Chapter ONE
‘We got the invitation in the post today.’
I held it up and smiled across at my father-in-law, Mick, who was sitting at our kitchen table watching Rob serve up his piping hot pasta bake and crispy halloumi.
‘I love a Christmas wedding! I can’t believe it’s less than three months till you and Sylvia tie the knot. Are you excited?’
Mick ran a hand over his cropped white hair and gave me an odd little smile as I joined him at the table.
‘Of course,’
he said, a twinkle in his eyes. Then he glanced up at Rob.
‘Thanks, son. This looks really good.’
He sniffed the rich tomato sauce and I cocked an ear towards the ceiling.
It was all peaceful upstairs. For now, at least. Thankfully, I’d managed to get twins Lottie and Liam tucked up in bed and asleep before Grandpa Mick arrived – otherwise they’d have been so excited, I’d never have got them settled in a month of Sundays!
Sylvia, soon to be my stepmother-in-law, was a member of the local Women’s Institute, and after dropping her at the evening meeting, Mick had got into the lovely routine of coming round to ours for dinner before picking Sylvia up again later.
I’d grown very fond of these relaxed evenings.
Rob would cook for us while I got the twins settled, then Mick would arrive – usually with a bottle of wine or a box of chocolates, and some treats for the twins – and we’d chat over the meal then settle in to watch a movie together. I didn’t even mind that it was often an old cowboy film, starring the likes of John Wayne or – Mick’s all-time favourite – the legendary Audie Murphy.
It was Drums Across the River tonight. Rob had managed to find .
‘colourised’
version and I was actually quite looking forward to it.
I couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy about Mick, though.
For a man who was about to marry the woman he loved, he really didn’t seem very happy. Not that I’d expected him to be leaping about the place with uncontrollable glee. But last time they were here together and the wedding was mentioned, it was Sylvia who’d got animated and excited about it, telling us they’d gone ring-shopping the day before, and talking about her old friend Celia, who was organising the flowers on the day. As Sylvia talked, Mick had sat smiling at her but looking a little detached from it all.
Rob thought I was worrying about nothing.
‘Of course Dad’s happy,’
he’d reassured me later.
‘Guys show it in different ways, that’s all.’
I supposed he was right. And maybe it was an age thing as well. Maybe a wedding just wasn’t something you’d get terribly excited about in your later years?
But after seeing Mick’s reaction tonight when I’d held up the wedding invitation – that strange little bemused smile of his – I was convinced something wasn’t right.
‘There’s definitely something up with your dad,’
I murmured to Rob in the kitchen later, as we stacked the dishwasher and cleared up.
‘Whenever I mention the wedding, it’s like he immediately withdraws, as if he doesn’t want to talk about it. Could you speak to him?’
Rob sighed. But after a moment, he nodded.
‘Let’s talk to him together, shall we? But gently. Not like it’s an intervention or something.’
He grinned at me.
‘As if!’
I nudged him playfully.
‘No, I’ll be very softly-softly. And we’ll get to the bottom of what’s going on for him.’
I shrugged.
‘Maybe he’s just really happy with the way things are and he doesn’t want all the fuss of a wedding.’
I was relieved that Rob was now acknowledging that his dad’s behaviour was puzzling. I wasn’t just imagining things, then!
After saying we should introduce the subject gently, when we went back into the kitchen with the rhubarb crumble and custard for dessert, Rob was anything but subtle. He sat down opposite Mick, leaned forward with his hands clenched together, and launched straight in with.
‘So . . . come on, Dad. Why aren’t you looking forward to this wedding, then?’
‘What?’
Mick looked shocked and my heart sank.
Well done, Rob. Not sure that’s the way to encourage your dad to unburden himself!
But then without warning, Mick’s shoulders seemed to slump as if the air had been punched out of him.
‘It’s that obvious, is it?’
he said with a heavy sigh, folding his arms on the table and bowing his head.
Rob and I exchanged an alarmed look.
‘What is it, Mick?’
I asked gently.
‘What’s wrong?’
When he didn’t reply immediately, I murmured.
‘You do want to marry Sylvia, don’t you?’
He looked up at that.
‘Yes. Yes, of course I do. She’s . . . well, she’s a wonderful woman and I still can’t quite believe she said yes to spending the rest of her life with me.’
He gave a rueful smile.
‘I’m not exactly a great prospect as a husband with my history of heart disease.’
‘Dad, that’s rubbish,’
insisted Rob.
‘You’re fitter now than you’ve been for a long time. You’ve had your heart op and the doctors have said that as long as you pace yourself and listen to what your body is telling you, you can go back to enjoying all your old hobbies and interests. So you’re hardly going to be holding her back, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
Mick made a funny sound in his throat.
‘Try telling Sylvia that.’
‘What do you mean?’
I asked him, puzzled.
‘Well . . . the thing is, you’re right, Rob. I feel healthier than I’ve felt in a long time. Going for a long walk every day, in all weathers, is working wonders. I don’t get out of breath anymore and I feel stronger than I ever did.’
‘But Sylvia doesn’t believe it?’
Rob frowned, trying to understand.
‘No. I don’t think she does. I’m sure she thinks I’m just putting on a show of feeling well for her sake. So she tries to wrap me in cottonwool and she gets annoyed with me if I exert myself in any way at all.’
He shrugged wearily.
‘She blew her top at me the other day because I’d decided the hedges needed trimming in the back garden and I’d gone out there with my shears. I was taking it easy, drinking plenty of water, not going at it hell for leather, but she came marching out and I just couldn’t reason with her. The last thing I wanted was an argument so I ended up going back inside. And next day, lo and behold, she’d phoned a local gardener to come in twice a week.’
He stared gloomily at us.
‘So now I don’t need to do anything in the garden – except recline on a lounger in the conservatory and drink mint tea and watch our new gardener doing a job I’m perfectly capable of doing myself, and what’s more I actually enjoy!’
He shook his head in frustration.
There was a brief silence as we absorbed all of this.
Then Rob said.
‘Since when were you a mint-tea-drinker, Dad?’
Mick grunted.
‘Since coffee and builder-strength tea were banned in our house because apparently they’re both bad for my heart.’
He shrugged.
‘I love the bones of the woman but honestly, she’s treating me as if I might be about to keel over at any second. And the irony is that I don’t feel any older than fifty inside and I definitely don’t feel as if I should be put out to pasture like an old racehorse!’
‘Of course not.’
I reached over and pressed his hand, alarmed by his strength of feeling on the subject.
‘Sylvia’s just worried about you, that’s all. She’s being too protective because she loves you.’
‘I know.’
He smiled, taking hold of my hand and squeezing it gently.
‘But it’s driving me crazy. She’s even brought people in to watch over me, I guess to catch me if I do keel over.’
‘People?’
I glanced at Rob, puzzled.
‘I didn’t know about that.’
‘Oh, it’s just a local care agency,’
explained Mick.
‘They send a couple of nice women round once a day to make sure I’m taking my medication and to help with housework and preparing meals.’
‘Do you think Sylvia might be worried about her own health as well?’
I asked, remembering her recent diagnosis.
Back in June, Sylvia had started feeling unwell and she’d ended up in hospital. After a battery of tests, she was eventually diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, although thankfully, her condition was quickly under control and she was now able to treat herself at home using an insulin pen.
‘She seems to be coping really well, taking her insulin and watching what she eats,’
I pointed out.
‘but maybe it’s a good thing having someone around to help take the pressure off her . . . with the cooking and the cleaning?’
Mick nodded.
‘And I agree. Sylvia had all the household stuff to do herself when I came out of hospital and it must have been exhausting for her, doing all of that and waiting on me hand and foot as well. So I do like the idea of someone coming in occasionally to help us with the household tasks. But not every day, for goodness’
sake! It’s just not necessary now that I’m perfectly capable of doing my share around the house.’
‘But how is all this affecting your view of the wedding?’
I asked, still not really understanding.
‘I mean, you do want to get married?’
He heaved a sigh.
‘Yes, of course I do. Just not the way Sylvia wants us to do it.’
Rob frowned.
‘So you don’t want a registry office do and the Swan Hotel after, the last week in December?’
‘I wouldn’t mind. It’s just I know the reason Sylvia’s planned it that way is so that I won’t get “over-excited” and put a strain on my heart. She’s decided the reception should be in the afternoon so that I can be tucked up in bed by nine o’clock. And that’s just not the way I wanted to celebrate what should be such a glorious day.’
‘So how do you want to celebrate, Dad?’
asked Rob.
Mick grinned.
‘With a big knees-up. Family and friends dancing till dawn and drinking far too much champagne at a proper wedding venue. The kind of celebration we’ll still be talking about in years to come.’
Rob and I started to chuckle, and Mick looked a little sheepish.
‘I know, I know. I need to be sensible,’
he murmured.
‘I’m far too old to be cavorting around at my wedding like a thirty-year-old.’
I shook my head.
‘I disagree, Mick. You should have the wedding you want. And let’s face it, the Sylvia I’ve grown to know and love likes nothing better than a good party.’
Rob grinned.
‘She just needs to be persuaded that you can have fun without risking your life in the process.’
‘Would you like me to have a word with Sylvia?’
I asked.
‘Or maybe Ellie could?’
Ever since Ellie had taken over the Little Duck Pond Café, allowing Sylvia to retire from running the place, the pair had been really close, and Ellie had ended up marrying Sylvia’s great-nephew Zak.
Mick smiled.
‘Sylvia thinks the world of Ellie. If anyone can persuade my wife-to-be that I’m not about to pop my clogs while dancing a quickstep, it’s Ellie.’
I nodded.
‘I’ll have a word with her, then.’
‘Great.’
Rob grinned.
‘I’ve already written my best man’s speech and I can’t wait to deliver it at the wedding of the decade before dancing till dawn.’
He reached for a serving spoon.
‘Okay. Who’s for pudding?’