Love, Lies and Wedding Cake_The Perfect Laugh-Out-Loud Romantic Comedy Page 8

  That hurt. Dan may not have actually fathered a child, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t look after one. I was probably being over-sensitive, but the way she said it, it felt like she was implying that’s all he could do – and if he could win Rosie over, anyone could. But Dan wasn’t just about ice cream and funny faces: we’d spent a lot of time together, the three of us, when Emma was working. He would sit patiently with her while she drew pictures, watched TV with her and was always there to wipe away her tears if she fell over. Rosie thought the world of him and they’d had a lovely friendship. I knew I was being childish, but I suddenly felt like everything me and Dan had been to Rosie was being dismissed now Richard had come on the scene.

  I didn’t want to fall out with Emma though – she was so happy, perhaps for the first time in a long while. I wasn’t going to rain on her parade, so I kept my thoughts to myself. I understood Emma didn’t want to stay single all her life and it would be good for Rosie to have a father figure. Now Dan had gone, the only male in Rosie’s life was Craig, her granddad, with his monosyllabic conversation and unhealthy obsession with ballcocks.

  Rosie had now come into the kitchen for more toast and asked for ‘an espwesssssso’, which made us smile, and I made her some warm milk with chocolate sprinkles.

  ‘There you are, Madam. I hope it’s to your liking,’ I said, placing a small cup and saucer in front of her and sitting down.

  ‘Is that weaaaally espwesssso, Nana?’ she lisped, looking at me like I was in court and she was cross-examining me.

  ‘Yes, that’s what they drink in all the fine coffee houses of Europe.’

  ‘You cwazy bitch!’ She rolled her eyes and Emma and I looked at each other over our coffee steam. We both knew where she’d heard that expression.

  ‘Don’t worry, she won’t be going into the hairdresser’s much longer,’ I said pointedly, before Emma could say anything.

  ‘Oh, Mum, don’t be like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ I feigned surprise. ‘I was just saying, you two won’t be around here for much longer, so there won’t be any bad influences.’

  ‘I never said anything about bad influences.’ She sipped her coffee, then carefully placed the mug back on the table. ‘Mum, are you okay with all this? I know it can’t be easy for you. I was saying to Richard on the phone last night that I didn’t want to upset you with all the changes.’

  I was hurt and angry to think Emma had been discussing me with Richard. I knew I was being unreasonable, it was inevitable that she would talk to him, but it changed the dynamic of our relationship, which was painful for me.

  ‘I’m not some infirm ninety-five-year-old granny who has to be “discussed”, I’m not “the family problem”,’ I snapped.

  ‘Mum… I never said you were, you’re overreacting…’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I huffed. ‘Yes, there are a lot of changes, but I can cope. I’m perfectly capable of accepting and adapting to new situations, whatever you or Richard might think.’

  I picked up my mug and plate of toast crumbs and stacked them in the dishwasher, realising she was absolutely right – I wasn’t remotely ready to accept this.

  ‘Don’t be so defensive, I just mentioned to Richard that I feel bad leaving you here on your own.’

  ‘I’m fine, I’m not some arthritic old lady with three cats and a heart condition,’ I said, almost slamming the dishwasher shut. ‘I’m a forty-six-year-old student, not some pensioner. Jesus, Emma!’

  ‘Mummy, Nana just used a swear called Jesus,’ Rosie politely informed her mother, as she delicately picked up her ‘espresso’ cup and sipped daintily. I usually loved Rosie’s commentary and I’d have laughed if I wasn’t on the verge of tears.

  ‘Sorry, Rosie, Nana shouldn’t say things like that,’ I patted her arm. ‘But, Emma, I have to be honest – I feel like you’re doing this without considering anyone else…’

  She put down her mug with an eye roll, the implication being that my overreaction was just what she’d warned Richard about.

  ‘And yes, I’m overreacting,’ I said. ‘Damn right I am!’ I added, hoping to God the swear police was too busy with her fancy coffee to remark on this. Emma needed to know exactly how I felt for once. ‘This is a big life event for you, but it’s also a big family event with huge implications for Rosie… and for me – yet if I say anything, I get the feeling you think I’m just being obstructive or annoying, and now I’m being defensive, apparently,’ I said. Defensively.

  A rather heated exchange followed, throughout which we both smiled through gritted teeth and did what we always did when we said anything mildly controversial in Rosie’s hearing: we changed the names to protect the innocent. Rosie had quite the gob on her for such a little one and, apart from reprimanding me and her mother if we argued or swore, had been known to share all kinds of intimate and embarrassing information later with whoever cared to listen. Aged just three, she’d once informed a stranger in Tesco that ‘Nanny and Granddad don’t love each other anymore because Nanny goes to sleep in Dam’s bed’, as well as passing on the news that ‘Mummy has a moustache’ to her crèche teacher. My personal favourite, ‘Nana wears very BIG pants’, was announced to a group of my fellow students at uni and accompanied by a visual demonstration with her little arms spread as wide as physically possible to give some indication as to the enormity of what one might laughingly call lingerie.

  ‘So, can you please tell the Wicked Stepmother exactly what’s going to happen and when?’ I asked Emma now, with gritted teeth. ‘Is Snow White definitely going to live in the Highlands with her Prince? Has a decision been made, and can we all be told yet when the happy day will be?’

  Emma shook her head. ‘I don’t know, and I, er, Snow White is sorry she upset the Wicked Stepmother.’ Then she lifted her palm off the table in a ‘not now’ gesture, glancing over at Rosie. ‘Rosie, as you’ve finished, you can go and watch some TV while Nana and I finish our coffee,’ she said, stretching her mouth into a smile, panic in her eyes.

  ‘No, thanks, Mummy. I’d like to stay here and talk about Snow White’s wedding.’ With that, she rested her little chin on both hands and waited for the next comment, looking from one to the other like she was at a tennis match. If the situation hadn’t been so horrific and I hadn’t felt that life as I knew it was hanging in the balance, I would have been hysterical. ‘So, Nana, what are you going as?’

  ‘I’m sorry, darling?’

  ‘Jesus, I mean the bruddy wedding!’ She threw her hands up in frustration.

  ‘That’s enough, Rosie – that’s very rude,’ Emma frowned. ‘You mustn’t say swear words.’

  ‘But Nana said a swear called…’ Her little chubby index finger was pointing directly at me.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Emma repeated, with a warning look, and Rosie looked at me with an ‘Oh God, she’s at it again’ face, and I tried not to catch her eye.

  We all sipped in the silence. I didn’t know what to say, but Rosie did.

  ‘Mummy’s going to the wedding as Snow White and I’m having a unicorn costume, aren’t I, Mummy?’ she said, turning to Emma.

  ‘Not for the wedding, sweetie,’ Emma replied, no doubt relieved her four-year-old had stopped swearing like a trucker.

  ‘I AM, I’m going to the wedding in a unicorn!’

  Rosie was now threatening tears and as this subject really wasn’t the top of anyone’s agenda (except Rosie’s, of course), there was no room on the current agenda to explore this. Given that I wasn’t even aware the wedding had been discussed at ‘costume’ level, I just sat and looked at Emma and waited for the relevant information.

  ‘I’m having a unicorn bedroom,’ Rosie continued. ‘Richard told me I can. Hey, Nana, don’t be sad! You can come for sleepovers in my unicorn bedroom… yes, you can,’ she nodded vigorously as she reached for my arm and gazed into my face.

  ‘Lovely, darling, I shall look forward to that,’ I said, unable to imagine her waking up in that bedroom without me
there to make her breakfast, help her choose her outfit for the day. I swallowed back tears, thinking how the two of us had been quite the team.

  After a reasonable interval, I continued my conversation with Emma, still smiling through gritted teeth.

  ‘So, have you and… the Prince named the day?’

  At this, Rosie leaned into her mother and whispered conspiratorially, but loudly, ‘Nana means Richard…’ This was accompanied by more vigorous nodding, like she was imparting something quite revelatory. She then turned to me, ‘July… Mummy’s getting married in July, Nana – but don’t be sad – you’re invited too. Of course you are!’

  It was now my turn to roll my eyes, torn between bursting into laughter, panic or tears; I opted for all three.

  ‘It’s okay, Nana. You can go as a mermaid if you like?’

  Emma passed me a box of tissues and assured a slightly alarmed Rosie that, ‘Nana’s okay. They’re happy tears, darling.’

  ‘The twenty-first,’ Emma blurted. ‘That’s the day.’

  I nodded and attempted a smile for Rosie’s sake, but felt like shouting, so that’s something else no one has bothered to tell me. And, no, they bloody aren’t happy tears! These are tears of hurt and abandonment and panic at the prospect of you both leaving for another country – after planning a wedding in a ridiculous time frame.

  But I didn’t. I wiped my eyes, dampened down my own feelings and, slipping into my mum safety net, asked: ‘So, what kind of wedding cake would you like?’

  12

  Golf Pros and Tennis Hoes

  So, that was it. The wedding was a matter of weeks away and my family was leaving me for a new life and a unicorn bedroom in Scotland. Meanwhile, I’d let the man I love leave and all I was left with was an endless guest list and a huge bill for Emma’s wedding. I’m not complaining, I insisted on making a large contribution from my house money.

  I was in the middle of my finals, and as tutorials had now ended and we were well into revision mode, I’d managed to avoid Dave, thankfully. After my last text he hadn’t responded, but his radio silence spoke volumes – he clearly thought I was deluded and believed we were having an affair. I knew I should deal with this, but I also knew that I’d end up saying too much, behaving weirdly and making things worse. So, I decided it was best to leave well alone – I wasn’t going to let anything cloud my last few weeks of living with Emma and Rosie. Emma and I both knew things were about to change, so we made the most of our time together. I spent the days revising and finishing my dissertation, then taking my exams, while Rosie enjoyed her last few weeks at the uni crèche. The rest of the time was spent wandering in awe through white tulle, floral bouquets and cake tastings. Despite my initial apprehension I couldn’t escape the feelings of love and joy I had in sharing in this moment with my daughter – it’s what every mother dreams of. The wedding was to be in Scotland at a big old castle, which I was invited to inspect, along with the groom, who looked at Emma with such love, and treated her and Rosie – and me – with such kindness, I began to accept what was happening.

  I did contemplate how the people I loved always moved far away from me but tried not to take this personally. This pre-wedding time was happy. We shopped for Rosie and Emma’s dresses – white fishtail lace for Emma and a ballerina pink flower girl dress for Rosie, who was furious because she’d planned to go as a unicorn. It was an unusually warm summer, and some early evenings, Emma and I would sit in the garden with a chilled white while Rosie played with her toys on the grass. Other times, we’d order pizzas and watch Rosie-chosen DVDs (which turned out to be Frozen, Frozen and Frozen). We also went to the zoo, theatre, cinema and out for tea far more than we should – I just wanted to enjoy these last few weeks because I knew once family life and school kicked in up in Edinburgh, I wouldn’t see much of Rosie. She’d promised to Skype, but as she’d pointed out, ‘Don’t be surprised if I don’t because I can get very busy.’ I was slowly coming to terms with everything, and though I’d had a few tearful moments in private, I wanted to throw myself entirely into making Emma and Rosie’s farewell a memory we could all hold onto.

  A week before the wedding, Mandy offered to give us all beauty treatments, including Rosie, which worried Emma slightly. I promised that the treatments Mandy gave her drag queen clientele would not be used on a four-year-old, but I crossed my fingers behind my back as I said it, and off we went.

  ‘She hasn’t had a bloody hen night!’ Mandy screeched accusingly in my face as she painted Rosie’s nails pearly pink.

  I held my breath and cringed at what might come next, but I reckoned Mandy was already ordering the fake penises, if she didn’t have a stockpile in her garage.

  I couldn’t whisk Rosie away with her nails half-done – divas always complete their grooming – so I just had to hope Mandy didn’t swear too much or say anything too sexual – which was like asking her not to speak, really.

  ‘I don’t think Emma wanted a hen night,’ I said, aware that Rosie was looking at Mandy like she was a goddess and was likely to repeat everything she said.

  ‘Your Emma should have a party at least. I know, a fancy dress? I know… I know,’ she could barely speak with excitement and I was too slow to get in there before she finished, ‘tarts and bloody vicars?’

  ‘Tarts and bruddy knickers?’ giggled Rosie innocently, shaking her head like Mandy was a crazy bitch, which could easily have been the next words out of her little rosebud mouth, had I not intervened.

  ‘I don’t think… tar— that… would be appropriate,’ I said to Mandy, nodding in Rosie’s direction, hoping if it stopped now, Rosie might forget she’d ever heard it.

  ‘Nah, you’re right – your Emma’s a bit classy for tarts and vicars,’ Mandy said, repeating the bloody sentence, stopping the nail painting and gazing into the ceiling for hen night inspiration as Rosie looked on in awe. ‘I know, what about something a bit more posh… Golf Pros and Tennis Hoes?’

  ‘Not sure…’ I said, though I was very sure – adamant, in fact – but it was clear Rosie was intrigued by the idea, even though she didn’t understand what the hell was going on.

  I was now at the stage of defeat, almost abandoning any kind of censorship. It was like holding back a tsunami as Mandy went on to list the various possibilities of my daughter’s hen night themes and accompanying props. ‘Naughty nurses… Erm… Playboy bunnies?’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘You crazy bitch!’ she laughed, like I was the mad one. ‘I know, I know, what about S&M? Whips and chains and…’

  ‘I always think the simplest ideas are better,’ I cut in, trying to stop this tsunami of filth being washed over my granddaughter’s innocent ears.

  ‘Okay, it’s looking like really big blow-up penises,’ she said before I could do anything to stop her.

  Which is why, when Richard arrived the following day in a big van to move their stuff to Scotland, Rosie greeted him by telling him, ‘Nana’s going to the wedding as a really big penis!’

  *

  The day of the wedding dawned and I woke to mixed emotions. My head knew this was right for Emma and Rosie, but my heart ached to think I wouldn’t see them every day, or even every week. It would be tough on all of us, but Emma had Richard, and Rosie had them both, so hopefully they’d be okay. It was just me who would struggle, and I felt truly alone – especially without Dan to hold my hand and tell me it would all be fine.

  I tried to push thoughts of him aside and think ‘happy thoughts’ because if I didn’t get a grip, I might well end up sobbing throughout this wedding. I stepped into my new powder blue dress and shoes, applied my make-up carefully and added a blue feathery fascinator, which looked good on my blonde hair. I wanted Emma to be proud of her mum; I knew the wedding pictures would be pored over long after they’d left for Scotland and I wanted to look good.

  Leaving my hotel room, I closed the door, knowing our lives would be quite different when I returned later that day. I knew the occasion was supposed to
be happy, but I was sad to say another goodbye and tried to keep my composure as I entered the reception area where drinks were being served before the wedding. I greeted friends and family, was introduced to some of Richard’s side and, checking the table planner, managed to hide my sheer horror at the prospect of spending the wedding breakfast seated next to Craig. I’d seen my ex-husband as little as possible since I’d left him, and he’d avoided me too – not because we were broken-hearted and couldn’t bear to see the one that got away, but because we couldn’t bear to see each other full stop.

  For years we’d lived with a deep, mutual, burning dislike of each other. This sometimes slipped into pure, unadulterated hatred, and in my case sometimes trod the very fine line between letting him live and murdering him as he slept. On the sofa. Mouth open. Snoring. In the middle of Silent Witness. Thankfully, those days were behind me and I only had to get through the next hour or so – how hard could that be?

  Unfortunately, I saw him as soon as he entered the castle chapel where the ceremony was taking place, and to my dismay he joined me, pushing me up the pew with his ill-judged plonk down. Although he visited Rosie and Emma occasionally, I’d always made myself scarce, so it was all a bit awkward as he gave me a nod and a monosyllabic grunt. Emma didn’t want Craig to give her away; she said it was ‘perpetuating the patriarchy’ and he’d said that was fine by him because he had a dropped flange to fix first thing and might be a bit late anyway. Sadly, it seemed the flange hadn’t proved too problematic and he’d made it with time to spare, which meant I now had to make non-plumbing small talk with him until the ceremony got underway. I glanced over at him, waiting for some acknowledgement of the occasion, but he was staring ahead, probably dreaming of hard setting sealant and brass flange nipples.

  ‘Looks beautiful, doesn’t she?’ I whispered, trying to open up the lines of communication, if only for the day. But he just nodded and checked his phone and I felt the years of frustration, resentment and anger come back up between us like a brick wall. Having Craig around made me miss Dan even more, because he was everything my ex-husband wasn’t. I thought about Dan every morning when I woke up, every night before I fell asleep and a million times in between, and here in the church, on this special day, I’d have loved him by my side.