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The three of them adopted fake smiles and posed for the shot. Leah’s grin was akin to that of an angry wasp trapped inside a glass. Zac looked slightly dazed, and Matt’s smile was about as genuine as the photographer’s – who looked like she’d had less trouble photographing the local cattle festival.
‘Zac doesn’t want him to leave,’ Matt replied through gritted teeth.
‘Of course he does,’ Leah hissed back, still holding onto her fake smile. ‘He’s just too polite to say so.’
‘Like it or not, he’s the kid’s grandfather.’
‘Step-grandfather,’ Leah said, throwing him a steely glare.
‘I am standing here,’ Zac said, the only one still looking at the camera.
‘Faces to me!’ the photographer yelled. They all turned to the camera and resumed smiling, as their shot was taken. ‘Can the grandparents join the group, please!’
Pete Hardy sauntered over and slung his arm around Leah’s shoulder. ‘How’s it going, my girl?’ he said, giving her a squeeze.
Leah ducked away from his embrace, choking from his cigar smoke, and repositioned herself on the other side of the group, next to Matt.
‘Don’t be like that, darling.’ Pete gave a half-hearted shrug, before turning his attentions to his long-suffering wife. ‘Come here, Susie, love.’ He pulled her close and offered the photographer a huge smile, his cigar balancing between his teeth. ‘It’s good to be out in the fresh air, taking in the sights and being with my family. Look at that scenery,’ he said, gesturing to the impressive landscape. ‘You don’t get views like that in prison.’
Matt groaned.
Leah swore.
Zac looked somewhat alarmed.
‘I’m sure you don’t,’ Susan said faintly, trying her best to hold it together, no doubt for the sake of the family.
‘Nice big smiles!’ the photographer instructed. ‘Say cheese!’
‘Cheese!’ yelled Pete, the only one who did.
The rest of them looked like they were attending a funeral rather than a wedding.
It was hard to imagine anything more excruciating than mediating the tense atmosphere between his family members… until the door of the Smugglers Bar opened and the Hamilton clan emerged. Matt silently cursed. He wished he was someplace else. Anywhere. The Siberian desert would do. Anywhere but stuck in this damned tight suit, trying unsuccessfully to keep the peace. He didn’t even have Beth as backup, as she was on maid-of-honour duties, assigned to looking after the bride this morning.
As Zac’s family congregated on the gravel car park, nothing appeared amiss. Chris and Will were wearing their tuxedo suits, Gemma, Lily and Diane were dressed in colourful floaty wedding outfits, and Poppy was bouncing around in her sparkly pale gold bridesmaid dress. Only Bobby was absent from the group. If the man had any sense, he’d be in the bar, knocking back a stiff drink.
Matt’s mind briefly drifted to thoughts of enjoying a relaxing pub lunch, maybe with Beth for company. That’s assuming things were back to normal between them. It was hard to tell – he hadn’t seen her yet today. Their relationship seemed to constantly swing between wanting and arguing, never fully one thing or the other, and never staying fixed long enough to determine if anything was actually happening between them. The arrival of his father yesterday, coupled with the news about Megan’s first marriage, hadn’t exactly helped. Their attempts to get together appeared to be thwarted at every turn. Maybe they were destined never to be a couple, a thought that depressed him even further.
His attention was dragged back to the present and the volcano he felt sure was about to erupt. The tense atmosphere became even more apparent when Will and Lily broke away from the group and pretended to engage in conversation with Poppy. Diane hung back by the bar door, as if waiting for her husband, which left Chris and Gemma – the Mr and Mrs Smith of the group – staring daggers at Pete. Their mean and moody stares switched to Matt and then back to Pete, making it clear he was also included in their wrath.
How was this his fault? But he knew there was no reasoning with his half-brother. Chris believed Matt was responsible for Pete Hardy showing up at the wedding, and no amount of persuading would convince him otherwise, so Matt wasn’t about to waste his time trying.
‘Can you all congregate together, please!’ the photographer shouted, waving in an attempt to herd them into a group.
‘Come on, Chris, don’t be shy.’ Pete beckoned his stepson over with an oblivious smile. ‘You don’t want to disappoint your mother, do you?’
Matt cringed. Of all the things his dad could have said.
If Chris was scowling before, he was now positively enraged. ‘I’m not the one likely to disappoint her, am I?’ he said, storming over.
Pete looked puzzled. ‘Meaning?’
Susan reached out and touched her older son’s arm. ‘Not now, Chris.’
Chris reluctantly accepted his mother’s request. ‘I’m doing this for you, Mum,’ he said, patting her hand. ‘No other reason.’
‘I know, love. And I appreciate it.’ She wafted away a plume of cigar smoke that had drifted in her direction and smiled softly at him.
