‘Why not?’
‘I just didn’t see the point. He’s busy with work and when we talk about wedding stuff, I want it to be fun and nice. If I told him about Mum, he’d get cross, and I don’t see the point in starting World War Three before we’ve actually made it down the aisle.’
This was exactly what Nell had expected. She didn’t have time to disagree with her though, as the woman herself walked in. Brenda’s coat rested over her left arm while in her right hand she waved a plastic folder – the dreaded wedding file. From the corner of Nell’s eye, she caught Cat leaning forward.
‘Before she can hear us, I’ve booked the caterer for tomorrow. Mum’s got a thing so we can meet him on our own.’
Nell watched her normally crazy, vibrant friend shrink back into her chair. ‘Hi, Brenda,’ Nell said, standing for the obligatory air kiss.
‘Hello, darling.’ She pretended to kiss Nell’s cheeks then turned her attention on Cat. ‘Come on sweetheart, stand up and give me a kiss.’ Reluctantly putting her gin glass down, Cat stood and did as she was told before flopping back down into the chair. ‘So, where are we with the wedding plans? I’ve brought my file. Where’s yours?’
Cat, who had by now picked up her glass again, took a big slurp and pointed at Nell: her walking, talking wedding file. Nell grinned while Brenda pinned her with a death stare. Unsure what else to do, she wiggled her fingers in a wave. It didn’t go down well.
‘Huh.’ Brenda adjusted her shirt. ‘It’s a good job I’m here, isn’t it? How you think this wedding is going to organise itself I’ve no idea. Especially as you’ve set such an impossibly short timescale.’ Cat glanced at Nell in defeat. ‘I hope you’re going to make this place extra Christmassy, Nell. I know you love Christmas, but we want something really classy, don’t we, Catherine?’
‘Yes,’ Nell began. ‘Cat and I talked about it the other day and I’ve been making a list of supp—’
Brenda thrust out a hand to silence her and nearly hit Nell in the nose. ‘I’ve timetabled that for later. Right now, I wanted to talk to you about the flowers, darling.’
Though thankful that Brenda had removed her hand (it smelled of floral hand cream), Nell shifted warily. Tom doing the flowers was a given. It always had been. And it was what Cat wanted. She’d said she didn’t want anyone else touching her wedding bouquet and had been clear on that from the start, but Brenda had reservations. Both Nell and Cat had reassured her time and again that Tom, who really had a gift, was the man for the job. Casting a glance at Cat, Nell knew that as the fight seemed to have gone out of her at present, it fell to her to fight Tom’s corner.
‘Are you absolutely sure you want Tom to do the flowers?’ Brenda began without even opening the folder. ‘I know he’s your friend but—’ Cat opened her mouth and Brenda threw out a finger to silence her protests ‘—a male florist? Is he really going to be any good? Generally, men know nothing about flowers or how to arrange them. The last time I asked your dad to put some flowers in a vase it was a disaster. He didn’t even—’
To Nell’s amazement Cat interrupted. ‘Tom’s amazing, Mum. You loved your birthday flowers, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘They were from Tom’s.’ Brenda’s expression perfectly mirrored that of someone who’d misjudged a fart. ‘He’s great and I’m sticking with him. He knows what I want and, more importantly, he knows what I hate. It’s fine.’
Seeing the matter was closed, Brenda flicked open the folder and began thumbing through pages, letting out a sigh that said, ‘Fine, but if it all goes wrong, I told you so’. Nell and Cat both enjoyed the small victory.
A furry grey face and a pair of bright cat’s eyes appeared at the window and Nell went to open it and let the poor creature in. A rush of cold air flew into the room. It was usually a little colder and windier down on the seafront and tonight was no different. The wind had been growing to almost gale force all day and whipped the fallen gold and red leaves around the streets and the pale grey sea into a frenzy.
‘Nell,’ Brenda moaned. ‘Do close that window, please? It’s absolutely freezing.’
‘I’m just letting the cat in.’
‘What cat? You haven’t got a cat now?’
The small, skinny, grey furball hopped in through the gap and jumped onto the floor with an elegant leap. ‘No, I haven’t. I don’t know who this boy belongs to. He started coming in about a week ago and I’ve been all around the block, but no one knows who he is. I think he’s a stray.’
‘Well,’ Brenda bristled, ‘you should take him to the vet or the RSPCA or something. He might be diseased.’
‘He looks perfectly healthy to me,’ said Cat, brightening a little as she patted her lap and the cat leaped up and made himself comfortable. ‘He doesn’t have a collar or anything, does he? And he is quite skinny, poor thing. What have you been calling him?’
‘Mr Scrooge,’ Nell answered with a grin.
For the first time since her mum’s arrival, Cat smiled. ‘Why Mr Scrooge?’
‘Because its Christmas time soon and apart from me, and now you, he hates absolutely everyone. Even Tom. He’s a right old grump and as I’m getting into the Christmas spirit early, I thought it suited him. I don’t know what he’ll be like when I put the tree up.’
‘You’re not going to keep him?’ asked Brenda, horrified.
Nell quite liked having Mr Scrooge around. She had been keeping an eye out for any lost cat signs, but nothing had been put out. She certainly wasn’t going to send him back out into the cold until she was sure he had a
