We slept late the next morning and then went to the beach, where Jed bodysurfed and I bobbed languidly on the far side of the cool green breakers. Back home we made French toast and ate it on the deck, putting off all thoughts of cleaning up after two hundred wedding guests or driving to Thames to be shouted at for as long as possible. We put them off so successfully that it was ten o’clock before guilt drove us to our feet and out of the house.
As Jed’s van pulled up at the back of the café, Dad glanced briefly up through the kitchen window, then back down at his newspaper.
‘Ominous,’ I remarked.
Jed smiled. ‘Good luck.’
‘You too,’ I said, leaning over to kiss him.
I waved as he backed the van around, then turned and ran up the steps. ‘Morning, Dad.’
‘Good morning,’ said Dad, not bothering, this time, to lift his eyes.
‘Did you find something for breakfast?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
I put the plastic bag containing my bridesmaid’s dress down on the window seat. ‘Coffee?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Is Mike around?’
‘No.’
‘Well,’ I said, determinedly cheerful, ‘I suppose we’d better get down to Mum’s and start cleaning up. I’ll just go and get changed.’ The shorts I’d borrowed from Jed were somewhat precarious, liable to fall down if not held up.
* * *
We met Rob and Anna, looking crumpled from lack of sleep but very cheerful, at Mum’s mailbox.
‘Good morning,’ said Anna, with a smile that turned into a yawn. ‘We’re late. Sorry.’ They had booked their honeymoon to start on Monday, so as to help with the clean-up.
‘So are we,’ said Dad dryly, as if he couldn’t have come at any time he chose.
We weren’t very late, as it happened. Convening at ten had been interpreted loosely by the entire cleaning committee; Ian and Deidre had beaten us by ten minutes and none of the other volunteers arrived at all.
Mum, her face pale grey, was in the marquee collecting empty bottles into a black plastic rubbish sack.
‘Sit down,’ Anna said, taking one side of the sack. ‘Or why not go for a walk on the beach for an hour?’
‘Of course not,’ said Mum, snatching back the sack as if it contained the One Ring.
Rob yawned, stretched and began stacking chairs. ‘Is Mike around?’ he asked.
Nothing.
‘Mum?’
‘Robin, I don’t know!’
Rob looked at her for a moment and then said, ‘Hey, Dad, how about backing that hire trailer across the top lawn so we can load up the chairs and tables?’
It was a good hour later when Anna and I, ferrying armloads of dirty table linen up to the house, found Mum weeping into a sink full of soapy water and wineglasses. As the screen door banged shut behind us, she jumped like a startled fawn.
‘Oh – girls,’ she said, with an absolutely pitiful attempt at a smile, wiping her eyes on a tea towel. ‘Ignore me, I’m just tired . . . It was worth it, though, wasn’t it? It was a beautiful wedding.’
‘It was perfect,’ said Anna gently, turning Mum from the sink and putting her arms around her. ‘Mostly thanks to you.’
The door banged again as Rob came in, carrying an empty mop bucket.
Mum disengaged herself hurriedly. ‘It’s alright, Rob love, I’m just being silly – such a lovely wedding . . .’
‘Absolutely. Best one I’ve ever had. Have you and Mike had a falling-out?’ Apparently Rob was going for the sledgehammer approach.
‘No! Why would we?’
‘Glad to hear it. Because it’s blindingly obvious that you’re perfect for each other.’
I stared at him – there are times, just occasionally, when I’m rendered speechless with wonder at the awesomeness of my twin.
Mum faltered backwards, collided with the edge of the sink bench and gripped it with both hands as a drowning man might grip a spar.
‘Perfect,’ Anna repeated firmly, and I blinked at her in turn. I’d have expected a certain amount of disapproval from Anna – not an open denunciation, she’s far too kind, but some degree of hesitation and misgiving.
‘Hear, hear,’ I said, finding my voice.
‘But – but –’
‘But what?’ said Rob.
‘What would people say?’ Mum whispered.
‘What people? Us? We say crack on.’
‘Your father . . .’
‘He’ll be awful,’ Rob admitted. ‘But then he’s awful anyway.’
Mum shivered.
‘Who would you rather upset, Dad or Mike?’ I asked, adding my mite to the interrogation.
She covered her face with her hands. ‘I’m his stepmother,’ she wailed.
‘Ex-stepmother,’ I said. ‘And – and you never actually mothered him.’
‘I’m older than he is,’ she continued, her voice muffled.
‘Five years. That’s nothing.’
‘It’s not nothing! It would mean not having children of his own, and he’d be a w-wonderful father . . .’
‘Isn’t that up to him?’ asked Anna.
‘Stop it!’ said Mum, lifting her head and glaring at us. ‘Stop – steamrolling me!’
Rob smiled at her. ‘We just want you to be happy,’ he said.
‘And Mike,’ I said. ‘You know; two birds, one stone.’
Rob picked up the portable phone and handed it to her. She took it gingerly, as if it might bite. ‘Ring him.’
‘Please, Mum?’ I said.
‘Go on, you know you want to.’
‘Chop chop. No time like the present.’
‘Be quiet!’ she said, laughing through her tears. ‘You’re horrible, all of you. Go away!’
I plucked the phone back out of her hand, dialled Mike’s cell phone number and handed it back.
‘Lia!’ Mum cried. ‘What are you –? Stop it!’
‘Hello,’ came Mike’s voice as he answered it.
Mum gave a little breathless sob, fumbled with the phone and dropped it into the sink among the wineglasses.
There was a brief, nonplussed silence, during which Anna fished it back out and dried it inadequately on a tea towel.
‘Here,’ said Rob, pulling his cell phone out of his back pocket and scrolling through the menu. ‘There’s his number – just press “talk” when you’re ready.’
‘And maybe step away from the sink,’ I said.
On which note we withdrew. When I looked back through the kitchen window, Mum had the phone to her ear.