25. Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cillian stood in the middle of a grand hall, turning around on the spot, panic threatening to overcome him as a troupe of belly dancers swarmed around him. He could have cried in relief when May grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the throng.
‘This place is mad.’
‘It’s fun.’ May grinned. ‘I thought it would be really stuck up, but look over there, they even have stalls for hen and stag dos. Lucky we didn’t bring Sylvie here a few weeks ago, or she would have come up with some even crazier ideas.
’ Her grin faded. ‘Although, in fairness, whatever she planned would have been ruined by Maz’s arrival. ’
Cillian caught the hint of sadness in her voice and had to fight an overwhelming desire to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight.
He tried to sound casual when he asked, ‘Have you seen Daniel since that night? I’ve not had a chance to catch up with him, and I’ve meant to, as he was quite shaken up. ’
‘He came round two nights ago and seemed fine,’ said May. ‘I think he’s keeping a low profile and trying not to bump into Maz.’ She shrugged. ‘They’re going to have to talk at some point. I don’t want them making things weird on Alice’s big day.’
Or Kitty’s. Cillian tried to be positive. ‘I’m sure things will work themselves out,’ he said. He gazed about and sighed. ‘You seem much more comfortable here than I do, so where shall we start?’
May scanned the room and pointed to a small stall beside a sweeping oak staircase.
‘Can we go over there? They’ve got some incredible dried wildflower displays I think could be really beautiful.’
‘Dried flowers at a wedding? Won’t they look a bit, I don’t know, dead?’
‘Cillian, don’t be such a philistine. Dried flowers are beautiful!
Come on.’ May took his hand again. ‘I know it’s not conventional to have dried rather than fresh flowers, but having a double wedding with six weeks’ notice isn’t particularly conventional, is it?
And the good thing about these is that Kitty and Alice can keep the flowers afterwards. ’
‘I’m not convinced.’
‘Of course you’re not,’ said May. ‘Humour me.’
They crossed the room hand in hand, Cillian acutely aware of how neatly May slotted in at his side.
He was finding the whole pretend-couple thing uncomfortable, and it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be seen with May.
The opposite – it felt so natural. He was playing a role, he reminded himself.
He was Eugene. She was Esmeralda. There was nothing untoward going on here.
‘Hi.’ May greeted the stallholder and waved a hand over the flowers. ‘These are beautiful.’
Cillian stood back as May launched into an in-depth conversation about how the flowers were locally grown and picked, how they could be made to order, and all sorts of other things he didn’t know the first thing about.
He was surprised not only by May’s confidence but also by her knowledge of local flora and fauna.
When she caught him looking, she shrugged and explained she’d done a project on local flowers for her A-level biology exam back in the day.
‘So when’s the big day?’ asked the stallholder.
Cillian gave the man the date, and his eyebrows shot up.
‘This year?’
‘Yes.’ Cillian grimaced.
‘Mate, you’re going to struggle. Most people who come to events like this book two years in advance. Have you got your venue sorted?’
‘We were thinking of the beach,’ said May before Cillian could offer an alternative.
‘Well, I suppose at least that’s not going to be booked up,’ said the man. ‘You know you’ll need to get permission from the council?’
‘Already in hand,’ said May.
Cillian looked at her in surprise. He thought they were still at the “throwing ideas around” stage, and it irked him that May was pressing forward, determined to get her own way.
‘Why don’t you take my card,’ said the man, ‘and if you want to come up to the farm and have a look, you’re welcome anytime.’
May took the card, asking, ‘Would you be able to create some designs with six weeks’ notice?’
The man smiled. ‘It’d be tight, but we love a challenge, and there’s nothing more romantic than a last-minute wedding. Why don’t you come and see us next week and we can have a chat?’
‘Perfect.’ May handed the card to Cillian, who slipped it into his wallet.
‘Oh my goodness!’ May grabbed Cillian’s hand and pulled him towards a large section where a rainbow of dresses hung from rails.
The fabrics shimmered under the spotlights – satin, chiffon, lace, each more garish than the last. ‘Look at these.’ May fingered a neon pink taffeta. ‘They’re absolutely hideous.’
‘Shhh.’ Cillian glanced around. ‘You don’t want the stallholder to hear you.’
‘Ah.’ May lowered her voice. ‘You’re right.
’ She gestured to where the stallholder was chatting with a customer.
‘But they’re distracted right now.’ She turned back to the dresses.
‘Can you imagine me in any of these?’ she asked, holding a lurid green satin dress against herself and doing a little twirl.
Cillian laughed and shook his head. ‘Have you spoken to Alice about bridesmaids’ dresses? I’ve no idea if Kitty’s even thought about it.’
‘She has, and there’s a plan in place. I’m Alice’s only bridesmaid, and Emily is Kitty’s,’ said May.
‘Given the huge age difference, we’re not going for matching dresses, so long as the colours are the same or complementary.
’ She rehung the green number. ‘We’re going shopping next week, and I’ve a horrible feeling I’m going to hate anything Alice chooses. I’m hardly a dress kind of girl, am I?’
Cillian glanced at her black denim skirt, fishnet tights and clumpy boots. She certainly had the legs to pull off a dress, but he wasn’t about to earn himself a punch in the ribs by telling her so. ‘I actually think you’d look rather pretty in pink,’ he said.
That earned him an elbow in the ribs anyway.
‘Is Kitty coming on this shopping trip?’
‘Yeah,’ said May, ‘and Emily. She’s so excited about the whole thing, it’s very sweet!
But what is it with bridesmaids’ dresses?
Why do they all have to be in a shade you’d find in an ice cream shop?
’ She screwed up her nose. ‘Hopefully, all these pastel shades won’t go to Alice and Kitty’s heads, or I might have to quit the job of chief bridesmaid. ’
‘You wouldn’t,’ said Cillian.
‘I would,’ said May, and he believed her. ‘Oh my gosh, look over there!’
May was like a whirlwind, and Cillian struggled to keep up with the way she flitted from stall to stall.
At the wedding favours stand, she picked up little jars of honey and hand-painted trinkets, ignoring the signs that read Please Do Not Touch.
The stallholder’s polite smile grew thinner by the second.
At the cake stalls, she tried one of everything, crumbs gathering at the corners of her mouth. The air smelled of buttercream and almond paste, and the baker’s scowl suggested May had sampled more than her fair share.
‘What?’ said May through a mouthful of sponge when Cillian touched her arm.
‘I don’t think you’re supposed to try one of everything,’ he said.
‘If there’s tasting plates out, surely I’m allowed,’ she said, swallowing.
‘But we’re not actually buying a cake, are we?’ said Cillian.
‘Margot may be making it,’ said May, her voice lowered, ‘but grumpy-guts over there doesn’t need to know that. That baker could give Gordon Ramsay a run for his money.’
Next they moved on to a stationery stall with generic-looking postcards displayed on starched white cloth, the prices high enough to make even Cillian wince.
‘We could do this ourselves,’ said May, smudging one of the samples with her cake-stained fingers.
‘I know they want the wedding to be simple,’ said Cillian, ‘but I want to put a few quid in. I’m sure we could stretch to proper invitations.’
‘Spoilsport,’ said May.
Cillian picked up a note set to examine it, and put it down again when May darted off, this time to the drinks stall, where trays of multi-coloured shots sat incongruously beside bottles of expensive champagne. He had an uneasy feeling this could be dangerous.
‘Here.’ May handed him a glass of champagne.
Cillian shook his head. ‘You know I can’t have that, I’m driving.’
‘It’s fine,’ said the lady behind the stall, ‘it’s Nosecco.’
‘We need to cater for the guests who won’t be drinking,’ said May. ‘And it probably wouldn’t hurt to give my mother some Nosecco instead of the proper stuff.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I doubt she’d be able to tell, and it would probably be safer for everyone.’
Cillian sipped his champagne, studying May.
There was a manic edge to her excitement he hadn’t noticed before, and as she accepted one of the rainbow-coloured shots from the bartender, he noticed her nails were bitten down to stubs.
Was it the reappearance of her mother causing her anxiety, or was there more to it?
Before he could dig any deeper into May Tyler’s psyche, she was off again, a human tornado tearing through the grand manor house.
Cillian had once watched a documentary about storm chasers.
He trailed in May’s wake, relating not only to the jeopardy but also to the thrill of being in close proximity to such a force of nature.