by Lisa Hill
‘Fab, thanks,’ she said, pulling her gaze away and continuing to the church. She had wedged the heavy, oak, arched door open and enjoyed the coolness inside as she stepped over the threshold and dumped another box on the table.
‘Gosh, smell that,’ Jack said, a moment later, dipping his head under the ancient doorway which didn’t quite accommodate his six-foot-two-inch frame.
‘Splendid, isn’t it?’ Pamela rested her hands on her hips and looked out at the long trestle table, abundant with box after box of pastel colour stocks. Her shoulders slumped. ‘I’ve just got to decorate every pew end now, not to mention the font.’
‘What?’ Jack sounded incredulous on her behalf. ‘All on yer own?’
She nodded. ‘It’s my contribution; Lottie’s helped Rebecca with most of the organising, and there’s a marquee going up in the garden at the Old Rectory.’ She paused, to consider the fact she no longer called it ‘home’. Edward was overseeing the marquee, so she wanted to stay well away. This wedding seemed to have thrown them together even more; suit fittings and family get togethers in the pub to go through arrangements. She saw more of Edward now than when they lived together.
And she didn’t like it.
‘Want a hand?’ Jack asked, his fingers twitching as if he couldn’t wait to get going on bundling up the stocks.
She smiled. This was more like it; an excuse to be with Jack. She was just relieved he’d started talking to her again.
‘Thank you. I was thinking of matching the colours on the end and alternating between pew, so cream, then lilac, then pink, and so on, what do you think?’
‘I dare say it’ll look mighty pretty, not to mention smell beautiful as she walks down the aisle.’
Pamela nodded as she thought about the fact it should have been her walking to the altar tomorrow, not Rebecca.
Jack picked up a flower stem and twiddled it in his hands while he stared at her. As if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get the words out.
‘You know, we were always pushing our luck. Even if Edward hadn’t contracted cancer, he’d have given you a hell’s own job of getting a divorce in three months.’
‘Four,’ she corrected him, mirroring him by fiddling with the nearest flower stem.
‘Either way,’ he said, picking up more stems to arrange into a bouquet, ‘all good things come to those who wait.’
She was pretty sure her heart skipped a beat. It certainly fluttered anyway. That was the most hope he’d given her yet.
‘You waited for me, last year; standing out of the way until Edward did the right thing and left me.’ Pamela heard her words echo back to her around the empty church, as if resonating to her what she was saying.
‘Aye, I did,’ Jack said, picking up a length of garden twine.
‘Is that what I need to do now? Wait for you?’
Jack chuckled as he wrapped the twine around the bunched stems. ‘Excruciating, isn’t it?’
Pamela pursed her lips together and found herself feeling a little spiky. ‘But what are we waiting for?’ She stretched her arms out and a waft of the stocks went up her nose.
Jack concentrated on wrapping the twine and knotting it, his tongue between his teeth, before he finally spoke. ‘This wedding for one. As you say, this should have been our day tomorrow, there’s some loss to grieve there, I reckon.’
‘But you cancelled it!’ Her voice travelled and bounced around the high eaves.
‘Because you’re not truly free and he’s not setting you free, is he?’
The penny dropped. ‘So, what are you saying? That I need to plough on with the divorce regardless of his cancer?’
‘Alleged cancer.’
‘Oh Jack, stop! You’re as bad as Lottie and Mum; they both think he’s lying.’
‘I’ve yet to hear a word of truth pass his lips,’ Jack snapped, throwing his finished bouquet on the table. Petals broke off in every direction and scattered to the floor like confetti.
‘Oh, Jack if you keep doing that, we’ll have no flowers left!’
‘I’m sorry, Pamela, I thought this was a good idea, to try and build bridges, but clearly I was wrong. I’d best leave you to it,’ he said, turning to leave.
‘Fine, you go, leave me on my own, again,’ she said, trying her best not to break into tears.
He turned around. ‘When have I ever left you on your own? I moved in with Lottie, leaving you with Edward, who you invited to stay—’
‘Which I’ve been regretting every second since!’ she shrieked. ‘I will prove it to you, Jack! I love you and I want us to be together!’
‘Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it,’ he said, his shoulders relaxing at her romantic declaration.
‘I’ve organised a protest! I want to prove to you how much you mean to me; what else can I do to prove how much you mean to me? That’s my family’s project I’m going to protest against; what more do you want?’ She looked into his eyes and was surprised to see those once sparkly blue eyes, which had once attracted her to him so strongly, looking watery.
‘Just you,’ he whispered. ‘Not Edward, nor James, nor Hardwickes. Just you, Pamela.’
She swallowed hard. ‘So, you want me to divorce the lot?’
He managed a gentle smile. ‘Not the lot. Just disentangle yourself. That’s all I want, so we can live our lives.’
She nodded as she batted back tears. ‘Okay. I’m going to prove it to you, Jack, I am.’ She so wanted him to reach out and embrace her, protect her in his welcoming arms, but they weren’t forthcoming.
‘Right then, two heads are better than one; let’s crack on and get these flowers sorted so you can get home and paint your nails or perm your ears, whatever you need to do to get yourself ready for tomorrow.’
She smiled through her welling eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she said, bending over the flowers so he couldn’t see her escaping tears.
It wasn’t a declaration of love from him, it wasn’t the comfort of his welcoming arms, but it was an offer of friendship and support. Which was the foundations for any good relationship. She just needed to prove how much she really loved him.
Chapter Sixty-Two
This was it. This was his day, their day, and he intended to enjoy every second of it. The Wedding March started on the organ, being played by Hilary Preston-Jones, and the congregation stood. James straightened his tie one last time and turned excitedly to see the woman who was going to be his wife make her entrance.
‘Nervous?’ Drew, standing next to him, whispered.
‘Never been more certain about anything in my entire life,’ James said, not taking his gaze away from the end of the aisle. His smile dropped as he watched an angry Tom Thorpe, suited and booted, rush in and say something to Hilary. The music abruptly stopped. The wedding guests gasped and began to whisper to one another in hushed tones.
Without thinking James strode up the aisle.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ he asked, ready for a fight if it came to it. This was his moment and Tom was ruining it.
‘I could ask you the same thing!’ Tom said, his thick, Yorkshire accent aggressive. He seemed more like one of his on-screen characters than the Tom James had come to know.
‘I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about; all I know is you’re ruining my wedding!’ James said through gritted teeth, trying hard to control his temper.
‘Aye, a bit like you did mine. But, actually, it’s you who’s ruining your own wedding! You’re conniving bastards, you Hardwickes.’
James turned, frowning, to Drew who had followed him up the aisle.
‘Mate, we don’t know what you’re on about,’ Drew said, placing his hands on his hips so his tailcoat fanned out behind him.
Tom’s face dropped. ‘You really don’t know, do you?’
‘Know what?’ Hilary said, coming over to join them, looking very matronly in her royal blue shirtdress.
The clicking of heels up the flagstones herald
ed Edward. James watched Tom’s expression turn to one of distaste and defiance, an expression only an actor could pull off.
He shook his head. ‘You really are a piece of something,’ he said, addressing Edward. ‘Using your own son’s wedding day to get your own way.’
James turned to Edward to see his trademark grin lingering around his lips. His heart sank.
‘Dad,’ James said, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. ‘What have you done now?’ His mind travelled to Rebecca, probably standing outside the church, looking perfect, no doubt, and growing increasingly anxious by this overdramatic hold-up.
‘Nothing I’m not within my rights to do.’
James raised his eyebrows, hoping Edward would elaborate without him having to speak any further. He wasn’t sure he could talk, he felt so angry.
‘He’s starting the construction work on the new development today.’ Tom spat.
The gathering of guests gasped.
‘What?’ James shouted. ‘Today?!’ he watched as the utter look of disgust he was giving his father was reflected on Drew’s face too.
‘I don’t know what the big deal is.’ Edward breezed. ‘The planning’s all been approved; it was only a matter of time before I got contractors in to begin scoping out the foundations.’
‘On a Saturday?’ Drew said, incredulously.
‘You’ve done this on purpose,’ Tom snarled. ‘The perfect opportunity while the rest of the village is getting merry at a wedding!’
There were lots of nods and murmurings of agreement from the wedding guests.
Edward shrugged. ‘I’ve got approval, I’ve got plans in place, now I just need some foundations laying.’
‘You know VOCAB has put in an appeal to the approval? You’re meant to wait thirty days for a final say and we’re only on day twenty-eight!’ Tom shouted.
‘How diligent of you to count, Mr Thorpe,’ Edward said, coolly.
There was a hurried click-clack of stilettos up the aisle before Pamela burst through between Edward and Drew.
She looked up at Edward. ‘Is this true?’ she hissed. ‘Have you really gone and done this, on our son’s wedding day?’
Edward looked away and said nothing.
‘You are unbelievable, Edward!’
‘Look,’ Edward said, calmly. ‘The appeal runs out on Monday, which is a grey area, isn’t it? Does it actually run out at midnight on Sunday, after the twenty-ninth day, or eleven-fifty-nine-pm on Monday, the thirtieth day?’
‘Well, the thirtieth day, obviously,’ said Tom.
‘I don’t agree,’ Edward said, matter of factly. ‘And while I have an agreement in place to proceed, I’m proceeding.’
The church door creaked and Lottie shimmied in, the material of her lilac Matron of Honour’s dress, swishing as she tottered in metallic, peep toe stilettos.
‘Would anyone like to tell me what the heck is going on?’ she whispered, furiously. She looked how James felt; piping.
‘Dad’s done his normal narcissistic thing and made the wedding all about him,’ James sighed, realising he should have seen this one coming.
‘I object to that James, I’m here, not working.’
‘What’s he done?’ Lottie asked.
‘Got the diggers in, down at the development site,’ said Drew.
Lottie’s shoulders slumped. ‘Oh Edward! Why do you do this?’
James was surprised to hear an element of sympathy in Lottie’s voice. ‘I’ve got Rebecca all het up outside, coming out in hives, wondering what the hell—’
‘Lottie, language please, we’re in God’s house,’ Hilary interjected.
‘Sorry.’ Lottie blushed. ‘Well, she’s worried James is changing his mind. Or,’ she said, looking at Tom, ‘wondering if someone is trying to change it for him.’
‘Sorry, Lottie.’ Tom raked his hand through his hair. ‘But I had to challenge Edward.’
‘It could have waited until after the service!’ Lottie bellowed. ‘A bit like the matter I’d like to discuss with you, Edward.’
‘No, it couldn’t and I’m sorry,’ Tom looked over in Jude’s direction who was sitting on the bride’s side with Jacob, Emily and Rory, ‘but I’m going to have to bow out of being your guest and go down there and see if I can stop it myself.’
‘Oh, no you won’t,’ Edward said firmly, taking one step forward, quickly blocked by Pamela’s petite frame.
‘Stay there, Mister.’ Pamela put her hand up. ‘I’m coming with you, Tom.’
‘Yer what?’ Jack, who had thus far been surprisingly quiet, took one step out of the pew where he had been sitting with Audrey, Jean and Mike, towards Pamela. ‘You can’t go down to a muddy field dressed like that.’
‘If it will prove how much you mean to me, Jack, then, yes I can.’ She turned to James. ‘Sorry, darling, but I’m going with Tom.’
James swallowed hard. To say he was fucked off was an understatement. But he was fucked off with his father, not his mother.
He nodded, saying nothing as Pamela gave him a meaningful smile, kissed him on the cheek and tottered after Tom out of the church.
‘Wait!’ Jack called.
‘Oh, no you don’t!’ Lottie said standing in front of him. ‘We’ve just lost two guests; we’re not losing any more.’
James watched Jack’s jawline clench but, remarkably, he quietly fell into line, returning to his place next to Audrey.
‘You, on the other hand,’ Lottie said, directly to Edward, ‘can go and sort this mess out.’
‘Lottie, there’s nothing to sort out. I—’
Lottie raised the bouquet of tumbling pastel flowers she was carrying in her hand to stop him. ‘Enough! This is James and Rebecca’s day; not yours. We’ll discuss your situation later, when you’ve sorted this out.’
Edward frowned. ‘Situation?’
She raised her face in defiance to him, as if she knew something no-one else was privy to. She leaned into him. ‘If you want to retain some sense of self-preservation, you’ll call the diggers off.’
They stared each other out.
‘You’d be doing Rebecca a favour too,’ Lottie added.
‘Right you are. Now James won’t have either of his parents here to see him married, but be it on your own head, Lottie,’ Edward said curtly, brushing Lottie’s shoulder as he moved past her, his hands behind his back, towards the church door.
James breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
‘See,’ Drew said, clapping James on the back, ‘I said you should have been nervous.’
***
Louise checked her watched again and mentally ran through what she needed to do. It was quarter-past-twelve; the ceremony should be almost half-way through by now. Megan and Cerys had been despatched to start pouring out glasses of soft drinks and Duncan was going to open the bottles of champagne the moment the first guests arrived, to ensure the bubbly remained chilled.
Duncan. She had tried everything in her power to avoid him the past couple of weeks, but it had been difficult when they were involved with planning a wedding together. She’d taken the precaution of bringing Johnnie along to every meeting but that had only served as a reminder as to why she was beginning to detest Johnnie. He was so condescending towards Duncan, patronising, even. It had served as a valuable lesson to Louise, however. She had begun to see Johnnie for what he really was; his heart was in the right place, but he was so judgemental. Duncan ran his own business, why were they superior for running a shop not a pub? She had focused on building up her cake orders and had at least two a month booked in between now and next May when she had agreed on a maximum of six per month, over the busy wedding season. The benefit of making wedding cakes – although she did feel guilty about it – was how much she could charge. The going rate seemed to be five hundred pounds, but Debbie, who she had met at Tom and Jude’s wedding, was willing to pay up to one thousand pounds for her daughter’s wedding cake which, even after she’d forked out for ingredients, still left her
with enough money to comfortably live off. But where would she make the cakes, if she left Johnnie? That was the current dilemma allowing her to prevaricate further about leaving Johnnie.
She had to concede; she was willingly putting obstacles in her way.
‘Right,’ Johnnie said, appearing from nowhere, clapping his hand together.
That feeling of guilt washed over her again and she forced herself to remember that he couldn’t read her thoughts.
‘Right, what?’
‘Just checking we’re good to go with the canapés? Can’t imagine it’ll be long before the first guests begin wending their way up from the church.’
‘Yes, Johnnie, I do have all the canapés ready to go,’ Louise said, trying to unclench her jaw as she spoke, ‘however, it is customary to wait until the bride and groom arrive, so they get to sample the food first.’
‘Fine, have it your way.’
Inside her head, she was screaming. Either he had worsened these past few months, or her patience had waned. She couldn’t decide which it was. She had an unsettling feeling that it would be just like when they’d catered for Tom and Jude. Perhaps that was it, perhaps that was the real tipping point. When she’d actually begun to recognise that, after nearly twenty years, Johnnie wasn’t quite the supportive, doting husband she’d always billed him as being in her head.
‘Johnnie!’
They both turned to see a thunderous Tom duck through the slit in the marquee lining, followed by Pamela, looking very glamourous and determined behind him.
‘Yes?’
‘You need to come with us.’
It was an instruction not an invitation.
‘He can’t come with you now!’ Louise cried. ‘We’ve got one hundred and fifty hungry guests arriving in the next thirty minutes.’
Pamela put her hand on Louise’s forearm. ‘Probably more like forty-five minutes now, especially when they’ve got to take photos first. There was a bit of delay starting the wedding.’
Louise frowned. After everything Rebecca had gone through surely she hadn’t got cold feet? ‘Why do I feel this might have something to do with Edward?’