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‘What I meant was, why us? I can’t speak for… Ruth here—’
‘Beth.’
‘Beth… but I’ve never been married, mate. I’d have no idea how to plan a wedding. Can’t you ask your other uncle? Will runs an events company and he’d be much better at this than me.’
The man obviously didn’t want to be involved any more than she did. On that, at least, they agreed. Torturous as the idea of arranging someone else’s wedding was, she’d rather cope solo than have this man’s input. He wasn’t what she’d call sophisticated. Rustic, more like. Earthy. Uncultured. If he backed out, it would be a blessing. If not, the wedding would probably end up as a hoedown.
Zac shook his head. ‘Mum and Dad aren’t happy about the wedding, and they’re barely speaking to me. I asked Uncle Will, but Mum made him promise to keep out of it. He doesn’t want to fall out with his sister. I get that. You know how close they are.’
Beth felt bad for Zac. ‘They’ll come around, I’m sure,’ she said, hoping she was right. They had enough dramas with her own parents feuding over the wedding, they didn’t need Zac’s parents causing issues as well. Even if she could understand his family’s reservations.
‘I hope so.’ Zac looked at his uncle, all doe-eyed and pleading. ‘Will you help me? Please? I love Megan. I don’t want to let her down, but I can’t do this by myself.’
‘Christ.’ Matt rubbed his chin. His beard was close-cut, a contrast to his collar-length wavy brown hair. He suddenly turned to face Beth, forcing her back against the wall as she tried to escape his scrutiny. The intensity of his stare was startling. ‘Are you on board with this?’
Not in the slightest, but somehow she felt that voicing this might tip Zac over the edge. ‘I’ve agreed to help, yes.’ Under duress. And before she’d known there might be another accomplice, one who got possessive over parking spaces and reacted by chucking tea.
Matt held her gaze. It was strange to be scrutinised in such a way. He was looking at her like she had a screw loose. Charming.
He turned back to Zac. ‘What is it you want us to do?’
Beth didn’t like the word ‘us’.
‘I’m not sure.’ Zac pulled a face. ‘I don’t even know what needs doing.’
‘Great.’ Matt closed his eyes.
‘But I’ll learn,’ Zac said, sounding desperate. ‘I’ll buy wedding magazines. Research stuff online. Whatever it takes. I just need some help.’
Matt turned to Beth again. ‘Do you have any experience of weddings?’
She shook her head. ‘Only ending them.’
He frowned. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Beth’s a family law solicitor,’ Zac said. ‘She specialises in divorce cases.’
Matt looked appalled. ‘Let me get this straight. You have two months to plan a wedding. You have no idea what you want. The bride is abroad. And the only people you have helping you are a firefighter and a divorce lawyer?’
Zac attempted a rather feeble smile. ‘Yep.’
Matt dropped his head on the table. ‘Shit.’
Her sentiments exactly.
Chapter Five
Saturday, 13thApril – 8 weeks till the wedding
Matt could think of a dozen things he’d rather be doing on a free Saturday. Playing rugby, going for a run, hanging out with his mates in the pub… poking his eyes out with a blunt stick. Anything would be preferable to being coerced into attending a Hamilton family gathering. A gathering where he wasn’t wanted, except by his nephew. A gathering where he’d be forced to endure snide comments from his half-brother, and where the sizeable gap between their respective lives would be most evident.
But his nephew needed him – the poor lad didn’t have anyone else in his corner, so as much as Matt didn’t want to be there, he felt obligated. Not that he believed anything he said would make a difference. His brother had never listened to his advice before, and he wasn’t going to start now. But that was beside the point, it was about showing a united front.
The Hamilton residence was a rural farmhouse set in one of the quiet lanes of Chobham, Surrey. It was centuries old, with a wide gravel driveway and covered in creeping wisteria. He’d left his car in the neighbouring lane – he wasn’t sure why, as there was enough space for another vehicle, but he’d never felt welcome in this house. He was an interloper, the proverbial black sheep. Tolerated, but never accepted, and certainly never welcomed.
Not that he’d done anything wrong. His only crime was being the son of Pete Hardy, the man Chris held responsible for ruining his life. His mother’s life, too. By default, Matt was the enemy.
As Matt approached the front door, he admired the white-painted brickwork and wooden supporting beams, adorned with hanging baskets. It was the quintessential country cottage. The kind of place advertised inCountry Living, where couples aspired to retire to.
