going?”
“To be honest, we haven’t done very much,” says Dad as we approach the turning for Oxshott.
“It’s early days yet,” says Mum easily.
“It’s only a wedding,” adds Dad. “People get far too het up about these things in my opinion. You can put it all together at the last minute.”
“Absolutely!” I say in slight relief. “I couldn’t agree more!”
Well, thank goodness for that. I sink back in my seat and feel the anxiety drain out of me. This is going to make everything a lot easier. If they haven’t arranged very much yet, it’ll take no time to call it all off. In fact, it sounds like they’re really not bothered about it. This is going to be fine. I’ve been worrying about nothing!
“Suzie phoned, by the way,” says Mum as we start to get near home. “She said, would you like to meet up later on today? I said I was sure you would… Oh, and I should warn you.” Mum turns in her seat. “Tom and Lucy.”
“Hmm?” I resign myself to hearing the details of the latest kitchen they’ve had put in, or which promotion Lucy has won at work.
“They’ve split up.” Mum lowers her voice, even though it’s just the three of us in the car.
“Split up?” I stare at her, taken aback. “Are you serious? But they’ve only been married for…”
“Not even two years. Janice is devastated, as you can imagine.”
“What happened?” I say blankly, and Mum purses her lips.
“That Lucy ran off with a drummer.”
“A drummer?”
“In a band. Apparently he’s got a pierced…” She pauses disapprovingly, and my mind ranges wildly over all the possibilities, some of which I’m sure Mum’s never heard of. (To be honest, I hadn’t either, till I moved to the West Village.) “Nipple,” she says at last, to my slight relief.
“Let me get this straight. Lucy’s run off… with a drummer… with a pierced nipple.”
“He lives in a trailer,” puts in Dad, signaling left.
“After all the work Tom did on that lovely conservatory,” says Mum, shaking her head. “Some girls have no gratitude.”
I can’t get my head round this. Lucy works for Wetherby’s Investment Bank. She and Tom live in Reigate. Their curtains match their sofa. How on earth did she meet a drummer with a pierced nipple?
Suddenly I remember that conversation I overheard in the garden when I was here last. Lucy didn’t exactly sound happy. But then she didn’t exactly sound like she was about to run off, either.
“So how’s Tom?”
“He’s coping,” says Dad. “He’s at home with Janice and Martin at the moment, poor lad.”
“If you ask me, he’s well out of it,” says Mum crisply. “It’s Janice I feel sorry for. After that lovely wedding she put on. They were all fooled by that girl.”
We pull up outside the house, and to my surprise there are two white vans parked in the drive.
“What’s going on?” I say.
“Nothing,” says Mum.
“Plumbing,” says Dad.
But they’ve both got slightly strange expressions. Mum’s eyes are bright, and she glances at Dad a couple of times as we walk up to the front door.
“So, are you ready?” says Dad casually. He puts his key into the lock and swings open the door.
“Surprise!” cry Mum and Dad simultaneously, and my jaw drops to the ground.
The old hall wallpaper has gone. The old hall carpet has gone. The whole place has been done in light, fresh colors, with pale carpet and new lighting everywhere. As my eye runs disbelievingly upward I see an unobtrusive man in overalls repainting the banisters; on the landing are two more, standing on a stepladder and putting up a candelabra. Everywhere is the smell of paint and newness. And money being spent.
“You’re having the house done up,” I say feebly.
“For the wedding!” says Mum, beaming at me.
“You said—” I swallow. “You said you hadn’t done much.”
“We wanted to surprise you!”
“What do you think, Becky?” says Dad, gesturing around. “Do you like it? Does it meet with your approval?”
His voice is jokey. But I can tell it really matters to him whether I like it. To both of them. They’re doing all this for me.
“It’s… fantastic,” I say huskily. “Really lovely.”
“Now, come and look at the garden!” says Mum, and I follow her dumbly through to the French windows, where I see a team of uniformed gardeners working away in the flower beds.
“They’re going to plant ‘Luke and Becky’ in pansies!” says Mum. “Just in time for June.” And we’re having a new water feature put in, right by where the entrance to the marquee will be. I saw it in Modern Garden.”
“It sounds… great.”
“And it lights up at night, so when we have the fireworks—”
“What fireworks?” I say, and Mum looks at me in surprise.
“I sent you a fax about the fireworks, Becky! Don’t say you’ve forgotten.”
“No! Of course not!”
My mind flicks back to the pile of faxes Mum’s been sending me, and which I’ve been guiltily thrusting under the bed, some skimmed over, some completely unread.
What have I been doing? Why haven’t I paid attention to what’s been going on?
“Becky, love, you don’t look at all well,” says Mum. “You must be tired after the flight. Come and have a nice cup of coffee.”
We walk into the kitchen, and I feel my insides gripped with new horror.
“Have you installed a new kitchen too?”
“Oh, no!” says Mum gaily. “We just had the units repainted. They look pretty, don’t they? Now. Have a nice croissant. They come from the new bakery.”
She hands me a basket — but I can’t eat. I feel sick.
“Becky?” Mum peers at me. “Is something wrong?”
“No!” I say quickly. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s all… perfect.”
What am I going to do?
“You know… I think I’ll just go and unpack,” I say, and manage a weak smile. “Sort myself out a bit.”
As I close my bedroom door behind me, the weak smile is still pasted to my face, but inside my heart is thumping wildly.
This is not going as planned.
This is not going remotely as planned. New wallpaper? Water features? Fireworks displays? How come I didn’t know about any of this? I should have been more attentive. This is all my own fault. Oh God, oh God…
How can I tell Mum and Dad this has all got to be called off? How can I do it?
I can’t.
But I have to.
But I can’t, I just can’t.
It’s my wedding, I remind myself firmly, trying to regain my New York kick-ass confidence. I can have it where I like.
But the words ring false in my brain, making me wince. Maybe that was true at the beginning. Before anything had been done, before any effort had been made. But now… this isn’t just my wedding anymore. This is Mum’s and Dad’s gift to me. It’s the biggest present they’ve ever given me in my life, and they’ve invested it with all the love and care they can muster.
And I’m proposing to reject it. To say thanks, but no thanks.
What have I been thinking?
Heart thumping, I reach into my pocket for the notes I scribbled on the plane, trying to remember all my justifications.
