the veil!”
“Wow,” I say, impressed. And for a second I feel ever so slightly envious. A ?3,000 dress. And a party… and loads of presents… I mean, people who get married have it all.
As I go up the stairs, there’s the sound of blow-drying coming from Mum and Dad’s bedroom — and as I go in, I see Janice sitting on the dressing-room stool, wearing a dressing gown, holding a sherry glass, and dabbing at her eyes with a hanky. Maureen, who’s been doing Mum’s and Janice’s hair for years now, is brandishing a hair dryer at her, and a woman I don’t recognize with a mahogany tan, dyed blond curly hair, and a lilac silk suit is sitting on the window seat.
“Hello, Janice,” I say, going over and giving her a hug. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine, dear,” she says, and gives a sniff. “A little wobbly. You know. To think of Tom getting married!”
“I know,” I say sympathetically. “It doesn’t seem like yesterday that we were kids, riding our bikes together!”
“Have another sherry, Janice,” says Maureen comfortably, and sloshes a deep brown liquid into her glass. “It’ll help you relax.”
“Oh, Becky,” says Janice, and squeezes my hand. “This must be a hard day for you, too.”
I knew it. She does still think I fancy Tom, doesn’t she? Why do all mothers think their sons are irresistible?
“Not really!” I say, as brightly as I can. “I mean, I’m just pleased for Tom. And Lucy, of course…”
“Becky?” The woman on the window seat turns toward me, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “This is Becky?”
And there’s not an ounce of friendliness in her face. Oh God, don’t say she thinks I’m after Tom, too.
“Erm… yes.” I smile at her. “I’m Rebecca Bloomwood. And you must be Lucy’s mother?”
“Yes,” says the woman, still staring at me. “I’m Angela Harrison. Mother of the bride,” she adds, emphasizing “the bride” as though I don’t understand English.
“You must be very excited,” I say politely. “Your daughter getting married.”
“Yes, well, of course, Tom is devoted to Lucy,” she says aggressively. “Utterly devoted. Never looks in any other direction.” She gives me a sharp glance and I smile feebly back.
Honestly, what am I supposed to do? Throw up all over Tom or something? Tell him he’s the ugliest man I’ve ever known? They’d all still just say I was jealous. They’d say I was in denial.
“Is… Luke here, Becky?” says Janice, and gives me a hopeful smile. And suddenly — which is rather bizarre — everyone in the room is completely still, waiting for my answer.
“Not yet, I’m afraid,” I say. “I think he must have been held up.”
There’s silence, and I’m aware of glances flying around the room.
“Held up,” echoes Angela, and there’s a tone to her voice that I don’t much like. “Is that right? Well, there’s a surprise.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
“He’s coming back from Zurich,” I explain. “I should think the flight’s been delayed or something.” I look at Janice and, to my surprise, she flushes.
“Zurich,” she says, nodding a little too emphatically. “I see. Of course. Zurich.” And she shoots me an embarrassed, almost sympathetic look.
What’s wrong with her?
“This is Luke Brandon we’re talking about here,” says Angela, taking a puff on her cigarette. “The famous entrepreneur.”
“Well — yes,” I say, a bit surprised. I mean, I don’t know any other Lukes.
“And he’s your boyfriend.”
“Yes!”
There’s a slightly awkward silence — and even Maureen seems to be gazing at me curiously. Then, suddenly, I see a copy of this month’s Tatler lying on the floor by Janice’s chair. Oh God.
“That article in Tatler, by the way,” I say hastily, “is all wrong. He didn’t say he was single. He said no comment.”
“Article?” says Janice unconvincingly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear.”
“I… I don’t read magazines,” says Maureen, who blushes bright red and looks away.
“We just look forward to meeting him,” says Angela, and blows out a cloud of smoke. “Don’t we, Janice?”
I stare at her in confusion — then turn to Janice, who will barely meet my eye, and Maureen, who’s pretending to root about in a beauty case.
Hang on a minute.
They surely don’t think—
“Janice,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “You know Luke’s coming. He even wrote you a reply!”
“Of course he did, Becky!” says Janice, staring at the floor. “Well — as Angela says, we’re all looking forward to meeting him.”
I feel a swoosh of humiliated color fill my cheeks. What does she think? That I’ve just made up that I’m going out with Luke?
“Well, enjoy your sandwiches, won’t you?” I say, trying not to sound as flustered as I feel. “I’ll just… see if Mum needs me.”
When I find Mum, she’s on the top-floor landing, packing patio cushions into transparent plastic bags, then suctioning all the air out with the nozzle of her vacuum cleaner.
“I’ve some of these bags on order for you, by the way,” she shouts over the noise of the vacuum. “From Country Ways. Plus some turkey foil, a casserole dish, a microwave egg poacher…”
“I don’t want any turkey foil!” I yell.
“It’s not for you!” says Mum, turning off the vacuum. “They had a special offer — introduce a friend and receive a set of earthenware pots. So I nominated you as the friend. It’s a very good catalogue, actually. I’ll give it to you to have a browse.”
“Mum—”
“Lovely duvet covers. I’m sure you could do with a new—”
“Mum, listen!” I say agitatedly. “Listen. You do believe I’m going out with Luke, don’t you?”
There’s a slightly too long pause.
“Of course I do,” she says eventually.
I stare at her in horror.
“You don’t, do you? You all think I’ve just made it up!”
“No!” says Mum firmly. She puts down her hoover and looks me straight in the eye. “Becky, you’ve told us you’re going out with Luke Brandon, and as far as Dad and I are concerned, that’s enough.”
“But Janice and Martin. Do they think I’ve made it up?”
Mum gazes at me — then sighs, and reaches for another patio cushion.
“Oh, Becky. The thing is, love, you have to remember, they once believed you had a stalker. And that turned out to be… well. Not quite true. Didn’t it?”
A cold dismay creeps over me. OK, maybe I did once kind of pretend I had a stalker. Which I shouldn’t have done. But I mean, just because you invent one tiny stalker — that doesn’t make you a complete nutcase, does it?
“And the trouble is, we’ve never actually… well, seen him with you, have we, love?” Mum’s continuing, as she stuffs the cushion into its transparent bag. “Not in the flesh. And then there was that piece in the paper saying he was single…”
“He didn’t say single!” My voice is shrill with frustration. “He said no comment! Mum, have Janice and Martin told you they don’t believe me?”
“No!” Mum lifts her chin defiantly. “They wouldn’t dare say a thing like that to me.”
“But you know that’s what they’re saying behind our backs.”
