The Vintage Summer Wedding (25 page)

‘Oh dear.’ Hilary surveyed the throng. ‘What a waste of energy.’ She sipped from her own glass of champagne. ‘But I suppose it kept you off the streets!’ she said with a snort.

At that point Roger joined them, cigar clamped between his fingers, one hand tucked into the pocket of his cords. ‘See your father’s got himself a new piece of fluff.’

‘Roger, don’t be crude.’

‘Well, she’s what? Half his age?’

Anna took a breath, felt herself slide her shoulders down her back, ‘She’s my best friend actually. I think they’re…’ She glanced across in the direction of the benches and the village hall where her father was standing, his arm around Hermione’s waist, the two of them laughing and clapping as Billy did a succession of backflips across the cobbles. She paused, watched for a moment, watched the curl of Hermione’s shoulders, the tilt of her head, the wide smile on her face that she usually refrained from because it could cause wrinkles. She saw the too-long flick on her dad’s hair, the flip-flops, but the shirt that was ironed and the trousers that looked a touch more tailored, she saw how Hermione’s hand wound round his at her hip. Saw the same smile on his face that he had had when he had stood beside her granny, waiting for Anna as she came out of the dressing room at the EBC. She turned back to Roger, ‘I think they make each other really happy. And that’s all you can ask, isn’t it?’

Roger looked slightly taken aback for a moment, huffed a breath and then went to say something else, ‘Well I don’t know—’

‘I do.’ Anna cut him off. ‘I know. And so do they. I think that’s all that matters.’

She watched Hilary make a face at Roger, eyebrows raised, and both of them tuck this away for discussion later on in private.

The sun dipped behind a cloud and Anna felt herself shiver, the only jumper she had was fluorescent-green-and-yellow leopard-print and had been the last remaining in the box. She’d slept on it on the way back and it was now scrunched in her bag. As Hilary prattled on about god knows what to Seb, Anna put the champagne in her hand down on the floor, the celebration suddenly seeming over as reality slipped back in. She pulled out the jumper and pulled it on over her head.

‘My my,’ Roger snorted, ‘Wait while I get my shades.’

‘Dressing like one of the kids now, Anne.’ Hilary gave her a little shake of the head. ‘Whatever next?’ She raised a brow at Seb.

Anna swallowed, pushed her hands into the pockets of the jumper and didn’t look up.

‘Well, now all this nonsense is over I suppose you’ll get back to the wedding planning,’ Hilary soldiered on. ‘I’m assuming you’ve done something? I still get calls every day and I still don’t know what to tell them. I mean, I assume there is still going to be a wedding…’

Anna looked back over towards Hermione and her dad, wondered if she could just walk over and join them. Leave Hilary just standing there, her voice like a fist punching straight into the exhilaration of the day.

‘Mum. Leave it,’ Seb muttered.

Anna turned back to glance at him, wondering if she’d heard him right.

Hilary leant forward. ‘I’m sorry, Seb, did you say something?’

Did he say something? Anna wondered. Had he actually said something to stop his mother?

‘I said, just leave it,’ he said again, through clenched teeth.

‘Leave what?’ Hilary asked, bemused. A little laugh on her lips.

‘Just back the fuck off about Anna and the wedding. OK!’ he snapped.

‘Don’t you swear at your mother,’ Roger said sharply.

‘I’ll swear at who I like. At the moment your input isn’t needed and it’s not helping. We’ll let you know what’s happening and when. In the meantime,’ Seb paused, some people near to them had turned to watch. Anna couldn’t breathe. ‘I’d appreciate it if you took a step back and let Anna and me handle this. OK?’ He looked at them like they were his pupils as he spoke to them with an authority Anna had never seen in her life before.

‘Well, I…’ Hilary started but then stopped. ‘I’m shocked. Seb, I’m shocked by your tone.’

He held up a hand. ‘That’s enough. It’s over, the subject is closed. That’s it. We can discuss it again some other time.’

Roger’s brows drew together in a frown. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘Well, it seems you…have it under control.’

Anna could feel the people around them still half-listening as they pretended to carry on with their own conversations. Her heart was thudding in her ears.

‘Very well, Sebastian.’ Hilary straightened her blouse. ‘You know best, of course. I wouldn’t want to be thought of as someone who interferes. It’s your and Anna’s day. I look forward to getting my invitation.’ Her cheeks had flushed under her rose cream blush, ‘If that is, we’re still invited,’ she added, and then touched Roger on the arm, their signal to leave.

As they stalked away to their car, Seb exhaled, ran his hand over his forehead. Anna just watched in awe.

‘I shouldn't have sworn. Fuck.’ He made a face, ‘I just fucking wish I hadn’t sworn. That’s all she’ll remember. I wouldn’t have sworn with the kids. Argh, I’m so annoyed.’

Anna was still reeling. Filling up with adoration like a jug of orange squash. ‘I thought…’ she started.

‘Why?’ He turned her way, raking a hand through his hair. ‘Why? Why did I have to swear?’

‘I thought it was amazing,’ she said, in almost a whisper.

‘You did?’ Seb said, taken aback.

She nodded.

‘But it would have been better if I hadn’t said fuck, yes?’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t care either way. I thought it was amazing.’

She watched a little smile pull at the corners of his lips. ‘You did?’ He nodded his head. ‘I suppose it was pretty good.’

‘Miss!’ Lucy shouted from across the square, ‘Come and look at this.’

Anna glanced over to where Lucy, Matt, Peter and Mary were practising some balance formation that looked highly precarious. ‘I’d better go,’ she said, angling her head in their direction.

‘Of course.’ Seb nodded. ‘Hey, have you seen who’s with Jackie?’

‘No.’ Anna shook her head, looked across the square and saw Jackie, sipping champagne out of her plastic cup, standing with a tall guy, hands in his pockets, beaky nose and gold-rimmed glasses, but attractive in an Internet-millionaire type way. ‘Who is he?’

‘Smelly Doug.’ Seb angled his head with a smile.

‘Oh my god!’ Anna held her hand up to her mouth. ‘She met up with him?’

‘More than once, apparently. He’s seemingly seduced her with his Porsche and a day trip to Paris.’

‘Wow.’ Anna nodded, impressed. ‘Maybe it’s not all bad out there,’ she said, looking back at Seb with a shrug.

‘Maybe,’ he replied, a little more serious.

‘I’d better go,’ she added, as she heard a shriek from the Razzmatazz quartet currently clambering over each other.

‘Yep.’ Seb nodded.

Anna started to walk away and then glanced back. He was watching her, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, the expression on his face unreadable.

She ended up staying in the square for ages, at least another hour, while Razzmatazz had photos taken and the journalist from
Nettleton News
, a fairly depressing man with bad skin and a terrible suit but a sweet smile, wanted an interview.

As the journo tucked his Dictaphone away and said, ‘I think this’ll make a nice piece,’ Anna’s dad walked over, his hands behind his back, and stood next to her.

‘You did good,’ he said.

‘Well I suppose it was about time I did something right,’ she said with a shrug.

‘I told you it was there, didn’t I? The bit you got from me.’

‘OK, don’t get too cocky,’ she said with a raise of her brow.

He laughed. They stood side by side watching as Lucy and Clara tried to teach Hermione how to twerk.

‘You still getting the money off your mother?’ he said, as if it didn’t really mean that much, as if this was just casual chat. ‘You know, for the wedding?’

Anna turned to look at him, he stayed looking forward, smiling at Hermione’s terrible attempts at twerking.

‘Because I was thinking, I could sell my car. You know, if you wanted another option.’

She thought of her dad’s red vintage Mercedes, his absolute pride and joy. The car that had been polished every week in the garage since before she was alive. The only thing he owned of any value whatsoever. She thought of the money she’d sunk into The Waldegrave wedding, the crap she’d wracked up on her credit cards, the expensive wine she’d drunk in expensive bars in Bermondsey, the designer clothes she had wrapped in tissue at the back of her wardrobe.
And half that car, Anna, half that bloody car, that’s mine. That’s ours. Do you know that?

She felt her face soften into a smile. ‘I don’t want you to sell your car, dad.’

He glanced her way, ‘You’re sure?’

She nodded.

‘I just…’ He swallowed. ‘I’d just like to be there. I don’t have to give you away or anything, but I’d just like to be there, you know, to watch.’

She pressed her lips together, felt the prick of tears in the corners of her eyes and couldn’t reply. So she just nodded. And he nodded. And they both went back to looking at Hermione.

Still dressed in her leopard-print sweatshirt, her gold lamé leggings stuffed into her bag, Anna finally made her way to her car. All the kids were still gallivanting about the square doing impromptu renditions of their act to whoever would watch, a couple of parents were standing around chatting, but most people had edged their way over to the pub and were standing outside, sipping bitter under the hanging baskets.

She’d been invited to join, officially welcomed into the abode by Babs who’d even said she’d bring the good wine out, but Anna had shaken her head. She was exhausted. ‘Too much excitement for one day,’ she’d laughed.

‘Well we’ll see you soon,’ one of the parents had said, waving a hand. ‘Loving what you’ve done to the shop, as well. Very nice. Very London,’ he’d said with a joking drawl.

Anna had nodded, not quite sure what to do with all this pally chatter, and then turned away and walked towards her old hatchback.

There was a flier stuck under the windscreen wiper, which she leant over to pull out and scrunch up but, just as she did, she saw that it was written on lined paper with perforations down the side.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, she flattened the paper ball out on her thigh and read it.

Man-cave-dwelling hero seeks stunning heroine for love, passion and possible marriage. I am a hugely intelligent, handsome, loyal lonely heart with GSOH and a very impressive Assassin’s Creed score on PS4 (in some cultures this ranks high on the list of desirable attributes). Sometimes makes mistakes and occasionally poor at admitting when he is wrong, but handy in the bathroom, garden and recently prone to bouts of shockingly impressive machismo. WLTM girl of my dreams.

If interested, please join me for dinner. My current residence is just to the left of Primrose Cottage.

[for man-cave read shed]

[for mistakes read life-changing fuck-ups for which he will never be sorry enough]

[for impressive machismo, read you ain’t seen nothing yet!]

Chapter Twenty-One

The garden path twinkled with tea-lights, their flames flickering gently in the almost still air. The cherry tree to the side of the house sparkled with pinpricks of fairylight like a Christmas tree, the glistening unripe fruit shiny like baubles. Anna wondered whether she should go in and get changed, re-do her hair and make-up, but the door of the shed was ajar and she could just see a little table all set up, a candle burning down in the centre, and Seb sitting in a deck chair, reading a book with a glass of wine on the table in front of him, waiting.

She didn’t go into the house to change, but instead followed the path of the fluttering flames and knocked gently on the wooden slated door.

‘Hello?’ she whispered, suddenly nervous.

Seb looked up from his book and seeing her, jumped up, shutting the paperback clumsily. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you could come.’

‘Well, I—’ Anna hovered on the threshold, peered round to see what he’d done with their common-or-garden shed. All the tools were pushed to one corner, a rusty hoe leaning against a spade and fork, the Flymo hanging from a hook above them. All the shelves had been cleared and swept, and held a mish-mash of his stuff ‒ a couple of paperbacks, a cactus that he’d saved from her over-watering, his washbag, his teaching certificate in a frame and next to that a picture of her. A terrible photo of her on holiday, her shiny, sun-burned face smiling wide, that she always grimaced at because it made her face look fat but he loved because she looked so happy.

A pot was boiling on the Calor gas stove, plates were laid out on the summer table which he’d covered in an old sheet, one with tiny embroidered pink flowers on the edges, and wine was dribbling with condensation in a plastic bucket of ice. Next to the candle he’d filled an old mustard glass with wild poppies and ears of wheat from the field over the path, the wafer-thin petals bobbing and dancing iridescent in the flicker of the candle light.

‘I’m Seb,’ he said, tea-towel over his shoulder, hand outstretched. ‘I can’t believe you responded to my advert. Look at you! How lucky am I?’ he smiled, denting the creases at the corners of his eyes.

Anna started to say, ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ But stopped herself. Instead she took a couple of steps forward so she was in reach to shake his hand, ‘I’m Anna. I was really touched that you thought of me, you know, that you thought I fitted your criteria.’

‘Well I’ve seen you around the village.’

‘You have?’ she said. Her hand was still warm in his.

‘I could hardly miss you. You’ve created quite a stir. Seems suddenly everyone’s buying antiques and signing up to dance.’ He let her hand go and turned to stir whatever it was simmering on the hob. ‘I’ve even heard you’re moving into adult classes.’

She snorted. ‘Well, never say never.’ She watched his shoulders rise and fall as he laughed at the very idea of it.

‘I had heard that you were engaged,’ he went on. ‘But the wanker fucked it up.’ His back still to her, he shook his head. ‘What a doofus, who’d let you go?’ he said, turning and without meeting her eyes leant over to pick up the wine bottle. ‘I only have white, I heard you don’t drink red.’