The engagement had not yet been announced but I was manoeuvring myself into position because I wanted to plan that wedding. It would be the pinnacle of my career and an opportunity to do some of the things I had never been able to before. Previous royal weddings had been held at Westminster Abbey with all planning undertaken by the palace. The belief was that this one would be different. Prince Markus had very little to do with the royal family, choosing to live as normal a life as he could manage.
My daydreaming ended when I heard more footsteps on the stairs. Joanne and Tamara were returning, filled with apology, of course.
‘I’m so sorry you had to hear that,’ said Joanne with a sigh. I felt a natural inclination to pretend I hadn’t heard anything, but she added, ‘We all know how sound travels in this house.’ Abruptly, she staggered and had to grab the wall to stay upright.
Tamara rushed to help. ‘Mum, you know you shouldn’t try to lift things.’ Tamara looked my way and rolled her eyes. ‘Mum helped dad get back into bed.’
Joanne winced, clearly in pain.
Tamara explained. ‘Mum has a nasty spinal injury from a car crash in her twenties. It stopped all her sporting aspirations.’
Joanne groaned and shrugged her left shoulder as if doing so would lessen the discomfort she felt. ‘Some days I can barely move. Tamara is right. I shouldn’t lift things. Using my arms for anything more than some light gardening is too much.’
‘How is Derek?’ I asked, thinking it might help to change the subject. We’d been ignoring the topic since I arrived, but now I felt I had to ask.
Joanne sighed. ‘The treatment isn’t working, and his doctor is running out of things to try. His skin is terrible, and his joint pain keeps him awake. He says he can run the firm but in truth the painkillers he takes render him unable to do anything. He sleeps a lot.’
A tear fell from Joanne’s left eye as she stared at the carpet.
Also tearful, Tamara put an arm around her mother, cuddling into her for comfort as they sat side by side on the couch opposite me. In a quiet voice, she revealed, ‘It’s why Tarquin and I want the wedding so soon.’
I knew that already, of course. ‘Perhaps I ought to return later,’ I suggested. This was a private moment on which I now felt I was intruding. Uncomfortable, what I wanted to do was escape. I had space in my diary most days this week to arrange a fresh appointment.
‘No,’ Joanne shook herself, reaching for a tissue to dab at her eyes. ‘No, Felicity, I’m sorry for our emotional outburst. You are here and it would be unfair to make you return another time.’ It really wasn’t a big deal, but before I could say that she defeated me by saying, ‘I believe Tamara and I would feel better knowing the wedding was on track.’
‘Very well.’ With a smile, I tapped the screen on my tablet, bringing it to life once more. ‘We got as far as flowers.’
The meeting at their house continued for almost an hour. During that time, we arranged appointments at two bridal shops, a visit with Chef Dominic for cake tasting, and a meeting with the priest who would perform the ceremony.
When I left their house, Buster towing me along with powerful strides of his stubby legs, my thoughts were on what I needed to do next. Buster needed a walk after nearly two hours inside the Bleakwiths’ house and was trying to stop to lift his leg on the way to my car.
‘No, Buster,’ I insisted, tugging him along.
‘But I need to go now,’ he whined.
‘I’ll take you to the park.’
‘It’s not going to wait that long. I need some long grass if you get what I am saying.’
I knew only too well, but I wasn’t going to let him utilise the Bleakwiths’ slightly overgrown lawn, that was for certain. He could hold it long enough to get out of their property and along the lane a little, or so I told him as I quickened my pace.
It was full autumn now, the trees devoid of leaves save for the scant few that clung on to their branches dearly though they were already brown and dead looking. The temperatures were dipping too, though it was warmer today and a lightweight coat was sufficient to keep the chill from my skin.
Once out of their gate, Buster decided enough was enough, watering the first dead weed he came to.
A car was coming along the lane toward me. Out here in the countryside, there are no pavements, so I stepped onto the grass verge to give it enough room to pass. As it turned out, the car veered off before it reached me, the driver steering through the double width vehicle entrance and into the Bleakwiths’ drive.
Surprised, I recognised John Ramsey behind the wheel. He was back already though perhaps he was here to apologise for his earlier tantrum. Reminding myself that it was none of my business and tugged along by Buster, I headed down the lane, questioning whether I had indeed packed a baggie in my pocket.
We returned some ten minutes later with the intention of getting on our way. I was due to meet with Justin Cutler, my master of ceremonies, to go over the Hepworth-St George wedding planned for next weekend. We were going to have a late lunch at the Vaults in Rochester High Street.
When I heard the scream, I wondered if perhaps I might be late.
Pushed
I took a faltering step, my feet moving toward the house automatically as a response to the scream before my brain took the reins and asked what I proposed to do. I’m a wedding planner
