The Wedding Planner
EVE DEVON

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HarperCollinsPublishers

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2019

Copyright © Eve Devon 2019

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Eve Devon asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008306724

Version: 2019-04-12

For Mum and all the other stars that shine so brightly in the sky.

Epigraph

‘When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.’

– Viktor E. Frankl

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Cast of Whispers Wood Characters

Chapter 1: Angry Bird Going Cold Turkey

Chapter 2: Fortuna Favours The Brave

Chapter 3: The ‘F’ Word

Chapter 4: Popping the Question

Chapter 5: Village of the Damned

Chapter 6: Treading on Toes, Financial Woes and Post-Divorce Goals

Chapter 7: Show Me The Way To Armadillo

Chapter 8: The Cow, The Bitch and the Wardrobe Choice

Chapter 9: Wedding Favours

Chapter 10: Peace Talks

Chapter 11: Close Encounters With Kitchen Counters

Chapter 12: Debate Team

Chapter 13: Chapel of Love

Chapter 14: 8 Mile Road

Chapter 15: All’s (Wedding) Fair in Love and War

Chapter 16: Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Chapter 17: Ooga Chaka

Chapter 18: Out, Out, You Demons of Desperation

Chapter 19: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

Chapter 20: And if One Rosé Bottle Should Accidentally Fall …

Chapter 21: Marriage is a Lot Like Marmite

Chapter 22: A Hug a Day Keeps the Attraction at Bay

Chapter 23: Ladies Who Lunch

Chapter 24: Never Work With Animals

Chapter 25: Holding Court

Chapter 26: A Riddle, Wrapped Inside a Mystery, In An Enigma

Chapter 27: Driving Miss Emma, Miss Juliet and Miss Kate

Chapter 28: Adult Education

Chapter 29: Poker Face

Chapter 30: Flower Power

Chapter 31: Drawn Together

Chapter 32: The Edge of Glori-a

Chapter 33: Carpool Crying

Chapter 34: The Birds and The Bees

Chapter 35: A River Runs Through It

Chapter 36: Don’t Look Back In Angler

Chapter 37: The Lady Isn’t For Melting

Chapter 38: A Spoonful of Sugar Helps the Medicine Go Down

Chapter 39: Model Behaviour

Chapter 40: Sliding Doors

Chapter 41: Oktoberfest

Chapter 42: Measuring Up

Chapter 43: Marvellous Night For A Romance

Chapter 44: Crafty Conundrums

Chapter 45: Lovesick

Chapter 46: Heart-shaped and Pear-Shaped

Chapter 47: It’s a Nice Day For a Themed Wedding

Chapter 48: A Good Walk Ruined

Chapter 49: The Other Vows

Dear Reader …

Acknowledgements

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Cast of Whispers Wood Characters

Welcome to the village of Whispers Wood, home of rom-com magic …

The Whispers Wood series can be read in any order, but here’s the skinny on key residents.

KATE SOMERSBY – Resourceful, impulsive, and with much to prove to the village of Whispers Wood, she swapped travelling the world for resurrecting an old dream – that of opening up a business in the clock house on the village green. Now owns the day spa, Beauty @ The Clock House.

JULIET BROWN – Lover of all things craft and vintage, super-chic hairdresser and owner of the new hair salon, Hair @ The Clock House.

EMMA DANES – Jane Austen-loving, matchmaking mixologist moved all the way from Hollywood to Whispers Wood to run the tea room/bar in the clock house, Cocktails & Chai.

DANIEL WESTLAKE – Former accountant moved to Whispers Wood for a fresh start. Owner of the co-office working space, Hive @ The Clock House. Whispers Wood gossip inferred he was the stunt-double for a certain superhero but he’s better known as: The Newcomer.

OSCAR MATTHEWS – Widowed with a daughter, he looks after the bees at the clock house and has recently found love again. Can he fix it … yes he can … because, wearing his tool-belt with aplomb, he also runs his own construction company.

JAKE KNIGHTLEY – Award-winning garden designer, runs his ancestral home, Knightley Hall, located on the edge of the village. Known for his brooding manner and Poldarklicious locks.

GLORIA PAVEY – Single mum. Works at Cocktails & Chai. Frequently turns her ‘sarcasmometer’ up to eleven. Allergic to weddings and impervious to romance … or is she?

SETH KNIGHTLEY – The youngest of the six Knightleys, back living at the Hall with his brother, Jake. His dimples, dancing eyes and gift of the gab gave him the moniker, Salesman Seth, but now he’s determined to prove he’s more substance than sales spiel.

OLD MAN ISAAC – Retired clock maker, previous owner of The Clock House and Whispers Wood’s very own Yoda (because of his age and wisdom, rather than being green and short).

CRISPIN HARLOW – Head of the Residents’ Association, and putting the ‘e’ in pedantic, one village meeting at a time.

SHEILA SOMERSBY – Kate Somersby’s mum, owner of Whisper Wood’s B&B and a demon baker (Note: not an actual demon, this is not that genre).

CHERYL BROWN – Juliet Brown’s mum and retired hairdresser. Known for her prize-winning dahlias.

TRUDIE McTRAVERS – Head of Whispers Wood’s Am-Dram Society, flies very much above the radar with her clashing Lycra and larger-than-life personality.

TUPPENCE McTRAVERS – Daughter of Trudie and Nigel McTravers. Florist, intriguingly referred to as: The Herbalist of Horsham …

MELODY MATTHEWS – Oscar and Bea Matthews’ daughter, her two besties are Persephone Pavey and whichever book she’s reading that week.

PERSEPHONE PAVEY – Gloria and Bob Pavey’s daughter, now planning on plié-ing her way through school.

GERTRUDE – Cow, as in bovine! Prefers chewing the cud with humans over her own herd and is happiest being the village’s nosiest resident.

BEA’s BEES – The honeybees housed in the hives at the clock house. Best known for producing the honey that goes into the copious honey martinis drunk at the clock house.

THE CLOCK HOUSE CHANDELIER – according to Whispers Wood folklore, it has magical properties … Fact!

Chapter 1
Angry Bird Going Cold Turkey

Gloria

Gloria Pavey forgot every single one of the anger-management techniques she had supposedly mastered over the last twelve weeks and with a look that could, quite frankly, wilt steel, demanded, ‘What do you mean I don’t need to come back next week?’

Her therapist, Fortuna Tempest (or Fort Tuna The Terra Pest, as Gloria referred to her when she was being particularly confronting) simply smiled in the same non-judgemental and now only slightly grating way she’d been smiling for the past three months. ‘We did go over this at the end of last week’s session.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t realise you meant it,’ Gloria replied, her heart thudding. She resumed the melting-metal look. ‘I thought you were testing me to see how I’d react. It’s the only reason I didn’t go full-out Basil Fawlty.’

Fortuna replied with a look of her own that suggested cheating in a counselling session was really only cheating yourself and Gloria could have kicked herself.

The Terra Pest genuinely thought she didn’t need to come back?

But no way could it be this simple.

A person didn’t just decide to change … and voila, next stop she was attending the Nicest Personality of the Year awards.

To combat the fine tremble in her hands she reached up to smooth her chestnut ponytail. The action didn’t help her feel any more in control, so she tried her top Namaste Om Life Hack and breathed out slowly through her nose, trying to think.

Okay.

She supposed she could admit, if she was absolutely forced to, that this pothole-ridden journey into self-awareness had started way earlier than three months ago, so it was hardly as if she was being thrown back to the wolves with no discernible skills.

Seeing Fortuna these last few months was really more of a top-up feature to reassure herself. A bit like adding credit to your pay-as-you-go phone when you already had plenty to get you through the social media scroll that was anytime you had longer than two seconds on your hands.

No, the real process of change had actually begun eleven months before over a game of chess.

To be honest it had been mortifying to discover that the ‘journey to being the best version of herself’, for want of any other annoyingly over-used psycho-babble phrase, was, in fact, just one great big stereotypical quest. All very Bilbo Baggins Hobbit-y and so completely clichéd, that Gloria had considered aborting her journey to being a nicer person on several occasions.

After all, remaining the OG of Bitchville wasn’t completely without its merits.

If you lived for having no friends, that was.

It had turned out though that the minimum requirement in preventing sarcastic side-eye from your ten-year-old daughter (other than not attempting to speak in kid’s vernacular) was to have friends.

Friends meant you were normal.

Liked.

Supported.

And no longer to be worried about.

So Gloria had found herself accepting that most dangerous of life challenges: Metamorphosis.

She even had her very own Gandalph. He was called Old Man Isaac and he was the oldest resident in the village of Whispers Wood, where she lived. No one knew how old he was exactly but everyone agreed he had been dispensing wisdom way before generation X, Y and Z started getting themselves into trouble.

As a direct result of the oldness and the wisdom-dispensing Old Man Isaac was frequently given elder-like status that Gloria had always thought utter tosh, so normally she wouldn’t have been seen dead going into the retired clock-maker’s cottage for fear of anyone thinking she needed advice on anything at all in her life. But then she had nearly knocked the poor man flat on the village green, so what choice did she have but to see him back to Rosehip Cottage and sit with him a while to make sure he didn’t die or anything.

See? Even back then she hadn’t been completely heartless.

Yes, her trademark modus operandi happened to be felling a fellow human with a few choice words but even she knew you didn’t go around knocking the elderly over just because you happened to be in the blackest of black moods.

The obsidian mood was because of her ex-husband Bob, and The Lecture. The Lecture that had been so acutely observed and so unrelenting in its honesty it had stripped her soul and stolen the breath from her body, rendering her utterly incapable of her usual defence: verbal evisceration at ten paces.

Robbed of a blistering comeback she’d fled the scene of the crime. Running blindly into Old Man Isaac had probably been the only thing that could have brought her to a stop that day.

Little had she known then that a mere fifteen minutes later she’d be sipping tea, nibbling on a milk chocolate digestive, staring at a chessboard and listening to the relentless ticking of eleventy-million clocks.

As the minutes had ticked by, instead of looking after Old Man Isaac, it had started to feel a lot more as if he was looking after her. This act of kindness had been the last straw for Gloria, breaching the Hoover dam of her defences so that words started trickling, then spluttering and then gushing out of her as she recounted her ex’s litany of home-truths – all of which stemmed from his going to pick up their daughter, Persephone, from school, and overhearing some of the other kids teasing her.

When she’d worked out the root cause of Bob’s lecture she’d instinctively turned to march down to the school and unleash her Mother Bear upon the teachers and parents of the little offenders, but Bob had stopped her, wanting to give her the facts as he saw them. And facts were that Persephone had been being laughed at for trying to defend her mum, and he was worried it wasn’t the first time.

Slack-jawed, Gloria had flashed-back to herself at Persephone’s age, standing at the same school gates, defending her own mother to her peers. Her chest had got scary-prickly at the memory and the sensation got worse when Bob had asked why the hell their daughter should be put in a position of defending her when, as far as he and everyone else in Whispers Wood could tell, her behaviour was fast approaching indefensible.

At first, while he’d been serving up sentences like, ‘As if Perse hasn’t already had enough to deal with,’ she’d stared at him thinking, and whose fault is that?

Next had come the, ‘Do you really want our daughter discovering that when she’s with me, you’re going through men like they’re going out of fashion,’ she’d also wanted to hurl the words, ‘Again – whose fault is that’ or at least refute the accusation. But all she’d been able to focus on was the gigantic boulder of baggage rising up from the pit of her belly.

By the time he’d got to the, ‘And what about the way you treat everyone who tries to pass the time of day with you? You can’t really want to be this bitter for the rest of your life’ part of his lecture, the boulder in her chest had pushed all the way up to her throat, making it nearly impossible to draw breath.

Then had come the: ‘Because, FYI, calling everyone out on the mess they’re making of their lives, isn’t in any way, masking the colossal hypocritical balls-up you’re making of your own and honestly? Bobby and I can’t stand to see you spiralling like this.’

For the first time in her life, she’d turned from confrontation and started running, eager to escape the boulder of baggage now threatening to unload and bury her under its weight.

In Rosehip Cottage at the end of her confession-vomit, she’d looked up from the chessboard, expecting Old Man Isaac to defend the obvious, which was that of course she was only like this because of Bob and Bobby.

But instead, he’d leaned back in his armchair, steepled his fingers together and asked, ‘Would you be in this state if anyone other than your ex had the guts to tell you to rein yourself in for the sake of your daughter and your personal happiness?’

Rest assured she’d been about to tell him she’d have liked to see even one other person dare to talk to her like that considering no one in Whispers Wood would have the first clue what it was like to have your husband leave you so scandalously.

Because Bob hadn’t just left her for a younger model.

Nope.

He’d left her for an actual model.

A catwalk model.

A male catwalk model.

Called Bobby.

Yep.

A few little walks on the catwalk and Bob had found Bobby literally too sexy for his shirt.

Of course, coming to terms with his sexuality had taken Bob months of tortured soul-searching and on her more charitable days Gloria knew that to be the absolute truth. Unfortunately it didn’t negate the reality of discovering that nine and a half hours A.B.F.C.O (After Bob Finally Came Out) the word on the street, the village green, in the woods, and even in Big Kev’s corner shop, was that she was obviously such a dud as a wife, she’d managed to turn her own husband gay.

And, not that she would ever have admitted it but filling up every corner of her soul had been the question: what if she had?

She knew she wasn’t the warmest of individuals.

That she was more alpha than any other letter of the alphabet.

She favoured cutting the extraneous bullshit, setting goals and driving in a straight line towards them.

How else did Bob think they’d created such a glossy magazine-worthy lifestyle?

But Bob uttering the words he could never take back had attacked the very security she’d attached to that magazine-worthy lifestyle, and worse. Someone being in love with her turning out to be a big fat lie and all the confidence that came along with that simply snuffed itself out.

Then, Bob and Bobby choosing to live their lives just down the road while quietly and respectfully taking every care not to throw their relationship in her face? Well, she defied anyone to understand just how much worse that made it all.

But it had.

So very, very much.

In the intervening three years they’d found a way through for the sake of their daughter and in all the shared custody pickups and drop-offs not once had Bob commented negatively, sarcastically, or carelessly about how she was choosing to deal with the fallout from their marriage ending.

Until that afternoon.

When he’d seen his daughter bravely defending her and all his deliberately withheld assumptions for the sake of peace had tumbled out of his mouth as critical assertions.

The biscuit Gloria had been eating turned to stone in her mouth as it occurred to her that her appalling behaviour had ceased being a completely justifiable coping method and become instead rather an effective way of showing the whole of Whispers Wood that she possibly wasn’t woman enough to rise above what had happened.

The weight of shame in that sat in her throat along with the bit of biscuit.

It seemed no matter how much you worked to set your life up perfectly so that you got to enjoy living it, life happened and things changed.

But if she didn’t?

Couldn’t?

What kind of example was that to set for Persephone?

As if recognising her shields were only at thirty percent Old Man Isaac had leaned forward, and quietly stated, ‘I have to tell you Gloria we’re all a little worried about you.’

She’d wanted to sneer, ‘How very dare you.’

She’d managed to hold her tongue but not the snort of laughter from slipping out. But then she’d felt a rogue tear slipping down her cheek and the next thing she knew, she’d looked down at the chessboard, tipped over her King, and whispered, ‘I concede.’

That afternoon, she’d gone home and downloaded the Headspace App to every device she owned, bought herself a warehouse-sized supply of self-help books and decided she’d play chess with Old Man Isaac once a week and if he wanted to talk about how she could go about putting some changes in place, she’d soak up the strategizing.

Naturally, she also started a man ban, which wasn’t actually that difficult considering the meagre offerings provided by the online dating service she’d used.

With hard work and determination gradually the anger that had sat so close to the surface twenty-four-seven, started feeling more … well, less.

Sure, sometimes, someone would go and ruin her best of intentions by saying something so monumentally stupid that the needle on her ‘sarcasmometer’ spiked straight to eleven and words would come out of her mouth like they had used to. Sans filter.

Slowly but surely though she’d started to trust that a cutting remark wasn’t always the best opening. Sometimes (cue Eastenders dun, dun, duns …) a smile was.

People stopped holding their breath or assuming the brace position when they were around her.

And then last year Emma Danes had moved all the way from Hollywood to Whispers Wood to run Cocktails & Chai at The Clock House on the village green and Gloria had her perfect opening to start making amends for what she’d put the residents of Whispers Wood through.

The tearoom/bar was to open alongside the new day spa, hair salon and co-working office space in the old building which had once belonged to Old Man Isaac until Kate Somersby had been persuaded to return to the village and have a go at turning the grand Georgian house into her dream business.

With The Clock House set to become the heart of the community once more, what better way to repay the residents of Whispers Wood for giving her a chance to come good, than by working for them, Gloria had thought.

Community Service, she’d decided to call it.

Fast-forward eight months working part-time at Cocktails & Chai and quest to become a better, more pleasant, less angry person – tick box.

Until, that was, last Christmas, when Emma Danes had gone and ruined everything by asking Jake Knightley to marry her.

Chapter 2
Fortuna Favours The Brave

Gloria

Incessant wedding talk!

That’s what had brought Gloria to Fort Tuna the Terra Pest.

Every day since Emma and Jake’s engagement Gloria had felt snippets of her former snarky-self seeping through the puncture wounds left by Whispers Wood’s specialist chosen ‘I’ve started so I’ll finish’ subject.

Emma was her boss and her friend and the thought of ruining that friendship or losing the job she’d come to love over being driven mad because everything was bloody ‘weddings’ this and bloody ‘weddings’ that …

Admittedly not from Emma and Jake, which, okay, was a little weird but, hey, there was a secret comfort in the fact that if the very people who were engaged weren’t talking openly about when they were getting married, maybe that meant they wouldn’t actually get around to getting married. Which would definitely cover the whole, Why Would You Even Want To/Need To feels that Gloria had discovered she was experiencing in spades.

Ugh.

The Feels.

All the things she’d done to cauterize them and now they popped back up to the surface again?

Startling her, annoying her.

Scaring her.

‘This can’t be my last session,’ Gloria stated carefully, focusing her attention on the large hammered silver bowl sat politely in the centre of the pale wood coffee table between the neutral grey sofa and bland beige chair.

‘Why can’t it?’ Fortuna asked. ‘You’ve reached the goals you set out for yourself when you came here.’

‘But I’m not fixed yet.’ The words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush as if embarrassed at having to be spoken. Reaching out, she plucked one of the stress balls from the bowl she’d been staring at. ‘Only this morning I told my boss that her engagement ring – which naturally, turned out to be a family heirloom – looked like a dehydrated blueberry.’

‘I see.’ Fortuna looked very much like she was trying not to smile, but Gloria was almost certain she wouldn’t have been smiling if it was her engagement ring that was being dismissed. ‘Did something happen for you to feel you needed to express that particular opinion?’

Gloria’s mouth turned down as she remembered Emma showing off her ring to harmless Betty Blunkett and Betty then going on and on and on about her own emerald ring which she’d now had on her finger for fifty-five years.

Tossing the stress ball up in the air, Gloria caught it in her other hand and squeezed it hard. ‘Nothing happened,’ she answered. ‘I said it because I could. Because it’s what I do, isn’t it?’

‘Is it?’

Gloria’s gaze flicked to Fortuna defiantly before dropping to her left hand and noticing once more that there wasn’t even an indent left to show she’d once been married.

The cold shame she’d felt after insulting Emma’s taste, and by association, Jake’s entire family, washed over her once again.

Was that what all this was about?

She was suffering from petty jealousy?

For something she wanted no part of ever again?

Where was her perspective?

Why couldn’t she just let all the endless wedding talk float over her head?

‘Gloria?’ Fortuna prompted. ‘Is a quick quip still your first defence mechanism? Because I believe you might have more than that in your arsenal, these days?’

‘But killing people with kindness isn’t as much fun,’ Gloria responded with a pout.

Fortuna did smile this time. ‘So what happened afterwards?’

‘I apologised.’ She hadn’t needed to see the flicker of hurt in Emma’s eyes for the sorry to be immediate. She’d been mortified that in another unguarded moment, this time she’d managed to upset the actual bride-to-be.

You see? It just wasn’t right, was it? Getting so pernickety over an institution that people could enter freely into and did, day after day, the world over. There was no need whatsoever to be feeling this … this burning need to save Emma and Jake from going through the rigmarole of a big special day only to end up a modern-day statistic.

Not that all marriages came to an end.

She wasn’t stupid.

She was just …

Jaded.

A look which so didn’t mesh with her metamorphosis.

She breathed out slowly.

‘Why the sigh? Wasn’t your apology accepted?’ Fortuna asked.

‘It was, although if I was Emma, I guarantee I wouldn’t have let myself off that lightly. I swear it’s like I’ve somehow managed to get the nicest person on the planet to like me.’

‘And that baffles you?’ Fortuna surmised.

It did.

She didn’t have a great track-record in the friendship department. She’d spent most of her childhood deliberately making it difficult for anyone to like her and as an adult the few friends she’d cultivated had scarpered as soon as Bob had left.

She swapped the stress ball back to her other hand. ‘How can simply apologising every time I let my tongue get away from me be enough? How is that progress?’

‘Keep practising all the techniques we’ve been working on.’ Fortuna leant forward in her chair, her hands folded neatly over the top of her notebook. ‘You’re not going to let yourself down.’

‘Can I have that in writing, please?’

Fortuna smiled again. ‘You’re still using your apps?’

Gloria rolled her eyes but then nodded her head. ‘You do realise you’re going to be out of a job now that the whole world and his dog is into mindfulness. I lose count of the number of people posting how many times a day they meditate, which kind of defeats the object in my humble opinion, but I guess, what do I know?’

‘I really wouldn’t focus on what everyone else is doing. If it works for you, use it. If it doesn’t, ditch it. How’s the art coming along?’

‘I suck at it.’

‘But is that the point though?’

‘No,’ she grudgingly admitted. The point of it was to relax her. Distract her. Give her some breathing space.

‘So …?’

‘I’m no Banksy,’ she said, although that wasn’t to say she hadn’t sometimes thought of painting the whole village with murals. ‘For the purposes of your notes though, I’ll admit I’m enjoying it. I used to draw when I was younger. I’m not sure why I stopped.’ Well, she did, but that story was for another time she liked to call ‘Never’.

It had taken weeks of gentle suggestion followed by a confronting ‘What exactly are you afraid of?’ from Fortuna for Gloria to sign up to the notion that using drawing as a form of self-care might not be a truly awful concept. Even then, she’d walked past the art supply shop twice before making herself go in, muttering under her breath about how stupidly indulgent it would be to buy a sketchbook and set of pencils. But as soon as her fingers had stroked over the graphite she’d smiled and got that warm fuzzy feeling in her heart that was usually reserved for things Persephone did.

‘Well, again, I’d say if you enjoy it and it’s working for you, keep doing it. It’s important to have something you enjoy just for the sake of it.’

Gloria tried to quieten the panic in her chest as Fortuna closed her notebook and then started rearranging the stack of papers underneath. ‘You’re rustling those papers there like this is really it – I’m out on my own.’

‘You’re not on your own. You have friends.’

Gloria blinked.

She guessed she did.

Emma Danes, the Jane Austen-loving mixologist, had taken the biggest gamble going to bat for her working at Cocktails & Chai. A huge deal seeing as the moment it became the latest business to open up inside the clock house it also became the new headquarters for Whispers Wood’s gossip mill. Emma’s unswerving friendship had even (okay, nearly) convinced her that the tearoom/bar would still have customers if she wasn’t part of the wallpaper for customers to ogle and discuss.

Then there was award-winning garden designer, Jake Knightley, the only one of six siblings with the passion and vision to take over the running of their ancestral home, Knightley Hall, which stood on the edge of the village. At least, she was going to claim they were friends. He was quite succinct was Jake, so she was pretty sure he’d have simply stopped talking to her altogether if he was still pissed at her publically pointing out last year what an idiot he’d been being over Emma.

She thought – hoped – she was making progress with hairdresser, Juliet Brown, owner of Hair @ The Clock House. Super-chic and sweet Juliet who, because of the nature of her job, had a lifetime’s experience seeing and hearing too much but, thankfully, was way too nice to comment on any of it.

Even no-nonsense Kate Somersby, owner of the day spa Beauty @ The Clock House, and perhaps the hardest to win over, given her need to make sure the clock house businesses succeeded, now liked her enough to spend more than the agreed budget on Secret Santa presents. Who else could be responsible for giving her the impressively coffee-table-sized: How to Stop Swearing and Other Bollocks Ways to Improve Your Manners book, last Christmas?

And obviously there was Old Man Isaac. Like she’d said, he was her Gandalph. Her Obi-Wan. Or, if you wanted to get less ‘mentor’ and more ‘friend’, the way he insisted she had a lot of potential, the Pretty Woman Vivian to her Kit De Luca.

Oh, and then there was Seth.

Seth Knightley. Jake’s younger brother.

A claxon sounded inside her head.

Everyone kept joking about the ‘magic’ chandelier at the clock house and the ridiculous fairytale about how it brought single people together. Joking like she and Seth weren’t friends … so much as its next victims.

Which was fine, she reminded herself, relaxing her jaw, because they weren’t.

She didn’t believe in magic and fairytale endings.

And you didn’t have to be a Strictly super-fan to know it took two to tango.

Plus, she shouldn’t forget that she was on a strict tangoing break.

She didn’t need to worry about Seth.

Seth was …

She fumbled for a proper definition – a label – anything helpful at all to stick on what they were and feel okay about it.

She came up blank.

Back to five friends then.

She thought of the Famous Five books.

Five Friend Gloria Pavey.

Bloody hell.

She supposed it was a start.

‘You really think I don’t need to keep coming to see you?’ she checked.

‘I really don’t.’

Bloody hell, again.

Fortuna obviously favoured the brave.

Gloria released a sigh and stood up. ‘Okay. Well, I guess Thank You for all your patience with me.’

‘Not at all, you’re the one who’s done the hard work.’

Gloria tried to be honest with herself.

And brave.

Even in those early hours before dawn she was now able to poke and prod at all the Before-She’d-Married-Bob stuff and all the After-She’d-Married-Bob stuff and feel less governed, less defined and less stigmatised by it all.

She did feel more even-tempered. More balanced. Less worried about all the wedding talk.

Sort of.

That insidious worry that had been flirting so maddeningly with her started up its banter proper.

‘Nope,’ she announced, promptly sitting back down, ‘I can’t have you signing off on me when I’m still able to feel that anger.’

‘That’s not anger you’re feeling,’ Fortuna promised. ‘It’s a little anxiety, maybe.’

‘Do all your patients come in with one thing and leave with another?’

‘It’s only natural to be feeling anxious. We all do when things come to an end.’

‘Well, on the grounds that I’m better attuned to others’ feelings these days, how about I come back next week. I wouldn’t want you to have to feel anxious about our relationship coming to an end.’

Fortuna laughed. ‘Keep on being brave, Gloria.’

‘I don’t feel very brave.’ The words came out small, hoarse and reluctantly.

‘It was brave to admit to being worried about repeating old behaviours and ruining new friendships. It’s brave to change how you react to things. If you persevere it will become habit-forming and some of the anxiety you’re going to revert to previous behaviours will ease.’

‘So, this is really it, then?’

‘You know where I am if you need me, but for now I think it’s time to simply: Go Forth and Be Yourself.’

You, do you – that’s what she was being told, here? Well, she supposed it was better than being told she needed to try forest bathing because she’d been walking through the woods of Whispers Wood for years and had still ended up needing therapy.

Be herself.

Herself without blowing up at a little wedding talk.

It was said with such simple belief that Gloria rose to her feet, slightly shocked to discover the stress ball had been simply sitting in her hand unclenched for the last ten minutes. With a smile, she held out the ball and said, ‘I’m taking this with me,’ and after a moment’s hesitation, she reached into the bowl she’d been staring at for twelve weeks and took a second ball and said, ‘this one too.’

For luck, she thought walking out into the sunshine.

Chapter 3
The ‘F’ Word

Gloria

Pulling up outside the school gates where her daughter was about to finish summer Day Camp for the day, she switched off the engine and glanced at her watch. She was early so she’d sit in her car for a while.

Breathe in the quiet.

This was the first year Persephone had asked to join in the events the school put on in the holidays and it meant being able to work whatever hours Emma needed without having to worry about childcare.

Not for the first time she hoped Persephone had suggested Day Camp for herself and not because she didn’t want to curtail her mum having fun at work. Lately it was easy to worry about how set Persephone was on pleasing others – something she got from Bob, rather than her, obviously.

At ten years old and considering having to get used to seeing her father with a man as opposed to a new woman, Persephone was a remarkably well-adjusted, happy, energetic, pretty well-behaved child.

She was also attached at the hip to Melody Matthews. It had been that way since the first day of pre-school and Gloria had to admit she looked on their friendship with awe. Melody had lost her mum at age four but recently had had to get used to seeing her dad, Oscar Matthews, with the owner of Hair @ The Clock House, Juliet Brown, and, like Persephone, Melody seemed happy. In fact the two girls’ mission seemed to be to champion each other through life. It was a magical connection and quite impossible to remain cynical in the face of.

She’d never had a best friend when she was Persephone’s age.

Sisters were different, she accepted, thinking of her own. The way Persephone and Melody connected, she knew they thought they were like true sisters.

But they weren’t.

Best friends could keep secrets sure.

But sisters who shared the same environment didn’t even need to be told something was a secret. It was an intrinsic part of protecting the family.

While you still lived together at any rate.

She felt her shoulders rise with tension and reminded herself she’d given these spare few moments over to the supremely simple act of sitting here and breathing in the quiet, not taking a drive down Memory Lane.

She and Bob may not have given Persephone a brother or a sister and Gloria might sometimes wish their daughter had lots of friends instead of putting all her eggs into one BFF basket, but at least Persephone had had someone fiercely loyal standing by her side when her dad came out. Someone she could talk with, cry with, hug with, forget about it all with. Someone to tell her it wasn’t so bad, that he was still her dad, that he still loved her.

She breathed in slowly, breathed out slower and felt her shoulders relax.

With an automatic glance to the windscreen mirror when she heard a car pull in behind her, she recognised Juliet’s classic Beetle, recently painted with the clock house business logo.

It would probably be polite to get out of the car when Juliet did. The awkwardness between them was much better since she’d apologised for telling Juliet if she wasn’t careful she’d end up the spinster Cat Lady of Whispers Wood.

Yep, talk about not reading her copy of How to Win Friends and Influence People.

But one of the reasons she’d come to like Juliet so much was that instead of cowering at the insult until the cats came home, Juliet had made the decision to push out of her comfort zone and make her life about something other than adopting stray cats and helping her mum run her mobile hair-dressing service.

Armed with a plan and a set of postcards, Juliet had managed to get her cousin Kate Somersby to come back to Whispers Wood and together they’d set about trying to buy Old Man Isaac’s clock house and open it as the day spa Kate had once dreamed of opening before her twin, Bea, had died.

Juliet changing her life had made Oscar Matthews finally view her in a whole new light and then suddenly, Kate and newcomer, Daniel Westlake, couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other either.

Gloria didn’t understand why Emma and Jake couldn’t just be like Juliet and Oscar and Kate and Daniel … simply too busy to think about ruining everything with a wedding.

When Juliet didn’t get out of her car, Gloria frowned. Usually Juliet was the first one at the gates, determined to cement her position as step-mum of the year.

Maybe she should go and check on her?

Or not.

As if Juliet would want her poking her nose in.

And yet … there was something almost too poised about the way Juliet simply sat staring straight ahead that had her giving into impulse and getting out of her car and walking up to Juliet’s to tap on the window.

Juliet jumped so high, Gloria was pretty sure her bum actually left the ancient burgundy leather upholstery of the seat. She’d been in a world of her own, hadn’t she, and Gloria swore quietly to herself as she watched her take a nanosecond to wipe at her cheeks before pressing the button to open the window.

‘Why are you crying?’ Gloria asked, forgoing any kind of greeting as the window rolled down.

‘I’m absolutely not crying,’ Juliet shot back.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

She waited for the shimmer of tears to swim back into Juliet’s eyes but when she got a measured stare back, Gloria realised the taunt hadn’t actually left her mouth and was quite pleased with herself.

Obviously on a roll, she decided she couldn’t let the crying go and taking the plunge, said, ‘Look, as a,’ she took a deep breath and forced out the ‘F’ word, ‘friend – can I just mention then that even though you say you were absolutely not crying, it would appear your mascara is woefully non-water-resistant.’

‘What? Oh no.’ Juliet slid her hand into the bag on the seat next to her, withdrew a mother-of-pearl mosaic-studded compact that Gloria just knew Juliet had made herself, and whipping it open, stared at her reflection, gave a whimper of dismay and then dived into her bag again. This time she withdrew a home-made and perfectly hand-stitched pouch in black velvet with little embroidered bees all over it and Gloria stared, wondering how the hell, in Juliet’s hands, all these mismatched, second-hand, home-made things could always all go together. Withdrawing a pack of face-wipes from the pouch, Juliet rubbed at her cheeks and muttered, ‘Thanks.’

‘So …?’ Gloria prodded, leaning down to rest her hands on the open car door frame so that Juliet couldn’t close the window and ignore her.

‘So?’

Gloria fought the need to roll her eyes. ‘Are you okay?’ God, this ‘F’ word thing was tricky.

‘Absolutely.’

Gloria tipped her head to the side, increasing the intensity of her narrowed gaze. ‘Why are you lying? Should I phone Oscar? Get Kate for you?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Are you sure?’ They’d certainly be better at taking the bruised expression out of her eyes than she was going to be.

‘I’m completely sure, thank you.’

‘Looks like you’re stuck with me, then.’ She studied Juliet as her nervous hands slipped her compact and face-wipes back in her bag and she sucked in her bottom lip, presumably to stop it wobbling. Making a keep talking motion with her hand Gloria advised, ‘Just tell me quickly. You’ll feel better and have time to pull yourself together before Melody comes out because I know you don’t want her seeing you like this.’

Juliet sighed. ‘You’re not going to stop until I tell you, are you?’

Gloria flashed a smile. ‘I always knew those Ditsy prints you insist on wearing didn’t fully reflect your personality.’

Being potentially called ditzy earned her an arched eyebrow before Juliet shook her head slightly, and said, ‘Look, it’s just bad period pains, okay.’

‘So pop a couple of painkillers and be done with it … oh!’ Her brain caught up with her mouth.

Juliet wasn’t pregnant then.

Again.

Still.

Yet.

Nothing slowed down the passage of time quite like not being pregnant. Gloria remembered that from before Persephone had come along.

A lump formed in her chest. At Christmas last year, you’d only had to look at Juliet to think she was pregnant.

She’d had that glow about her.

Coupled with the tiredness and the meepyness it was a natural conclusion.

And wrong.

It had turned out to be overwork and excitement about opening up The Clock House.

But eight months later and Juliet still wasn’t pregnant?

A fact which made the vintage-chic hairdresser’s usually bright button eyes dull and defeated.

Gloria rubbed at her chest. She should never have got out of the car. Juliet needed someone with an A* in friendship, and she only had a C-. Okay, maybe a C+ on a good day.

‘Yep. “Oh”,’ Juliet replied and then dragged in a shaky breath and pasted on a smile. ‘I’ll get over it though and be absolutely fine in a jiffy.’

Liar, liar. ‘Look,’ Gloria said, searching for a way to make it better. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you that the way you parent Melody is—’

‘Don’t,’ Juliet whispered, cutting her off. ‘Don’t be nice to me.’

Oops. Gloria actually got that because she absolutely hated it when she was upset and someone tried to be nice to her. Still. With the ‘F’ word to take into consideration, maybe a less obvious approach was needed. ‘How about I take Melody home with me and Perse this afternoon? You know the two never turn down the option to extend their day together. I can give her tea and you can – I don’t know – take a little time out to howl at the moon or something?’

‘You’re being nice,’ Juliet sniffed. ‘And Melody will be out any minute and like you said, I don’t want her to see me upset.’

Gloria was pleased about that. The last thing kids needed when the world was already so bewildering was to realise that parents hardly ever had their shit together.

When Bob had first left she hadn’t been able to cry at all and then one night, she’d checked her daughter was asleep before creeping out the back door and picking her way down to the bottom of the garden to finally give in to a crying jag. She’d repeated that pattern for a while and maybe all those tears rolling into the soil was why the flowers always bloomed better there, although as a method of growing award-winning roses, she thought she’d give suggesting it to garden designer, Jake, the swerve. Nobody ever needed to know she cried like an actual human.

Chewing down on her tongue to stop anything unhelpfully nice from coming out of her mouth, the irony that lately it was usually the other way around, wasn’t lost on her and then she was sending up a silent prayer of thanks as Juliet’s phone chirped. She stared pointedly at the phone sitting on the passenger seat. ‘Honestly, only you could have some sort of saccharine-Cinderella-sounding bird-cheeping as your ringtone.’

Juliet picked up her phone. ‘It’s a text from Emma. She wants us all to pop into Cocktails & Chai ASAP.’

Gloria tried not to sigh at the timing. Her shift didn’t start for two hours but maybe she could get Bob to take Persephone a couple of hours early.

As if realising what she was thinking, Juliet said, ‘We can take the girls with us. Afterwards, I’ll take Persephone back to mine until Bob’s ready to pick her up, or I can drop her off at Bob’s for you?’

‘Well aren’t you just begging for a distraction,’ Gloria surmised.

‘Going to help me out? It would help take my mind off …’

‘Stalking storks?’

Juliet laughed a little and Gloria felt the lump in her chest dissolve. Surely she got points for at least not making Juliet feel worse. Maybe Fortuna was right. Maybe there was enough ‘nice’ inside of her now.

‘So why do you think we’ve been summoned to Cocktails & Chai?’ she asked. ‘Do you think Emma’s finished the screenplay?’

Emma had never shown regret about declining her big break in Hollywood to stay and manage Cocktails & Chai. Privately Gloria thought that was probably more to do with falling in love with Jake Knightley than running the village tearoom and bar. Then Jake had mentioned her getting back into the writing she used to love before acting. One off-the-cuff suggestion she write a screenplay about his Knightley Hall ancestors, George and Lilly, and the next thing they all knew, Emma was buying How to Write A Screenplay for Dummies and talking a lot about storyboarding, which to Gloria sounded about as much fun as waterboarding, but each to their own. Emma’s un-waning passion for writing this screenplay at least stopped her talking about weddings, so Gloria was all for it.

Now she watched Juliet perk up at the thought of celebrating Emma finishing her screenplay and Gloria worried it wouldn’t come out right if she offered Juliet some words about taking the time to acknowledge she was upset about not being pregnant, instead of filling her world with distraction after distraction. ‘Heads-up,’ she ended up saying, ‘here come the adorable little monsters, now.’

‘Gloria?’

Gloria turned to look back at Juliet. ‘Hmm?’

Juliet smiled up at her. ‘Thanks for – well, just, thanks.’

Gloria looked back at the two girls running full-pelt towards them. ‘Don’t go mushy on me,’ she muttered out of the side of her mouth, ‘you know it brings me out in hives.’

As the girls greeted them Gloria kept a close eye on Juliet, who she thought did an excellent impression of a sponge, soaking up the distraction of the girls’ running commentary about a girl called Arabella Jones getting chosen to dance in the local production of The Nutcracker at Christmas.

It was barely August.

What happened to the long hazy summer days where the most taxing thing you had to decide was whether you wanted to go swimming in the river at Whispers Ford or spend the day under the tree on the village green making daisy chains?

Not that she’d ever done either of those when she was ten.

The summer she’d turned ten she’d taken the bus into town every day to visit her dad in hospital.

Taking a leaf out of Juliet’s rapt expression she tuned back in to hear the kids launch into a ringing endorsement of the ballet ‘taster’ session they’d signed up for, followed by a whine on why they’d been ‘allowed’ to simply give up on their ballet dreams years ago?

Gloria was compelled to remind them of the presentation they’d delivered charmingly titled ‘Basic Human Rights’ which had turned out to be a thinly disguised rail against the way Madame Benoit, who was about as French as Poirot, thought one hundred pliés in first position constituted a term’s worth of lessons.

As the girls looked at each other and then immediately launched into a speech about how they were prepared to forego some of their basic human rights if it meant they got to dance like Arabella Jones, she couldn’t help wondering why on earth Juliet would want to add to her family.

The negotiation was pretty much full-on, twenty-four-seven three-six-five.

But as she looked at her daughter and felt a happiness she was afraid might manifest itself on the outside like the sort of sparkle Edward Cullen came out in when the sun hit him at, well, any angle, she knew why.

Becoming a mum was the best thing that had ever happened to Gloria.

It was why she was determined to change for the better.

Chapter 4
Popping the Question

Juliet

Who was Arabella Jones? Juliet mentally went through her database of newly-acquired school information to take her mind off the dragging sensation in her abdomen.

Arabella … daughter of Carole Jones, of the On The Everything-That-Could-Possibly-Enable-My-Daughter-To-Shine-Ergo-Enable-Me-To-Shine Committee.

Gloria called her a perfect example of a helicopter-mum.

Juliet decided right there and then that if, while navigating this spaghetti junction that was becoming a parent of a school-aged child, she ever found herself in a field with a helipad, queuing up to get her pilot’s licence, she’d think about that special way Gloria had of making you feel stupid and step out of the queue.

As she drove towards The Clock House on Whispers Wood green, she listened to Melody and Persephone talking about how they’d been soooo immature to dismiss ballet before – all art-forms required sacrifice and discipline. Arabella Jones said so, so it must be true!

Juliet let her mind wander. By tonight, she’d be fine. All she needed was a seat on the sofa next to Oscar, a good box-set and him reaching over and wrapping her up in his big comforting arms and squeezing reassuringly. She’d squeeze back and start the process of resetting to their plan.

Their plan not to make getting pregnant into a big deal so that they minimized the stress in conceiving.

In the interests of full disclosure, no way had they been trying to get pregnant right off. Yet when she’d thought she’d accidentally fallen pregnant last Christmas …

All the things they thought they ought to think about in order to make a decision and plan appropriately. All the obstacles. All the busy-ness they both had going on had faded into the background. The look on Oscar’s face when she’d discovered she wasn’t pregnant had mirrored the look she’d known had been on hers.

Disappointment could be a simple and quiet pause, bringing you to a complete and utter standstill and forcing you to acknowledge what you ultimately wanted. And, it turned out, it could also become a constant hum if you let it.

But she wasn’t going to.

Wasn’t. Wasn’t. Wasn’t.

Gripping the steering-wheel in the perfect ten-to-two position she blotted out unhelpful thoughts and immersed herself in the girls’ talk.

‘Of course,’ Melody told Persephone in her wisest tone, ‘to be the best requires a competitive drive and sacrifice from the whole family.’

‘Competitive drive? You have met my mum, right? I’m covered.’ Persephone remarked with a laugh.

Juliet bit her lip so the laugh didn’t escape but Melody’s trickled out delightfully before she sobered and her voice popped up from the back, ‘Juliet? You must have had to sacrifice tonnes to get your business up and running. But you believed in yourself, didn’t you? You did it. So did Aunt Kate.’

‘I guess we did.’

‘See?’ Melody told Persephone. ‘Look at our role models. We can totally do this.’

Juliet blinked away the tears. What was she doing thinking about what she didn’t have, when all she had to do was look in the back seat of her car to see how much she already had.

‘Did you hear Arabella talking about how she’ll have her own dressing room and a bouquet delivered on opening night?’ Persephone asked.

Probably one big dressing room for the cast and the bouquet is from her mum but it did sound lovely, Juliet thought. What little girl wouldn’t love to get a star on her door and a bouquet of flowers especially delivered. Maybe she’d mention to Oscar about Melody starting ballet lessons again.

Or would that be too helicopter-y?

Trying to picture Melody reading less to have more time for ballet, wasn’t easy. The girl consumed books like they were her only source of oxygen.

‘Juliet? Could you show us how to put our hair up in a perfect bun – you know, without the donut – that’s how Arabella wears hers?’ Melody asked.

‘Sure.’

‘Do you think we could do it?’ Melody asked, her tone much less sure now.

‘I think you can do anything you put your mind to,’ Juliet said, determined to take her own advice, stick to hers and Oscar’s plan and not worry about not being pregnant yet.

‘We are going to be fabulous daaarrrling,’ Persephone announced and the two girls broke into hysterical laughter as Juliet pulled into her reserved space outside The Clock House.

Inside the beautiful red brick Georgian building, Juliet ushered the two girls towards the room on the right.

Efficiently she unlocked the glazed double doors, ensured the ‘closed’ sign was still in place and switched on the bank of lights.

This was her space, her salon, her baby, she thought, feeling the stab of pride as she looked around.

There was still hours of daylight to filter through the large square window but she loved how the discreet spotlights that studded the high ceiling, together with the five hanging chandeliers sitting over the hair-dressing stations, added a rich sparkle, turning the light warm and luxurious.

Out of habit she ran her gaze over each of the floor-to-ceiling ornately-framed mirrors painted matte cream with a touch of gold-leaf dusted on here and there. Not a smear in sight and she had her junior stylist, who was a demon with the duster, to thank for that, she knew.

The matching painted custom-made tables in front of the mirrors, with their antique hand-turned legs were cleared of magazines, hairdryers and other styling equipment. In the centre of each table there was a smaller version of this week’s main flower arrangement in reception. The slate grey squat pots with white gravel and sage green succulent looked chic and relaxing and just happened to go with the dusky rose and gold teacup and saucer holding a candle with the salon’s signature scent: rose and honey.

The hairdressing chairs had all been moved out to indicate that the floorboards had been swept and mopped.

She loved what she was creating here – loved what all of them were creating.

A perfect oasis of creativity.

Her client base was increasing month on month, mostly from word of mouth, which she loved because it meant she was getting the balance between the standard services like cutting, colouring, blow-drying and prom work, wedding work and even hair shows, right. Her stylists were happy they got to perfect the standard while pushing the art-form. All in all it made for a happy team.

Already feeling a little better, she left the girls in mani-pedi chairs, looking up ballet tutorials on YouTube on her phone. She’d double-check the appointment diary at reception for tomorrow and then go and find Emma.

As she approached the desk nestled underneath the sweeping staircase, her cousin Kate looked up with a pleased smile on her face. ‘One hundred percent occupancy in the spa all week.’ She raised her fist into the air triumphantly and then paused, ‘Hey, what’s up – you look tired.’

‘Just trying to calculate how much ballet classes might cost,’ she said, as she brought up the salon’s appointment diary and booking system. ‘Apparently ballet requires the ultimate in sacrifice and discipline, daaarling!’

‘So this is better than when they decided to have their own reality TV show, then?’

Juliet laughed. ‘Do you know why Emma wanted to see us all, I’m assuming you got the text too?’

‘I did and I don’t. Although thinking about it, she’d probably typed “The End” on the screenplay and wants to celebrate.’

‘That’s what Gloria said. I thought you were off today?’

‘I was, but then your other half decided to show off by using that big drill of his all day. I couldn’t take the noise or the dust at home, so I thought I’d come in, do a little admin.’

Oscar was busy converting Myrtle Cottage and Mistletoe Cottage into one home for Kate and Daniel to move into together and Juliet knew he’d been working to get the main part of the build signed-off so that they could start enjoying some semblance of quiet after the long hours they were putting in here.

‘By the way,’ Kate declared, waggling her eyebrows, ‘you just missed your cue to talk about how much you love Oscar’s big drill. Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ Juliet promised. At least she would be. As soon as she found something to distract herself with. Closing the appointment app, pleased to note she was also fully booked the next day, she said, ‘Come on, let’s go find Emma,’ and moving out from behind the desk she crossed the parquet flooring to enter the room opposite, Cocktails & Chai.

Kate pouted. ‘No more talk of big drills and toolboxes?’

‘Drills and tools?’ Gloria muttered, looking up from the bar as they both walked in. ‘Of course, you know what they say—’ Gloria’s voice cut-off as she dived into her large bag. One good yank and out came a folder which Juliet presumed was the weekly stats and as Gloria passed them to Kate there was a spark in her eye that Juliet had seen before.

‘Now, now, you two – play nicely,’ Juliet tried to warn, thinking it was asking the impossible, as she looked from Gloria to Kate. The two of them would die before admitting to the fact they were similarly feisty, fiercely proud, and loyal to a fault.

Somehow Gloria wrestling her way into their group balanced the three of them out, Juliet thought. Without her, Kate, Emma and she were maybe a little too concerned with treading that fine line between friendship and business and even with Daniel adding a layer of practicality to their sometimes over-enthusiastic approach, it was Gloria who always managed to get them all to focus and raise their game.

‘So come on, then,’ Kate said, looking at Gloria, completely helpless to stop herself rising to the bait, ‘what do they say?’

‘That if you have to keep talking about something …’ Gloria said.

‘Uh-huh,’ Kate nodded, waited a half-beat and then added, ‘and how’s that man-ban working out for you?’

Completely unaffected by the jibe, Gloria grinned and slid a glass down the polished marble-top of the bar towards Juliet. ‘That’s for you.’

‘What is it?’ she asked, looking at it dubiously. For all she knew it was some sort of weird fertility potion.

Ooh, not completely a ridiculous idea, she thought. Maybe she should give Trudie McTravers’ daughter, The Herbalist from Horsham, a call. She’d nearly gone to her a couple of years back on the off chance she could make her an anti-love potion to help her fall out of love with Oscar. Good job she hadn’t gone ahead with that move but getting some tips on what she could eat or drink to help her get pregnant? Sounded more legit than asking about love potions, anti or otherwise.

‘Trust me,’ Gloria said. ‘It’ll help.’

‘Help with what?’ Kate immediately asked, picking it up and sniffing it.

Gloria produced one of her trademark eye-rolls. ‘It’s just water with dissoluble painkillers,’ she told Juliet. ‘I figured you hadn’t had time to take anything yet.’

‘Life-saver,’ she declared and taking it from Kate’s hands, drank the whole lot down in one. ‘Thank you.’

‘You got a headache, hun?’ Kate asked concerned. ‘I know I said we were fully booked but I’m certified to do Indian Head Massage now.’

‘It’s just period pain,’ Juliet dismissed.

‘Oh.’ Kate’s huge chocolate brown eyes suddenly clouded with understanding. ‘Oh.’

‘Don’t you start,’ Juliet mumbled. ‘She’s already had a go,’ she added, pointing to Gloria.

Kate turned on Gloria. ‘You had a go at her? Why the hell would you do that? Don’t you know what it’s like to want something so bad—’

‘Wow. Kate, stand-down,’ Juliet insisted. ‘Gloria didn’t have a go at me. She had a go at cheering me up.’

‘Huh?’ Kate’s expression immediately morphed into confusion.

‘Weird as it sounds,’ Gloria murmured.

‘Sorry.’ Kate’s expression turned contrite. ‘I shouldn’t have assumed—’

‘Why not,’ Gloria smiled. ‘You look cute as an ass.’

‘Great, you’re all here,’ Emma said, walking in at just the right time. ‘Thanks for coming in.’

Gloria shrugged. ‘It’s what you pay me to do.’

Juliet watched Gloria concentrate fiercely on pushing the strap of her bag back into place in the cubby hole behind the bar and couldn’t help but feel for her. The once nick-named Wicked Witch of Whispers Wood had hung up her broom these days and her efforts earlier had genuinely helped Juliet pull herself together. If it had been Kate at those school gates she’d have enveloped her in a tight hug and Juliet would’ve been sobbing on her shoulder within seconds and she really was very tired of crying.

Emma dived behind the bar and pulled out a tray with four cocktail glasses. ‘Honey-martinis all-round?’

‘We’re celebrating, then?’ Kate asked, moving to sit on one of the barstools.

‘I hope so,’ Emma said, finishing off the cocktails with cute miniature honey drizzle stirring sticks.

‘I should probably have something non-alcoholic,’ Juliet said, thinking about her new health regime, and then took a look at Emma’s face, and said, ‘Okay, okay. I guess one cocktail isn’t going to hurt.’

Emma grinned and passed them around. ‘So, I wanted the three of you here so that I could tell you—’ she broke off, shook her head, and pushed her long blonde hair nervously back behind her ears. ‘No. To ask you …’

Juliet, Kate and Gloria all raised their glasses, waiting.

‘Because ever since I arrived in Whispers Wood,’ Emma said, ‘you girls have made my stay here so wonderful and—’

Gloria, having given up waiting and taken a sip of her cocktail, spluttered, ‘What the hell does that mean? You make it sound like you’re going somewhere.’

‘No,’ Emma moaned. ‘Sorry. I knew I should have rehearsed.’ Taking a deep breath she tried again. ‘I swear—’

Kate laughed. ‘I think that’s more Gloria’s department.’

‘Hey,’ Gloria defended.

‘I swear,’ Emma began again, ‘ever since I started writing that screenplay it’s like I’ve forgotten‒’

‘How to get to the bloody point?’ Gloria muttered.

Kate let out a ‘Ha,’ and, holding up her hand to pause the conversation, disappeared out the back, returning moments later with a glass jar, which she popped on the end of the bar.

‘What’s that for?’ Gloria asked ignoring Emma’s announcement to walk over and inspect it. ‘Charity jar?’

‘#SquadGoals,’ Kate nodded, ‘I’m expecting it to be full by the end of the week.’

Juliet looked at the jar. ‘I thought Daniel’s idea was to come up with a way each business could contribute to charity. Using tip jars to donate doesn’t seem quite what he had in mind.’

‘It’s a swear jar,’ Kate said grinning. ‘For Gloria.’

‘What the f—’ Gloria stopped and shooting daggers at Kate added on, ‘—actual?’

‘The factual is that you can barely get through a sentence without swearing,’ Kate teased.

‘It should be for all of us,’ Juliet placated.

Kate snorted. ‘It’s about playing to our strengths.’

‘And my strength is swearing?’ Gloria glowered. ‘That’s what you feel I contribute here?’

‘Well you have to admit …’ Emma said, smiling to soften her words.

‘I’m bloody-well not admitting to anything,’ Gloria stated. ‘Shit,’ she added when she realised she’d sworn. With a deep sigh, she dived into her bag, withdrew a fiver, held it up to Kate with a ‘Satisfied now?’ expression and rammed it into the jar.

‘Anyhoo … back to why I asked you all here?’ Emma said.

Three heads turned from the swear jar back to Emma.

‘Jake and I have been talking about our wedding and we’ve made—’ she paused dramatically, ‘a decision!’

‘Don’t tell me you’ve finally come up with a date?’ Kate asked.

‘No,’ Emma said, raising her glass triumphantly and grinning from ear to ear as she added, ‘I want you all to be my bridesmaids.’

Juliet glanced up to the resplendent chandelier hanging from the ceiling to check that hers and Kate’s ear-piercing, eye-watering squeal of excitement hadn’t shattered the glass before she legged it round the bar to hug Emma, only beating Kate by a second.

Jumping up and down in a group hug, thinking how she now had the perfect project to help take her mind off the subject of pregnancy, it took Juliet a moment to realise one person was missing from the group hug.

Opening her eyes her gaze bounced straight to Gloria’s and got caught up in the hypnotic slow-blinking of the huge cat-shaped orbs. She looked utterly gobsmacked.

‘Gloria?’ Emma finally turned around, realising also that she hadn’t joined the hug. ‘What about it? Will you be one of my bridesmaids?’

Gloria’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, in time with the slow blink of her eyes.

Move Juliet silently commanded using her best Jedi mind-control voice.

Come and hug your friend who’s just asked you to be a part of her special day.

‘Gloria?’ Emma asked again, a nervous, embarrassed thread present in her voice now.

This is not a drill, Juliet tried to convey.

Her expression part bemused, part horrified, Gloria asked, ‘And it has to be bridesmaid at a wedding? I can’t be bridesmaid for something else?’

‘Yes, silly,’ Emma laughed. ‘Specifically my wedding. What do you say?’

Into the shocked silence, Juliet watched Kate push the swear jar towards Gloria.

Chapter 5
Village of the Damned

Gloria

She was being punished.

That was what this was.

A bridesmaid???

Well, if that didn’t categorically prove Karma was a bitch.

She glanced to the stupid swear jar which was already a quarter full damn it – wait, ‘damn’ wasn’t a swear word was it? Crap. It was. She might as well write an IOU for a gazillion pounds and be done with it. Chewing on her bottom lip to stop more four letter words from forming, she rubbed at a spot on the already gleaming surface of the bar.

What on earth had possessed Emma to ask her?

What on earth had possessed her to agree?

Since when was she that person – the one who succumbed to peer pressure?

But as Emma, Juliet, and even Kate, had all turned to stare at her expectantly, she’d felt something inside of her, jumping up and down, waving its hands in the air screaming, ‘Ooh, ooh, pick me, pick me …’

Acceptance.

Something she’d wanted for the longest time.

The next thing she’d known she’d been uttering the words, ‘Oh, sod it, then,’ and awkwardly moving forward to hug Emma.

Pitiful, she thought with a shake of her head as she picked up the pitcher of milk and quietly moved across the back of Cocktails & Chai to put it down on the table where she’d set out coffee and tea for after the village meeting currently in session.

Mary, the school chaplain, was addressing the gathered residents but darned if Gloria could make out what it was about.

‘Speak up,’ she wanted to shout. Speak up and drown out this racing uncertainty Emma had only asked so that the token ‘bitchy bridesmaid’ role was filled, because not to get too technical, but the whole point of working so hard on herself lately was to be, you know, less bitchy.

Creeping back to her place behind the bar, she stowed the swear jar on a shelf behind her and sighed. Had it really only been eight hours ago that Fortuna was assuring her she’d be fine?

At the opposite end of the large room, against the backdrop of what she’d used to think of as calming eau-de-nil paint, but in her current state only made her feel bilious, Crispin Harlow, head of Whispers Woods’ Residents Association, finally cut Mary off with an impatient, ‘Yes, thank you Mary, I’m sure we’re all pleased the school’s pet goldfish will be getting new companions at the start of the school year. Let me know what the children decide to name them and I’ll announce it at the next meeting.’

Wow.

Gloria broke her village meeting rule with an exceptionally satisfying eye-roll. Seriously, the school’s goldfish getting friends to form a school of their own? Hardly, Hold the Front Page news, was it?

To combat the frustration of having to be present while this was discussed she imagined breaking into the school, stealing all the naming cards for the new goldfish and filling them all out with her own suggestions of: Dick and Fanny.

Thinking it through though she realised that to make the cards look authentic she’d have to write in lots of different handwriting styles, and use a lot of different pens … so much hard work. Not to mention making sure Persephone didn’t rumble her, and use that ‘disappointed’ expression like she had when Gloria had asked her teacher to write her an essay on why the urban dictionary was no substitute for an actual dictionary when it came to putting proper words on the children’s homework spelling list.

Reaching forward she turned a copy of the agenda towards her to see what other thrilling topics the village was going to discuss ad infinitum that evening.

As a way of disseminating gossip quicker than rural broadband speed, Crispin’s village meetings were unsurpassable. She’d even used the forum herself, she remembered, wincing at how she’d stood up in one of the meetings last summer and told everyone assembled just who newcomer Daniel Westlake had formerly associated himself with.

She was lucky Daniel had a forgiving nature.

These days, whenever it was her turn to be key-holder for the meeting, the first thing she did after turning the giant clock back ten minutes to ensure everyone arrived on time, was to swipe a stack of Post-it notes from Daniel’s desk in the co-working office space he ran from the top floor of the clock house and write her village meeting mantra: less speaking, more smiling and absolutely NO rolling of the eyes.

She looked under the bar now to the scribbled Post-its (other sticky notes are available at Hive @ The Clock House) and stifled the sigh.

As Crispin started rambling on, she tried to pay attention but within moments all she could think was how on earth was she going to pull off the role of bridesmaid? Didn’t they have to be supportive, and involved and, oh joy, wear one of those dresses in floaty pastel?

Of course the minute the deal had been sealed with the hugging, it had started … The first conversation of no doubt millions, in which she’d quickly realised, she was a) not supposed to want to escape, and b) expected to participate positively in.

‘When’s the date, then?’ Juliet had immediately wanted to know.

‘Yes,’ Kate had said. ‘Because we’ll have to close this place, or are you getting married at the Hall?’

‘Surely it will be at the Hall,’ Juliet had answered on Emma’s behalf. ‘There’s probably some sort of tradition or something?’

‘Or church,’ Kate had said, looking at Emma. ‘Are you thinking the whole big church wedding?’

Gloria had shuddered at the thought of having to step foot inside a church again. Nervously she’d glanced across to Emma, who looked how she felt, out of her depth and completely overwhelmed.

‘Um …’ Emma had trailed off and then bravely admitted, ‘we haven’t set the actual date yet. We’re waiting until we find the perfect one, where everyone’s free. Mum’s on another cruise and we don’t know when Jake’s oldest brother Marcus is planning to come back.’

‘But surely Seth is Jake’s best man,’ Gloria had squawked indignantly. After all, out of the six Knightleys, he was the only one here supporting Jake’s plans for the Hall.

Three pairs of intelligent, knowing eyes turned to her.

Bugger.

Why had she had to go and mention Seth like she was invested or something?

‘Jake’s asking Seth right now,’ Emma had assured. ‘But—’

‘Look, I know it must be like herding cats getting all the brothers and sisters in the same place at the same time, but isn’t it more important for you to get the date you two want?’ The words had tumbled out of Gloria’s mouth as she remembered receiving the list of suitable dates that Bob’s mother had issued for their wedding.

‘Or, if you don’t know the date yet,’ Kate had interrupted, ‘what season do you want? You could have a winter wedding. Ooh, I’ve always wanted a winter wedding.’

‘Winter?’ Emma wrinkled her nose. ‘I think I’m more—’

‘Absolutely,’ Juliet had instantly agreed, assessing Emma, ‘with your blonde hair, I’m thinking summer or autumn. That’s only a year away – will that give you enough time to plan?’

A year?

As in three hundred and sixty five days of wedding stuff?

Shoot me now, Gloria had thought, and announced, ‘I think you should do it as soon as possible.’

When they stared like she was the font of all wedding knowledge, it had occurred to her that, technically, she was. She was certainly the only one out of the four of them who had organised a wedding and been married.

The nausea had become more pronounced as she’d mumbled, ‘If you spend too much time planning, everything about the day gets blown out of proportion and you lose sight of the fact it’s to celebrate your union rather than pulling off the perfect party.’

There’d been shocked silence and then Kate had murmured, ‘Actually, she has a point.’

‘She has a name and thank you,’ Gloria had said, with a nod, the nausea abating somewhat.

‘To be honest for now I’m just happy to have organised the bridal party,’ Emma had said.

Gloria had looked at Emma’s dreamy expression that suggested a definite lack of feeling the need – the need for speed – and had asked herself how much she really want to be accepted by these women?

‘So let’s ask Gloria,’ Crispin’s voice suddenly boomed across the room.

At the sound of her name she shot up from behind the bar where she’d been quietly rummaging in her bag for those handy stress balls she’d taken from Fortuna’s office. ‘Huh?’ she responded, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes so that she could eye the agenda.

Tonight’s meeting was supposed to be about the infrastructure for the Beer Festival. Now that Whispers Wood had reactivated their summer fetes, this year the village had voted on moving it to autumn to tie-in with the local micro-brewery who’d won some sort of award.

She thought Kate had submitted The Clock House’s ideas when she’d realised the meeting conflicted with Thursday Night Dinner at her mum, Sheila’s. Emma was with Jake no doubt celebrating that they’d made one wedding decision and Juliet had been whisked out for dinner by Oscar after Gloria had snuck out to find him and mention he might want to spoil Juliet that evening.

It wasn’t butting in, she’d told herself. It was making sure two people she sort of liked made time to talk about what was going on because once the talking stopped it usually meant you were completely unpractised at it when the big stuff hit the fan.

‘So, how about it, Gloria,’ Crispin asked, ‘are you going to enlighten us?’

‘Pretzels,’ she said, looking around the room. At the blank stares she added a confident nod. ‘You all know we stock the micro-brewery’s Whispers Wrangler. We had a think about what goes with beer and came up with pretzels. Sheila’s going to cook up huge batches and presto: a Beer and Pretzels tent from The Clock House.’

‘Yes. I have you down for the pretzels but I was asking about the other thing?’ Crispin repeated.

There was another thing?

What other thing?

She certainly couldn’t tell him what she thought about the bridesmaid thing.

She couldn’t tell anyone.

Besides, it was going to be fine.

It had to be.

She could survive without imploding, or worse, exploding all over Emma and Jake’s Big Day.

‘Gloria?’

‘Wow—yes?’ Gloria blinked rapidly, tipping her head to the side on the off chance her own Big Day wedding montage would simply fall right out of her head. Just because Emma and Jake’s wedding was going to be the first wedding in Whispers Wood, since, well, hers … ‘What?’ she said grumpily.

Crispin gave her eye-rolling a run for its money and lifted his hand impatiently, ‘Can you shed some light onto the proceedings?’

‘The pretzel proceedings?’ She stood behind the safety of the bar, caught in the glare provided by some of the residents as they turned to stare at her. Unable to take it, she glanced upwards, straight into the large sparkly chandelier. The one with the ridiculous fairytale attached to it. The one responsible for making her think about Seth Knightley in a light which, if it ever got out and saw the light of day, she’d have to disavow all knowledge of, and leave Whispers Wood in the middle of the night, never to return.

‘You know Gloria,’ Crispin said, his voice exasperated, ‘after all that Whispers Wood has done for you I don’t think it’s too much to ask you to share your intel.’

Intel?

‘I know you’re in the know,’ Crispin declared.

‘The know?’

‘As if you wouldn’t be – what with being Emma’s bridesmaid.’

Gloria’s mouth dropped open. Everyone knew already? There would be no graceful backing-out? Not that Gloria had the first clue as to what constituted graceful. Should have studied ballet like that Arabella Jones.

Yanking up the agenda for the meeting, she pointed to it. ‘There’s nothing listed here about Emma and Jake and their wedding. How did you find out?’

‘Felix heard it from Sheila who I believe got it from Cheryl who told Mrs. Harlow when they met in Big Kev’s corner shop earlier this afternoon.’

General consensus noises could be heard throughout the room.

Unbelievable, except, if you lived in Whispers Wood, and had had first-hand experience of the village vine, completely believable. ‘What has my being one of Emma’s bridesmaids have to do with the beer festival?’

Crispin stared at her like she’d dropped twenty IQ points. ‘I would have thought that was obvious. I did ask both Jake and Emma to be here tonight so that we could address the,’ he brought up his hands to make speech marks, ‘matter openly.’

‘What,’ she brought her hands up to copy his speech marks, ‘matter? Are you asking me what beer they’ve chosen for the reception? Or whether they want to use the tents for the big day?’

‘I’m asking you to give us the date for their wedding.’

‘Are you worried it will clash with a golfing day?’

‘I’m worried it will clash with the beer festival.’

With a glance at her Village Meeting Mantra, she pasted on another smile and said, ‘Just pick a day and let them know. I’m sure they’ll be able to work around it.’

Crispin shook his head. ‘No can do. It needs to be the other way round so I can organise accordingly. These stall-holders aren’t going to wait indefinitely. If I don’t give them a date – a date that I’m certain won’t conflict—’

‘Oh, for—’ Do not swear. Do not swear. ‘Do you really think the whole of Whispers Wood is going to be invited to Emma and Jake’s wedding?’

Shocked gasps rung out and then everyone started speaking at once.

Oh … my … God … just as she thought she might have to suggest to Emma that they store riot gear on the premises, Crispin got to do his favourite thing and as his gavel rapped sharply against the lectern, and his shouts of ‘Order, order,’ rang out, the room quietened back down.

He looked confused as he asked, ‘Why ever wouldn’t we all be invited?’ And then suspicious as he added, ‘Do you know something we don’t?’

Fifty heads turned in her direction.

‘I know nothing.’ Shit. Her heart was pounding now and her mouth dry. ‘About anything,’ she added. Crikey, was that sweat breaking out on her upper lip?

‘You obviously do,’ Crispin pressed. ‘You’re being very mysterious about the whole thing.’

Telling herself she couldn’t afford to get arrested for clearing the bar in one tall leap, and braining Crispin with either a cocktail shaker or teapot, she tried to infuse her tone with patience. ‘I promise I’m not.’

‘There’s not trouble in paradise is there?’ Ted the mechanic, completely unhelpfully threw out, causing a worried, ‘oooh’ to go around the room.

‘Of course not,’ Gloria answered hurriedly. ‘They’re sickeningly in love. It’s foul.’ Wait, that hadn’t come out right at all. At this rate she was going to need those stress balls super-glued to her hands.

‘Then if there’s no hiccup with their relationship, what’s the issue? In-law trouble?’

Gloria stared at the rabble. They just kept coming. Like Walkers – of The Walking Dead variety, rather than the local ramblers’ society. ‘No. That’s not it, I’m sure.’

‘Then give us the date,’ Crispin pressed, folding his arms.

‘Yes, when’s the big day?’ Carole Jones piped up, probably hoping to get darling-daughter, Arabella, cast as a flower girl.

‘Look, they haven’t decided yet, okay?’ Gloria ground out.

‘Of course they have, they’ve gathered the wedding party,’ Trudie McTravers insisted. ‘You don’t gather the wedding party until you’ve decided on the date, everyone knows that.’

‘Come on, Gloria, dish the date,’ Ted’s wife said. ‘If I don’t get home soon, I’m going to miss the season finale of Merriweather Mysteries.’ Turning back to Crispin she said, ‘I don’t know why you scheduled the meeting for tonight, Crispin.’

‘Catch-up TV, maybe you’ve heard of it?’ Crispin replied.

‘Yes, but then I can’t tweet along during it and I have to turn off all my notifications so I don’t get spoilers before I get to see it.’

‘What’s to tweet? The most famous person is always the murderer,’ Gloria murmured and then reminded herself that the longer they were talking about this, the less time to talk about the other thing.

‘I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Merriweather Mysteries fan,’ Janet, one of the beauticians at the spa told Ted’s wife. ‘What do you think of the second series?’

‘It’s taken a bit of a delicious darker Dr Foster-esque turn, hasn’t it? Have you heard who they’re lining up for series three?’

‘Damn it, Janet,’ Crispin moaned, seemingly bemused at why people were now asking if Trudie could look into the next Whispers Wood production being The Rocky Horror Show. ‘Please everyone, we don’t have time for this. We need the wedding date so we can progress the beer festival. It’s in Emma and Jake’s best interests anyway. I can’t imagine their distress if it’s accidentally double-booked and residents have to decide whether to support them or the village.’

Frustrated and feeling the bilious-inducing green walls closing in, all Gloria could do was look around the room helplessly and repeat, ‘Come on, you can’t seriously imagine the whole of Whispers Wood is invited?’

‘Of course we’re invited. It’ll be up at the Hall, won’t it?’ Trudie insisted. ‘We’ll all get the chance to see the gardens and Cheryl’s probably going to be asked to provide some of her prize-winning dahlias for the arrangements. Who won’t want to see and support that?’

At this new barrage of wedding-date harassment all Gloria could think was if she didn’t shut this down, they’d be egging each other on from now until the Doomsday Clock hit midnight.

‘All right, all right,’ she shouted. ‘You want a date? You want me to, like, give you their actual booked and completely planned wedding date?’

The room erupted into one great big fat affirmative.

As her thought process leapfrogged all over her brain in panic she suddenly found herself opening her mouth and saying, ‘Fourth of October.’

Wait—What the what?

The fourth of October?

As in her wedding anniversary, the fourth of October?

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Blood pounded in her ears.

Her heart felt tachycardic and she gripped the edge of the bar as the ground shifted under her.

Chapter 6
Treading on Toes, Financial Woes and Post-Divorce Goals

Seth

Seth Knightley stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and automatically took a step back as he lifted the bathroom door gently to aid opening it.

He’d only needed one close encounter with the ‘slicing zone’, the first morning he’d moved back into his childhood home, for his toes to remember the danger.

Muscle memory was weird, he thought, remembering how at sixteen, after the family dog had sadly departed this world, it had taken him months to stop taking that extra-wide step every time he got up off the sofa so that he didn’t accidentally step on his old faithful friend, Digger.

He eased a hand across the old familiar ache in his heart. He hadn’t thought about Digger in years.

Probably something about this place because speaking of weird, a few months living back at Knightley Hall and all he’d done was think.

About things.

All the things.

Okay, let’s get real. This place might provide the perfect ruminating ambiance but it was signing the divorce papers that had brought about that perfect trifecta of cogitation also known as: thinking about the past, present and future.

A necessary but hard task since all the work he’d put in over the years to deliberately shut-down philosophising on life’s hard questions.

Life was too short and at twenty Seth had learned the hard truth – that sometimes there were no reasons for what went down. You just had to look forward and get through, collecting as little shrapnel as possible.

The approach had served him well until at twenty-eight, finding himself at the end of something that hadn’t worked right from the beginning … probably because of too little thinking on his part, he’d been forced to conclude that going forward it might help to find out where he stood on the really big things.

Escaping the cloud of steam from the bathroom, he headed back to his room, bumping straight into his brother, Jake, in the hallway.

‘Going somewhere?’ Jake asked.

Seth shoved hair that was not quite as long and was shades lighter than his brother’s raven-coloured-brooding-Poldark-look back from his face and considered his answer.

Actually he had two places to be – the first place on account of now knowing where he stood on the really big things and the second place … yeah … there was no way it needed to get out how he made his living these days.

He had time before he needed to be at either though and contributing free labour around the place was, for the time being, the only way Seth could help out.

‘You want me to drive that framework for the courtyard garden over to The Clock House?’ he asked. It had been hard, sweaty work loading the iron fret-work Jake had designed onto one of Oscar’s flat-bed trucks so that it could be installed in the courtyard garden of the clock house later that week. Seth knew Jake was miffed about the project being badly delayed but he really hoped his brother wasn’t heading down there this afternoon to get a head-start on the installation. He’d been counting on Jake working in the gardens here, so that he could go to the clock house himself. He had a desk booked at Hive @ The Clock House and it was going to be hard enough to avoid all the curious looks, without Jake wading in with blunt questions as to what he was doing.

‘No need, I’ll do it tomorrow,’ Jake answered. ‘So have you got a job interview or something, then?’

Irritation wormed its way under Seth’s usual happy-go-lucky demeanour. That particular question came out of his brother’s mouth more often than the summer’s hit was played on the radio and played in his ear like the worst kind of ear-worm. If he had his way he’d be working here at Knightley Hall, not necessarily drawing a salary yet, but definitely recognised as part of the team.

But in order to be part of the team what he really needed to do was nail the presentation he was working on.

It was as simple and as difficult as that.

Simple because selling, whether it be a country estate, or a trip to the dentist, was supposed to be right in his wheelhouse, and so who was he if he couldn’t sell Jake on the idea this place could work harder for him, rather than the other way around?

Difficult because ever since he’d lost his job as a sales negotiator for an independent estate agency specialising in large manor house sales and got divorced, and ended up back at Knightley Hall sleeping in his old childhood room, he’d been somewhat off his game.

Not that he’d let anyone notice enough to comment on the fact. Well, except for maybe Gloria, he thought. But they were friends now and besides, her super-power was zeroing right in on a person’s weakness. He was just fortunate that lately she’d chosen to use her powers for good, rather than evil.

He didn’t think anyone other than her had worked out his confidence had sort of gone for a Burton and he’d like to keep it that way, even if it meant he had to resort to faking it until he made it.

And practising.

Practising a lot.

Because upon doing the hard thinking, he’d found to his amazement, that what he really believed in was Knightley Hall and what his brother, Jake, was trying to do here.

Since Christmas, watching his brother get up every single morning at Ungodly-Hour and work tirelessly to get the gardens ready to open to the public it had begun to sink in what this place offered and what he could offer back.

When he and Joanne had separated moving back here had been convenient even if bunking down in his old room and having to acknowledge he’d come full-circle hadn’t exactly made him feel stellar. Something about the freedom to think instead of simply taking up the next opportunity though, together with the honest hard work outdoors, had worked their considerable charm, and now?

Well, it was affirming to have something new to believe in.

Healing to discover he could make a home here.

Be a part of something bigger here.

Make a difference.

He just needed to convince Jake he was going to need someone with sales experience to drive the public to the gardens when they opened and to keep them coming back.

Seth was that person. He knew it. He felt it. He wanted it. Hell, he needed it.

‘You could say it’s job-related,’ Seth answered unsurprised to see his brother’s eyebrows this time draw down into a frown. He felt the pressure to get Jake on-board with his latest idea for generating income for the Hall mix with the pressure to get Jake to believe in him at all. ‘Look, are you going to be in later tonight?’ He’d deliver his presentation and Jake would see.

‘I guess I could make sure I am,’ Jake replied, his tone cautious, his dark eyes suspicious.

‘Good. I have something I want to run past you.’

Jake released a short, tired breath. ‘I knew it. If this is another one of your quick money-making schemes for the Hall, I’m too busy.’

‘Well, thanks bro. You know if you actually listened without the prejudice of seeing me only as the baby of the family—’

‘I’d what?’ Jake wanted to know. ‘I’d have approved the naturist glamping idea? Because who doesn’t want to worry about nakedness and treading on a garden tool and law-suits? Or what about the forest bathing retreat idea?’

Seth shook his head sadly. ‘I can’t believe you actually thought people would be flinging off their clothes and going full-moon feral in the woods.’

‘And let’s not forget the donkey sanctuary?’

‘Again – the fact that you could have pictured nakedness being a part of that … have you considered there might be help available for you—’

‘The falconry …’ Jake mentioned, ignoring Seth.

‘Hey, falconry is really in right now. People pay lots of money to have giant birds of prey swoop over their head and shave years off their life and it’s not a naked thing, it’s a majestic thing.’

‘Actually the falconry idea wasn’t totally awful,’ Jake admitted. ‘But do you have any idea how much outlay we’d be looking at to introduce even one of those plans at the Hall?’

‘I do actually. I wrote the cost-analysis reports you didn’t bother looking at. You know, I may be your kid brother but I’m not an actual kid anymore. I get it. You want to open the gardens to the public. You want to get married. You don’t have any money—’

‘What the hell?’ Jake bellowed, all patience immediately leaving the building faster than you could say Elvis already had. ‘I have money,’ he insisted, folding his arms. ‘Of course there’s money. Enough to support the Hall and get married.’

Damn.

The whole I need a dollar, dollar, a dollar is what I need subject was about as welcome a refrain around here as Seth having to hear the Have you got a job interview?

But this was why Jake was walking around so moody lately, wasn’t it? This was why he and Emma were both being so remarkably chill on finalising all those wedding details?

At first Seth had thought the pair of them keeping schtum about their wedding plans was out of deference to his divorce coming through but after a while he’d begun to worry it was something else. Jake had been engaged once before and as far as Seth knew his brother had his priorities set right this time. Accept there were no wedding plans forthcoming and when Seth wasn’t working flat-out he was wondering why that was.

‘I know the garden designing brings in a fair whack,’ he said now, standing his ground, needing for his brother to see he got the whole picture. ‘Just like I know this place eats up whatever it’s fed and still complains of being hungry after. I also know it’s probably going to cost you the income you made last year just to get married.’

‘Seth, I was handling budgets when you were busy dropping out of uni, swanning around the world and getting married on a whim,’ Jake said, managing to convey a largess of patronisation that only big brothers were capable of.

Here we go, Seth thought. The old ‘You Dropped Out of Uni and Ever Since It’s Been One Dubious Decision After Another,’ lecture. And since he was never going to regret leaving uni when he did, he was damn sure he didn’t need to explain his reasoning to his big brother, who, while enjoying acting like a parent; wasn’t. ‘So come on then,’ Seth said, telling himself to leave it. Telling himself not to have this conversation in the hallway while they were both tired. But then in the manner of muscle memory and brothers squaring off as brothers do, Seth promptly forgot his own advice to himself, copied Jake in folding his arms stubbornly across his chest, and said, ‘How much do you think the average wedding costs these days? I don’t need the full luxury package,’ he assured, ‘just give me the ballpark on the church, smallish reception and honeymoon package?’

‘Why? Are you worried there won’t be enough left over to put food on the table while you continue to live here rent free?’

‘Like you don’t know I’ve been giving Emma money for the last four months,’ Seth’s pride was forced to remind his brother.

He saw the shock wash across Jake’s face. Emma hadn’t told him where the money was coming from? What the hell was that all about?

On the scent of the sale now and unwilling to let any ground he could make crumble to dust, he pressed, ‘So come on then, enlighten me … how much does the average wedding cost?’ Because he’d done the workings out and granted, his brother had been handling small contracts and obscenely large award-winning contracts for years as part of his garden-design work but this place was going to continue to eat as much as Jake and Emma made until it could start paying for itself and being the new owner of this place came with responsibilities – the type where you were expected to put on a show, not quietly elope.

Then there was the fact that sound travelled really easily in this old house. So it was virtually impossible not to have heard the late-night discussions about Jake not wanting either of Emma’s estranged parents financially contributing to the wedding.

‘Hang on a bloody minute,’ Jake insisted, ‘you’ve been giving Emma money every month? Where are you getting it from?’

Oops.

‘I got a job. You didn’t seriously imagine I would want to live off my big brother forever?’

‘You got a job?’

‘It’s casual.’

‘Of course it is.’

Seth puffed out his chest. ‘I don’t hear you complaining when it means I’m around to help you out around here.’

‘So what’s the big plan, then? I assume you have one? Only it’ll be good to know how long you intend on repaying me letting you work here for free by putting food on my table.’

His big plan?

His big plan was genius.

Low risk. High reward.

And had he mentioned genius?

His big plan was to use the professional-quality printer and video editing equipment at Hive @ The Clock House to print out all the photos he’d taken of Knightley Hall as full-colour A3 glossies and then finish up editing the video footage of the Hall before giving the marketing packet to his location scout contact.

His big plan was to get the location scout to fall in love with Knightley Hall and then recommend it to the film production company looking for the next place to shoot Merriweather Mysteries.

The amount of money they’d get for allowing two months of off-season filming a year for six episodes a series for as long as it took for the public to decide they no longer wanted to see their favourite thesps in pension-enhancing hamming-it-up blood-curdling cosy mystery roles set in bucolic Blighty, was a no-brainer.

Phase two of his plan was to present the idea to Jake in such a way that Jake gave the go-ahead and also, possibly, bestowed the word ‘genius’ upon him … so much more preferable than presenting his idea and ending up as inspiration for the next series of Merriweather Mysteries.

But he needed to be patient and do it right this time.

‘You can’t look after us all forever, Jake,’ he said, keeping his voice low and calm. ‘I know you’re the one who we all come to but what if my big plan is for you to get to enjoy this place? What if my big plan is for you to get to enjoy your marriage without money stuff getting in the way?’

Jake did the whole pinching-the-bridge-of-his-nose thing that meant he didn’t know whether to engage full big-brother superiority or show that he was more evolved than that. ‘Seth, it’s not your responsibility to worry about this. Emma and I are just fine.’

‘Are you?’ he cut in, searching his big brother’s face.

‘Of course we are,’ Jake asserted, ‘And now that we’ve set the date—’

‘You mean now Gloria’s set the date?’

He still couldn’t believe she’d succumbed to village pressure. Must be getting soft. But at least she’d actually affected a wedding discussion between Jake and Emma. Although, for arguments sake you should cross out the word discussion and replace it with argument. But if the noises coming out of the opposite wing of the house last night were any indications, they’d definitely made up afterwards, so, ‘Good one, Glor,’ he thought.

‘It will still be our choice,’ Jake said, handily ignoring Gloria’s contribution to their wedding planning. ‘Mine and Emma’s, what we spend on our wedding.’

‘But wouldn’t it be great if you had more choice than you thought? Look,’ he paused, drew in a breath and managed to hold back on the frustration. ‘Just be around tonight – both of you – so that I can run my idea past you. Okay?’

‘Fine.’

Seth didn’t know what Jake saw in his eyes to finally have him backing down, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know if it happened to be desperation, so he turned around and headed back to his room to get dressed, pausing only when Jake said casually, ‘Hey? Return the favour for me and make sure you’re around tomorrow evening?’

‘Tomorrow?’ Seth automatically turned around.

‘For dinner. It’s what I came up to ask you. We’re celebrating.’

‘We are?’

Jake’s grin was ironic. ‘Well, Gloria has now set the date!’

Chapter 7
Show Me The Way To Armadillo

Seth

‘… So looking at the income versus the amount of time the crew would be on-site,’ Seth murmured, sitting on top of the gate and pointing with his imaginary pointer to his imaginary screen.

At the ensuing silence Seth turned back to look out over the paddocks of the last tenanted farm on Knightley Hall land. With not a cloud in the sky and the grass holding onto the last of its green after the spate of hot summer days, it was easier to picture the positive look on Jake’s face when Seth explained why allowing a film company to film at Knightley Hall could only be a good thing.

But then the double-guessing kicked in. ‘Maybe instead of a pie chart, it should be a Gant chart? What do you think, Old Girl?’ he asked, and promptly received a moo back from Gertrude, his favourite Friesian in Felix’s herd. ‘I had you up until “Old Girl”, didn’t I?’ Seth asked with a grin. After moving back to Knightley Hall and bumping into Gertrude it hadn’t taken long to remember the cow had a penchant for wandering around. She was the nosiest resident in Whispers Wood and preferred listening to the problems of humans over the more generalist mooing from her herd.

Looking at him now, she mooed again, clearly calling disdain on his moniker of ‘Old Girl’.

‘Okay,’ Seth said decisively. ‘I’m going to pull the charts from the presentation. Let’s face it Jake isn’t impressed by a chart unless it contains a weather report or the pH levels of the surrounding soil.’

With a glance at his watch and wishing he felt as confident as he sounded, he hopped off the five-bar gate, gave Gertrude a quick pat and a ‘Good chat,’ and vaulted back over the gate to head on over to the clock house.

Ten minutes later he stepped onto the village green. Pulling his messenger bag across his body, he opened the main flap, peered inside and then lifted his head in disappointment. All the chat about pie charts with Gertrude had made him hungry but he’d forgotten to grab some food.

Then, as if his appetite had conjured the perfect amuse-bouche, he spotted her.

Gloria Pavey.

Sitting under his favourite tree.

Well, the tree he’d fallen out of more times than he cared to remember at any rate, mostly after rescuing various kittens, balls, and on one memorable occasion, Crispin Harlow’s wig. Don’t worry, no animals, wigs, or balls (either sort) were harmed during these falls.

He watched as Gloria brought a big, juicy red apple up to her lips and immediately illuminated in his head like one of those de rigueur lit message boxes everyone thought were super-cute but were really just annoying because there was never enough space to write a phrase proper, flashed the words: Behold! Here Lies Pure Tempt—

His stomach rumbled in agreement and he got all confused about the amount of French words he was suddenly using.

He had a feeling Gloria could make grown men speak in tongues, but French?

As he crossed the green towards her, he reminded himself the key to sustaining his friendship with her was to enjoy how their flirtatious personalities butted enticingly up against each other, while taking care not to cross a line she’d be able to tease him about forever.

He glanced at the apple again. Yep, it wasn’t like he’d been christened Adam. He wasn’t doing temptation at the moment. He was only doing friendship.

‘Well don’t you look adorbs sitting under my tree, reading,’ he called out and had to bite his lip to stop the grin from appearing as she fumbled the book she was reading and looked up at him.

Actually glared would be a much more fitting description.

Had he mentioned her eyes?

They were the colour of sea-green glass and could cool you down quicker than a cold shower or heat you up faster than a laser beam. Stunning and mesmerising in equal measure, they could observe a scene in a second, judge in a nano, and hand down a sentence with one perfectly-timed blink.

They could also twinkle.

Sparkle.

Beckon.

‘Adorbs?’ she spluttered. ‘Adorbs?’ With a look of utter disgust, she added, ‘get away from me Purloiner of Tween Words.’

Now his mouth did split into a happy grin. There was just something so soul-lifting-satisfying about riling her.

She was never going to believe she really did look adorable with the sun catching the auburn streaks in her hair, serenity vying for concentration on her face as she read her book.

Gloria didn’t often look at peace. Maybe when she stared at her daughter sometimes. But other than that, what she usually looked was ready to do battle. Lip-Sync Battle, Battle Rap, Battleship. Basically any kind of let’s-do-this battle.

It used to be she’d battle her own shadow along with everyone else and their shadows. These days she chose more wisely and battled mostly for those who couldn’t. Making her, in his humble opinion, charmingly righteous.

‘Language is for anyone and everyone to use,’ he replied. ‘If it wasn’t, you’d be in breach of copyright for every combination of swear word a sailor or trooper ever came up with.’

She scowled up at him. ‘Does Beth use word contractions like,’ she stopped, shuddered and declared, ‘no, I won’t say it again.’

For a moment he had no clue who she was referring to, and then with an embarrassed sweep of his hand to the back of his neck, remembered Beth was the name of the girl he’d been talking to in the bar all evening, a few nights before.

‘Ah. Sweet Beth,’ he murmured. Truthfully, sweet Beth was so saccharine she set his teeth on edge. She certainly didn’t challenge him or appeal to his sense of humour or engage his brain like … he looked at Gloria …

Steady.

… other women he knew.

Now was not the time to allow the stress of getting Jake to recognise he’d be an asset to the Hall to mess with his head. He might have been impulsive over the years but never self-destructive.

Maybe it was only natural to feel drawn to someone the complete opposite of his now ex-wife, Joanne.

Or not.

There was nothing like signing your name on a legal document to inform the opinion that you didn’t need to team up with anyone for life to still be all right.

‘She’s not for you, you know,’ Gloria said, before raising the apple to her mouth and taking another bite out of it.

‘Not for me?’ His gaze zoomed in without his permission to study the way she chewed sexily on the flesh of the apple.

Nope.

He gave himself a mental slap upside the head.

Thoughtfully.

He watched her chew thoughtfully before she swallowed and added, ‘Think about it … If you became “exclusive”, your “ship name” would be either “Seth” or “Beth”. How could Whispers Wood possibly invest in that?’

‘What the hell is a ship name?’ Seth asked, lowering his six-foot-two frame down to the ground so that he could settle himself comfortably beside her.

It was weird to have Gloria show any kind of interest in his love life.

If a scowl could be considered interest, that was, and not that he had a love life.

Steering clear of that for the foreseeable and maybe even the ‘foreverable’.

Gloria shook her head sadly at him. ‘You have adorbs down but not ship and exclusive? Ship – as in relationship. A ship name is where you merge your names together for added impressiveness. Like Kimye.’

‘Okay. Pretty sure any ship I was supposed to be in has sailed. And exclusivity hardly ever stays that way. We have the battle scars to prove it.’

Gloria didn’t say anything and instead focused all her attention on her apple.

What no comeback?

Without stopping to think too much about it he reached out, enclosed her hand and the apple in his and brought the two up to his mouth. He paused for a moment to take in the shocked bounce of her gaze to his and then, caught up in the darkening shade of green, bit into the apple to appease some of the gnawing hunger. He chewed, swallowed and had a thought. ‘So if you and I were shipping we’d be referred to as Gleth or Sloria?’

She stared at his mouth and he felt the crazy little jump in the pulse-point at her wrist. Reward in and of itself, he mused, instructing himself to let go of her hand. Stroking his thumb over that jump of flesh would start something he had no business starting and he had a new rule about not being a dick.

‘You see,’ she mumbled. ‘Either way it just doesn’t work.’

‘Well, phew, right?’

The way she licked her lips didn’t look accidental and his body said screw it. With his eyes on hers he took another bite of the apple, his lips accidentally-not-accidentally grazing the skin of her thumb.

She snatched her apple back and rubbed her thumb. ‘Hannibal much? How can you always be so hungry?’

‘Appetite for life,’ he said, trying not to focus on the jaw-dropping news he had the power to get Gloria to full-on blush from a simple touch.

‘Appetite for life?’ she snorted. ‘I suppose it’s about time.’

He forgot about flirting as her words struck home. For a while, particularly the while right after seeing Joanne so happily shacked-up with another man, he had lost his verve … his zest … his you-only-get-one-life approach.

It wasn’t jealousy that had zapped it. His free-falling pride-tumbling descent had been more to do with his brothers and sisters considering it their duty to issue well-meaning lectures on the steps to maintaining a happy and stable relationship. Each offering had been delivered first-class signed-for and fully-tracked to ensure maximum overlap.

He hadn’t been able to take a breath for all the ‘You know if you’d …’ and ‘I think for the future …’ And ‘You have to stop thinking you can just do what you want, when you want …’ advice.

Advice that had made him question if they knew him at all.

‘So what’s got you so peckish?’ asked the woman who, instead of offering advice had simply served him a drink when he’d needed it, let him talk when he’d needed it, flirted with him when he’d needed it and riled him right on out of his pity party when he’d needed it.

His gaze snagged on her mouth and for a moment he couldn’t seem to get his brain to follow through on her question. ‘Even if your name was Eve our ship name wouldn’t work,’ he muttered.

‘Huh?’

‘Huh?’ he repeated, and then as a bee buzzed madly over the prop in her hand, and she, thankfully, swatted lazily at it, bouncing it back out of whatever kind of crazy magnetic field they’d created, the spell was broken. ‘What’s got me peckish? I’ve a little idea I’m busy working on.’

‘Is that right?’ Her gaze slid over him slowly. ‘You sure you haven’t got hours of manual labour you need to be conducting?’

And he was back in that crazy magnetic field again.

Usually a slow and thorough assessment from Gloria was followed by a quick and equally thorough putdown designed to indicate she was bored of playing but today’s was accompanied by another bloom of heat that swept in across her cheekbones and caused her eyelids to flutter shut as if in denial.

The fact she’d actually noticed the affect all the manual labour had had on his body ran quick and hot through him, making him nearly acknowledge how handy the new layers of muscle tone were for his job.

Nearly.

Not actually, thank God.

Because Gloria finding out where he went most nights?

The Captain Kirk inside him might think it was worth brazening out just to see her reaction.

The Spock inside him told him if he wanted any chance of living long and prospering, not to be so stupid.

‘So what are you reading?’ he asked, his gaze snatching on her other prop. ‘Is it for Book Club?’

‘Oh my God, Book Club …’ Immediately she started trying to shove the book into her small bag without him seeing the cover. ‘I have to leave Book Club. I can’t take it anymore.’

‘Anymore?’ He laughed. ‘There’ve only been two meetings.’ Juliet had set up the book club, which met in Cocktails & Chai every other week.

‘It’s awful,’ Gloria said, with a shake of her head. ‘Crispin keeps choosing romance books.’

‘What’s wrong with romance books?’

‘You mean apart from the part where it’s all mahoosive BS?’

‘You think romance is massive bullshit?’

‘I think books based around those six deadly words, is.’

‘Six?’ Seth was no mathlete but even he knew ‘I Love You’ was only three words. ‘Your problem is you’ve had too little romance in your life.’

She did the contemplative stare down at the apple thing again and then added softly, ‘I’m not totally averse to the “I Love You” stuff. I get it makes the world go round.’

Something inside of him broke free so that little remote robots, like the kind found in bomb disposal units, scuttled quickly to the unidentified feeling within him and dealt with it by rolling it back up and pushing it back into the box it had appeared from.

‘It’s what happens afterwards I have the problem with,’ she added.

‘Something to do with those six words?’

‘You know the ones,’ she sighed, then lifted her hands up and moved them apart as if to showcase a headline. ‘And They Lived Happily Ever After’.

Even in his cynical state there was something so sad about her absolute conviction. Like for her those six words would always amount to six hundred degrees of separation from the world.

‘You don’t believe in Happily Ever After?’

She glanced at her watch presumably to check how much time she had left on her lunch break and relaxed back against the tree. After a few moments she said, quietly, ‘It’s like everyone thinks it’s an actual place and once they’re there that’s it. They don’t have to do anything. They just have to be.’

‘In Happily Ever After Land?’ he finished for her.

‘Exactly. Like it’s some Nirvana. I mean,’ she turned her head to look at him, ‘what a load of crock, right?’

‘There she is,’ he said looking back at her relieved.

‘There who is?’

‘The cynic.’

‘Thank you,’ she said with a nod before shooting him a look from under her lashes. ‘You’ve missed her, right?’

Idly he wondered what kind of man could get her to believe in And They Lived Happily Ever After again but because he suspected they might not actually exist, and because her cynicism was a known factor and therefore easier to deal with, he confirmed, ‘I actually have. And to think all it took to bring her back out was getting asked to be a bridesmaid.’

‘Well, don’t worry. You’re going to be seeing a lot more of her. The cynic, that is. Not the bridesmaid.’

‘What do you mean not the bridesmaid?’ He’d been thinking the wedding was going to be much easier to handle if he got to tease her about having to be a bridesmaid.

‘I’m about to be fired from the role.’

‘Emma isn’t going to fire you from being her bridesmaid.’

‘She most definitely is.’

He watched her carefully. ‘You look a little sad about that.’

‘It’s for the best,’ she replied, nibbling at the apple.

Deliberately he plucked the fruit from her hand so she had nothing to hide behind when he asked, ‘Are you sure about that?’

Gloria’s eyelids slid swiftly down to cover her eyes and when they lifted again her expression was emphatic. ‘Who wants a bridesmaid with the ability to go rogue at the drop of a wedding hat? Have you ever in the history of bridesmaid tales heard the one about the bridesmaid arbitrarily picking out a wedding date for the engaged couple, and then telling everyone else about it before them?’She looked thoroughly unimpressed with herself. ‘I proper stuffed up, Seth.’

‘Emma is not going to sack you, okay? Have faith.’

She shrugged and lifted her determined gaze to his. ‘At least now I won’t have to be all high-school cheerleader “Oh, my God, this is, like, SO exciting” about every little wedding detail, when what I’d really be fighting to stop myself saying, is “I lost interest in this conversation the moment you lead with, “Off-white or Ivory: discuss.”’

‘You wouldn’t do that.’

‘I would. You know absolutely that I would. No. It’s for the best.’

‘What if you could let the wedding cynic come out when Emma and Jake aren’t around?’

‘And who would I unleash it on?’

He pointed to himself.

‘You?’

‘Not exactly a subscriber to the Joy of Matrimony here, either, remember?’

‘The Joy of Sex however?’ Gloria snorted and added, ‘Sweet Beth my arse.’

He didn’t dare tell her that he’d turned down Sweet Beth’s offer for fear of being ripped to shreds in two or three easy sentences from the woman he was sitting next to. She’d been telling him to get back out there for months. Apparently Daniel Westlake’s and Emma Danes’ arrival in Whispers Wood was a fluke. Appropriately-aged human beings of good character and relatively normal baggage didn’t flock to quaint villages in West Sussex. If he was determined to make his home here, he needed to be ready so that on the off-chance someone decent came to town he wouldn’t still be divorce-damaged and miss out on the opportunity.

‘So when do you think this firing is going to take place?’ Maybe he could get to Emma first and prepare her that Gloria was feeling … feeling … well, actually feeling and Emma could reassure her.

‘Tomorrow. I’ve been summoned to the Hall for dinner.’ She said it like it was going to be her last supper and then said to herself, ‘Stupid spirit animal let me down in the worst way.’

‘Spirit animal?’

Gloria started muttering under her breath as she got her book back out and shoved it at him. ‘Here. You might as well take it and read it. It’s no use to me.’

Seth read the cover, commanding his eyes to remain in his sockets, and his voice to remain within his normal octave register because, WTF? ‘Invoke Your Spirit Animal to Make Better Life Decisions.’

‘If you laugh I’m going to have to kill you and bury you right here under this tree. Fairy rings will probably appear over your—’

‘Seriously, though, Glor. What the double actual?’

‘You said you wouldn’t laugh,’ she pouted.

‘This isn’t amusement. It’s bemusement. So come on then, you might as well tell me, what’s your spirit animal?’

Gloria looked at him like it should be obvious and when he just gazed back at her waiting she rolled her eyes and said, ‘Red panda.’

‘A red panda?’ Now his laugh escaped like a pack of hyenas had slipped the lock on its cage and thrust the doors open wide to party with it. ‘But aren’t those cute and fluffy and have those eyes that suck you in and—’

‘And what of it?’

‘Well I have to tell you that aside from the eyes, I’m pretty sure your spirit animal is more along the size and shape of—’

‘Of?’ she challenged.

‘A Tasmanian Devil.’

Fire shot through those gorgeous eyes but was accompanied by a tiny spark of something else. It couldn’t possibly be hurt but just in case it was he held his hands out placatingly and said, ‘Okay, okay, that was a little harsh. Let’s see,’ he snapped his fingers. ‘Got it.’

‘If you’re not about to say a butterfly …’

‘Butterfly? Sure. If for butterfly you mean armadillo.’

Her mouth dropped open and he felt that strange gravitational pull again. ‘Armadillo?’

He blinked. Stopped thinking about her mouth and concentrated on – he couldn’t believe it – spirit animals. ‘Yep. Armadillo. You know hard on the outside …’

‘Soft on the inside.’ Gloria nodded. ‘Makes sense, I suppose. Give me the book so I can look up armadillo.’

Seth grinned. ‘I was thinking more, hard on the outside … Kevlar on the inside.’

‘Go now,’ she said, her eyes flashing white-hot fire as she snatched the book out of his hands and held it threateningly. ‘Go before I Jason-Bourne-kill-you with this book.’

He laughed and got up.

Decided it wasn’t worth telling her he’d see her at dinner the following evening seeing as she was looking like the apple core she was holding would make an even better throwing star than the book.

Chapter 8
The Cow, The Bitch and the Wardrobe Choice

Gloria

Gloria made her way slowly along the country lane towards Knightley Hall.

It was the perfect evening for walking, although admittedly that was mostly because who in their right mind wasted fuel driving to their own humiliation ceremony?

She frowned.

Any time she wanted to ditch the sulky attitude and come to terms with the fact that accepting defeat gracefully was the only appropriate response, was fine by her.

So what if her new moniker was about to be Whispers Wood’s Briefest Bridesmaid?

And so what if maybe the real reason she was upset was that deep, deep, deepest down inside herself she’d opened the door to being the type of person who could witness a friend getting married and think only good things about it all.

She was just going to have to deal because it was absolutely redonkulous to be this upset when she only had herself to blame.

Out of nowhere a tatty old punctured football landed at her feet with a soft thud.

Her gaze went from the football to the cow now standing in front of her.

Oh, for Friesian’s sake.

‘Gertrude, I don’t have time for this,’ she muttered.

Gertrude’s hoof kicked playfully at the ball again, missing it because, you know, cow, and Gloria responded by swiftly kicking the ball solidly into the hedgerow. ‘Not Messi,’ she said shaking her head and pointing at Gertrude. ‘Cow,’ she explained. ‘Your job is to stand in a field, eat grass and produce milk. What part of that don’t you get?’

Bypassing the bovine she carried on determinedly to the Hall, her feet crunching purposefully along the gravel driveway.

Wanting more than anything now to get her fate over and done with, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice behind her asked, ‘Why is Gertrude standing in the lane looking like a kicked puppy?’

She whirled around. ‘Seth? What are you doing here?’

He grinned and she was reminded he was the cause of her not being able to sleep last night on account of endlessly asking herself what the hell had been the deal with the apple and the oral play yesterday? Honestly, it had been one step away from tying the apple stalk into a knot with his tongue and her heart did a juvenile skipping-a-beat thing every time she thought about it.

He’d completely messed with her circadian rhythm, getting all x-rated eating habits with her like that. Was it any wonder she’d kicked a cow when she was down?

‘I live here, remember?’ he offered.

‘Right.’ Why hadn’t she thought about that and why, she now thought suspiciously, hadn’t he mentioned he’d be here when she’d told him she’d been summoned to dinner? The very last thing she needed was for him to see her being given the, ‘It’s not me, it’s definitely you,’ speech.

She made a shooing motion with her hand. ‘Well, skedaddle. Go find Beth or someone. This is not an episode of “You’re Fired”. I’m not going to give you an interview afterwards.’

‘Don’t worry. If it comes to it, I’ll put in a good word for you,’ he said amiably.

She gave him a little side-eye. Him being here like he wanted to provide her with some friendly support – like he knew she was maybe struggling with what was about to go down – had her heart pitter-pattering at a level she was worried might actually require medical assistance. ‘No thank you.’ She did a passable example of a sweet smile and carried on up to the main door. ‘I’m quite capable of fighting my own battles and if I needed help the very last person I would pick would be you.’

‘What’s wrong with me?’

‘Apart from the fact that you can’t be serious for longer than five minutes?’

‘I can do serious. I can do very serious, when I put my mind to it,’ he added, his voice deepening so that it did very serious things to her heart rhythm again.

Putting the sexual twist on his gravelly voice down to some weird side-effect of her man-ban made it so much easier to ignore. Not.

And of course she knew he could do serious. It was the fact that others couldn’t that made her so mad sometimes.

‘Loving the subliminal messaging by the way,’ he told her.

She stopped a couple of steps from the heavy double arched doors. Was that a reference to the apple stuff yesterday? Did he think her body was somehow transmitting ‘Eat me’ signals?

Holy hell.

Her heart was now thudding in a way that gave every impression it had been borrowed from a hard-living, hard-drinking, sex, drugs and rock and roll body tasked with completing a Joe Wicks style workout on the village green.

Every instinct had her wanting to bring her hand up to her chest to try and ease the crazy pounding inside but there was no way she’d give Seth the chance to know he’d affected her so she breathed in sharply, held it while she started counting and then tried to ease it back out surreptitiously.

What came out sounded more like a hiss.

She felt like she was going to full-on die.

Outstanding.

First she was going to die and then she was going to be fired from bridesmaid duties.

Persephone was going to be so mad at her.

Seth gave her a weird look and then with a nod to her chest, clarified, ‘What I mean is, I’m glad to see you’re rocking the humility look this evening.’

Gloria stared down at her chest, fully expecting to see a cartoon heart moving her shirt in and out. Instead she looked down and saw what he’d actually been referring to.

Crap.

Even reading upside down the Relax! Don’t Do It 80s slogan white silk t-shirt, which she’d teamed with navy cigarette trousers and tan leather brogues, the phrase screamed the very opposite of humility.

She wanted to pout and tell him that she didn’t get out much, so what did she know about what to wear up to the Big House.

His grin getting wider he added, ‘You had me a little worried yesterday but I’m pleased you’re not approaching this lying down.’

‘Shows what you know. Inside I’m completely supine and approaching this evening like a friend who’s done something stupid and is prepared to accept the consequences.’

‘Wardrobe didn’t get the memo, then?’

Gloria sighed. She had deliberately asked Persephone if she’d looked all right before she’d dropped her off at Bob’s for the night and her daughter had done her usual full Queer Eye assessment and declared her fit to go. Admittedly Gloria hadn’t asked ‘Does this outfit scream, “Don’t fire me” when she’d presented herself at her daughter’s bedroom door because Perse was too excited her mum was going out for the evening like a ‘regular person’.

Turning around she made to walk away.

‘Hey, where are you going?’ Seth asked.

‘I’m going home to change,’ she muttered.

‘No way. Go with your first instinct, brazen it out with the t-shirt, man-up and fight for not being fired as a bridesmaid.’

‘I’m not begging for a seat at the table, Seth.’ But she chewed on her bottom lip, not wanting to acknowledge her first instinct and what it might mean, because aside from the humiliation of being fired, it at least meant she’d no longer have to be bridesmaid, right?

He coughed out a word that sounded suspiciously like ‘Coward’ and that was all it took for her to reach forward and press the doorbell.

As the chimes echoed behind the oak carved doors, Seth whispered in her ear, ‘What are you doing?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m using the traditionally accepted method of letting the house-owner know of my arrival.’

‘Or,’ he said, pushing open the door, ‘you could simply come on in.’

‘Wait.’ She reached out to forestall him. ‘I’m not ready.’ Inhaling deep, she shook back her hair, shrugged her shoulders up and down a couple of times and then, swift as you like, punched him lightly on the arm. ‘That was for calling me a coward. Okay,’ she grinned when his mouth dropped open. ‘Now, I’m ready.’

They stepped across the threshold together and out of the side of his mouth he whispered, ‘Anyone ever mention you can be brutal?’

Her grin widened, and she batted her eyelashes. ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’

‘You’re here,’ Emma came out of a room and crossed the hallway, looking nervous. ‘Jake?’ she called out. ‘Gloria and Seth are here.’

Gloria wanted to remind Emma that Seth lived here and so there was absolutely no need to imply they’d arrived together, but Emma was turning and indicating they follow her so she kept her mouth shut and looked around curiously.

It was the first time she’d been invited into Knightley Hall.

When she’d been younger she’d often fantasised about living in a place like this, or, if you want to get technical, she’d fantasized specifically about living in this place. The Tudor mansion, with its regimented yew hedges presiding protectively over it every winter and then transforming into cosy romance in summer when the heavily-scented bowers of wisteria covering the black beams burst into bloom.

Whatever the season, it had one huge temptation to her growing up.

Space.

Not the final frontier.

More the square footage.

There’d not been even half a square foot to be on her own in the two-up two-down rundown farmer’s cottage she’d lived in growing up. Small on the inside, small on the outside, it had nevertheless felt like a giant advert for her family’s struggles and she’d been convinced a beautiful sprawling house like the one she was now standing in couldn’t hold any ugliness inside its walls. It commanded status both in the village and the surrounding area and hadn’t that been what she’d craved back then, along with the kind of longevity and stability it also represented.

Gloria wondered if it had been hard for Emma, transitioning from a small shared apartment in Hollywood, to Juliet’s tiny Wren Cottage, to this place all in the space of a year. Emma was usually good at hiding her nerves but Gloria couldn’t help noticing the way she tucked her hands into the folds of her full skirt. The question was, was she nervous about entertaining in such a grand and formal space, or about the fact that at some point in the evening she was going to withdraw her bridesmaid request?

With her eyes adjusting from the low evening sunshine outside to the darkness inside from the heavy oak panelling Gloria tried to see the place more for what it was. Perhaps it was because she didn’t have status-stars in her eyes any more but Knightley Hall looked every inch like it was going to take serious money to breathe new life back into it.

She slid her own nervous hands into her trouser pockets. When you grew up poor it wasn’t that you didn’t believe money could bring you happiness. To be honest you weren’t interested in happiness, you were only interested in not being poor. She would never have believed that spending the kind of money Bob brought in could have been as stressful as not having any, but it had been.

These days she and Persephone had enough to get by comfortably. Nothing more, nothing less stopped her feeling the frustration when her parents refused to accept any money she and Bob had tried to give them and it stopped her worrying that if she had more she’d start spending it like she had before Persephone had come along. Back then, trying to feed the emptiness that had snuck up on her, she’d filled their home with things she neither liked much, nor needed.

Wondering when he’d notice.

Wondering what was wrong.

Unable to put her finger on it and quite unable to demand he tell her.

So much for being The Fierce and Fearsome Gloria Pavey.

Ironically she’d never been those things with Bob.

Just like she wasn’t going to be those things now when Emma delivered her news, she told herself as she moved past Seth into the dining room.

The room was large and even on a summer’s evening, with the leaded windows at the far end of the room thrown open to let in air and light, it was dark.

The heavy wood panelling ended at waist height and above it was plain cream wallpaper, relieved only by some dull lights the type usually seen over large pictures. And then Gloria realised that at some point there’d probably been large paintings filling the wall space, but presumably now were owned by auction-attending, country-manor decorating types.

‘You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,’ she said politely walking over to the type of long formal dining table you’d usually see in National Trust houses to study the lovely table setting of damask linen tablecloth, gold charger plates, blue and white patterned china and ornate silver cutlery.

‘Nonsense,’ Emma replied. ‘Besides, I needed the practise so that by the time Mother visits I’m not in the kitchen drinking all the brandy.’

‘You realise you just referred to your mum as “mother”?’ Seth said. ‘Bit of a Mommy Dearest character, is she?’

Gloria watched Jake enter the room and immediately shoot his brother a ‘stop talking now, hazard up ahead’ look.

Emma’s smile was rueful. ‘Did I? She’s not quite that bad but I suppose calling her mother is a learned form of distancing.’

Gloria thought how, with her mum, it was nigh on impossible to distance yourself. If she’d been faced with dinner in a room like this, her nervous energy would reach out to fill every corner, charging the atmosphere and putting everyone immediately on alert.

Intrigued she nodded to the elegant setting. ‘Your mum really goes for pulling out all the stops, does she?’

‘Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,’ Emma revealed without one note of embarrassment. ‘With her, “high-end” isn’t so much a look as an attitude. I think she thinks that if you act like you have everything, you just might get everything. Anyway, enough about Mother or I’ll get indigestion before I get to the lamb. Did I mention its shoulder of lamb for the main? Only you said you could eat anything.’

‘To be honest I was expecting some weird, tasteless bridezilla-wedding-dress-diet offering.’

Emma immediately looked at her reflection in the only wall hanging in the room, a small Art Deco fan shaped mirror.

Shit.

‘Not that you need to diet,’ Gloria hastily insisted. ‘In. Any. Way.’ Great start, Glor. Really terrific. ‘Sorry. Cue nervous laughter.’ Closing her eyes she prayed for some sort of social-skill upload as the room remained starkly bereft of any kind of laughter. ‘Lamb sounds yummy,’ she murmured determinedly.

‘Good.’ Emma smiled and nodded to the centrepiece in the table. ‘I got the flowers from the garden. What do you think?’

I think at least I’ll have something pretty to look at when you tell me I’m no longer your bridesmaid. Out loud she said, ‘Gorgeous,’ and stared at the crystal rose-bowl stuffed full of plush velvet-petalled deep pink roses and waxy white magnolia grandiflora blossoms.

‘Please,’ Emma said, ‘sit anywhere. I’ll go and grab the starters.’

‘So formal,’ Seth muttered, frowning hard at his brother while he took a seat opposite Gloria and proceeded to count his cutlery. ‘Three courses? This is a celebration.’

‘I’m probably being fattened for the slaughter,’ Gloria whispered as Jake got up to get the wine.

She folded her hands in her lap and waited as Emma fussed with bringing in the food. It was so quiet she found herself thinking about the whole if-a-tree-falls-in-a-forest-but-you’re-not-there-does-it-make-a-sound thing, which led to philosophising why getting sacked in Knightley Hall but no one from the village being here to witness it, wouldn’t be the same at all. Somehow the news would be heard before she reached home.

She tried to curb the disappointment taking up space in her belly because it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been the talk of the village before and survived.

A surreptitious look at Seth showed him relaxed and comfortable while she sat at the table vowing not to stoop to talking about the weather but damn if she could think of a single conversational thing to say. Did she tell them about how Persephone had become obsessed with ballet again? Definitely not, she decided. People without kids hated having to hear about people who did. Or was that a myth?

Perhaps she was over-thinking and it was only her finding the silence uncomfortable as hell. This is what happened when you went out for the first time in … Mother Hubbard! No wonder Perse had been so happy to hear she was off out for the evening because if you discounted popping over to Old Man Isaac’s for afternoon tea it had been months since she’d been invited somewhere.

Well if that realisation didn’t just add to her sense of social ineptitude.

The trouble was, part of her being less crap at pissing people off was to keep practising and the only way she got to practise was if she got out and saw people.

It was like that phenomenon where if you studied something for x number of hours you automatically became an expert.

Her shoulders slumped. She had the feeling x = four-thousand hours.

Oh, who needed a social life anyway? They were completely overrated. Just ask young adults who preferred to stay in and interact online instead.

And that thought wasn’t at all depressing.

Perhaps she should declare her man-ban over and go out on a few dates.

Except the dates had made her worse at interacting; not better.

Because when it had come to sex … she’d …

Book Club!

She brought her hand up to slap against her forehead as the thought registered.

Book Club was a social thing she went to.

God, she was going to have to keep going to Book Club.

And then she went as red as the beetroot salad with homemade walnut bread that Emma was passing her, as she realised everyone was staring nervously at the socially awkward woman who had just slapped herself at the dinner table.

Chapter 9
Wedding Favours

Gloria

‘So you completely missed the deadline for finishing the courtyard garden at the clock house,’ she told Jake, once they all had their starters in front of them.

As the first thing that came out of her mouth it could have been ruder.

Or not.

Emma looked at her, shock on her face.

Jake looked at her, a frown on his face.

Seth looked at her, a massive grin spreading across his face.

If this was an outer-body experience she’d literally be looking down at the scene from between her fingers.

Poor Emma had probably spent a restless couple of nights worrying exactly how to tell her she was no longer part of the bridal party and it felt like even the walls were on tenterhooks waiting for her to kick-off.

Working hard to make it a little easier on them all she tried a self-deprecating, ‘It’s hard to believe I don’t get those After Dinner Speaker gigs, right?’

‘Jury’s still out on that one considering we haven’t even had dinner yet,’ Seth said.

Gloria pursed her lips. She thought Seth was supposed to be putting in a good word for her, not highlighting how rubbish she was at all this. ‘I’m sorry, Jake. What I meant was—’

‘I know what you meant,’ Jake said with a grim smile. ‘And yes it’s annoying to be so late with the project but the ironwork had to be specially welded and took longer than anyone anticipated. I’ll be working extra to keep the delay to a minimum.’

‘Great.’ She picked up her knife and fork, promptly dropped her knife, swore, and after a furtive sweep of her hand under the table, during which she may or may not have patted down Seth’s leg, she reappeared, saying, ‘It’s going to look spectacular when it’s finished.’

‘Thank you. Red or white,’ Jake asked, holding up a bottle of each wine.

‘Definitely,’ she answered, swearing under her breath again as she saw Seth’s grin stretch wider so that his dimples made an appearance too.

Those bloody dimples.

And the cleft chin.

I mean, who had a cleft in their chin these days? Hadn’t men metrosexualised that right on out of their DNA? How typical of the Knightley brood to remain old school, walking around like Disney princes, all four of them. Even their two sisters looked amazing, having the same colour hair as Seth’s and the same brandy-coloured shade of iris.

Finally, the man with said brandy-coloured eyes, took it upon himself to start acting the princely hero, grabbing Gloria’s wineglass and filling it to the brim with red wine, then saved her again by attempting to get some conversation flowing.

For the next half an hour Gloria tried to be grateful that four adults well under retirement age could converse in any way about cabbage roses because it meant that at least they weren’t talking about weddings but as Emma cleared away the starters and brought in the lamb – which looked decidedly sacrificial – Gloria could stand it no more.

‘So am I sacked or what?’ she asked as Jake began carving.

‘What?’ The terrine of vegetables Emma had picked up landed heavily back on the table. ‘Why on earth would you think that? Cocktails & Chai is doing really well.’

‘Not from The Clock House,’ Gloria said. ‘Sacked from your wedding?’

Emma looked stunned. ‘Again—what?’

‘It’s why you asked me here tonight, isn’t it?’ Damn. She was meant to be being conciliatory, not adversarial. ‘I want you to know I get it,’ she tried. ‘I mean, after the whole Wedding Date-Gate debacle, it would be irresponsible of you not to.’

She waited for Emma to take her opening but when she merely continued staring like a stunned mullet, the direct approach won out. ‘Only if any of us are to enjoy this lamb, I’m going to need you to actually say it so it’s done and we can go back to talking about compost and crap.’

Seth chuckled. ‘Aren’t those two sort of the same thing?’

Gloria bestowed a ‘Not helping’ look upon him and Seth chuckled some more.

Emma and Jake looked at each other and then back at her.

‘All right,’ Jake said, putting down the carving knife and fork. ‘Since you brought it up …’

Here it came.

Namaste, Namaste, Namaste.

Breathe in …

‘Yes, the date blunder was a bit of a shock,’ Jake continued. ‘But you’ve actually done us a massive favour.’

… And breathe out.

‘We’d never have come up with the date ourselves,’ Emma explained. ‘It’s like you said, we were stuck trying to please other people and totally forgetting we need to please ourselves.’

‘We needed a good kick up the arse,’ Jake added. ‘So you providing a date and then telling the whole of Whispers Wood … genius. Thank you.’

‘Did you just say genius?’ Seth asked.

Never mind genius. Gloria didn’t get it. They were saying, ‘Thank you and you’re fired?’ Maybe it was from the say-something-positive-before-you-say-something-negative school of management.

‘Credit where it’s due, Seth,’ Jake replied. ‘In one evening not only did Gloria come up with a perfect date – by announcing it publically we probably don’t even need to send out invites now.’

Emma laid her hand over Jake’s. ‘We’re definitely sending out invites. It may be short notice but that doesn’t mean I want anyone thinking no thought or planning has gone into our big day.’

Perfect date?

Invites?

Gloria wished she’d brought those nifty little stress balls she’d taken from Fortuna’s office with her. ‘Can I just clarify … you think it’s perfectly fine to get married on my—’ For God’s sake don’t mention it’s your wedding anniversary. ‘On a random date? Chosen, um … randomly? By some random?’

Emma and Jake both nodded and then Jake looked a tad embarrassed as he added, ‘You’re not some random but we have to be honest. It does present us with a problem.’

‘Only a teensy-tiny one,’ Emma quickly assured.

Gloria started to get a Very British Problems feeling. Emma and Jake were doing a spectacular version of talking around a subject without actually saying anything at all.

Reaching for her wine glass, she took a healthy gulp.

‘You hit the nail on the head when you mentioned missing the deadline for the courtyard garden at the clock house,’ Jake said. ‘It has to be priority now along with getting the gardens ready to open here at the Hall.’

‘And to be completely honest, as well as Jake being swamped with work, so am I,’ Emma admitted. ‘I couldn’t ask for better revenue for Cocktails & Chai but what with the beer festival and the helping Jake and trying to finish up the screenplay … So you see the problem?’ She looked nervously at both Seth and Gloria.

‘Nope,’ Seth said.

‘Again, to clarify, I’m not sacked?’ Gloria got out.

‘Of course not,’ Emma said. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact.’

Gloria’s eyes widened with shock and then immediately narrowed. ‘Opposite?’

Emma took a breath. ‘We actually asked you both to dinner because … well, we’d consider it a lifesaving favour if you and Seth would help us organise our wedding.’

Gloria picked up her glass and drained the contents.

Seth picked up his glass and did the same.

As soon as his glass hit the table, she deftly pushed her glass next to his so that he could refill them both.

‘Define “Help Us”,’ Seth asked.

Jake took a sip from his own glass and then said, ‘We give you a general idea of what sort of wedding we’d like and you—’

‘Do everything to facilitate it?’ Seth helpfully supplied.

‘Not everything,’ Emma rushed to assure. ‘Definitely not everything. We already know our theme for instance, and that usually takes ages to decide.’

‘Eh?’ Gloria stared at her Janeite friend. ‘Won’t you be having a Jane Austen theme?’

‘See?’ Emma grinned. ‘You guessed right away. You’re a natural.’

Seth laughed. ‘So now, instead of the standard bridesmaid/best man duties—’

‘Alongside,’ Jake corrected. ‘Alongside the standard bridesmaid/ best man duties, we’d like it if you could help us out by taking the organising off our hands. We want to get married on the fourth of October, but,’ He turned to direct his formidable stare to Gloria. ‘Gloria has put us in a bit of a bind. A ten weeks to go bind, to be precise’ he added.

‘And what have I done?’ Seth wanted to know.

‘Nothing,’ Jake said quietly. ‘But you’re the only other one with extra time on their hands.’

‘Unbelievable,’ Seth said with a shake of his head, and then after one more giant gulp of wine, added, ‘Okay. I’m in.’

‘Excellent,’ Jake said as if he’d never expected there to be an issue.

‘Oh, Seth I knew you wouldn’t let us down,’ Emma said.

Both Jake and Emma turned to stare at Gloria.

She took another gulp of wine.

So Seth wasn’t going to let them down but obviously she was?

Who was she kidding? Of course she was going to let them down.

For their own good because no way did she have enough ‘nice’ inside her to be personally involved in planning their wedding.

‘Why not just ask Seth and I to get married for you and save us all the giant time-suck headache of “only ten weeks to go”,’ she said, reaching for her refilled glass of wine.

As Emma’s expression went from appalled to intrigued, Gloria wanted to slap herself again.

Why on earth had she gone and said that?

Clearly this was a case of No More Red Wine For Gloria.

As she pushed the unfinished glass out of temptation’s way she caught Emma looking strangely pleased as she looked between her and Seth.

Oh no.

No way.

‘Matchmaking Emma’ was even more annoying than ‘Happy Dancing Emma’.

‘I just need one favour in return,’ Seth dropped into the conversation, cutting off her analysis.

Both Emma and Jake’s heads swivelled to Seth.

‘A teensy-tiny one,’ he added, repeating Emma’s words back to them.

Gloria looked at Seth like he was insane. ‘You’re agreeing to this?’

‘Careful,’ he told her with a grin, ‘only with your mouth opening and closing like that, it’s less armadillo and more spirit fish.’

Gloria snapped her mouth closed.

If she was a fish, she could at least swim for safer shores, she thought, searching her repertoire of responses for tactfully declining.

Her stomach churned.

Never had the struggle to mine her limited diplomatic reserves for the best answer been more real.

How on earth did she tactfully say she absolutely wasn’t going to team up with the only other person in Whispers Wood who currently hated weddings as much as she did?

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