AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Is everything OK?’ she asked. Nikki had seemed strained at the committee meeting too.
Nikki didn’t answer for a moment. Helen felt anxious. Was there something wrong? Was Nikki unwell? Or did she have money worries? She’d always prided herself on having a very open relationship with her children. There were no secrets between them. They could talk to her about anything.
‘I guess I’m just feeling my age,’ Nikki joked in the end. ‘The house is chaos and I’m heading into silly season. I can’t remember the last time I had a decent night’s sleep.’
‘You should make sure you get a day off.’
‘Don’t worry, Mum. I’m always like this before a wedding. You know I am.’
The two of them ceremoniously carried the box out to the van, where Nikki had a special space in the back with a non-slip mat, and had the air-con running so it didn’t melt.
‘Today is going to be perfect,’ Helen reassured her. She was her daughter’s biggest cheerleader, especially in those moments of panic when Nikki feared that a wedding was never going to come together. She watched her daughter drive out of the yard, wishing her cake Godspeed and hoping it would bring joy to everyone who shared it.
Afterwards, Helen went back inside to tidy up and have a reviving cup of tea. The concentration and meticulous handiwork were exhausting. People often asked her when she was going to retire, but she didn’t think she’d ever give up the cakes. It didn’t feel like work. It was a pleasure from the very first glimmer of an idea to the moment she shut the lid on the box. She printed out the photo she’d taken earlier and pinned it on the wall along with all the other pictures she’d taken over the years. All those love stories. All those weddings. She was a romantic at heart. She loved to think of her icing gluing people together.
It reminded her to check the dating website. She sat down with a cup of tea and opened her iPad. She’d uploaded her profile and a few of Juno’s photos to Sunshine After the Rain, but no one had caught her eye just yet, and she couldn’t help feeling disappointed. There were plenty of perfectly pleasant men, but they all seemed a little bit dull. ‘Looking for a lovely lady to cuddle up with on the sofa’ seemed to be a constant refrain. That was the last thing she wanted to do. She had matched with a couple of them in the hopes that if she dug a bit deeper, she might find a diamond, but their repartee had been less than scintillating and they seemed very grumpy if she didn’t give them the answers they wanted.
How did the young manage it? she wondered. Was there a trick, a secret code? Jess might have told her that you had to kiss a lot of frogs before you found the right one, but there was no way she was going to kiss any of the frogs she’d matched with so far.
And then a new profile caught her eye. Ralph. His brown eyes were merry, and he had a thatch of very thick grey hair that looked slightly unkempt, but only as if he’d just ruffled it absent-mindedly, not because he was slovenly. He had on a checked country shirt and a mustard-yellow tie with a dashing knot. She read his introduction.
I’m a pianist, ex-head of music for a school in Somerset, and I still do some composing for adverts which keeps the wolf from the door. You might have had one of my jingles rolling around your head! My glass is half full, hopefully of nice red burgundy. I have an impossibly beautiful Irish Setter, Clara (named after Clara Schumann), who keeps me company. I like, in no particular order: the smell of hot tarmac after rain, Tunnock’s tea cakes, a drop of real ale, steam trains, grandfather clocks, Chet Baker, boiled eggs in front of Antiques Roadshow, Ian Rankin, Led Zeppelin, moth holes, my ancient Volvo convertible, big ice cubes in my gin and tonic, crosswords, Inspector Morse, taking off, big socks. I’ve been widowed for five years and I feel ready for something – I’m not sure what, but I’d like to meet someone who’ll make me think, make me laugh, and make me get off my bum and have some adventures.
Helen felt a ripple of excitement. None of the other men had piqued her interest in the least, but Ralph’s words had a warmth and openness to them she found refreshingly unselfconscious. A little bit different but not too eccentric. His clothes looked comfy with a rakish edge, he had a dog (always a good sign) and a convertible, which showed a bit of spirit. They both liked Ian Rankin, which was also a good sign. She didn’t feel intimidated by him, just intrigued to know a little bit more. Which was more than she could say about any of the other profiles.
A little nervous, she clicked on him to see if they might match. And there it was – the burst of fireworks to indicate that he had liked her too, so they would be able to message each other. She wondered what he had liked about her profile. Some people said that men liked every profile, in a mad frenzy to find a mate, but she didn’t feel as if that would be his strategy. He seemed discerning. Thoughtful.
Of course, it was easy to romanticise and project the qualities you wanted onto someone. But Ralph looked worth the risk. She would never know unless she tried. So she plucked up the courage and typed out a message without thinking too hard. She knew if she overthought it, she’d never write anything.
Hello! I love your list. We have Ian Rankin in common! And who doesn’t love boiled eggs on a Sunday evening? Here’s a few of my likes: being up before everyone else, bubble baths, firework night, cauliflower cheese, my book club, sunset swims, watching my granddaughters dance, Meatloaf (the singer not the food!), Silent Witness, fresh bed linen. Have you read anything good lately?
She knew it was good to finish your message with a question to ensure a reply. She read over her list. Did she sound boring? It was all true. She didn’t want to lie because there was no point in pretending to be something she wasn’t. And although he was probably a bit more sophisticated than she was, being a pianist, he didn’t seem too rarefied. Quite normal really.
She could imagine him and William having a pint outside the Neptune on a summer evening. And that was a good thing.
She pressed send before she had a chance to chicken out. And afterwards, she felt a skip of excitement. If you wanted change in your life, you had to make it happen. And if he didn’t answer, she wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. That was one of the good things about getting older: you stopped taking things so personally.
21
Gillian and Carenza’s wedding was perfect from start to finish.
Despite getting married for the first time at the age of sixty-three, practical Gillian had refused a formal wedding car. She didn’t see the point when all she needed was to get to the registry office on time and her flatbed truck would do that. Nikki had spent the day before mucking it out, washing and polishing it until it gleamed and pinning a loosely tied wreath of foliage studded with roses and peonies to the front. And that morning, she’d driven Gillian to the registry office herself to meet her bride.
This was why she was the best wedding planner in town. Nothing was too much trouble.
At tea on the lawn, with a string quartet playing ‘An English Country Garden’, Nikki could imagine the two of them living out their days together in this beautiful setting, filled with the scent of honeysuckle and lavender. She tumbled into bed at midnight, knowing there wasn’t a thing she could have done to make it any more perfect.
It was the small, intimate weddings Nikki loved doing best. They might not be the ones that made the most money, but they were incredibly rewarding, leaving her with a warm glow of satisfaction and the sense that love really did make the world go round. And she relished making them extra special. It was the tiny personal touches that made the difference, rather than extravagant displays of ostentation.
Sunday meant more skip-filling and hard work. Nikki crawled out of bed at eight, and made her way down to the kitchen to make coffee and toast and turn the radio on. The next thing she knew a face appeared at the kitchen window and she nearly dropped her mug. She pulled open the back door and Juno bounced in. She was wearing a North Property Management boiler suit too, her blue hair up in a baseball cap. She shimmied across the kitchen in time to the music and grabbed the remaining slice of Nikki’s toast. ‘Oh God – toast and Marmite. I’m starving.’ She pulled some more bread out of the packet and put it in the toaster. ‘So – what are we on?’
Nikki had offered her fifty quid cash to come and help her out. She pointed at the ugly dark wood kitchen units. ‘These have got to come out.’
Next door, Nikki could see Gatsby jump up onto the hot tub platform and look out to sea. It was icy turquoise today. Nikki had already lost count of the different shades of blue that could change from one minute to the next, depending on the clouds, the sun, the temperature, the prevailing wind.
‘By the way, I think I’ve got you a new client,’ she told Juno. ‘The guy next door needs someone to look after his dog when he goes to London.’
‘He’ll have to have an interview.’ Juno was very picky about her clients. If she didn’t think they were good dog owners, she wouldn’t take them on. ‘What’s his name?’
