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‘Rabbits that sing?’ said Bev.
‘You know neither of those things exist, right?’ said Fleur slowly, looking at Minnie as though she had grown an extra nostril.
‘Look, I know it sounds weird, but she told me this vision she had for the perfect engagement when we were seventeen. It’s symbolic, trust me she will love it.’
Minnie, Fleur, Bev and Alan were sitting around the No Hard Fillings kitchen table. Minnie had called a secret meeting to commission their help planning Leila’s perfect engagement. She also thought it might provide a positive distraction from the potential ‘shutting down the business’ conversation that might be coming next.
‘The mission needs a secret code name,’ said Alan. ‘How about Operation I Do, or Operation Unicorn, something we could mention in passing that Leila won’t suspect?’
‘I think Leila would be suspicious if we start mentioning weird operation names,’ said Fleur, as she picked raisins out of apain aux raisinsthat Bev had baked for them that morning. ‘My great-great uncle was like a spy in Russia and apparently he so nearly assassinated Stalin, but then he had this really bad wheat allergy so it didn’t happen. I think his code name was like Baguette or something, which wassupposed to be ironic, because bread was the only thing he couldn’t handle.’
‘What if we called it Operation Uncle? I could say, “My uncle needs an operation”, or something. It might sound more normal bringing that up in conversation?’ suggested Alan, spinning around and around on his bar stool.
‘Or I could just set up a WhatsApp group between the four of us and then we wouldn’t need to discuss it out loud at all,’ said Minnie.
She was beginning to regret asking this lot to help her – so far no one had offered any practical suggestions as to how they were going to pull off her plan.
‘My old Zumba instructor works in the costume department at the Royal Shakespeare Company – he might be able to loan us some outfits,’ suggested Fleur. ‘Oh, and my astrologer owns a horse down in Richmond, so we could probably borrow it and fashion a strap-on horn if you really want a unicorn.’
‘Brilliant!’ said Minnie, starting a list and putting giant question marks next to anything Fleur suggested.
‘I can do the picnic,’ Bev said with a half-hearted shrug.
‘There have to be Nutella pancakes,’ said Minnie, tapping her list.
‘I can dress as a merman,’ said Alan, ‘a fellow man of the sea, like me.’
‘My old lecturer slash boyfriend slash driving instructor now runs an animatronics studio. I bet he could find us some weird-talking animals. He owes me a favour and a thousand pounds bail money,’ said Fleur.
The others looked at her to elaborate; there was a lot to unpack in that sentence. Minnie had come to the conclusion that either Fleur was a compulsive liar or she led an intensely interesting life outside of work. Fleur ignored their enquiring eyes, focusing her attention on the de-raisining of thepain aux raisins.
‘That all sounds great, Fleur,’ said Minnie, writing another giant question mark next to ‘animatronic animals’.
‘You really think Leila is going to find this romantic?’ Fleur asked, making the face of someone who’d just caught a whiff of old cabbage left fermenting in old shoes for a week. ‘Sounds kind of creepy to me.’
‘She will love it, trust me Fleur,’ said Minnie.
‘We’ll all just decay into nothing in the end,’ Bev muttered bleakly.
‘Oh Bev, are you still feeling down? Maybe you should go and talk to your GP if you feel this low? Did you try going to one of those environmental marches we talked about?’ Minnie asked.
‘I don’t think it will help.’ Bev shifted on her stool and looked down at her hands. ‘I was going to go with Betty but she got chickenpox that week, so it didn’t work out.’
‘OK, well, I will go with you to the next one if Betty can’t, I think it would be good for you just to see how many other people out there care, Bev. And that reminds me, I bought you something,’ said Minnie, running over to her bag.
She pulled out the bottle wrapped in silver paper and a gold ribbon and presented it to Bev. Minnie rubbed her hands together and pressed them against her lips inanticipation; she couldn’t wait to see Bev’s face when she opened the gift. Bev gave her a quizzical look as she peeled off the paper. Once she’d unwrapped it, she stood stock still staring at the bottle. Alan peered over her shoulder and read out the words that had been printed onto the front.
‘Bev McConnaty, 59,
Wife, mother, fun lover,
Baker of pies and ever so wise,
Loves M&S socks and Brian Cox,
A friend so fantastic,
Now she’ll last as long as plastic.’
