the mattress, pinning her down. It was a dominant, manly, sexy gesture that made her skin tingle all over.

‘If you wanted to seize the moment maybe we should just slip away – do something romantic, drive to Scotland, get married at Gretna. I’m sure Mum and Dad would understand, ’ said Jess. ‘Just the two of us. Drag two people in off the street to be our witnesses.’

Max’s expression softened into something that made Jess’s heart melt. ‘But I don’t want us to slip away, Jess – I want everyone to see us. I want us to have the most wonderful, perfect day with all our family and friends. I want everyone to see how beautiful you are, to say, “Wow, don’t they make the most stunning couple”. I want it to be just perfect. And it will be.’

‘Oh, Max.’ Jess felt her eyes filling with tears.

‘And I’m sure your mum wouldn’t want us running off and getting hitched without any fuss,’ Max said, pushing himself back upright. ‘I’ll let the dog out and then I thought as we were up we might as well drive out to Exmoor – take Bassa for a bit of a hike and then see if we can find a nice pub somewhere. Unless you want to cook?’

‘It’s still raining,’ protested Jess.

Max laughed. ‘You won’t melt. Come on, the fresh air will do us both good. We ought to make the most of it while we’re down here. I don’t know when I’ll be able to take any more time off before the wedding.’

Wordlessly Jess got out of bed and pulled on her jeans. Actually Max was probably right, the fresh air would help clear her head. When she checked her phone there was a message from Molly. She tried to ring back but Molly had her phone on voicemail.

‘Hi, Mum. I’ve got loads to tell you and talk about, but the signal down here isn’t great. How about we come round on Saturday and we can catch up then? Love you.’ And then, still smiling, Jess hung up. She hurried downstairs, excitement drowning out the little niggling worries she had about Max.




Chapter Five (#ulink_dd0fa8e6-f8c5-543e-8954-77f88d90a082)


‘Where’s Max? Couldn’t he make it?’ asked Molly, looking out into the porch through the open kitchen door. She was just sliding a batch of homemade bread out of the oven. It smelt wonderful. It was first thing on Saturday morning and making bread was Molly’s idea of relaxing after a long and busy week.

Jess, in a summer dress over leggings, bundled into the kitchen holding her coat above her head, dripping water all over the flagstone floor. Bassa, her supersized Jack Russell-mongrel-mix followed hard on her heels, tail wagging enthusiastically.

‘No, he’s had to work this weekend. We only got back late last night and he needed to get back on site. The company he’s working for are putting in some kind of new system in their new offices and he’s got to be there – that’s why we grabbed a few days away, while we could. I can see that I’m going to be an IT widow. God, that bread smells wonderful, are we having it for lunch?’

Molly nodded. ‘Uh-huh, and there’s homemade hummus, some tomatoes out of the garden, some cheese and a ham Nick boiled last night. Okay?’

‘Oh God, yes,’ Jess purred as she dumped the coat over a chair and then let Molly fold her into her arms.

‘Congratulations,’ said Molly, voice crackling with unexpected emotion as she pulled back to look Jess up and down. ‘I can’t believe my baby is getting married. Seems only a few months ago we were at the zoo feeding the llamas.’

Jess grinned. ‘It was only few months ago, Mum, remember? We went to do some sort of promo with the radio station?’

‘You know what I mean.’

Jess nodded. ‘It’s so nice to be home,’ she said in a little voice. ‘This week has been completely and utterly crazy. And it was really hard to talk on the mobile – I didn’t want to do all that “Can you hear me? You’re cracking up” thing –’

‘It’s fine and you’re here now, so I want to hear all about it.’

Behind them Bassa did a wet-dog shimmy and shake, covering everyone and everything with a fine spray of mongrel-scented water. Molly’s dog, Milo, a huge English mastiff, lifted his head to check out the new arrivals from the comfort of his basket by the Aga and then celebrated the fact they weren’t burglars by closing his eyes and letting out a loud snore. Bassa made a beeline for Milo’s biscuits while Molly indicated they should sit.

‘I’m so, so glad you’re here. We’ve got pink champagne on standby in the fridge – I was hoping that Max would be here too so we could share it while we have a chat about what you want to do about the wedding.’ Molly struggled to hold back the unexpected flurry of tears that threatened.

Jess grinned. ‘Oh, come on, we don’t have to wait for Max, do we? Do you want to open it or shall I?’

Molly rubbed away a stray tear. ‘First thing you need to learn about men is that they need to feel useful to feel loved,’ and with that she turned and shouted, ‘Nick? Jess is here, darling. We need a real man to come and open the champagne.’

And from somewhere deep in the cottage they both heard Nick laugh. ‘I’m on my way,’ he called.



‘The garden is looking wonderful,’ said Max, taking a sip of tea.

‘Yes it is, isn’t it? We’ve done terribly well with the mixed borders this year. It’s so nice to see you, Max,’ said his mother. ‘Seems like ages since you’ve been down. Such a shame Daddy is out at the moment. You really should have rung and let us know you were coming. He only arranged to go and play golf with Archie this morning…’ Daphne Peters let the silence fall and waited, in the way that all mothers wait, because she knew damned well that Max hadn’t driven nearly three hours out of his way just to admire the dahlias.

‘Actually, Mummy, I came down to tell you that I’ve asked Jessica to marry me,’ Max said, setting his cup and saucer carefully back down on the tea tray. ‘And she’s said yes.’

‘Really,’ said Daphne with a smile. ‘Well, that’s absolutely wonderful news, Max. Congratulations. And not before time. You know your father and I have been terribly worried about you. I’m so pleased. It’ll be lovely for you to be settled at long last. And she seems like a charming young woman. We both said so when you came for lunch – Daddy was most impressed. It’s just a shame you couldn’t have come down to see us together really. Couldn’t Jessica make it today?’

Max shook his head. ‘She’s working this weekend. And to be honest I thought it would be better if I told you myself. Obviously I’ll bring Jess over as soon as possible but I wanted to tell you on my own, rather than spring it on you unprepared.’

He lingered over the word unprepared. Daphne nodded; there was bound to be more.

‘We’re planning to get married in December.’

They were sitting in the conservatory, with its chintz-covered cane furniture and view of the carefully manicured lawns and lovingly tended gardens, where a mother duck was busy leading a waddle of tiny ducklings down towards the pond at the bottom.

Daphne topped up his cup. ‘December? Gosh, well, in that case, we’ll all have to get our skates on then, won’t we? I’ll ring Marjorie and see if she’ll make the cake.’ Max’s mother paused and watched him thoughtfully. ‘Rather a short engagement, darling. Anything else you’d care to share with me?’

Max looked bemused. ‘I thought I was sharing?’

Daphne Peters laughed. ‘I meant, should I ask Marjorie to make sure the top tier is a decent size? I’m a woman of the world, Max, these things happen.’

Max looked more puzzled. ‘Mummy, what are you talking about?’

‘For the christening, Max – it’s traditional to keep the top tier for the christening.’

Max stared at her as if she were speaking in tongues. ‘Right,’ he said slowly.

‘What I mean is, are you planning to make me a grandmother as well as a mother-in-law?’

‘Ah, children,’ he said with relief. ‘I presume so, eventually, but not straight away. Will you tell Daddy about the wedding for me?’

Daphne sighed; men. ‘Of course, darling. Presumably Jessica’s parents will be in touch so we can talk about the arrangements? You have met her people?’

Max nodded. ‘Yes, they’re nice. Divorced. Her father is in business, although I think he’s semi-retired now, remarried – and her mother is on the radio.’

Daphne’s expression brightened. ‘Really? Three or four?’

‘Nothing quite so grand, I’m afraid, it’s a local station. She’s some kind of presenter.’

Daphne nodded again. ‘Well, that all sounds very jolly. I don’t mean to pry, Max, but this hasn’t got anything to do with –’ She stopped short. ‘Well, you know.’

Max looked up from his cup and saucer and said obliquely, ‘With what?’

Sometimes Max and his father took obtuse to a whole new dimension, thought Daphne.



Jess held out her hand and wiggled her fingers so that Molly could inspect her engagement ring. They were sitting at the kitchen table and Nick was busy filling champagne flutes for a toast.

‘Oh, that’s really –’ Molly hesitated, cautiously feeling her way around for the right adjective. ‘Quite striking really,’ she managed after a few more seconds.

Jess looked down at it and then up at Molly and pulled a funny little face. ‘I know what you mean. It isn’t something I’d have chosen for myself, but it’s growing on me.’

‘Growing on you?’ Molly looked her daughter in the eye. ‘You haven’t told Max you don’t like the ring, have you?’ Jessica didn’t say a word, so tactfully Molly pressed on. ‘Jewellery is a really hard thing to choose for someone, even if you know them well. Most couples go out and choose the ring together. It is such a special thing; it would be nice to have something that you really love, don’t you think? I’m sure Max would understand. Men aren’t always great at picking things, you know what they’re like.’

‘What are we like?’ asked Nick, handing them their glasses. A corporate bunny all week, at weekends he dressed like a roadie for a rock band.

‘I was saying picking jewellery for someone can be tricky even when you know them well,’ said Molly.

Nick held out his hand and without a word Jess put her hand in it. He leaned in closer and took a long, hard look at the ring. ‘Umm,’ he said.

‘It looks like roadkill, doesn’t it?’ said Jess glumly. ‘The more I look at it, the more I hate it. How can I tell Max that I hate his engagement ring?’

Nick sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘The best way is to try not to hurt his feelings, so try something like, “You know, Max, your taste in totty is spot on, but to be perfectly frank your taste in jewellery is complete shite.”’

At which point Jess laughed, which was a great relief because for a few seconds there Molly was convinced she was going to cry.

‘No, what you need to say,’ Nick continued, ‘is that it’s a very beautiful ring but not the kind of thing that you would usually wear, and that you want something you can wear every day, so when you look at it you think of him. After all you’ve got to wear it the rest of your life.’

Molly raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m impressed. This from a man who gets palpitations at the mention of marriage.’

‘Come on, I’m not the only one. Who was the woman who said she’d rather push needles in her eyes than get married again?’

‘What I said was…’ Molly looked at him and grinned. ‘Did I really say that?’

Nick nodded. ‘You most certainly did.’

‘Well, maybe I was being a bit hasty. Anyway, don’t go shifting the blame. You’re a marriage cynic too,’ said Molly.

‘That doesn’t mean that I’m not a romantic,’ he said, sounding genuinely hurt. ‘Remember that time I had three tons of well-rotted horse manure for the garden delivered on your birthday. We even gift-wrapped the tipper truck.’

Jess laughed. ‘You’re all heart.’

‘Do you know where Max bought the ring?’ Molly asked.

Jess picked up her rucksack and started to rootle around in it. ‘I’ve got the box in here somewhere. Oh, here we are.’ She pulled out a navy blue velvet drawstring bag, extravagantly lined in purple silk. Inside was a matching box with the initials LP intertwined discreetly on the lining of the lid. On the bottom of the box it said LovesPleasures, Jewellers, and a Cambridge phone number.

‘I’d talk to Max and arrange to go back to the shop together and change it for something you both like.’

‘I don’t want to upset him,’ said Jess, taking off the ring and slipping it back into the box.

Molly gave her a long, hard look. ‘It’s going to upset him a lot more if you don’t wear it.’

‘All right, all right,’ said Jess grimly. ‘I know what you’re saying, and to be honest if I can’t talk to him about this then we’re on a hiding to nothing really, aren’t we? Don’t judge him by the ring. Max is an absolute gem – he’ll understand, and you’re right, what are the chances of picking the right ring for anyone first time?’ Jess paused and smiled wistfully. ‘It’s a shame it’s so awful because Max going out and choosing it for me is such a romantic thing to do.’

‘I know,’ said Molly, although she suspected that had Max really known Jess he would have guessed that something overblown and fiddly really wasn’t going to work, whereas something stylish and simple and contemporary would have done.

Jess took a long pull on her champagne and then licked her lips. ‘Oh, God, that’s lovely. Can we have this for the wedding?’

‘You’re meant to wait for the toast,’ said Molly, raising her glass. ‘To Jess and Max.’

‘Jess and Max,’ they murmured as Jess took another slurp.

‘Talking of Max, where is he?’ asked Nick. ‘Is he still outside? Is he on his way?’

‘No, no, he’s working this weekend and to be honest I’m not sure how good men are at this kind of thing.’

‘What kind of thing?’ asked Nick.

‘Weddings,’ said Jessica with a sly grin. ‘You know, cakes and commitment, all that getting married stuff. I’m panicking and really banking on you guys to help me out with this.’

‘Ouch,’ said Nick, flinching as if she had punched him. ‘You know I think you’re absolutely right. I’ll leave you to it, if you don’t mind – weddings make me come over all faint.’ And with that he headed off into the sitting room with the papers. As he got to the door he said, ‘Has your mother mentioned the radio idea to you yet?’

‘What radio idea?’ said Jess.

‘So,’ said Molly, glaring at Nick as he grinned at her through the glass door to the kitchen. ‘About the wedding…’




Chapter Six (#ulink_c72d0dfa-e656-5e2f-89dc-ff9f745e770a)


‘Mum, we are not turning my wedding into a radio feature, all right?’

‘I know, I know,’ said Molly, holding up her hands. ‘And that’s exactly what I told Rob.’

Jess shook her head. ‘Max would be horrified. His family are – well, I’ve only met them a couple of times but they’re…’ Jess hesitated, trying to find the right words. ‘They’re really old-fashioned and a bit posh. His mother is in the WI, his father’s retired and on the committee at the golf club. He was something big in the city.’

‘I know, but Rob just thought it would be a great programming idea. He was suggesting that we do a weekly segment for my show. You and Max building up to the big day, going to see people – the florists, caterers, that sort of thing, you and me going to look at dresses – right up to the ceremony. It’d just be me and maybe a sound guy.’

‘No,’ said Jess incredulously.

But Molly pressed on. ‘Okay. I have to say it wasn’t my idea, but you can see where Rob’s coming from?’ Jess sniffed. ‘It’s all a bit tacky.’

Molly nodded. ‘Actually it could be a lot tacky but I did tell him that I’d ask you. What Raf said – he’s the station’s advertising whiz kid – was that you’d probably be able to negotiate a discount if you bought something from any of the suppliers we featured.’ She paused. ‘I’ll take that as a no then, shall I?’

Jess groaned. ‘You won’t tell Dad about this, will you, please? You know what he’s like when people start mentioning discounts. I don’t want a bargain-basement wedding, Mum. We want something special and lovely.’

‘I know, and so do I, but I had to ask,’ said Molly. ‘And I promise, not a word to your dad.’ She mimed zipped lips. ‘And I’ll prime Nick not to say anything either. Anyway – let’s get down to business, shall we?’ She pulled out the great sheaf of papers that she’d printed off.

Jess’s eyes widened as Molly spread them out on the kitchen table. ‘Bloody hell, what’s all that?’

‘It’s a list of things we need to do,’ sighed Molly.

‘Really? So what do we need to do?’ asked Jessica.

‘First two things, it says here,’ Molly began, slipping on her glasses, ‘you need to decide what kind of wedding you want and then pick two or three dates – to give yourself a bit of flexibility just in case the place you want isn’t free. And after that there are the caterers, cakes, cars, flowers, photographers, maybe video, dresses, invitations, music. It’ll be all fine though – once we’ve got the place booked.’ When Molly looked across at Jess, her daughter was ashen.’ Are you all right?’

‘I suppose so.’ Jess nodded and then smiled. ‘Yes, I’m really, really excited and also really, really nervous. Is that normal?’

Molly reached out and touched her hand. ‘I think so. Me too. I’ve never organised a wedding before other than me and your dad’s. We’ll do it together and it will be just perfect, I promise. We need to talk to your dad about money and Nick and I will help too.’ Molly paused. Max was the first of Jess’s boyfriends that Molly didn’t feel she knew, and here he was taking her away. ‘Have you talked to Max about what he’d like?’

‘I have.’ Jess rolled her eyes. ‘And he told me he wasn’t very good at that kind of thing.’

‘I don’t think any of them are but he’s got to have some input. After all, it’s his wedding day as well.’

‘He said I could have what I like.’

Molly laughed. ‘So we’re saying what exactly? That we organise it all and he just shows up?’

‘I think that probably just about sums it up,’ Jess said and then waved the words away. ‘Trouble is, Max is really busy at the moment and I think he just wants to get on with it. I thought what we could do is come up with two or three ideas and run them past him, and then let him help with the final decisions. Guided by me, obviously.’ As she spoke Jess reached down into her bag and pulled out a pile of bridal magazines. ‘I bought these. It’s like a total bloody minefield. What man in their right mind wants to sit down and flick through these lot with someone saying, “Do you like this and what do you think about this?” every thirty seconds? No – I reckon we should whittle it down to the final few ideas and then I’m sure he’ll be happy to look.’

Molly nodded. ‘How about we work out how many people you want to invite and that will help you decide on a venue?’

‘Okay. People and venue,’ said Jess, opening up a pad and pulling out a pen.

‘Church, registry office or some sort of wedding venue? A hotel or something?’ said Molly.

‘Max is divorced.’

‘So?’

‘So, how about we have some more champagne and start looking through all these?’ said Jess, pushing the magazines into the centre of the table to join her mother’s pile of papers.

‘And then there’s the Internet,’ said Molly.

‘Okay,’ said Jess. ‘Who is going to say, “do you like this” and “what do you think about this?”’

‘We’ll take it in turns and if we get too overwhelmed Nick can give us a hand. Let me get my laptop. There’s a notebook and some post-it notes,’ Molly said, sliding them across the table. ‘Presumably now you’re getting married you’ve cancelled the house hunting?’

‘What?’

‘Presumably you’ll be moving in with Max?’

Jess looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, no, actually. We’ve talked about it but his house is full of stuff. It really needs clearing out and redecorating.’

‘That’s half the fun.’

‘I know, but we’re going to wait. I mean, obviously I’ll move in after we’re married, but I’m still looking for somewhere at the moment.’

‘If you want to move back here for a few weeks you know you’re really welcome.’

‘Thanks. One the girls in the office said I could have a room at her place too, so hopefully I’ll find somewhere just for two or three months. Trouble is, I’m used to my own space.’

‘Well the offer’s open. I’ll get the laptop.’

When Molly got back from her office Jess had refilled their glasses and had found some nachos in a cupboard. As Molly slipped back into her seat she noticed a little blue notebook on top of the pile of magazines and was about to pick it up when something about the expression on Jess’s face stopped her.

‘You want me to make notes in this?’ Molly asked casually. And then she looked closer and realised that it was an old exercise book. Written on the front in a rounded childish script it said, Jessica Alice Foster. Medthorpe High School. English Composition.

‘You’ve had that a long time,’ said Molly.

‘First year at High School. It’s my wedding book,’ Jess said in a funny, self-conscious little voice.

‘Your wedding book?’

Jess nodded. ‘The very same.’

‘Can I look?’ said Molly.

‘You promise not to laugh?’

‘At your wedding book? Of course I won’t laugh.’

Jess picked it up and thumbed through it. Molly watched, catching a glimpse of the round, young handwriting as the pages flickered by and wondered wistfully where all those years in between had gone. ‘It’s not just my wedding book, obviously,’ said Jess. ‘We had to write about our hopes for our future, for homework. I really liked my teacher and once I got going it was hard to stop. I wrote about wanting to have a dog of my own and learning to scuba dive and getting this amazing job as a designer and flying all over the world, and having my hair dyed purple.’

‘And getting married?’

‘Yes, but not just that. Anyway, when it came to handing it in I didn’t want anyone else to read it. I’d said too much – you know what I mean? There was too much of me showing in it. And I was afraid my teacher might read it out. So I wrote something else and handed that in instead.’ Jess opened the book again, this time to the place where she’d left a slip of paper. ‘Here,’ she said, flattening the pages out with her hand, and sliding it across the table. ‘My wedding, by Jessica Alice Foster.’

Molly leaned closer. On one page was a pencil drawing of a girl with plaits in a long cloak, holding hands with a tall, dark-haired man. It had all been very carefully coloured in. The happy couple stood under a stone arch festooned with creepers.

Touched, Molly looked up. ‘Oh, Jess. It looks just like you. How come I’ve never seen this before?’

Jess laughed. ‘It was way too secret and embarrassing. I’ve hidden it for years, in the bottom of the shoebox along with my plaits. Remember when I made you take me to have them cut off? I wanted to look grown-up and sophisticated, but you know, I never regretted anything so much in my life.’ She ran a carefully manicured finger over the face of the girl. The little picture captured the naïve charm of an eleven-year-old with all of her life ahead of her. ‘You think it looks like Max?’ said Jess, peering at the man.

‘A bit, although I’m not sure about the wooden leg and the patch.’

Jess laughed. ‘I was going through a pirate phase. And no, before you ask, I wasn’t planning to have a pirate-themed wedding.’

Molly grinned. ‘Shame really. Nick would look great with a cutlass and a parrot. So what else does it say about your wedding?’ She was anxious not to pry into the book that Jess had kept hidden for so long.

‘Well, I want something romantic – I was thinking maybe medieval-looking – a romantic heroine, with a cloak rather than a train.’

‘And a hood?’ Molly pointed to the drawing.

Jess nodded. If there was anyone who could carry off the romantic heroine it was her; she was tiny with creamy white skin, huge blue eyes and a cascade of dark brown, wavy, shoulder-length hair shot through here and there with copper. She looked as if she had walked straight out of the pages of a Daphne du Maurier novel.

‘I’m going to ring Helen.’

‘Helen, you mean Helen you were at college with?’

Jess nodded. ‘Uh-huh. She’s based in London now but she’s been working with a repertory company. Helen does all their costumes, and so I was going to ask her to be my bridesmaid and make our dresses. We can look around as well but she’s really good and they’d be extra special if she makes them.’

‘So maybe we should go with the pirate theme after all – you know, something a bit romantic hero for Max –’

‘Frock coat and knee britches, like a highwayman. And me in a scarlet velvet cloak trimmed with white fur.’

They giggled, the champagne playing havoc as it bubbled through Molly’s bloodstream. She glanced across at Jess and smiled; even as a little girl her daughter had always liked dressing up.

‘Oh, talking about frock coats and highwaymen, I’ve found this fantastic place in Scotland,’ Jess said, tapping out a web address on Molly’s laptop. The image of a fairytale castle on the edge of a loch appeared through some computergenerated mist.

‘Sleeps Fourteen,’ said Molly, reading the blurb.

‘Oh, bugger. Does it? Maybe we could find somewhere else for the rest of the guests,’ said Jess, scanning down the rest of the screen.

‘The way this reads it sounds as if it’s way out in the back of beyond. I don’t want to be a killjoy but how are people going to get there? I suppose you could just have close family and friends and then have a big party when we get home.

‘No, Max wants everyone there.’ Jess pulled a face and tapped in another address. ‘I’ve found this fab place in Norway – you get to be taken to the chapel in a sleigh pulled by reindeer. I was thinking about the ice hotel but apparently it’s below zero all the time in all the rooms. I mean how sexy are chilblains?’



By lunchtime, Molly and Jess had a mass of pages bookmarked on the computer and dozens of post-it notes stuck on magazines, and definite plans were emerging. Although it was fun looking at different styles, places and prices, Molly could see that she could very soon die of boredom, whereas Jess looked as if she could go on for ever.

Nick came through to help them sort out lunch. ‘How’s it coming along?’

‘Good,’ said Jess.

‘We need to talk to Jonathon and Max,’ said Molly, clearing away the champagne glasses.

‘Even though I love him dearly, trying to plan all this I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m marrying a man I know nothing about,’ Jess hiccupped. ‘I don’t even know what religion he is.’

‘In that case he is most probably Church of England,’ said Nick, sliding a plate piled high with buttered slices of freshly baked bread onto the table. ‘Otherwise you’d probably have heard something about his Jewish roots, his Catholic guilt or his minority oppression. Here, you should eat some of this and soak up some of the alcohol.’

Jess nodded. ‘I’ve only had a couple of glasses. Maybe I should ring him and ask him? After all, it is lunchtime. Surely even Max stops for lunch?’

‘Maybe it’s not a good time, not if he’s at work,’ said Molly.

‘Oh no, he’ll be fine, he won’t mind,’ said Jess, waving the words away. ‘Besides, I want to tell him that I love him and I ought to let him know how we’re getting on. And anyway he said it was all very casual today, all hands to the pumps, installing this new system, everyone mucking in. I’m sure he won’t mind. Really.’ She pulled her mobile out of her bag.

While Molly set about helping with lunch Jess and Bassa went outside for a bit of privacy and a better signal.



‘How’s it going?’ asked Nick, picking over the last of the nachos.

Molly groaned. ‘It’s fine. The trouble is in my head Jess is still three, running around in her wellies with a net curtain on her head, a sword in one hand and a water pistol in the other.’

‘Feisty bride?’ said Nick.

Molly laughed. ‘You better believe it. Jonathon used to say we’d have to pay some man to take her off our hands.’ Molly’s gaze moved instinctively to the kitchen window to watch Jess walking across the grass.

‘She’ll be fine,’ Nick said.

‘She’s still my baby,’ said Molly, voice tight with tears. ‘And why isn’t Max here helping her? He should be here. We don’t know anything about him.’

Nick slipped his arm around her. ‘No, but we will. And Jess is sensible – we have to trust her.’

‘That’s what I said to Jonathon.’

‘And?’

‘I didn’t believe it then either.’



Outside the rain had stopped, so Jess headed over to the swing that Nick had fixed up under one of the big apple trees at the bottom of the garden. Bassa bounced alongside her, tail wagging, glad to be out. As Jess walked the phone rang and rang, and she was about to ring off when someone picked up.

‘Hi, honey,’ said Jess. ‘Not working too hard, are you?’

‘Oh, hello,’ said a very polite female voice. ‘This is Max Peters’ phone. I’m terribly sorry but he’s not here at the moment. May I take a message?’

‘Oh,’ said Jess, totally wrong-footed and almost instantly sober. ‘Oh, sorry – where is he?’

‘He’s left his phone on the table. I thought I’d better answer it.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Jess. ‘Well, if he’s busy could you give him a message for me? Can you tell him –’

But before she could finish the woman’s voice warmed. ‘Jessica, is that you?’

‘Yes, yes it is,’ she said, still not quite able to place the voice.

‘Oh, I’m so glad you rang. Max told me you were terribly busy at work this weekend, which is such a shame. We would have loved to have seen you and congratulate you both on your wonderful news. We are so pleased. But I do appreciate things are a little busy at the moment. I just wanted to say that we couldn’t be more delighted for you both, my dear. Congratulations.’

‘Mrs Peters?’ Jess began, the penny having dropped.

‘Do call me Mummy, or is that too old-fashioned? I’ve never been terribly keen on Mum, or Mother come to that. Maybe you should just call me Daphne.’ Max’s mother laughed. ‘Anyway I was telling Max that the two of you really must come down as soon as possible. I was wondering if you would like me to arrange the cake? We can obviously discuss the design but I have a very good friend. Marjorie. Cordon bleu – fabulous cook. She did the cake for – well, what I’m saying is, if you’d like me to arrange it then I’d be absolutely delighted to call her.’

Jess didn’t know what to say, so she settled for, ‘That sounds wonderful, and I’m sure we’ll be down to see you soon.’

‘Lovely. We were all just planning to go out for lunch at the Lion. Which reminds me, perhaps you and your parents might like to come down for lunch? Max said you were busy next weekend and I know Hampshire is a terribly long way from Norfolk, but it would be lovely if we could all get together – maybe the weekend after? Do let me know.’ She laughed, the sound like the tinkling of cut glass. ‘After all, there is so much to organise and we haven’t got that much time. I’ll tell Max that you rang, shall I?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Jess, totally dazed. ‘That would be lovely.’

And then Daphne was gone and Jess found herself staring at the phone. It rang in her hand seconds later.

‘Jess,’ said Max.

‘What is going on, Max? You told me you were working all this weekend.’

‘I was, I am,’ he blustered. ‘Well, I am tomorrow.’

‘That isn’t what you said when you dropped me off at my place last night. You said you couldn’t stay because you had to be up early to get some system in. And your mother said you’d told her that I was working.’

‘Jess, I’m really sorry.’ His voice was barely above a whisper. ‘The thing is, I wanted to talk to my parents on my own. They’re a bit old-fashioned when it comes to this sort of thing. I just wanted to break it to them gently, that’s all.’

‘You make getting married to me sound like bad news.’

‘That isn’t what I mean at all – but it was just something I needed to do. Please try and understand.’ He paused, presumably waiting for a reply, but Jess couldn’t find the right words. ‘You’re upset,’ he said.

‘Of course I’m upset! I’ve just spent most of the morning trying to organise a wedding without you, with no idea what you like or what you want. I wanted to talk to you about it and you’re over at your mother’s.’

‘I told you what I wanted, something special, I want everyone to see us – a wonderful, perfect day with all our family and friends. No sneaking off to some secret location.’ He paused. ‘Please don’t be upset that I wanted to tell Mummy and Daddy my way. On my own.’

‘I’m not upset that you wanted to tell them on your own, I’d have understood that. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me the truth.’

‘May we talk about this later? We’re all about to go out to lunch.’

Jess wondered what she could possibly say. ‘I’ll call you later,’ he continued. ‘How are all the wedding plans coming along?’

‘That was what I rang to –’

‘Sorry, sweetie, I’ve really got to go. My father’s in the car outside,’ and with that Max hung up.

Speechless, Jess stood with the phone in her hand, furious with Max and feeling horribly hurt. What the hell was he playing at? The phone rang again and without looking at the caller ID Jess pressed receive. ‘I really hope you’ve rung to say something nice,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve been here all morning going through these bloody wedding books on my –’

‘Jess?’

Mouth open, Jessica was caught mid-sentence.

‘It’s me. Remember me? Jack. Your baby brother? I was just ringing up to say congratulations. Bad timing?’ he joked.

‘No, no, not at all – just a misunderstanding,’ she hedged. ‘So how are you?’

‘I’m fine. More to the point, how are you?’

‘Good, great,’ Jess lied, nodding furiously despite the fact that he couldn’t see her. ‘Really well, just getting a bit stressed out by all the stuff we’ve got to do for the wedding.’

‘It’s months away yet.’

‘Yep, but not enough months apparently. According to this list Mum downloaded off the Internet we should have started booking everything about ten years ago. And we want some really special –’

‘That’s what I was ringing up about. I was talking to my boss, Bert, yesterday and he wondered if you might like to have the wedding here.’

‘At Vanguard Hall?’

‘Uh-huh, I mean you can at least think about it.’

‘Oh God, that would be perfect. It’s lovely there.’

‘I think you’d probably have to have the legal bit somewhere else but you could have the reception here if you wanted to. He suggested you come over and take a look round. He was thinking you might like to use the Tythe Barn – after all it’s got loos and fire exits and all that stuff for when we open the gardens up in the summer. Do you know the room I mean?’

‘The one they do tea and cakes in?’

‘That’s the one. Anyway, it’s something to think about. Bert’s been mulling over whether to go for the wedding trade. It’s big business – and I know he won’t be offended if you say no.’

‘Oh no, God, it would be wonderful,’ Jess murmured. ‘Did he say what it would cost? Only I haven’t spoken to Dad yet so I don’t have a clue what we’ve got to spend.’

‘It’s on the house. Bert is keen on family. And besides, because he’s toying with the idea of opening the hall up for weddings he wants to get a feel of what he’s letting himself in for.’

‘How many people do you think it would hold?’

‘No idea – come and take a look around and see what you think. I’d imagine you could easily get a hundred people in the barn, say ten tables of ten. I’ll ask him.’ Jack paused. ‘And well done you. Seems so grown-up. I hope you and Max are really happy.’

‘Thanks, Jack.’

There was a warm silence and then Jack continued, ‘I was going to ask, is he on some sort of medication? Only he must be mad taking you on, maybe I should warn him.’

Jess laughed; that was more like it. ‘Cheeky bugger. How are you anyway?’

‘Me, I’m fine – I can’t talk for long, me and Ollie are supposed to be working, or at least I am.’

‘Ollie?’

‘Yeah, head gardener and chief slave driver. I’ve got to water the walled garden. How about you ring me later to sort out when you’re coming over?’

‘Ok, I’ll talk to Mum.’

Jess didn’t really have much chance to think about the revelation that Max was down in Hampshire until she came off the phone, and then it hit her.

‘Bastard,’ Jess hissed as she wandered back into the house. Why on earth had he lied to her?

Molly looked up from the piles of lists. ‘Sorry?’

Jess waved the words away. ‘Nothing,’ she said.

Molly smiled back at her. ‘So how was Max?’

‘Absolutely fine, just off to lunch,’ Jess said, trying to sound matter of fact. ‘Now where were we?’

‘Lunch,’ said Molly, handing her a plate. ‘And how’s his work going?’

‘Just fine,’ lied Jess, sitting down at the kitchen table, not quite meeting Molly’s eye. ‘And it looks like we’ve got a cake and possibly a venue.’

‘Great,’ said Molly, peering at her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, just hungry,’ Jess said. The last thing she wanted was to talk about Max, because she knew that it wouldn’t take much to make her cry. What the hell was he thinking of? Old-fashioned or not, surely it wouldn’t have hurt for them to have gone down to see his parents together.




Chapter Seven (#ulink_da7a6fab-af20-500f-b5e3-66fb28cd483a)


The day just went on and on and so it was almost eight by the time Jess and Bassa finally left for the drive back to Swaffham.

Molly was exhausted. They had spent all day looking at wedding magazines and websites, and drawing up endless lists. They had eaten dinner in amongst a pile of wedding plans. Nick had been an absolute star; he’d fed them, oohed at all the pictures Jess had pushed under his nose, said all the right things in all the right places and was now busy packing the dishwasher.

Not for the first time Molly marvelled at her good fortune in finding a man like Nick after all these years, a man who loved her and her children – who repaid the compliment by loving him right back – and who loved her in ways so numerous and so palpable that she couldn’t imagine what life had been like without him.

‘Right,’ said Nick, handing her a mug of tea and settling himself down alongside her. ‘Hit me with it.’

‘Well, Jess’s idea is that we plan everything all in one big go, present it as a fait accompli to Jonathon and Max and then just get it all booked and organised, maybe with a couple of tweaks en route. Which sounds perfect in practice but in reality everything we looked at gave Jess something else to think about.’

‘You want more champagne? I think there’s another bottle in the fridge.’

Molly groaned. ‘Give me a break.’ She felt as if she had been mugged by a froth of organza and baby’s breath. She pushed the pile of magazines and notes and torn-out pages to one side of the kitchen table and slumped forward, head on hands.

‘Thank God she’s gone.’

‘You were brilliant.’ Nick grinned. ‘Don’t flag now – I’ve got a night of wild passion planned. Blindfolds, baby oil, furry handcuffs.’

His grin held until Molly laughed.

Nick aped rejection. ‘Don’t tell me; what you really want is a hot bath, and an early night?’

‘What would I do without you?’ asked Molly.

Nick considered the possibility for a moment. ‘Have all of the duvet yourself and get to watch what you want on the TV?’

Molly nodded. ‘There is that. You know that the next few weeks are going to be total hell, don’t you? And this is even before my nearest and dearest start moaning that they haven’t got an invitation or it’s too far away or on the wrong day.’

‘You’ve done the guest list already?’

Molly pulled a sheet of paper out from the pile. ‘More or less. Actually I don’t think there is much we haven’t taken a stab at.’

Nick moved behind her and rubbed her neck and shoulders, thumbs working into a great raft of knots and creaks, making Molly groan with a mixture of pain and relief.

‘Any woman who can deal with a juggling bear can cope with organising a wedding.’ He pulled Molly’s notebook back across the table and scanned down the list. ‘Registry office, followed by a humanist wedding at Vanguard Hall, wedding dress by Helen, invitations by Jess, Max’s mum to organise the cake, a ceilidh, food, photos and bar TBA.’ He paused. ‘There, you see. Fantastic. You’ve already done most of it.’

Molly looked up at him, loving his naïve optimism. ‘That’s provisional. We’ve got about a million other things to organise.’

Nick bent down and kissed her tired, weary lips. ‘TBA,’ he said. ‘Piece of cake.’

Which sparked something deep in Molly’s fuddled brain. ‘Oh God, yes, cake,’ she said, grabbing a pen and pulling the notebook towards her. ‘I’ve got to buy cake boxes to send to the people who can’t come.’



Max arrived at Jess’s cottage at around the same time as she did; the difference being that Max looked fresh as a daisy, was freshly shaved and was carrying a huge bunch of flowers and a helium balloon, whereas Jess had Bassa, a bag full of wedding magazines and the makings of a really good headache.

‘I’ve come to say that I’m sorry,’ he said, as she locked up her car and headed inside. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you today.’

Jess waved the words away and carried on walking. ‘You didn’t upset me, Max, you lied to me, there’s a huge difference. ’

She dipped into her pocket to retrieve her house keys, getting tangled up with her bag and Bassa’s expanding lead as she did.

‘Here, do you want me to take Bas and your bag?’ he offered as she struggled to unlock the front door.

‘No, you’re fine. It’ll take longer than doing it myself.’

He leaned in closer. ‘I didn’t think you’d understand.’

Jess sighed. ‘You didn’t give me the chance to understand. And since when have I been the kind of person that flies off the handle?’

Max held the flowers out towards her. ‘Pax?’ he said. They were her favourites, sunflowers and the purplest of purple irises.

Jess smiled despite herself and shook her head. She had already got her hands well and truly full with the bag and the dog. ‘Max, the flowers are lovely but for future reference, please just tell me the truth, even if it hurts, rather than any number of lies. If you had told me about going to see your mum and dad I would have been fine about it.’

They stood awkwardly in the hallway, Bassa eager to be in, Jess half in and half out of her door, Max still holding the flowers out in front of him like a shield.

‘I’m sorry. I know it’s ancient history but my ex, Lucy, was always jealous of how well I got on with my parents,’ Max said. ‘She was always telling me that I neglected her.’

‘Well, I’m not Lucy,’ said Jess. ‘And I’m close to my parents too.’

‘Is it all right if I come in?’ he asked. Jess hesitated, just long enough for him to look uncomfortable.

‘I thought you were going to have an early night. Didn’t you tell me that you’d got to be in to work by five today and tomorrow?’ said Jess, in a low voice.

Max looked contrite. ‘Just tomorrow. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t have to stay if you don’t want me to. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Really – I’m crap at relationships. ’

He looked so deflated that Jess stood to one side. ‘Come on in. Just don’t lie to me again. All right?’

He kissed her. ‘Okay.’ As he stepped past her Max switched on the lights and then bent down to unclip Bassa, who belted off into the kitchen. ‘He looks pleased to be home. How did it go with your mother?’

Jess lifted a hand to silence him. ‘Wait, while we’re on the subject of the truth, Max, I need to be honest with you too.’ Now she had all his attention.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, looking anxious.

Jess reached into her pocket and pulled out the little pouch with her engagement ring in it. ‘I’ve been trying to think of ways to tell you without hurting your feelings.’

Max’s face turned ashen. ‘What?’ he murmured and Jess realised with a start that he thought she was giving him back his ring, changing her mind. Her expression softened.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ she said gently. ‘I was only wondering if you would mind if we changed my engagement ring?’

Max sighed with what she guessed was relief. ‘What, is it too big? I thought it fitted perfectly?’

‘It does, but it’s just that I’m not very keen on the design. It’s quite big and cumbersome, and I’d really like to have a ring I want to wear all the time. It would be nice to have something that we’d chosen together. Don’t you think?’

‘Oh,’ he said, sounding a bit put out. ‘But I thought you really liked it.’

Jess wasn’t quite sure what to say next; she had rather assumed that Max’s reaction would be something along the lines of okay, sure – let’s go and change it, not to have to justify why she didn’t like it.

‘It’s not my kind of thing. The design I mean,’ she said, feeling increasingly awkward. ‘And it’s a bit big for my hands, don’t you think?’ She spread her fingers to make the point. ‘Especially once I’ve got a wedding ring on as well.’

‘Well, if you don’t like it, you should have said something when I gave it to you,’ he said.

Jess tried out a smile and a different tactic. ‘How would that have sounded? Yes, of course I’ll marry you, but I hate the ring?’

He was about to say something but Jess decided that it might be better if she kept on talking. ‘I was so excited and so blown away by how romantic and how lovely it all was,’ she said gently, ‘The whole thing on the beach was so perfect, that the ring was – was –’ She felt around to find the right word without saying something that would make things any worse.

‘Almost secondary?’ suggested Max.

‘Something like that,’ said Jess. ‘It was such an amazing moment that I wasn’t really thinking about the ring at all, I was thinking about us – the future – all those things.’

‘So what kind of ring would you prefer? I want you to have something you like, obviously.’

‘Couldn’t we go and choose it together?’

Max looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, not really – I bought it from this little independent jewellery designer in Cambridge. Everything they make there is a one off. I’m not sure when they’re open. How about if you tell me the kind of thing you’d like and I’ll bring a selection of rings home and you can choose one?’

‘Or maybe we could call them, arrange to take a trip over there.’ Jess looked up at his face. ‘Surely they won’t let you just bring a tray of rings home?’

Max shifted his weight, looking ill at ease. ‘I’m almost certain they won’t mind. They know me there. I’ve bought quite a few things from them over the years, cufflinks and presents for friends and things for my mother. Christmases, birthdays. They’re very good. And I want it to be something special, not just picked from hundreds of others, massproduced, from any old jewellers.’

It struck Jess that Max didn’t want her to know how much the ring cost; that had to be why he didn’t want her to go and choose one for herself. The thought made her smile; he could so old-fashioned at times, bless him. Maybe this was the time to gratefully accept without pushing him any harder.

She took a deep breath. ‘That’s a lovely thought, Max, and I do appreciate it. If they’ll do that, then of course. Okay – it’ll be lovely.’

‘So what sort of ring would you like?’

Jess held out her hands for him to look at. ‘Something more delicate, not quite so chunky, maybe tiny diamonds or a solitaire. And maybe white gold? I’ve got quite small hands. What do you think?’

Max nodded. ‘Yes, of course, yes, you’re right.’ And for the first time since she had seen him by the car he smiled. ‘I promise I’ll sort that on Monday. And I’m sorry.’

‘For?’

‘For lying to you, for not choosing the right ring and I can see exactly what you mean about it not being right for you.’

‘You can?’

He nodded and then he kissed her gently. ‘I’ll put it right, I promise. Now I don’t know about you but I’m famished. How about I order us a take-away while you tell me all about how it went with your mother today?’



Molly meanwhile had settled back into a bath with only her head above the water. Nick had put bubbles in it that he’d bought her last time he was in Paris and the water smelt of freesias and honeysuckle.

She had a glass of wine on the go and was listening to Nina Simone’s voice rising up the stairs from the hi-fi in the sitting room below, the music as perfect and smooth as spun silk. ‘If we ever get married I’d like to have this at our wedding,’ Molly said.

‘I thought you were bored with organising weddings,’ said Nick from the other end of the bath. He’d got himself a margarita and a book propped up precariously on the soap rack.

‘Yes, but ours would be different. I wouldn’t have to worry about asking what anyone else wanted for a start.’

‘Oh, that’s nice,’ he said, pretending to take the hump. ‘So, I don’t get an opinion?’

‘You know what I mean – we could have just what we liked.’ She paused. ‘It seems so weird. My baby is getting married.’

‘So you said. It could be worse,’ Nick said. ‘She could be making you a granny.’

Molly ignored him. ‘And we don’t really know anything about Max.’

‘We don’t have to.’ Nick topped up the hot water.

‘It doesn’t seem fair that all those years have gone. One minute they’re just babies and then they’re at school and getting jobs and before you know it they’re getting married,’ said Molly, feeling the tears welling up. ‘It’s all gone too quickly. I’ve never organised anyone else’s wedding before. Looking at all those lists today, what exactly does the mother of the bride do?’

‘By the look on your face, mostly cry and panic.’

‘I totally misread this thing with Max and Jess – I didn’t think she was that serious about him.’

‘You don’t like him very much, do you?’

‘I don’t really know him,’ said Molly with affected coolness.

‘Molly?’ Nick looked sceptical.

‘Well, we’ve only seen him a couple of times, haven’t we? He just doesn’t seem Jess’s type at all.’

‘Maybe he’s her grown-up choice – like there’s a moment you stop going for gooey puddings and take the cheese and biscuits or start thinking that broccoli and broad beans are really nice?’

Molly raised her eyebrows. ‘So Max is Jess’s pick from the adult menu?’

‘Just a thought.’

Molly wasn’t convinced. ‘I suppose at least it means that Jessie is over Glenn.’

‘The one who went off to America?’

‘Broke her heart. I was really worried that after he went she might get back with Will – you remember the one who used to shred beer mats and tissues?’

‘Or go to Goa with Beano?’ said Nick.

‘Oh God, I’d forgotten about that. Beano is lovely though. He always reminds me of a daddy-longlegs; he’s so skinny and gangly.’

‘And can drink, smoke and snort his way through life with an enthusiasm that startled even the most robust of us. So, when’s Jess moving in with Max and do we need to hire a van?’

‘Apparently not, they’re waiting until after they’re married to move in together.’

‘A bit Victorian, isn’t it?’ said Nick.

‘Max is having his place redecorated, but the lease is up on the cottage Jess’s renting so she’s got to find somewhere. Mr Petrovsky, her landlord, is really nice, but he needs her to move out so that he can move his daughter and her husband and their new baby in.’ Molly sat up. ‘You don’t think that’s why Jess is marrying Max, do you? To get a house?’

‘Don’t be silly; she’s got loads of friends and places to stay if she needed to. She could move back here for a few weeks until she found somewhere if she wanted to.’

‘I already told her that.’ Molly settled back in the bath. ‘Married,’ she murmured after a few seconds. ‘It sounds such a big thing for Jess to be doing.’

Nick peered at her. ‘Before you say anything we’re not getting married, all right? So don’t ask.’

‘Oh, spoilsport,’ Molly teased. ‘I was thinking we could maybe have a double wedding. Me and you, Jessica and Max.’

‘I can’t see Jess wearing that one, can you?’

Molly laughed. ‘No, me neither, although all my friends think it’s high time you made a respectable woman of me.’

‘It’d take a lot more than getting married,’ Nick said. ‘And besides I like what we’ve got. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it, is what I say.’

‘They want to buy hats.’

‘Uh-huh, and now that Jess is getting married they’ll have their chance.’

‘You’re all heart,’ said Molly. She took another sip of wine and slipped back amongst the bubbles.

‘So what are you thinking now?’

‘Here’s to marriage.’

Nick winced and topped up his glass. ‘Here’s to spending the rest of my life living in sin with you.’

Molly lifted her eyebrows. He grinned and so Molly relented. ‘Okay, you win. I’ll drink to that,’ she conceded, lifting her glass. ‘Although if we are ever going to get married can we do it before I look like ET in the wedding photos?’

It was Nick’s turn to lift his eyebrows. He opened his mouth to speak but Molly cut him short. ‘Don’t you dare say it,’ she said.

Nick, still grinning, sunk down beneath the water like a great hairy whale.

Meanwhile in the sitting room of Jess’s cottage, Max was finishing off the last of the Singapore noodles and nodding as Jess came to the end of the edited highlights of eight solid hours of planning and a lifetime’s worth of imagining what her wedding day might be like.

‘So, what do you think?’ she said breathlessly. ‘Assuming we pass on the radio station’s offer of following us around every step of the way, and my dad arm-wrestling everyone for discount.’

‘What’s Vanguard Hall like?’

Jess smiled. ‘Absolutely lovely. Really quirky and magical. Me and mum have been there loads of times to look round the gardens. It would be perfect – you’ll love it.’

Max tipped his head, suggesting to Jess that he wanted to hear more.

‘It’s near Holt and the estate is owned by a guy called Bert, who’s part eco-warrior and part crusty old aristo. There’s the farm, which is huge, and then the main house, which is this weird Gothic pile with all sorts of odds and ends tacked on, and they’ve got greenhouses, a fantastic walled garden – the farm is organic – and there’s this amazing old Tythe Barn which Bert says we can have for the reception. They use it as a tearoom in the summer – it’s got this spectacular beamed roof. The whole place is like something off a picture postcard. Jack’s worked there as a gardener since he left horticultural college. He’s got this tiny little cottage in the grounds that looks like something out of Hansel and Gretel.

And they’ve got the most fabulous gardens designed by Bertie’s wife Freya, a bluebell wood, a lake and loads of deer and they’ve got sculptures in the woods that Freya and her friends made – they are amazing, magical. Bert opens it up to the public two or three weekends a year for charity. It will make the most perfect place for a winter wedding. Trust me, you’ll love it. And we need to get moving. I’ve got a list.’ Jess leaned over the side of the sofa and pulled out a notebook. ‘We haven’t got that long to sort it all out.’

Max pulled a face. ‘I’m not really sure about all this dippy-hippy business.’

Jess stared at him and laughed. ‘What dippy-hippy business?’

‘Well, the whole Tythe Barn, bluebell wood, humanist wedding thing. I thought we’d just have a proper traditional church wedding.’

‘Max, you’re divorced and I’m an atheist.’

Max looked perplexed. ‘And?’

‘And so the best we could probably hope for is a church blessing and I’m not sure how likely that is when I tell the vicar I don’t believe in God.’

‘You could always lie.’

Jess stared at him, trying to work out whether or not he was joking.

‘I mean, what would it matter?’ Max continued. ‘Surely not everyone who has a church wedding is a regular churchgoer or a devout Christian? And in your case God can’t write it all down in a big book and use it against you later, because you don’t believe in him.’

‘And you do?’ snapped Jess.

‘Well no, not really, I believe in something, but my parents –’ he began.

‘I am not lying on our wedding day. And at a humanist wedding we would still have vows and make promises and we can choose readings and music – it’s just more personal. We help to write them.’

Max looked even more sceptical.

‘All right, how about we just go for a straight registry office do?’

Max shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, do you? And I also think we ought to think very carefully before we decide against the idea of getting the radio station involved.’

Jess laughed. ‘Tell me you’re joking. You are joking, aren’t you?’

‘I’m just saying maybe we ought to look into it. And it would be fun, don’t you think? It could work in our favour.’

Jess waited to hear just how Max thought that might work out.

‘Maybe you should talk to your mum about it,’ he said, scraping the final nest of noodles into his mouth. ‘The same with the chance of discount. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it?’

Jess shook her head. ‘What about your parents? I thought they were raving traditionalists – wouldn’t they hate all that kind of thing?’

Max looked hurt. ‘Just because they’re old-fashioned doesn’t mean they’re not broad-minded.’

Jess sighed. ‘They’ll need to be if they’re working with Mum’s lot.’




Chapter Eight (#ulink_0bd99dc0-0fda-5694-862d-81a22bf93b2b)


The following weekend Jonathon was sitting at Molly’s dining table, having eaten a huge Sunday lunch, waxing lyrical about the virtues of media sponsorship and the free market economy.

‘I think that making a radio feature about the wedding would be a splendid idea,’ Jonathon said to Max, while topping up his wine. ‘And why not see what we can sort out discount-wise?’ Turning to Molly, he added, ‘And of course it would be nice to have it recorded for posterity, as well. Obviously. What sort of thing has your marketing department got in mind?’

Molly took a deep breath but Max was ahead of her.

‘I agree with Jonathon,’ he said. ‘It would be wonderful to have it recorded for posterity.’

The day was not going well. It had started going downhill at around half past eleven – half an hour earlier than planned – when Molly had looked out of the kitchen window and seen her ex-husband parking his Mercedes across the drive. Wiping her hands on a tea towel she had hurried outside.

‘Jonathon, do you mind not parking there? Jess and Max haven’t arrived yet. Could you bring it in? You’re blocking the whole driveway.’

The window of the brand-new Mercedes glided silently downwards and framed her ex-husband in the driver’s seat. He was balder and fatter and ruddier-faced than the last time she had seen him, and was wearing a paisley cravat with a cream linen jacket and a horrible pale lilac shirt. No doubt a Marnie makeover.

Jonathon said, ‘It’ll be fine here. They can park on the verge. It’s too tucked up round the back. I’ll scrape the paintwork on all those bloody bushes.’

Molly was about to protest when she noticed that Marnie was in the passenger seat and there was someone else sitting in the back. Nick meanwhile had come out to watch Jonathon’s manoeuvres. Currently Jonathon was making a great job of ruining their grass as he shunted the car backwards and forwards until he was satisfied with his positioning. When he climbed out the drive was completely blocked.

‘I see Jonathon’s arrived,’ Nick said somewhat unnecessarily. ‘Any particular reason why he wants to blockade us in?’

‘Probably so we can’t make a run for it,’ said Molly grimly, turning back towards the house. ‘He’s brought reinforcements. ’

‘Not the missus, we are honoured,’ said Nick.

Molly flicked him with the tea towel.

Marnie, size six, spray-tanned and dressed as if she was out for a day at Ascot, waited for Jonathon to help her out of the car. She was wearing a black and white sleeveless silk dress, with a little jacket thrown over her shoulders, along with high-heeled strappy white mules and a matching clutch bag. All her jewellery – earrings, bracelet, necklace, everything – matched.

There was nothing remotely cuddly or welcoming about the second Mrs Foster. Marnie looked for all the world as if she had been made by stretching chamois leather over a wire coathanger. Assisted by Jonathon, she picked her way across the gravel as if she were tiptoeing through a lake of raw sewage.

‘Marnie, how nice. We weren’t expecting you,’ said Molly, painting on a polite smile.

Marnie smiled back, or at least she bared her perfectly capped teeth. ‘Molly,’ she purred, looking her up and down. ‘I told Jonathon that he really ought to ring but he didn’t think you’d mind my coming, you know what he’s like. The more the merrier, he said.’

Molly watched Marnie’s immobile, wrinkle-free face. There was nothing even remotely merry about Marnie.

‘Jonathon thought it might be useful if I came along to help out, give you all a hand. We don’t want any disasters on JJ’s special day, now do we?’ she said.

No one amongst their immediate family or friends had ever called Jessica ‘JJ’. It was Marnie’s attempt to show Molly that she had some sort of special relationship with her daughter. And all the while Molly kept on smiling, making every effort to hide just how much Marnie irritated her.

‘Oh, by the way, this is Noonoo Jacobson,’ Marnie continued as a woman the size of a bull eased herself carefully out of the back of the car. ‘Noonoo was the wedding co-ordinator for my daughter Mimi’s wedding.’

‘Do any of these people have proper names?’ said Nick sotto voce as Noonoo, who was carrying a large portfolio, made her way across the mangled verge on tiny, tiny feet.

As she reached them Noonoo swung the strap of her chic black carrying case up over her shoulder, and extending both tiny hands in presidential fashion gave Molly the limpest, warmest, most moist handshake she had encountered since she had interviewed Boris the gay tag-team wrestler back in ‘89.

‘I’m delighted to meet you, most people just call me Noo,’ she simpered, from a Cupid’s-bow mouth balanced above a stack of chins. ‘I’m absolutely sure that together we can make JJ and Max’s the most perfect wedding experience. I’ve heard so much about you and JJ, oh and you must be Nick,’ she said, little moist hands moving on to clasp him to her bosom.

‘Actually,’ said Molly, ‘Jess and I have already sorted a lot of it out –’

But no one was listening.

Nick smiled and wriggled free. ‘If you’ll excuse me I need to get back inside. I’m in charge of the food,’ and then to Molly, he added, ‘I’d better go and put some more potatoes in.’

‘Marnie has become a real friend,’ said Noonoo to no one in particular.

‘Looks more like her lunch,’ said Nick under his breath, as Molly guided everyone through into the kitchen. It was quite crowded, and despite Molly’s best efforts, no one seemed to want to go through into the sitting room or the dining room; instead they grouped round the kitchen table and generally got in the way.

Gamely Molly started on a round of social chitchat and offering people drinks. Nick was about to start peeling more potatoes when Noonoo announced that she and Marnie were both on a diet – remarkably the same one, so that there was no need to go to the trouble of preparing extra food. The diet involved eating only orange foods on Sunday, and some kind of strange combination of colours and supplements the rest of the week. Victoria Beckham was very keen on it apparently, and Noonoo had been taught the principles by a Taoist convert called Alan.

Not thoroughly enough, thought Molly darkly, as Noonoo squeezed past her.

Both women had brought along little pots of parboiled carrot sticks and steamed pepper to nibble on and, as Nick observed as he disappeared off to set the dining-room table, presumably Noonoo could top up in the week by snacking on her clients.

Jonathon had brought a couple of bottles of champagne, which he wanted someone to put in the fridge. Noo wanted to explain why they could drink it, despite it not being orange, Marnie wanted to nose around Molly’s house so she could sneer and Molly was getting hotter and more stressed.

Jess and Max showed up just before twelve. Jess arrived first, carrying two bottles of wine and a big dish of homemade tiramisu.

‘Some idiot has parked right across the drive,’ she said crossly, as she slid dessert onto the kitchen table. ‘We couldn’t get in. Max has had to park up the road.’

‘Jessica, Puss,’ said Jonathon, coming over to greet her before Molly could explain. ‘Did you see the new car?’

‘I could hardly miss it,’ grumbled Jess. ‘We nearly ran into it. Why did you leave it there?’

Jonathon hugged her. ‘And where is this man of yours?’

‘Halfway up to the bypass. Why don’t you buy a car you can park?’

Marnie laughed, air-kissing for England. ‘JJ darling, how lovely to see you. You know how your father loves his cars.’

Jess shook her head in frustration, while Marnie set about introducing Noonoo. Jess gave Molly a wild panicky look as Marnie started to explain who Noo was.

‘I’m not sure that we’d thought about having a –’ she began, but Marnie wasn’t planning to be thwarted.

‘Noo is an absolute angel, sweetie. And having a planner takes all the aggravation out of the arrangements and obviously nothing’s settled yet, so why don’t you just hear what she’s got to say and then you can make your mind up?’

‘Actually, Mum and I –’ But any protest was whisked away by the arrival of Max with Bassa on his leash. Bas was wildly excited to see everyone and started to yip and bark and wag.

Molly was putting the tiramisu in the fridge when Marnie started whining. ‘Oh darling,’ she complained stepping back, holding a hand to her face. ‘You know that I’m allergic to dogs.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Jess, catching hold of the lead and reeling Bassa in. ‘Sorry, sorry – we didn’t know you were going to be here.’

Jess glanced across at Molly, who held up a hand. ‘We’ll put him in the conservatory with Milo; I’m sure he won’t mind sharing his bed and biscuits.’

‘Oh, do you have a dog too?’ asked Noonoo, staring down at Bassa as if there was a fair chance that he might explode. Bassa had his own reply in mind. Giving Molly a knowing look he wandered across the kitchen, cocked his leg, and peed all over Noo’s precious portfolio. It took a split second for everyone to register what he’d done.

Noonoo shrieked, ‘Oh, my God, oh, my God! It’s handtooled leather!’ while Molly leapt in with kitchen roll, struggling with an altogether inappropriate fit of giggles, as she started to mop up the spreading puddle; good old Bassa, she couldn’t have put it better herself.

Picking up the portfolio Jess started machine-gunning apologies, while Max scooped up Bassa and bundled him through into the conservatory. In amongst it all Nick appeared with a tray of glasses. ‘Anyone like a sherry?’

Once calm had been restored and they had all eaten, Noo got to her feet and started to unpack her portfolio, arranging things on an easel, which Jonathon had brought in from the car. It wasn’t exactly how Molly had expected lunch to end, nor come to that how she had expected her discussions with Jonathon about Jessica’s wedding to go, but the way the day was shaping up Molly decided it was pointless fighting it.

‘Where’s the ring?’ asked Marnie conversationally, as Noo finished her arranging. ‘Or isn’t a ring what you do these days? I know fashions change – although personally I’ve never thought that diamonds date.’ She laughed.

Molly looked up, wondering what Jess would say. Jess smiled coyly. ‘Well, we’ve chosen it. It was wonderful – the jeweller let Max bring a tray of rings home so we could choose it together – but I haven’t got it at the moment. It was a bit big so Max took it back to have it altered.’

‘I’m going to pick it up when it’s been resized,’ explained Max.

Molly smiled. ‘What’s it like?’ she asked encouragingly.

Max glanced at Jessica, who beamed. ‘It’s absolutely perfect. It’s white gold with this lovely twist in the metal, a bit like a wave, and in the curve of the twist there is a solitaire diamond. It’s lovely and I’m so pleased with it.’ And as she spoke Jessica’s gaze met Max’s, who reddened furiously and caught hold of her hand.

‘It’s perfect, just like Jess,’ he said.

Molly felt herself smiling.

‘We wanted something that Jess loved and would wear every single day – something really special.’

Jess’s smile held. ‘And it is,’ she murmured. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Molly felt the tears welling up and for a moment she glanced across at Jonathon, whose eyes were glittering. Maybe he wasn’t that bad after all. Even if they didn’t love each other anymore they both loved their precious girl. Eyes twinkling, Max pressed Jess’s fingers to his lips. Molly had never seen Jess look so happy.

‘Sounds like the perfect time for a toast, I reckon,’ said Jonathon, sniffing away the emotion. ‘I think we should open the champagne.’

Nick obliged by bringing in the glasses and handing the bottle over to Jonathon so that he could pop the cork.

Once everyone had settled down Noonoo stood up, taking a second or two to compose herself and wait for hush before she opened up a flip chart. On the first page in a fancy font it said, ‘Welcome to your Perfect Wedding’.

A look went round the table between Molly, Nick and Jess.

‘My name is Noo Jacobson, and I’m a wedding planner and civil partnership co-ordinator,’ said Noo, as if no one could have guessed.

For one glorious moment Molly thought Noo was going to add, ‘And I’m an alcoholic,’ which, while it wasn’t particularly funny in itself, struck her as hilarious. Across the table she caught Jess’s eye – apparently a bizarre sense of humour was some sort of genetic failing because she too was rolling her eyes and trying to suppress a giggle.

Molly bit her lip; obviously Noo was going to give them the whole show whether they wanted it or not.

‘I successfully completed my training four years ago after a successful career in retail management – I have a wealth of experience and a solid track record in co-ordinating weddings alongside many other private and personal family events. Some time ago I realised I had a natural gift for creating the perfect wedding scenario for my clients and have specialised ever since.’

Molly felt her heart sink. This was a carefully rehearsed presentation more suited to an audience of fifty rather than the six of them gathered around Molly’s dining table. Alongside Jonathon, Marnie was saying, ‘I really wish that I’d known about Noo when we organised our wedding.’

Jonathon smiled wryly at no one in particular. ‘Me too, it would have saved me hours of listening to you agonising over every last detail and spending God knows how much on dresses and all the accessories, shoes, bags, hats – I mean how many outfits did you end up buying in the end? Five, six?’

Marnie shushed him furiously, while Noo continued, ‘I can provide my clients with almost any service, anything they require, both in the UK and abroad, including up-to-date advice on local customs, residency rules, legalities and visa requirements. So far I’ve arranged weddings in the Canaries, the Caribbean, Cyprus, the Maldives and Wales. My clients and I go on a voyage of discovery together, almost a spiritual quest to achieve their perfect day – and we often end up as friends, in fact one couple actually invited me to join them on their honeymoon.’

Molly closed her eyes; it was an image too far.

‘Anyway I’m here today to introduce you all to Joyful Heart Weddings,’ she said, hands together in front of her as if she was about to give a sermon. ‘We offer a wide range of traditional and concept weddings to a very discerning clientele. Marnie was kind enough to suggest that I come and talk to you about our service today.’ She nodded at Marnie, who smiled graciously.

‘First of all the obvious advantages to a busy working woman and her family, where everyone has numerous commitments with little time to spare, is that I can take all the hard work out of the wedding event for you. I have access to a wide database of suppliers, services and ideas. We can search out all those special little touches you’d like for your perfect day and present them to you in a complete managed package for one inclusive price with no hidden extras. We can stage-manage the entire event for you as well, offering peace of mind with our fully bonded all-inclusive insurance. And should you require it, besides the venue, the catering and all that wedding arrangements entail, we can even arrange that special honeymoon if you would like us to.’

Noonoo, mid-flow, flipped the page on the chart to a picture of a traditional wedding, the bride and groom standing in front of a church with their family. Molly heard Jess groan.

‘Can we just stop a minute here please?’ said Molly, jumping into a split second’s silence between the words. ‘I mean, I appreciate that this all looks very impressive and I hate to rain on your parade, but Jess and I have already spent hours planning the wedding.’

‘Yes, we’re more or less there,’ said Jess.

There was a little pause, during which Marnie looked daggers at Molly. Jonathon said, ‘Molly, I know you mean well but Marnie went to an awful lot of trouble to arrange for Noo to come over today and I think we should at least look at what she has to offer. Marnie said the service Noo provided was very good – you have to admit Mimi’s wedding was wonderful.’

Marnie was nodding.

Yes, who could forget the unfortunate Mimi stuffed, corseted and magic-knickered into a shiny satin dress that showed every crease, wrinkle and roll of what lay beneath, a dress that would have looked fabulous on Marnie but was terrifying on someone shaped like an American refrigerator.

Mimi, who apparently suffered with her glands, had had her lank, greasy hair scraped up under a tiara the size of the Taj Mahal and clutched a bouquet shaped like a swan, a nod apparently to the ugly duckling made good. Everything had been swan-shaped, now Molly came to think about it.

The church had had so many flowers in it that guests could barely breathe for pollen and perfume, and the bridal couple and their twelve bridesmaids – having been driven to the church in a fleet of vintage Rollers – had been whisked away to their honeymoon in a hot-air balloon, from which Mimi had thrown her bouquet, nearly blinding the video cameraman when it hit him square in the lens.

Molly had a photograph of the happy couple grinning at the camera, Mimi arm-in-arm with a short, skinny, ginger boy with bad skin, buck teeth and a bulbous nose. They lived in Wales now; apparently he was something big in animal feed and a real catch. Molly remembered thinking if she’d caught him, she’d have thrown him back.

She would have felt sorry for Mimi, if Mimi hadn’t been a spiteful, selfish, peevish creature, who had tortured Jess from the moment they’d met.

‘What do you say, Max?’ asked Jonathon, the sound of his voice breaking into Molly’s thoughts. ‘Noo sound like a good idea to you?’

‘It’s fine by me,’ Max said. ‘I’ve already told Jess that she can have anything she wants. After all, it’s her big day and she already said that she and Molly are very busy. And I’m up to my eyes.’ He turned to Jess, who was staring at him open-mouthed. ‘Well, you said you needed help,’ he pointed out. ‘And now you’ve got it.’

Noo took that as a cue and launched straight back into the script. ‘While our main business is in the traditional market, we’ve done a lot more themed weddings in the last few years and have several more in the pipeline. A theme helps set the tone and establishes a style for the whole event, as well as making your wedding stand out from the crowd. It’s also more fun for your guests.’ Noo flicked over another page. ‘The discerning couple are becoming more and more adventurous. This summer we did our first Guys and Dolls wedding, followed by Gangsters and Molls.’

Molly stared at a wedding party all dressed up in mobster gear, the guests arranged around a 1930s V8 Ford complete with running boards. The bride and groom looked like extras from ‘Bugsy Malone’.

‘And we’ve just done our first Glenn Miller wedding.’ Noo flipped the page again to show the grainy interior of an aircraft hangar hung with bunting and banners. The buffet table, set with sausage rolls and jugs of squash, looked like it was laid out for VE Day. ‘These days your wedding celebrations can be almost anything you can imagine. Next year we’ve got a Teddy Bears’ Picnic wedding and a Moulin Rouge civil partnership – you should see the outfits.’



While Max, Jonathon and Marnie appeared to be totally enraptured by Noo’s presentation, Molly, Nick, and Jess stared at each other in a mix of disbelief and horror.

There were railway weddings, pantomime weddings, colour-themed weddings, football team weddings, weddings for the over 50s and finally what Noo referred to in hushed tones as the traditional family package which seemed to involve smiling plump girls marrying jolly bald men dressed in grey morning suits.

‘So you can arrange for us to have a church wedding?’ said Max enthusiastically.

Noonoo, tiny hands still clasped, nodded. ‘Certainly, if that is what you want. I mean if you’re prepared to pay we can do more or less anything.’

‘See,’ said Max triumphantly.

‘Well, there we are then, seems to me that we’ve got the perfect solution,’ said Jonathon, topping up his champagne. ‘Takes all the sweat out of it. Nonoo can arrange the wedding and all the details,’ Jonathon turned to his daughter. ‘I was thinking around a hundred guests. I appreciate I’m going to have to take the lion’s share of this – Now about the radio station, Molly, what do you think they can offer us?’

‘Us?’ Molly stared at him. ‘Jonathon, we are arranging our daughter’s wedding, not negotiating a contract for an engineering company.’

He looked puzzled.

And then Jess said, ‘Dad, please don’t think I’m being ungrateful but I really don’t want a themed wedding. I spoke to Jack last week and Bertie, who owns Vanguard Hall has offered to let us use it for the recepion, and my friend Helen is going to make my dress. And then the guys in the design studio where I work said they’d print all the stationery as a wedding present –’

Marnie looked totally aghast and to be fair Max didn’t look much better.

‘Jess,’ said Max.’ You heard your father. And you saw how lovely all those weddings that Noo’s arranged are. I thought we’d agreed that we want the whole thing to be really special, didn’t we?’

‘Of course I want it to be special,’ snapped Jess, ‘but I’m not getting married in a church and I don’t want to end up at some bloody hotel dressed up as Vera Lynn while someone from EAA records the whole thing for bloody posterity with commercial breaks to sell double glazing.’

‘You’re getting overwrought,’ said Marnie. ‘It’s understandable, we’ve all been there, darling. There is a lot of pressure when you’re getting married.’

Jess looked around in frustration. ‘I’m not overwrought – I’m just telling you what’s going to happen.’

‘It all sounds very cut-price to me,’ snipped Marnie. ‘You’ll be asking me to help out with the sandwiches next. And if it’s going to be on the radio, we don’t want to let the side down, do we?’

And then Max said, ‘Jess, my parents are very traditional. If we don’t have a church service then they won’t think it’s a proper wedding. And I suppose I was thinking traditional too – white lace, doves, orange blossom and morning suits. A real wedding.’

‘It’s a shame you didn’t say all this before when I asked you what kind of wedding you wanted,’ growled Jess.

‘I just want a proper wedding. I thought you understood that.’

‘With me dressed up as a meringue?’ said Jess grimly.

Max smiled. ‘No, you just being as beautiful as you always are.’

‘Ahhh,’ Noo sighed. ‘Isn’t that lovely.’

Molly suppressed the desire to lean across the table and punch her.

‘So a classic white wedding it is then,’ Noo continued. ‘I have to say that in my opinion, it does take some beating.’

Marnie clapped her hands together in what Molly took to be pure delight. ‘Well, that’s that sorted out. Oh, I’m so glad that we came over. This is going to be such fun, JJ. Noo and I found the most wonderful dress for Mimi from this lovely shop in Norwich – they’ve got a branch in Bond Street and they are just so good.’

Noo was nodding. ‘We found that it’s easiest if we book an evening in the shop. Wasn’t the lady who owns it a sweetheart, Marnie? She couldn’t have been kinder. And they provide canapés and champagne. It was a completely lovely experience, wasn’t it?’





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