Chapter 14
Hannah was worried about Ed – and not in the standard, unspecific way she usually felt concerned for the welfare of her three younger siblings.
She was particularly bothered by several things her twin had shared with her in the past few days, the first of which was that he’d decided to invite their father to the wedding.
Astonished, Hannah had been unable to hide her horror when he asked her to make sure Mike Matthews received full details about the big day, as well as the offer to bring a plus-one.
‘Are you sure about this?’ she’d said. ‘Absolutely certain?’ Via FaceTime, Ed had insisted, ‘Yes – it’s the right thing to do. ’
Since when, Hannah wondered, did Ed think their father had been interested in ‘the right thing’?
He hadn’t concerned himself with identifying it when they were children .
. . and definitely not on the day they turned twenty-one.
Nor had he been bothered about Christmases, birthdays or Ed’s or Olivia’s graduation ceremonies.
Every missed occasion was another item on his charge sheet, as far as Hannah was concerned – and he scored double for every time he’d said he would be somewhere and failed to materialise.
She could imagine, though, that Mike might find it in himself to be intrigued by a celebrity wedding at which he’d meet wealthy people he could ‘network’ with.
He’d always fancied himself as an entrepreneur, and didn’t lack creative ideas or charisma – but he was entirely without the work ethic that Hannah knew was required to build a business.
What bothered her now wasn’t the possibility that Mike would turn up and play Peak District Del Boy during his only son’s nuptials; it was that he’d RSVP yes, inspire hope of a happy reunion and then not turn up at all.
In the days since she’d grudgingly issued the invitation, Hannah had bitten her nails so severely her fingertips were sore.
An invitation to George Gibson, who now lived in Sweden with his ‘second family’, had already been extended and declined.
These events had unfolded without fuss because Joe genuinely didn’t mind whether George came to the wedding or not.
He bore his long-absent father remarkably little ill will, and Hannah guessed that, in the course of becoming a therapist himself, Joe must have worked through a fair amount of his own issues.
When she stopped to think about it, all four of them – herself, Ed, Jude and Joe – could probably benefit from help to process what Marc had termed ‘daddy issues’ some weeks ago.
But at least she, Ed, Claire and Livi had one functional parent.
Lillian had always been present in her sons’ lives, but her approach to motherhood was perfunctory at best. According to Jude, she’d become increasingly dismissive of Joe as he got older – but Hannah had seen from the earliest days of their friendship that she was no more concerned about Jude’s well-being.
She was a cold, calculating sort of person, far more interested in herself and her reputation than in either of her children.
Hannah knew her obsession with Jude’s academic attainment was motivated by the glow his brilliance cast on her – but for anyone less observant, it successfully masked the lack of interest she took in whether he was actually happy.
Hannah knew Lillian had always wanted to keep her as far away from Jude as possible, but she’d still been surprised by the extent of her backstairs manipulation when it finally came to light.
Jude hadn’t seen it – or perhaps hadn’t wanted to see it.
With hindsight, however, Hannah found she had a little more sympathy for him than she’d managed that day at Heathrow.
With the possible exception of her own mum and one or two teachers, Lillian was the only adult in Jude’s life who’d ever seemed to care about him.
Convincing him that his mother was, in fact, conspiring to ruin both of their lives would have been a tough sell – one she’d had no idea how to make.
Lillian had so far stayed resolute in her decision not to attend the wedding, and this seemed to bother Ed more than it did his fiancé.
‘I’m not convinced she’ll stick to it,’ Hannah told him, trying not to sound disdainful.
‘Especially with the coverage the wedding will get. My gut tells me she won’t want the local glitterati asking why she isn’t in any of her own son’s wedding photos . . .’
Further to Ed’s wobble about Lillian, they’d now received confirmation that HELLO!
magazine would be bringing a team of eight photographers and reporters to the wedding.
Contracts had been signed, and Hannah had negotiated the terms of engagement with Renfrew Manor.
After a little cajoling, Matt had offered free exclusive use of the entire venue and grounds in exchange for the media coverage, which had thrilled both Joe and the journalists.
But Hannah could tell without asking him that ‘shit getting real’ had seriously alarmed Ed.
As she’d feared, some part of him had considered a magazine feature about the wedding such a ridiculous prospect that it might not actually happen.
Now he was going to have to process the reality that, in a few months’ time, ‘official’ photographs of his wedding would be all over the internet, as well as available to purchase from newsagents up and down the country.
As if all this wasn’t stressful enough, today Hannah was overseeing the wedding of James and Ella: a sweet, mild-mannered couple whose only flaw, as far as she could tell, was that they had terrible taste in music.
Marc was booked to play their reception, and it would be her first professional encounter with him since their split.
To make matters worse, Ella’s parents had requested that – very unusually – Hannah stay at the wedding until the bitter end, when the bar closed and a fleet of prebooked taxis arrived.
Anne and her husband Peter were quiet, nervous people, both in their late sixties, and desperate to ensure their only daughter’s wedding went off perfectly.
Hannah, in whom they seemed to have placed implicit trust, hadn’t had the heart to say no when they asked her to extend her usual working hours – and at the time, she’d seen no reason to refuse them.
She’d stopped by the bride’s family home this morning to check on everyone, as well as to drop off bouquets and boutonnieres while Gloria set up floral centrepieces at the venue.
Ella and James were marrying at The Andale Arms – a sixteenth-century coaching inn with two ceremony spaces (one inside, one out), a cosy dining room and twenty bedrooms. Anne had visibly calmed at the sight of Hannah, clutching her in a tight hug before she’d even moved from the doorstep into the house.
The relieved smile that lit the mother of the bride’s face made it clear the family’s desire for Hannah to stay late had not diminished.
She had thought she might try to renegotiate terms based on a (minor and entirely fictional) crisis, but all thought of escaping this wedding before midnight was now thrust aside.
Objectionable as the possibility of bumping into Marc was, Hannah couldn’t bear to let her clients down. She could only hope that he’d behave, and aim to keep their interactions to a minimum.
It was all going well until it wasn’t.
The wedding had been a beautiful, intimate affair with only fifty guests, and Ella looked stunning in a tea-length 1950s-style lace gown.
James – handsome in a charcoal three-piece suit – had barely taken his eyes off his bride.
Like her husband, Anne was lightly sozzled by 7 p.m., relaxed and enjoying herself after several glasses of champagne and half a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. It made Hannah happy to see it.
She always missed Charlie when she worked a wedding where catering was done in-house, but The Andale Arms’ chef, Lorcan, was both talented and pleasant.
He’d made Hannah a plate of beef wellington, roasted carrots and dauphinoise potatoes without being asked, and she’d relished every bite – though Marc had eyed her resentfully as he sailed past the kitchen, staring as if her eating Lorcan’s food was an act of treason.
He was now more than halfway through his set, and – to her horror – it had so far included every single song he’d cryptically posted on his social media channels since she finished with him.
If anyone had noticed the dismal ‘In Your Bed’ wasn’t exactly wedding-appropriate, they were too polite to mention it.
As the end of the night approached, Hannah began to wonder how she’d get out of the pub before Marc could try and speak to her. She now felt certain he would, and the idea of being cornered by him again made her more nervous than she’d ever admit out loud.
Unbidden, the memory of Jude defending her from him drifted into her mind’s eye.
Her heart lifted as she recalled the instant relief she’d felt at the sight of him, even though they were nothing to each other anymore.
Her insides seemed to go warm, liquid, as she pictured the hard, blazing look he’d had on his face when he said, ‘Can you step away from her, please?’ In her head, she heard the words again – spoken in the cut-glass voice she’d initially ridiculed, but which had begun doing strange and wonderful things to her stomach as she got older.
For a split second, Hannah let herself wish Jude was here right now; behind her or beside her, so she didn’t need to feel so uneasy. Stupid, she thought, shoving the notion away. You don’t need anyone else to get you through this. She was irate with herself for coming so close to missing him.
The bar manager rang the bell for last orders, and Marc announced that the next number would be the band’s final song. Hannah rejoiced. Given it was for the venue to organise the breakdown and clean-up of today’s wedding, she could credibly take this as her cue to leave.