Page 12 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Just been so busy.’

Babs tilts her head to one side. ‘You can never be too busy to plan your wedding. It’s the most important day of your life.’

I think she’s joking for a moment, but she doesn’t smile, so I have to assume she’s deadly serious. She leads us through the bar area where people are enjoying afternoon pints of beer and goldfish-bowl-sized glasses of gin. There’s a nice atmosphere, warm, inviting, but it doesn’t seem to follow us through to the back of the building where the function room is. I think I’d been expecting a nicely decorated space, the sort of room you’d take a turn about. Perhaps some old masters filling the walls, an elaborate rug with a piano in the corner. Instead there’s a fairly plain space with wooden floorboards badly in need of a good sanding, some limp curtains badly in need of a good washing and a bright green emergency exit sign above a door onto the garden. The tables are rectangular rather than the round that I would have preferred and the chairs look as if they’ve seen some action.

‘Don’t worry,’ Babs says looking at my dismayed face. ‘We cover the chairs in white and stick bows around them. You have a choice of pink or silver.’

I glance at Simon, but he’s tapping on his phone. Turning back to Babs I muster up a smile. What does it matter? It’s just a meal after the service and that’s the important bit.

‘I’ll have a think about that one,’ I say, knowing I’ll be opting for no bows at all.

We sit down at one of the tables and my concerns about the chairs are founded as mine wobbles underneath me. Babs pulls papers from her clipboard and we begin to discuss the menu.

An hour later, we have agreed on a meal of tomato, mozzarella and basil salad to start; lamb shank for mains; and raspberry pavlova for dessert. Simon has chosen the wine and everything is starting to feel very formal and fixed. I’m beginning to feel faint at the effort to push Alex to the far recesses of my mind. It’s not that I’m not a dab hand at exactly that – I’ve had to become one over the years – but it’s this fresh news, fresh information. It means I’ve got to push all the harder. It’s difficult to concentrate on decision-making with the thought of the art exhibition rolling around my head. It’s also tricky to keep hearing Babs talking about my very special day without comparing it to all those very special days I shared with Alex.

‘We find that for the older person’s wedding,’ Babs says with quotation mark fingers, ‘we usually suggest we don’t move too many chairs and keep the dance floor on the smaller side.’

‘Why?’ I ask, indignantly, bringing myself back into the room. Simon unsuccessfully turns a snort into a cough behind his hand.

‘In my experience, there is usually less call for dancing,’ Babs says with a bright smile and I take a deep breath.

‘In my experience, as an older person, I find that everyone likes to have a dance and would appreciate the opportunity.’

‘Well, of course, it’s your special day, so it’s your call. I just wouldn’t want a lot of old people unable to sit down,’ she says, un-clicking her pen with a finality that I find cheering.

‘Are we done here?’ I ask, standing up.

‘I think so. If I have any further questions for you, I’ll be in touch.’

*

Back in the car park I go to kiss Simon goodbye and he catches my hand.

‘Where’s your engagement ring, Mum? You haven’t lost it have you?’

‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘Of course not, I’ve been swimming today and left it at home.’

The truth is that my head was so full of Alex that I forgot to put it back on when I popped home after meeting Vic.

‘Simon, I wanted to let you know that I’m going to Peterborough to be with Leo tomorrow.’

‘Ah, sweet,’ he says distractedly, pulling his phone back out of his pocket and reading a message. ‘Diana wants me to pick up some chocolate on the way back. Is it okay that she’s dropped her usual healthy diet and is eating a lot of crap?’

‘I tell you what, why don’t you tell your pregnant wife to eat better, see what she says.’

He looks up from his phone with wide eyes.

‘I’ll just get her the chocolate,’ he says, quickly.

‘Get her some crips too,’ I suggest. ‘And Diana will know what she wants and needs. A few fatty and sugary treats won’t do her any harm in the long run.’

I’m suddenly reminded about the feasts that Alex and I would have. The things we’d pinch from the kitchen at the hotel, squirrel away until we could eat them together. Cakes and desserts, pies and quiches eaten with our fingers in snatched moments.

I wait for him to reply to Diana and then he tucks his phone away and pulls me into a hug.

‘I’m so delighted for you,’ he says. ‘You’re finally having your happy ever after.’

For a mad moment, I think he means Alex and I nearly choke, but I hold it together for long enough to realise that, of course, he means Leo.