23. Chapter 23
Lucy’s legs conveyed her without further stumbles to the door of the marquee, where a cluster of people at the entrance were being directed to their seats by the shy waiter with the train-track braces. He saw Lucy at the same moment that she spotted him and his face flamed.
‘Oh, heavenly fucking saints preserve me,’ Lucy muttered, and spun round to find another way in only to cannon back into Jack.
‘Can’t go that way,’ she hissed, trying to shove him backwards. ‘It’s that waiter from last night.’
Jack peered down the queue and burst out laughing.
‘Luce, we can’t avoid him all day. And I’m sure,’ he said, pulling her by the wrist back into the queue, ‘he’s seen worse.’
Lucy had a flashback to the kiss last night, to Jack’s hands on her bottom, her hands pulling him closer. She wondered how much further they would have gone if someone hadn’t interrupted them and felt her cheeks flame.
‘I’m not sure about that,’ she muttered, trying to hide behind Jack.
‘Brazen it out,’ Jack said. ‘Nothing we can do about it. I think he’s more embarrassed than we are.’
‘Than you are,’ Lucy corrected him. ‘I’m not used to getting felt up in dark hotel corners.’
‘Could’ve fooled me,’ came the reply, as they shuffled forwards in the queue.
There was just one couple in front of them now.
Lucy chose the only reasonable course of action, per Jack’s advice. She tipped her chin up and adopted her most haughty expression. When they reached the front, the young man looked everywhere but at them and had lost the power of speech.
Helping him out, Jack announced, ‘Good afternoon, we’re Lucy Carmell and Jack Bryant.’
The boy studied the chart, swallowed twice, and in a voice so quiet Jack had to lean in to hear him, explained where their table was.
‘Great, thank you,’ Jack said and moved off.
Lucy, nose in the air, said in her haughtiest Lady of the Manor voice, ‘Thank you, young man, very good,’ and scuttled after Jack as fast as her uncoordinated legs would carry her.
They shimmied between the tables in the huge marquee. Guests milled about, squinting at place settings for their names, grabbing passing waiting staff to ask for water. Great swags of lavender fabric adorned the roof, intertwined with fairy lights. Floral centrepieces squatted on every table - white roses, lavender, peonies and stocks with swirls of lavender ribbon. The sweet, cloying smell of the flowers as they sweated in the heat wafted under Lucy’s nose as they navigated the table layout. Lavender-coloured helium balloons rose from the middle of the flowers, and clumps of lavender and silver confetti were scattered on every available surface.
‘What’s your mother’s favourite colour?’ Jack asked over his shoulder as they sashayed their way through the tables.
Lucy, still in haughty mode, retorted, ‘Don’t be rude’, and poked him in the back.
‘Here we are,’ Jack said, stopping at a table and waving a name card at her.
Lucy peered at the people they were with.
‘As I suspected,’ she said. ‘We’re with Heather and Mark and the kids and….’ She read another name card, ‘Nanna.’
She started swapping some name cards around.
‘What are you doing?’ Jack asked.
‘I’m putting the kids and Mark between me and Heather,’ she said, as she hurried about the table.
‘Surely you two will be okay today?’
‘I don’t want to sit next to her,’ Lucy said, as she placed the cards. ‘This is supposed to be a happy day—or as happy as is possible in this family—and I’d rather not sit next to all that negative Heather energy.’
‘Hey,’ Jack said, and took her by the shoulders. ‘That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To support you.’ He squeezed her arms. ‘That and to tell you when you’ve got lipstick on your teeth.’
‘Oh god. I’ve got lipstick on my teeth?’ Lucy’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Where is it?’ she whispered to Jack through her fingers. ‘Is it right at the front?’ She rubbed her teeth. ‘Is it bad? Has it gone?’
‘I didn’t say you do have lipstick on your teeth,’ Jack said, grinning. ‘I said that was one of the functions I can fulfil—’
‘You fucker….’
‘––in the event that it happens.’
Lucy was rooting in her bag for a mirror.
‘I don’t trust you now,’ she said, peering at her teeth in the tiny compact.
‘Which it hasn’t.’ Jack pulled out his chair and took a seat. ‘Yet.’
Lucy plumped down in the chair next to him and kicked her shoes off under the table.
Heather, Mark and the kids arrived. Mark kissed Lucy on the cheek, ‘Looking lovely,’ he said warmly, and shook Jack’s hand. ‘Good to see you again.’
‘Hi, Aunty Lucy,’ the boys chorused shyly, and covered her with hot, sticky arms.
Lucy laughed and kissed the tops of their heads. ‘Hello, darlings. Are you having a good day?’
‘Yes,’ Thomas said, all expected politeness.
‘No,’ Peter said, in a sullen tone, bottom lip as far out as he could stick it.
He had his shirt on again. Mark laughed and coaxed them to their places.
‘Hello Lucy,’ Heather said, coolly air kissing her about a foot away from her face.
‘Hello,’ Lucy said. Then, to make an effort, she added, ‘Nice dress.’
It wasn’t Lucy’s taste at all, being a rather formal cut with a stiff collar, but it was an easy way to offer an olive branch.
‘Thank you,’ Heather acknowledged stiffly. ‘It’s a Susan San Pierre.’
Lucy had no idea what that meant, but the information offered meant Heather was thawing slightly, so Lucy said, ‘oooh’ and poured them both some wine.
‘You did that reading beautifully,’ Lucy said, sipping her wine. ‘Jack thought so too, didn’t you?’
She kicked him under the table and he nodded.
‘Well,’ Heather gave a demure smile and nodded, ‘that’s nice of you to both say so. I did,’ Lucy sensed her sister defrosting, ‘I did practice, rather a lot, to find the rhythm of the words. I wanted to find the natural musicality in the piece and be guided by it.’
Lucy took a swig of wine and organised her features into an earnest expression of interest. ‘I think you did.’ She nodded.
‘And I researched Emily Bronte, too.’
Of course you did.Lucy topped up her glass.
‘Did you know that—’
‘Darling,’ Mark interjected. ‘Do we have a clean top for Peter?’
Peter, realising that he would never win the battle to keep his shirt off while it was clean, had chosen destruction. He smiled as he sucked at the red wine soaking his shirt.
***
The speeches passed without incident. Dave gave a suitably humorous speech at Ollie’s expense, and Valerie smiled with her mouth only as Dave told stories about her son that she could never unhear. The DJ was setting up, plates were being cleared, and guests were shambling over to the bar or beckoning passing waiting staff. Mark and Heather had given up trying to keep the boys still any longer and had gone into the gardens, while Jack headed to the bar.
Nanna had cornered Lucy. She was on at least her third rum and coke––‘Rum thins the blood, dearie’–– and her false teeth were starting to slip as she spoke. She dug through a collection of tissues in a string bag hanging off her walking frame and dabbed at her mouth.
‘It’s the heat,’ she said, as her hand shook a little.
It’s the three rums and two glasses of champagne,Lucy thought, but kept it to herself.
‘So you think they’ll make it?’ she asked Nanna, nodding at Ollie and Sophie who were across the room, perched on the edge of the head table. Sophie whispered something to Ollie, and he burst out laughing and kissed her nose.
Nanna followed her gaze with watery eyes and dropped her tissue back into her bag.
‘Humph,’ she said. ‘I think they’ve got as good a chance as anyone.’ She reached for her drink. ‘I’ve seen marriages work with less.’
Lucy nodded.
‘On the other hand, hic,’ Nanna said, rubbing an arthritic knee with an arthritic hand, ‘you never know. Someone goes to work one day, meets someone new, and that’s it—poof! Over. That’s what happened to Virgil and wassername… Linda, who your dad went to school with. Linda went to work one day, met some new sales director and was gone within the week. Left Virgil,’ she swung her glass, ‘just like that. Said she hadn’t been happy for a while.’
She slurped another sip of rum and coke. Lucy craned her neck, looking for Jack, but couldn’t see him.
‘And then there’s Carolyne and Steven.’
Nanna waved her drink about, the heavy-bottomed glass pulling her wrist awkwardly to the side. Lucy’s eyes followed it, her own hands poised to catch it.
‘Whatcha doing, girl?’ Nanna suddenly said. ‘Don’t be thinking you can take my drink off me.’
She narrowed her eyes and glared at Lucy.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Nanna,’ Lucy said, resting her hands in her lap. ‘What happened to Carolyne and Steven?’
‘Humph, well,’ Nanna smacked her lips. ‘They fell out of love and would have got divorced but couldn’t afford it.’ Nanna tried to swallow down the hiccups. ‘Couldn’t bear to give up their lovely home so they still live there,’ she said with a sweep of her arm. ‘Been over twenty years now, living in separate parts of the house. They have a rota for using the kitchen.’ She shook her head. ‘Do all their food shopping separately, cook separate meals. Very sad.’ She gulped some more rum. ‘And they were childhood sweethearts,’ she added. ‘So there are no guarantees, my girl,’ she wagged a finger dangerously close to Lucy’s face.
‘And you.’ Nanna banged down her glass suddenly and grabbed Lucy by the wrist, her bony grip surprisingly strong. ‘And that boy you’re with. You’ve got as good a chance as anyone else. I see how he looks at you.’ Nanna nodded and pursed her lips, her blood-red lipstick bleeding into the lines around her mouth. Lucy caught the syrupy spicy smell of the rum on her breath. ‘And how you look at him.’
Lucy blushed.
Nanna stood up shakily and tried to reach across the table for an open bottle of champagne.
‘Nanna, are you sure you—’
‘Pass me the champagne!’ Nanna said brusquely, shaking her head and rapping her knuckles on the table. ‘Tsk, my own granddaughter telling me what to—hic—do.’
Lucy did as she was told. Nana stood, swaying slightly and used both hands to hold the bottle and pour herself some champagne. It sloshed over the glass, but she hissed through her teeth when Lucy tried to help her pour it. Lucy looked round for her father, but he was nowhere to be seen.
‘Your mother,’ Nanna sat down heavily, took a long drink of champagne and smacked her lips, ‘was not who I would have chosen for your father.’
Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. Nanna on champagne had some things to say.
‘No, see, I see your face,’ Nanna said. ‘I knew what she was like—pushy and ambitious. I didn’t like it. She could tell your father was going to make something of himself. He was bright and clever, and people loved him.’ She pressed her hand to her chest. ‘And good looking, like your grandfather who—woo hoo!––was a goer in his time.’
Lucy cringed. ‘Okay, Nanna, maybe we—’
‘I was wrong. Your father needed your mother, or all that cleverness,’ she tapped her head, ‘might not have come to much. Your mother stopped him from only being a dreamer. Made things happen.’
She banged the table again, and Lucy righted the champagne glass before it fell.
‘And you’re like your father,’ Nanna said suddenly, digging her hands into Lucy’s knees and putting her face close to Lucy’s. ‘Oh my girl, you’re just like your father. Bright,’ she tapped Lucy on the head, ‘but soft. You need to show up in life, my girl.’
At that, Nanna necked the last of the champagne.
Lucy spotted her father deep in conversation with Kathleen and waved frantically at him. He looked at her quizzically for a moment, then saw his mother upending the champagne bottle in hopes of another splash. He excused himself and hurried over.
‘Mum,’ he said smoothly as he arrived. ‘Enjoying yourself?’
He pulled a face at Lucy.
‘I am, my boy,’ his mother said in an imperious tone, undermined by the hiccup that followed.
‘Mum, if you’re tired—’
‘Who said anything about being tired? Are you tired?’ She jabbed a finger at Lucy. ‘Didn’t think so. I’m old, James, I’m not tired. I’ve had more practice than anyone here at not being tired.’
James tried to slip his arm through his mother’s. ‘I think some fresh air and a spell on the terrace might be an idea. It’s boiling in here.’ She shook him off. He tried again. ‘I saw the drinks waiters out there just now.’
Nanna grumbled, pulled herself up with the table, and hitched her handbag over her forearm.
Nanna cut a swathe through the dance floor, taking the most direct route from table to terrace. She walked right between one dancing couple, others backing out of the way as she bashed through with her walking frame. Lucy’s dad hovered six steps behind, apologising for any bruised elbows.
The bored waitress drifted by, and Lucy grabbed her and ordered a gin and tonic. The party was by now in full swing, inhibitions flung aside along with jackets, ties, and hats. Mark had ditched his jacket and waistcoat and was dancing to Mambo Number 5 with Peter, who was bouncing around wearing only shorts. Thomas bobbed earnestly on the spot, his dad dance moves even better than Mark’s. Greg and Hannah, one of the bridesmaids, were bumping and grinding on one side of the dance floor, and Georgia had loosened up and was dancing with Dave and the rest of the uni gang.
Lucy still couldn’t see Jack, and then the crowd of dancers parted. He was standing by the bar, deep in conversation with a slender, pretty woman with thick, dark hair.