by Lynda Renham
‘I remember,’ I lie, although I couldn’t for the life of me remember anyone who had a stroke and had a son named Jack who was, Oh God, what is he?
‘What did you say he did?’ I ask, holding my breath.
‘I didn’t dear, but he owns his own company and is very comfortable. He is a scrap metal merchant.’
Bloody hell.
‘Wonderful,’ I mumble, grabbing more potatoes. Exactly what I need, a rich fashionable scrap metal merchant named Jack Russell.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I cannot believe I have agreed to allow my mother to set me up with her friend’s son. I really am not in the least bit interested in men, unless you count Christian, and I unashamedly spent the whole of last night on Google, trying to find as many photos of him as I could. I had hoped I would find out if he was still with Claudine, but all I get are photos of him and photos of his houses. One night, I almost phoned Simon to ask him and just stopped myself in time. It seems that Simon has been seeing something of Kaz although she is being very cagey about it all, and insists they are just friends.
‘I’m a shoulder to cry on, you know how it is,’ she had said airily.
That is all very well but shouldn’t her shoulder be for me? It is Saturday morning and I am to meet the very eligible Jack. I let out a deep sigh and wander into the bathroom to get ready. I really should make an effort. After all, I am well aware that Christian is not interested in me. I am not his type. He is probably preparing for his own wedding this very minute. I cannot even check Claudine’s Facebook page anymore as she has made it very private. Twenty minutes later dressed in jeans and one of the blouses I bought from the French supermarket, I set off to the Methodist church hall, where the fund raiser is to be held. I must make every effort to like Jack. The Methodist hall looks quite jolly with the bunting outside. Two boys shake their collection boxes and stand like sentinels at the doorway.
‘Help raise money for the blind,’ they chorus.
I give them a friendly smile and walk through the entrance door to the hall. I smile at the vicar who looks absently at me.
‘Ah, here she is,’ declares my mother, before I can even take a breath.
The Methodist hall smells of damp and freshly sprayed pledge. I force a smile and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and wonder what on earth was being said before the ‘Here she is,’ announcement.
‘Hello everyone,’ I say, nervously, to a sea of smiling faces, all women, thank God. Maybe he couldn’t make it after all, I think hopefully. I recognise some of Mother’s Women’s Institute friends and shudder. Three of them swarm down upon me and I feel myself getting claustrophobic. A lady with blue hair leans close to my face and I splutter as her sickly perfume catches in my throat.
‘We are all so sorry dear,’ she says loudly, and I feel colour enter my cheeks.
I splutter loudly.
‘Your perfume,’ I explain, blowing noisily into a tissue.
‘Timeless, by Avon,’ she says proudly. ‘I have a catalogue; I’ll give it to your mother shall I?’
Good God, no. I fight back the impulse to tell her, it certainly is timeless.
‘Lovely, thank you, that is so kind,’ I say forcing a smile.
‘It must have been so hard for you, being jilted like that,’ her friend chimes in. What? Wait till I get my hands on my mother. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out.
‘Where do you want these?’ booms a man’s voice.
Oh no. A man who I sense is the eligible Jack Russell, walks from the kitchen, carrying a large tray of teas. His thick gold bangle clangs noisily against the metal tray.
‘Oh ‘ello,’ he says on seeing me, and I see my mother cringe ever so slightly. Oh please, don’t be Jack Russell.
‘Ah, Annabel…’ says my mother, eager to rescue me from the blue hair brigade. ‘This is Corinne’s son, Jack.’
She smiles widely and he holds out his hand.
‘It is nice to meet you Annabel, I’m Jack Russell.’
I begin to scream hysterically at this point, much to my mother’s horror and Jack’s disappointment. I attempt pointing to the wall behind him but his red face suggests he thinks I am pointing at him and obviously screaming with amusement at his ludicrous name. Well, let’s be honest, it is ludicrous but even I have better manners than that.
‘Oh someone, please, kill that huge spider,’ I cry, expecting, of course that the someone, will be Jack.
He freezes and, to my dismay, jumps forward, almost sending me flying.
‘Oh God, is it massive?’ he asks through trembling lips.
Before I can answer him, Mother has scooped the spider into her hand and shaking her head walks past us.
‘Really,’ she scoffs.
Jack sighs with relief and with great gusto holds out his hand which I politely take. Oh dear, do I need a man who is afraid of spiders?
‘Nice to meet you,’ he smiles.
I pull my eyes away from the heavy gold bangle and rub my hand where his gold signet ring had dug into it.
‘Hello,’ I smile sweetly. ‘Are you helping too?’
He laughs loudly, exposing slightly crooked, white dazzling teeth and a gold filling. Good Lord, the man has gold everywhere.
‘Sure am.’
‘Yes,’ answers my mother. ‘Isn’t that lovely of him?’
‘Lovely,’ I echo looking around for an escape route.
Mother nudges me gently in the ribs and wanders off. I politely excuse myself also and rush out the back to help bring in the auction items. I grab her arm roughly.
‘Did you tell the women at the WI that I got jilted at the altar?’ I ask crossly.
She bites her lip and looks shamefaced.
‘Well, I couldn’t say you did it could I? Not after I had spent so much money on the dress. Anyway, don’t think about all that. Come and meet Colin, he is running the auction.’
‘Mother, how could you?’ I say miserably and edge towards Colin who I recognise from the local Waitrose store.
‘Colin, this is my daughter Bels, she will be doing the introduction to the dress. You must know Colin, he is the manager of our Waitrose store and he has made a generous donation to our cause.’
I look suitably impressed.
‘Ah, you will be doing the introduction to the mother of the bride dress, wonderful,’ he says slapping me on the shoulder. I look crossly at Mother.
‘Does everyone know? Well, I am certainly not introducing it as ‘the mother of the bride’ dress, so forget it,’ I mumble but she has already walked away.
I spend the next twenty minutes setting up her stall. Jack helps his mother with her things and doesn’t even glance my way. Relieved that he does not seem interested in me, I begin to relax and help price up the last few bits for Mother’s stand.
‘Jack has agreed to bid against you for the dress, you know, just to get it started,’ whispers Mother as the auction begins.
I whirl round to face her.
‘How much is he bidding? I need to know when to stop,’ I hiss back.
She looks baffled. Oh great. I find a quiet corner and sit with my head bowed until Mother calls me up to introduce the Stella McCartney dress. The hall is almost packed now and I climb onto the stage. Jack gives me a little wave.
‘I bid twenty-five pounds,’ shouts a lady sitting at the front.
Mother gives her a look to kill.
‘Martha, you have to wait until we start the bidding. Bels has to give an introduction first.’ She nods at me.
I cough slightly and then launch into my boring little speech to which Jack applauds very loudly before I have finished. Luckily the bidding goes very well and I begin to think I may not have to spend any money after all.
‘Good, I have forty-five pounds and I know it will look really good on you Mabel, now who will bid me fifty?’ shouts Colin.
The vicar, sitting in front of me, suddenly raises his hand. I wonder who on earth he can be bidding for.
; ‘Thank you vicar, fifty pounds it is. Do I have fifty-five?’
I think fifty pounds is great until my mother nudges me.
‘Go on, bid.’
Bugger, do I really have to? I raise my hand gingerly but Colin still spots it.
‘Fifty-five pounds for the mother of the bride dress and a bid from the bride herself no less, what an unlikely turn of events that is everybody. Do I hear sixty?’
I slide down in my seat. Jack’s hand shoots up and he winks at me.
‘Sixty, wonderful, thank you Jack. Who is going to give me sixty-five?’
I look warily to my mother who encourages me to bid sixty-five. Jack, then, of course, bids seventy. Good God, I cannot bid seventy-five pounds for this stupid dress. Before I even have time to think, Mother is raising my hand.
‘Shit, what are you doing?’ I hiss, pulling it back.
‘Seventy-five pounds, thank you. Anymore, do I hear any more?’
Oh please.
‘No, sold then, to the bride herself no less.’ Colin slams down the hammer.
‘Oh Jesus Christ!’ I say loudly.
The vicar squirms in his seat and turns to glare at me.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble, feeling my face grow hot.
Shit, shit.
‘Congratulations, you have just bought yourself a Stella McCartney dress,’ says Colin, carefully handing the bloody thing to me.
‘Well done, I didn’t quite make it,’ smiles Jack. I find myself grinning back through gritted teeth.
‘It’s for a good cause,’ my mother reminds me.
I waltz over to the cold drinks stall and pour myself an orange juice.
‘Your mother tells me, you could do with some cheering up.’
Jack has followed me, and I swear I can feel his breath on my neck. I turn quickly and bang my hand on his bracelet. He is flattening his hair down with his hand and I spy a small bald patch.
‘Oh I am fine, honestly,’ I stammer.
‘No, seriously, I could do with some cheering up too. Maybe you would like to come out to dinner after this is over. I know a great place, they do the best steak and often there are famous people eating there. Do you like steak? It usually comes with new potatoes and stuff but you can have chips.’
I am staring open-mouthed at him. He slaps his cheek.
‘Blimey O’Riley, are you one of them vegetarians? I mean, that’s okay, they do good veg too, and they know me there so they will make a good dinner.’
I close my mouth and swallow. A good dinner! Mother stands behind him and nods.
‘Erm, actually I had something…’
‘Else in mind,’ interrupts Mother coming to stand beside me. ‘Bels was thinking of another restaurant weren’t you darling?’
I was? I look wide-eyed at her.
‘I think she would like this place. Famous people go there,’ Jack asserts.
Oh well then, it must be good if famous people go there. What sodding famous people is he talking about?
‘Won’t be a sec,’ I smile, grabbing my mother and pulling her into the loo.
‘Are you mad? I can’t go out with him. Have you looked at him? He is dripping with gold. It is worse than being with Del Boy and besides, Dad was quite right, he really is not my type.’
‘For goodness sake, Annabel, are you in a position to be picky? We can’t have you on the shelf, now can we? People will talk. I’ve told you already it is just like riding a horse. You fall off and you just get back on again.’
‘It was a bicycle the other night. And I don’t care if people talk.’
I splash cold water on my face.
‘One dinner won’t hurt, and it will do you good to get out for an evening. It is only one date after all, and he does like you, and he is comfortable. You could do a lot worse Annabel. You haven’t given the poor man a chance.’
There is no way my mother is going to let this go, sometimes she is like a dog with a bone. I sense I am not going to win this one. I exhale and dab my face dry with the tea towel she offers.
‘Okay, but just the one date. I will give him a fair chance but that is it.’
She gives a relieved smile and walks out ahead of me. So dinner is arranged. Mother tells Jack to collect me from home. I stand beaming like a beacon until my face aches, while wondering what I am letting myself in for. The afternoon is a blur of fairy cakes and bunting. I had managed to avoid eligible Jack and every time I tried to get a sneaky look at him, I found he was staring at me. I finally convince myself that a night out will do me good. Feeling that maybe the whole thing was not such a bad idea after all, I drag home the Stella McCartney dress and prepare to get ready for dinner, with Jack, while telling myself that a new man in my life is the only way to forget Christian.
I hear the phone shrilling as I turn the key in the lock and fly through the doorway, almost falling over the hem of the Stella McCartney dress.
‘Hello,’ I shout breathlessly into the mouthpiece.
‘It’s me Kaz.’
I sigh. I never understand why she always has to say, ‘it’s me, Kaz’
‘Put the television on,’ she instructs.
I switch on the TV, throw the dress on the couch and walk to the bathroom.
‘Designing houses is in my blood.’
The familiar voice stops me in my tracks and I turn to see Christian smiling back at me from my television screen.
‘They are doing a feature on him,’ shouts Kaz, excitedly.
I flop onto the couch and watch as Christian lays out designs in front of the presenter. My heart is thumping and I have to clasp my hands around the phone to stop them shaking.
‘These, of course, are the designs for the footballer Bryan…’ the presenter says but I barely hear him. Christian is now looking straight at me. Oh my God, I never realised how much I missed him.
‘In the programme tonight we are looking at dream homes and in particular the work of designer architect, Christian Lloyd.’ The presenter is smiling at Christian.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t know,’ Kaz shouts again, obviously concerned that I have not replied.
‘I… How did you know about it?’ I ask finally.
‘Simon told me,’ she squeals.
‘He didn’t tell me,’ I retort, sounding like a spoilt child.
She makes a clucking noise into the phone. I hang up after telling her I need to get changed. I click on the record button and reluctantly turn the television off. After all, there is no point dwelling on something I cannot have. I turn back to double check it is recording and finally get changed.
Christian
‘You can’t possibly wear lavender honey, it just don’t suit you.’
Claudine’s face drops and I pour more whisky. The wedding plans are more complicated than any building plan I’ve seen. George holds out his glass and I pour whisky into it even though Stella is giving me a stern look. Why we couldn’t have had lunch while discussing wedding preparations is beyond me. But the women are on a pre-wedding diet it seems and George, well George just does as he’s told. I offer him some crisps but he dutifully refuses after getting a look from Stella that would seriously have scared me, and that’s saying something.
‘Now, darling, I don’t want you getting drunk. You need to know your part in the proceedings.’ Her sweet voice belies the sharp look she gives us both. Claudine smiles nervously at me.
‘Don't worry ’bout the mule woman, just load the wagon,’ George retorts knocking back the liquid. Jesus, why can’t these people speak English? This Texan drawl of Claudine’s parents is a language all of its own. I raise my eyebrows and Claudine giggles.
‘Are there many mules coming to this wedding? It’s just I thought we might have it in France and I will need to get some stables set up,’ I say tongue in cheek.
‘Honey, we all agreed we can’t have it in France,’ says Claudine her bottom lip trembling.
‘Who’s all? I didn’t agree anything.’
‘Look, Chris
ty, can I call you Christy?’ asks George.
I smile.
‘Not if you expect me to answer.’
Claudine sighs and shoots me a dirty look. George shifts in his seat.
‘Look Chris, Stella has kind of set her heart on having it at the ranch.’
Has she indeed.
‘I just about told everyone, and it’s what my Claudine wants,’ chips in Stella.
‘Well, Claudine and I are still discussing it so I guess the decision has not really been made yet.’
Stella stands up suddenly.
‘Well, we understood that it would be at the ranch. You did say it was settled Claudine.’
‘Ah, well as you might say, ‘Just because a chicken has wings doesn't mean it can fly’,’ I say standing up also.
I put my arms around Claudine and kiss her softly.
‘I’m just going to make a phone call. Why don’t you discuss all the other arrangements with your parents, like the invites and stuff? We can talk about the venue later.’
I ignore their dirty looks and sigh as I close my office door. I make several phone calls to France to check on the house, finish my accounts while keeping one ear cocked for when the front door closes. This is the third meeting Claudine has had with her parents about the wedding and each time we seem to get no further. Finally the door bangs and Claudine pops her head round.
‘I’m just going to have a shower. Do you want to order some lunch from Barney’s? I’m starving. We can have a chat over lunch if you like and then watch your programme. I recorded it last night.’
I pull a face. Sounds like fun, I don’t think. I nod and scroll down my contacts for Barney’s number and find myself scrolling just a bit further to Bels. It’s been weeks since the wedding was called off and I stupidly thought she might phone me. It wouldn’t be hard to get my number. The office number is on the web. Obviously my stupid concerns that she called off the wedding because of me were unfounded. Does she ever wonder about me? This is damn stupid, not calling her. We were friends after all. We got on well. It seems crazy not to give her a call. I scroll into her number and press call, only to quickly click disconnect. Lord, how many times have I done that now in the past few weeks? What the hell am I doing? I’m still engaged for pity’s sake. I shake my head and put the phone on the table only to pick it up again a few seconds later. I could text her, ask how she is. For goodness sake, how stupid is this? There is no harm in calling a friend is there? I press call again and listen to the ringing tone…