Page 11 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

‘I’m not actually going though; I was just thinking about it after I saw the advert for the exhibition. Just a silly blast from the past, that’s all.’

‘Okay,’ she says slowly, regrouping her thoughts. ‘So where are you going then?’

‘I’m going to Peterborough to join Leo and see his daughter Fiona. Her husband left her and she’s understandably upset about it. Leo is helping her out in her café. It’s silly me not being there with them and I think it will be the perfect time to meet her, to get to know her.’

‘Didn’t you say she’s a bit of a daddy’s girl?’ Vic asks.

‘I don’t think I used those exact words, but yes, Leo seems to think she’s delicate. The thing is, though, if we’re going to be married, I’ll surely need to make an effort with her, whatever he thinks.’

‘If you’re going to be married? Connie, you are going to be married, in two months’ time.’ She laughs, her eyes wide and sparkling.

‘Just a turn of phrase,’ I say, shaking my head at her. ‘In truth, Leo said I wasn’t needed, but I think he’s just trying to spare me the trouble. I should be by his side, shouldn’t I? Otherwise, what’s the point of it all?’

‘I assume you’re going to tell him you’re going, or are you planning to surprise them both?’

‘Perhaps a surprise, a test, I suppose.’

‘Connie, the way I see it, Leo proposed without any pressure from you. It was out of the blue, wasn’t it, so he must really want it – you. Are you concerned he’s changing his mind?’

‘No, it’s not really that,’ I say.

‘Why do you feel the need to test your fiancé then? Turning up at his daughter’s unannounced could be problematic.’

‘But, don’t you see, I should be able to do exactly that. Why am I being kept away? Why am I not needed?’

Vic smiles sympathetically, but I don’t think she really understands how I feel. And anyway, the test isn’t for Leo; the test is for me.

*

I pull into the car park and find Simon leaning on the door of his silver two-seater.

‘You’ll have to sell that and get something more middle-aged and child-friendly,’ I say with a grin, as I step out of the van. ‘Certainly something with some back seats.’

‘And you’ll have to promise not to turn up in that on your wedding day!’ he replies, jabbing a thumb at Ruby. ‘Diana’s getting an SUV, anyway, so it won’t be necessary.’

‘I’m amazed that Diana’s letting you keep that, whatever she’s buying.’

‘Mum, she’s not that bad. She just cares, that’s all. Actually, she said you didn’t seem that supportive of our news the other night. Is that true?’

‘Was my bone-crunching hug not enough to convince her? I’m very happy for you both. I promise,’ I say, gently touching Simon’s arm.

‘Yeah, I know, maybe it’s hormones,’ he says with a shrug.

I think about Vic referring to Diana as a poisoned little witch. ‘Yes, that’s probably it: hormones. Right, shall we get on with this? I’m relying on you entirely for the wine choices. I’ll deal with the menu.’

The restaurant is inside a beautifully restored Edwardian country house nestled in a cosy spot at the end of a windy lane off the A27. Leo had read out this information to me from the website when he booked it three months ago. In actual fact, it’s a little dilapidated and perhaps only part-way through restoration. It has a hint of a chain pub about it and I’m a little disappointed to see plastic flowers in hanging baskets either side of the front door. The windy lane is a potholed track and we have to be thankful for how dry the summer has been so far. I have serious concerns about my tyres and Simon surely must be worried about his undercarriage.

We make our way through the oak front door. A woman called Barbara is due to meet us and she’s standing inside, using her cream-coloured clipboard to fan the heat from her face. Her floral dress is ruched around a substantial cleavage and my eyes are drawn to the line of sweat disappearing into its depths.

‘Hello, lovely people,’ she says, with a rictus smile that belies her words. ‘I’m Babs.’ Her eyes flick between the two of us, her lips pursed.

‘Hi,’ Simon says, striding forward to shake her hand. ‘I’m Simon and this is my mother, Connie.’

‘Ah, not the groom then,’ she says, looking relieved that she’s not in charge of that sort of a wedding, although there is only just over eighteen years between us.

‘Hi,’ I say, taking her hand with a slippery shake.

‘Gosh, it really is hot today,’ Babs says, wiping her hand on the back of her dress. ‘Welcome to Ashton Hall. Shall we have a seat and talk about your menu? I had rather hoped to have this sorted by now.’