‘Katharine.’ She fixes me with a serious look. ‘You have never been an easy woman.’
I laugh and blush and hide behind my hands. ‘I don’t think he was talking about my temperament.’
‘Then it wasn’t his business to be talking about, and your beef is with him, not her.’ She grabs for the last of the Jaffa Cakes. ‘So, what do you do with that knowledge?’
I clear my throat and sit up a bit straighter. ‘I’m going to go to the wedding.’
‘With?’ she asks.
‘The menu cards?’ I try.
‘And?’
‘A smile on my face.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s my best friend and I told her I would do something for her, so I’m going to follow through on it,’ I say. ‘And I’ll deal with Frank on my own.’
‘Good girl. So, what we’re going to do now is make sure everything here is one hundred and ten per cent.’ She leans into the conversation. ‘That way, you can give her a call, do what you need to do in London, then come back here to enjoy the party.’
Chapter 32
Friday morning finds me jittery with nerves as I board the train to London. It’s not quite 10 a.m., I’m wearing the best dress I own, and I have thirty-seven perfectly presented eggshell blue menu cards tucked safely in my handbag. I know Lainey only asked for thirty, we ordered enough paper, so I just kept going.
And if I could just stop sweating, that would be great.
As I gaze around the carriage, playing my old university game of picking out the Monday-to Friday-commuters, tourists and other students who all look plucked from the confines of sleep, I wonder if today isn’t a dumb idea.
We haven’t spoken yet. Truth be told, I haven’t been able to work out where to begin. What I do know, however, is that it’s not a conversation that needs to happen over the phone. We’ve been friends long enough and had enough minor disagreements for me to know that speaking to her in person is best. And way too much gets lost in the ether of messages and emails, no matter how heartfelt they may be.
Fiona stayed until the early hours of Thursday morning, insisting we go over everything one final time. We mopped and vacuumed, laughed at the photos we found in the darkroom, the ones I’d developed with Christopher, and I sent one final confirmation email to the caterer. Getting the place as ready as possible on Wednesday night meant I could spend Thursday finishing Lainey’s menus, making London seem like a far less rushed effort.
Not that I’m expecting a warm welcome when I arrive. I’m not quite that silly. In fact, I wouldn’t at all be surprised if I arrived at the reception centre to find my name has been scrubbed from the seating list. It’s that reason alone that prevents me showing up on Lainey’s doorstep; I couldn’t bear the thought of upsetting her while she’s getting ready for her big day.
When I step off the train at St Pancras, it hits me how quickly I’ve adapted to life in Sheffield again. London is all a little too loud, too exhaust-y, and I sure as hell haven’t missed the push and the shove of the Piccadilly line. There are so many people.
Arriving at Twickenham Road is a breath of fresh air. I walk the rest of the way to Syon Park, stopping for a bite to eat on the way. The last thing I want is to draw attention to myself with a growling tummy in the middle of a wedding.
The ceremony will take place in a garden full of colourful blooms, and it’s decorated the only way my friends could. It’s tasteful and minimal, but with the air of sophistication they share. Plain white chairs sit in rows facing the altar, which is an arch of linen white blooms. I take a seat at the rear when friends and family start arriving.
I can do nothing now but wait. I spend what feels like an age checking my phone, digging through my bag and inspecting my fingernails, before rolling back through the cycle again.
‘Katharine, God am I glad to see you.’ Frank appears at my side, squatting beside my chair and reaching for my hands. He looks gorgeous in his suit and bow tie, hair slicked back and clean-shaven. ‘I owe you the world’s biggest apology.’
‘Hey, you,’ I say quietly. ‘You look incredible, by the way.’
‘Don’t scrub up too badly, do I?’ He takes a moment to enjoy the compliment, as he should. ‘But, how are you? Is the gallery coming along well?’
I smile, realising I’m enjoying spending the day away from the place – even if it does mean having the tough conversations. ‘I am ready to rock and roll tomorrow night. Everything is up, I just need to open the doors.’
‘You know it’s going to go off without a hitch, right?’
If only that were true.
‘If I can say something, though, I am so sorry about what happened. I can’t—’ he taps his hand to his forehead ‘—I truly can’t believe the night ended like that. What I told Hunter was not what came out of his mouth.’
‘What did you tell him?’ I ask, remembering Fiona’s words yesterday. He’s the source of the trouble, so he must be the source of the solution.
‘I told him that you were, are, a dear friend, that we’d love to see you meet someone just as wonderful as you, and that you’d had enough of quick flings,’ he says carefully. ‘When we were on the way to pick you up, I did mention how much he might like you because you were always up for a good time, in that the three of us would go out and have a literal good time. I certainly didn’t intend to give him some mental image of, well, you know.’
‘That might have given him an impression though, don’t you think?’
He nods. ‘I can see that now, and I take full responsibility for that. I am so sorry.’
‘I appreciate that, thank you.’
‘Are you still joining us for the reception?’ He grimaces. ‘Please say yes. We’d hate for you to miss it.’
I pull the top of my handbag open to flash the menu cards at him and he smiles.
‘Lainey’s going to be thrilled.’ He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. ‘As am I. You are incredible. Don’t let anyone tell you any different, okay? When this is all done and dusted, we’ll catch up for a night out. My shout. You can bring that guy, too. Is it Kit?’
I nod as he makes his way towards the celebrant to wait for Lainey.
She arrives fashionably late, making it seem like the breeziest thing ever, as only she can. Now, if I thought her dress looked beautiful on her in the bridal shop, it looks a million times better today. Her hair is swept up in an effortless ponytail, and her make-up is so flawless you’d think it was her natural skin. She looks incredible and, far from being jealous, I’m thrilled for her.
Like all wedding ceremonies, which seem to be months of planning boiled down to a twenty-minute timeslot –a terribly unromantic view – it goes past in such a flash. Frank kisses his bride, the register is signed, and they’re bounding past everyone at a rate of knots on their way to have their photos taken.
I can’t be sure Lainey even knows I’m here yet, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest, because today is not about me. I follow the crowd to the Conservatory where there’s a framed seating chart awaiting our perusal.
I’m glad to find my name is still there. Not only is it there, I’ve been shuffled over to one of the family tables, on the other side of the venue from Hunter. I duck inside and, after a quick chat to staff, replace all the bubblejet printed cards with my handwritten menus. Everything matches now, eggshell blue and white place cards and menus in a spidery yet precise font, just as it should have been.