Chapter 5
FIVE
Rita ran out to greet the pink WEDDINGS BY SENNEN van as it came to a crunching halt.
Stepping out and before Sennen had a chance to say a word, Rita gave her a huge hug and showered her with kisses. ‘You look great, darling. Your hair’s so long now and that darker colour really suits you.’
Sennen grinned. ‘Aw, thanks, Mum, and yes, I wanted a change. Of everything.’
‘Oh, really, why’s that?’
‘I dumped the photographer, far too needy, and literally every outing with him felt like I was on a photo shoot. I said “cheese” so many times, I started tasting Stilton.’
‘What are you like?’ Rita looked at her daughter lovingly, still finding it hard to believe that she was now twenty-four and a grown woman.
Sennen lifted her arms dramatically. ‘Anyway… I’m free to be me again.’
‘As long as you’re happy, Sen? That’s all that matters to me.’
‘Yes, Mum. I really am. Have never been so busy either; seems like this year is the year to be getting hitched.’
‘Or the year that the soon to be betrothed are realising that Weddings by Sennen is where it’s at.’ She picked up her daughter’s bag. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘No, a quick sandwich would be lovely. I’ve got a meeting at Rosecliff Barns shortly to discuss arrangements for the summer wedding I’m organising there.’
‘Ah, perfect timing, then.’ Rita held open the old, heavy front door to the farmhouse. ‘Come on in; your brother messaged to say he’s travelling down later. Hopefully, the Friday traffic out of London won’t be too crazy.’
Sennen stuck her head in the fridge and stuffed a couple of baby tomatoes into her mouth. ‘Things like that never bother him, do they? These country lanes in the dark terrify me, especially in that van of mine.’
Rita grinned. ‘At least it’s easier to see the lights at night. I just shut my eyes and pray in the daytime.’
‘Mum! And you drill into me about being careful.’
Rita pulled a couple of mugs from the cupboard. ‘So, have you met this new mystery woman Thomas is seeing yet? I don’t even know her name.’
‘Poppy, you mean. No, but I’ve stalked her on Instagram. She looks very precious.’
‘Oh.’ Rita rustled in the cutlery drawer for a spoon.
‘And seemingly likes to party.’ Sennen began to scroll her phone. ‘Here.’
She passed her phone to Rita, who nodded. ‘She’s very pretty.’
Sennen took the handset back. ‘More likely to bring Louboutins than wellies if she ever comes here, to be honest.’
‘Gosh. OK. I was hoping the next one would calm him down a bit.’
‘Mum, we are twenty-four and still allowed to be a little bit wild.’
‘You’re so right. Save growing up until you’re at least…’ She paused. ‘Fifty.’
‘If I asked Granny Hilda, she would say, never grow up.’ Sennen put her handset on the table. ‘Is she all right?’
‘Yep, still going to every funeral she can.’ Rita placed two mugs of tea on the table and sat down.
‘I reckon she’s been to more services than the actual vicar,’ Sennen quipped, causing the women to shake with laughter.
‘What’s so funny, little lady?’
Rita realised she must have left the front door on the latch, as Hilda pushed her way into the kitchen, sat down next to her granddaughter, grabbed her hand, and squeezed it in hers tightly.
‘You are, Granny.’ Sennen giggled and wriggled her hand free.
‘Oh, am I?’ Hilda raised an eyebrow, gave a dramatic sigh, and sank into the chair opposite Sennen, tapping her pink trainers on the floor.
‘So, whose funeral have you been to lately, then?’ Sennen asked with genuine curiosity.
‘The uncle of Jenken’s ex-wife, actually,’ Hilda announced as if she were delivering a royal decree. ‘Dreadful eulogy. Fantastic buffet. His sister wailed like a banshee throughout and quite frankly ruined “The Lord is My Shepherd”.’
Sennen smirked.
Being used to her mother-in-law’s way of conveying sometimes unwanted information, Rita sighed deeply. ‘I knew already, Hilda. It’s fine.’
Hilda reached for her cigarette packet and lighter. ‘Never trust a bollocking Jenken, I say! Not one of them! Especially when there’s some wanton French tart flouncing around town.’
‘You’re the one who started the whole Jenken–Jory feud,’ Rita snapped, bitterness sharpening her words. Realising Elodie must be the French reference made her somehow more unnervingly seductive, and Rita hated how much that unsettled her.
Sennen held up her hand. ‘Stop this, both of you.’
Rita stood up, defiant. ‘You gave me your blessing with Jago.’
‘I did. I want you to be happy, Rita, but I also want you to be wise.’
Hilda looked her granddaughter up and down. ‘Come and see me tomorrow, sweetheart. And get some decent food in you, will you? You’re looking that thin your knickers must be holding crisis talks.’
And with that, Hilda pushed herself up and headed out of the kitchen, gripping her handbag, pink trainers squeaking against the stone floor, leaving Sennen shaking her head with astonishment.
‘You’re looking beautiful, darling,’ Rita soothed. ‘And no different to last time I saw you.’
Sennen shook her head. ‘I know she means well. Jago is a good man, Mum.’ Her voice wobbled slightly. ‘Like Dad was.’ She slipped her phone into her pocket and grabbed her tote bag. ‘I’m going to unpack.’
Rita sat back down, reached for her tea, and watched the steam curl and twist like a warning of how quickly life could shift.
Since Archie’s passing, she had learned just how fragile and unpredictable life could be.
Her thoughts drifted to Jago. After everything, the secrets, the revelations, the tangled family history, was trust even possible?
Hoping it was her instinct and not naivety whispering promises of a future with the man who had brought her such unexpected joy, she took a slow sip of her drink.
Damn Hilda Jory for making her doubt his intentions.
He was the one who had set a date for their reunion.
He surely wouldn’t bother with all that if he weren’t sure?