Chapter 33
TEN MONTHS LATER
‘Are you nearly ready?’ Will asks as he sticks his head round the bedroom door. ‘We probably ought to hit the road sooner rather than later as they’re forecasting snow.’
‘Yes. I’ve just got to pack the last couple of things and then we can leave. Who gets married in the middle of winter?’
‘Mike and Sarah do,’ he replies with a smile. ‘I can’t wait to see the venue. Apparently they’ve got Christmas trees in every room, including the bedrooms.’
‘Is Lena ready?’
‘Yes. God only knows what she’s wearing tomorrow because she’s only taking her backpack. If there’s a dress in there, it’s going to look like it’s been through a hedge backwards by the time she unpacks it.’
‘I can’t see Lena in a dress. I’m still amazed she came over for it. It’s not as if we’re close.’
‘I think she’s killing a few birds with one stone. She was telling me earlier that she’s thinking of selling the flat when we move out.’
Will moved in pretty much as soon as Mike and Sarah left. It happened fairly organically. He stayed the night after we celebrated his company landing the car contract, and then he never quite seemed to leave. Every so often, he’d be consumed with guilt and spend a couple of days at home with his father, only for Jonathan to tell him robustly that he was fine and send him packing back to me again. Lena hadn’t seemed in any hurry to advertise Mike’s room, to my relief, so when I told her that Will was interested in taking his place, she was delighted. However, we have started to look for somewhere that we can make our own, so I’m not surprised that Will’s been talking to Lena about it.
The only downside I’ve discovered about living with Will, and it’s not his fault at all, is that the standard of food nosedived rather when Mike left. His cooking had definitely spoiled me and, while Will was perfectly competent in the kitchen – much more so than me – I did miss it. I never said anything to Will, but he obviously picked up on it because he enrolled us both on a cookery course a month or so later. My initial reaction was most politely described as reluctant, but we both really enjoyed it and have since developed a kind of teamwork in the kitchen. I’m chief recipe researcher, as well as the weigher and measurer of ingredients, and Will is the cook and chief server. Whenever we find something we like, I transcribe it on the computer and print it out using dyslexic-friendly fonts, so Will can follow it by himself if I’m working late.
‘I’m ready,’ I call as I zip my case closed. My bridesmaid dress is hanging on the wardrobe door in its bag, and Will takes it almost reverentially to carry it down to the car before returning to pick up our cases. Lena is exactly as I’d expected her to be, wearing combat fatigues and hugging the enormous rucksack that Will mentioned.
‘I prefer to keep my belongings around me,’ she says when Will offers to carry it for her. ‘Most of the places I go, you give a bag to someone else and you’ll never see it again.’
‘I think you can trust Will,’ I remark.
‘Force of habit.’
My amusement at her paranoia is swiftly replaced by mild irritation when she insists on travelling in the front with Will, ‘because I don’t feel safe if I can’t see the terrain in front of me.’ I did point out that the M25 was unlikely to contain any landmines, even if it was a disaster generally, but my argument fell on deaf ears, so I’m cooped up in the back of Will’s hatchback with the backpack while Lena regales him with stories of her various exploits.
‘Did I tell you Dad’s news?’ he asks me when she finally runs out of steam. The wedding venue is just outside Guildford but the traffic is typically dire so it’s taken us nearly two hours to reach the turning off the motorway. As Will predicted, a light snowfall has also begun, which has slowed everyone down even more.
‘No?’
‘He’s going on a proper date. With Brenda.’
‘Goodness. How do you feel about that?’
‘It’s a bit odd. I mean, I try not to think about the logical consequences of where it might end, but I’m pleased for him. He’s really nervous about it, which is kind of funny when you think how much time they’ve already spent together.’
‘Why would he be nervous?’ Lena seems genuinely baffled. ‘If she likes him enough to go on a date, he’s in there, isn’t he? She’s probably just waiting for him to jump her bones.’
‘Too much information, Lena,’ I interject, spotting the look of horror on Will’s face.
‘The problem with people over here is they’re too polite. If I like someone, I tell them to their face. Either they like me back, in which case we get straight down to business, or they don’t. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life’s too short to pussyfoot about. This Brenda is obviously up for it, so what’s your dad waiting for? Drinks, dinner, back to his and bosh.’
‘I don’t think Will wants to think about his dad and “bosh”,’ I explain. ‘Anyway, as you’ve pointed out so clearly, things move slower over here.’
‘Only because you’re all terrified of each other. I bet you I could get someone into bed after the reception tomorrow if I wanted to. What do you say? Ten pounds to make it interesting?’
‘No,’ Will and I say together.
‘Fair enough. I might do it anyway though, just to warn you. Maybe Mike and Sarah would be up for a threesome.’
‘I very much doubt it,’ I tell her firmly. ‘Ah, it looks like we’re here.’
Will swings the car into a driveway next to a large sign bearing the name of the hotel where Mike and Sarah are getting married and, even though the ground is now covered by a thin coat of snow, we can still hear the expensive crunch of gravel beneath the tyres as we head for the car park. There’s nothing budget about this venue. The weather is bitterly cold, but the reception area is beautifully warm, no doubt in part due to the large log fire burning in the grate. As promised, a huge, tastefully decorated Christmas tree dominates the room.
‘This is lovely,’ I whisper to Will as we wait for Lena to finish checking in. Unsurprisingly, she’s trying to haggle a free room upgrade. She really is shameless and, although I admire her directness and no-nonsense attitude to life, I do worry that she’s going to ruffle feathers tomorrow, particularly if she follows through on her threat to seduce one or more of the other guests. ‘Do you think they have bromide here?’ I ask him, causing him to smile.
‘Does it work on women?’
‘I have no idea, but it’s got to be worth a try.’
‘I think it would take something considerably stronger to stop her, don’t you? Chloroform, maybe?’
‘We don’t use that any more, but I like your thinking. Some sort of anaesthetic to knock her out until everyone else is safely tucked up in bed.’
‘I’m done,’ Lena announces with irritation, thankfully oblivious to our conversation. ‘I’ve explained to this man that I’m a front-line healthcare professional, I need comfort and he needs to work on his customer service, but he’s not listening and refuses to find me a superior room. Some cock and bull story about being fully booked, as if I’m expected to buy that.’
‘They are hosting a wedding, Lena,’ I tell her.
‘Yes, but all hotels hold back a certain number of rooms for privileged guests. It’s well known.’
‘I’m not sure that’s true,’ Will says. ‘It’s hard for hotels to make money even at full occupancy, so keeping rooms empty would be counter-intuitive.’
‘Hmph. Another reason to spend as little time in this godforsaken country as possible. I’m going to freshen up after that journey, so I’ll see you two at dinner.’
‘ She needs to freshen up?’ I ask incredulously as we approach the harassed-looking receptionist. ‘ I was the one crammed into the back of the car with her sodding backpack digging into my hip the whole way here.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Will says. ‘I should have stood up to her more.’
‘It’s not your fault. She’s a force of nature. At least she’s not coming home with us.’
His face brightens. ‘Isn’t she?’
‘No, I heard her on the phone earlier. She’s got an early flight out on Sunday morning so she’s getting a taxi straight to the airport.’
‘Phew.’ He slides across the printout of our reservation to the receptionist, who starts tapping rapidly on the keyboard of his computer.
‘Welcome, Mr and Mrs Barwell,’ he says, handing over two key cards with a smile. ‘You’re in room 213, one of our suites. I hope you’ll find it comfortable. As requested, I’ve placed a bottle of champagne on ice for you. Please, leave your bags here and I’ll get the porter to bring them up straight away.’
‘A suite, Mr Barwell?’ I ask as we make our way towards the lift. ‘What happened to the standard room I thought we’d booked?’
‘I upgraded us, Mrs Barwell. Only the best for my wife.’
‘That was a bit presumptuous, wasn’t it? Why didn’t you tell him we weren’t married?’
He grins. ‘I liked the way it sounded.’
I laugh as the lift arrives and we step inside. Actually, I quite liked the way it sounded too, not that I’m going to tell him that. Not until he asks properly, anyway.
I wonder what the champagne is for?