Mother of the Bride

Copyright

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

AVON

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

A Paperback Original 2010

FIRST EDITION

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2009

Copyright © Kate Lawson 2010

Kate Lawson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Find out more about HarperCollins and the environment at www.harpercollins.co.uk/green

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Ebook Edition © MARCH 2010 ISBN: 9780007370979

Version 2016-09-23

Mother of the Bride is dedicated to Speedy and the Hellhound, to my lovely boys, their gorgeous women, and my brilliant friends, to Maggie Phillips, my good friend and agent, and all the great people who I sing with in Singers Inspired. You know who you are.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Epilogue

Preview

Acknowledgements

About the Author

By the same author

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Lunchtime on the last Bank Holiday of the summer and Molly Foster was standing on the quay at Wells-next-the-Sea close to the radio car, where a man dressed as a bear was juggling rubber herrings. Alongside him stood an Elvis impersonator in a white jumpsuit and rhinestones, and beside him a woman called Linda, who knitted jumpers from the fur collected after grooming her three Newfoundlands – encounters that were all in the day’s work for a presenter on a local radio station.

Molly had one side of her headphones pressed to her ear, keeping the other one off so that she could hear the activity on the quay. The last track had played out and the East Anglian Airwaves FM station jingle was coming to a close. Ready with the mike, all the while nodding and smiling inanely at her guests, holding eye contact so they didn’t wander off, Molly was waiting for the moment when they went live to air.

‘You okay? All ready?’ she mouthed. Everyone nodded in unison, all except Elvis who curled his lip and said, ‘A-huh-huh. ’

‘Here we go then,’ she said, smile widening.

Phil, her broadcast assistant, should have been doing the sheepdogging but, thanks to some technical glitch, he was hunched over in the back of the radio car – a converted people carrier with a retractable mast that the station used for outside broadcasts – fiddling with the control panel.

Molly hoped that what she could see billowing out from the open door was steam from Phil’s coffee and not smoke.

Meanwhile through the headphones, Molly heard her producer, Stan, back at the studio, cue in her next caller. The music faded out at which point Molly said, ‘Great track, that. Perfect for a sunny day by the seaside – speaking of which, we’re here live on Bank Holiday Monday at beautiful Wells-next-the-Sea as part of our Great British Summer Days Out series. We’ve got some fantastic guests lined up for you in today’s show. But first of all on line one we’ve got Maureen from Little Newton, who wants to talk about – what is it you’re talking to us about today, Maureen?’

‘Death,’ said Maureen in a monotone. ‘I want to talk about how it felt when my cat Smokey died.’

‘Right,’ said Molly, pulling faces at Phil, who had stopped fiddling and was now busy flirting with two teenage girls in bikinis.

‘I’m sure that we all feel very sorry for your loss, Maureen. I know that my pets are very important to me but we were hoping that you were going to talk to us about your memories of the good old British seaside holiday – kiss me quick, fish and chips on the prom.’ Molly jollied the unseen woman along.

‘Smokey loved fish, particularly the heads,’ said the unstoppable Maureen. ‘We used to save them for him. Little tinker used to bury them down the back of the sofa if you didn’t watch him. I had him cremated last March. Fourteen, he was. I’ve got the urn here with me. He loved the radio. Not you but that other chap, the one with the glasses, what’s his name?’

‘Right,’ said Molly, waving now, desperately trying to drag Phil’s attention away from the wriggling, jiggling, giggling girls and back to the job in hand.

From somewhere close by she could hear a mobile phone ringing with the distinctive Laurel and Hardy theme, downloaded by her live-in lover Nick as a joke. She felt a flush of heat; how the hell had she managed to leave her phone on? It was the ultimate no-no. On TV and on radio, before you go on air you always check your mobile is switched off and if you’re not sure then you take the battery out, except of course hers was ringing and it seemed to be getting louder. It rang once, twice – after six rings it cut off and Molly turned her attention back to her caller.

‘I’ve been having grief counselling,’ Maureen was saying. ‘And we’ve had a séance – he’s still here, you know. Him and Timmy the rabbit…’

‘Well, thank you for that, Maureen. And we’re lucky enough to have Ken Barber with us here today,’ said Molly, praying that someone back at the studio would have the good sense to pull the plug on Maureen.

To her right the bear man was mid-throw.

‘Ken is currently working his way around the coastline of Great Britain, staging a one-man show to raise public awareness about the state of the British fishing industry. Now for the listeners at home, Ken, let’s just describe what you’re wearing, shall we?’ At which point Ken growled at her.

Molly forced a laugh; bloody man. ‘So, not very talkative, our Ken – maybe listeners would like to ring in and guess what Ken is dressed as…’

‘Jess from Norwich is on line two,’ said Stan in her ear.

‘Let’s go to our next caller, Jess from Norwich,’ said Molly. ‘Hello there, Jess. How’s your Bank Holiday shaping up?’

‘Mum?’ said a familiar voice.

‘Jess?’ Molly could feel her colour rising.

‘I couldn’t get through on your mobile so I got the studio to put me through instead,’ Jess gushed excitedly.

‘Well, that’s nice of them,’ said Molly, with forced good humour. ‘We’re live this morning here on Radio EAA –’ Molly swung round to Phil and made frantic throat slitting gestures so he would cut the live feed, but he was oblivious.

‘I know,’ said Jess.

‘You know?’

‘Of course I do,’ Jess sounded drunk. ‘Stan said this couldn’t wait. Actually I told him I couldn’t wait. I’ve got the most brilliant news, Mum – I wanted you to be the first to know. Max just asked me to marry him and I’ve said yes. I’ve said yes, Mum. I’m going to get married!’ The last few words were a shriek of pure delight followed by giggling and then Molly heard Jessica say, ‘Here, you talk to her – just say hello. Yes, she’s on air, but it’ll be fine, go on, yes, just say hello. She wants to talk to you…’

Which wasn’t strictly true, mainly because Molly hadn’t quite caught up yet. But there was nothing much she could do, short of pulling the lead out, and then Max came on the line and said in that deep, dark, self-assured voice of his, ‘Hi there, Molly. Jess is insisting that we ring everyone. She wanted you to know straight away.’ He paused. ‘Mum.’

Before Molly could say anything, back in the studio Stan put on a Robbie Williams number and while it was playing Jess came back on the line, all squeaky and excited and full of joy.

‘Isn’t it brilliant? I mean, I am just so excited. Max went down on one knee and everything and he’d already got the ring and it fitted. It’s like this big flower and all these little coloured stones and it was just so romantic. God, there is so much to do; we were thinking Christmas? Sleigh bells, reindeer – maybe we should fly everyone out to Lapland, what do you think? I’m going need your help to get this together because Max is really busy. I mean, what are the chances of there being any decent snow in England? And you know I’ve always loved snow, mind you maybe we could hire one of those machines. Is that a bit naff? Oh, isn’t it exciting, Mum? If we had snow I could have one of those fur-trimmed hoods and a long cloak and the pageboys could wear tartan waistcoats. Maybe we could have it in Scotland. Oh my God, they could all wear kilts then – Max is shaking his head. What do you think? Aren’t you going to say something?’

Molly opened her mouth to speak but there weren’t any words in there.

‘Mum? Are you still there?’ asked Jess, sounding a little anxious, and then presumably to Max, said, ‘I think she might be cracking up.’

Never a truer word was spoken, thought Molly. Finally she found her voice and said, ‘Well, well done you – both of you – congratulations. Look, do you think I can ring you back later? We’re right slap-bang in the middle of a show here…’

‘I know. They’re playing our song,’ said Jess wistfully.

‘Look, I’ve got to go, sweetie. We’re interviewing some guy who is singlehandedly trying to save the British fishing industry. He uses comedy to make his message more interesting.’

‘Uh-huh, the bad-tempered herring juggler in the bear suit,’ said Jess.

‘That’ll be the one,’ said Molly. ‘How did you know?’

‘Stan told me about him. You are pleased though, aren’t you? You know, about me and Max?’

‘Of course I am, I’m really pleased for both of you. Have you rung your dad yet?’

‘No, he and Marnie are still away on a cruise at the moment. We’ve just emailed them. And then we’re going to ring Max’s parents. You don’t sound very pleased,’ said Jess.

‘I’m working, sweetie.’

‘I wanted you to know first.’

Robbie sang on in Molly’s headphones.

‘So you are pleased?’

‘Of course I’m pleased. Just a bit shocked. You know me, it’s not often that I’m speechless.’ Molly forced a laugh, trying hard to recover her composure. ‘It’s a bit of a surprise, that’s all. I mean, I hadn’t realised that it was that serious.’ Inwardly Molly groaned. ‘Though I mean, obviously it is,’ she stumbled on. ‘Look, can I ring you back later?’

‘Okay,’ said Jess, giggling.

‘Have you rung Jack yet?’

Jess snorted. ‘Not yet, every time I ring my little brother’s phone it goes to voicemail. I’m sure he’s trying to avoid me.’

‘I don’t think it’s you, Jess, I think it’s Pippa.’

‘No! Pippa? She’s not still after him, is she? Are you serious? They split up months ago. She must be mad…’

‘I think that is the general consensus. He thinks she’s stalking him.’

‘Really? God, shows how long it is since I’ve talked to him. Mind you, she must be desperate if she’s stalking Jack. Anyway, I’ll leave him a message.’

‘I’ve got to go –’

‘Talk to you later,’ Jess said, and then the line went dead.

‘You okay?’ asked Stan through Molly’s headphones.

‘What do you think? What the hell are you playing at, putting Jess through live on air?’

‘It was lovely. Really touching – and I thought you’d want to know.’

‘I did, but not on air – it was nuts to put her through. What the hell are they going to say upstairs?’

‘They’ll love it,’ said Stan. ‘Trust me. The phone lines are jammed solid. See you at three.’

As soon as they finished broadcasting Molly unhooked the pocket battery pack for her radio mike and her headphones and handed them back to Phil. ‘I just need to thank the guys who were on the show.’

‘Sure thing – and congratulations, Mum,’ Phil said, with a grin.

Molly turned to her guests and the impromptu audience that had gathered around the radio car. ‘Thanks for coming along, you were brilliant. Great show, we’ve had lots of calls. Well done,’ she said warmly, shaking hands and paws and smiling, signing autographs and handing out pens and balloons and various other station freebies to anyone who wanted them.

‘Congratulations on the wedding,’ said one woman brightly.

Molly smiled. ‘Thank you.’

‘Very exciting. Did you know anything about it?’

‘No, not at all – bit of a surprise,’ said Molly, scribbling her name on a glossy eight-by-ten.

‘Oh, it’ll be lovely,’ said the woman. ‘One minute you’re taking them to nursery school, next thing you know they’re getting married. My oldest daughter got married last year – I’m a granny now.’

Phil meanwhile was putting away the PA system, and retracting the giant aerial which very slowly slid down into the body of the car like a giant periscope all clad around with a curl of gold cable.

‘Ah, show business,’ he said, as Molly handed out an autographed paper sunhat to a small child with a horribly runny nose and what looked like it might be impetigo.

‘Thanks for coming,’ said Molly, ignoring Phil. ‘And I hope you have a lovely holiday.’ The little boy skipped away to rejoin an exhausted-looking young woman in a sundress who, along with a bad case of sunburn, had a baby on one arm and was heavily pregnant. Molly caught herself staring; the young woman looked a lot like Jessica. Another five years or so and it could be Jessica. Looking away Molly dropped the give-aways back into a plastic stacker box.

‘You are extremely cynical for one so young,’ she replied, sliding the box into the back of the car.

Phil apparently took it as a compliment. ‘Jess telling everyone she was getting married on air was a masterstroke. Did you know she was going to do it?’

‘Of course I didn’t know,’ said Molly indignantly. ‘It’s incredibly unprofessional –’

‘There’s nothing people like better than a bit of romance. We could do a feature on the show, do a countdown to Jessica’s big day. Have a competition – I can see the strapline on the website now, “Be a bridesmaid at Jessie’s Big Fat Norfolk Wedding” You want me to bring it up at today’s planning meeting?’

Molly fixed him with an icy stare. ‘No, I do not, no, don’t you dare bring it up at the planning meeting. Okay? No one’s interested.’

‘All those people coming up to get your autograph were interested.’

Molly said nothing.

‘Oh come off it,’ said Phil. ‘Anyone who is anyone has got their wedding all over the glossies these days. Everyone’s obsessed with it. Who’s marrying who, what they’re wearing, who’s invited, who isn’t, who’s likely to have a fist fight break out over the canapés, are they going to fly out to Italy or up to – where’s that castle in Scotland they all schlep off to?’

Molly held up her hands. ‘Stop it, you’re scaring me – you’re a boy. Boys hate weddings.’

‘It’s not me, it’s my girlfriend and all her mates. Our whole flat is stacked with celebrity magazines, who’s got fat, who’s far too thin, who’ll never love again, who’s had lipo. I can’t help it. I never used to read that kind of crap, I was strictly an Autocar and What Hi-fi guy, but it’s addictive. The weddings are a bit of light relief really.’

‘Okay, okay, I’m getting the picture.’

‘So how about talking to the management? Shoehorn Jess’s big day into the show?’

‘Have you got no shame?’

‘Not much, why? You could probably wangle all kinds of freebies.’

‘So when my daughter and future son-in-law kneel down at the altar rail instead of having price tags on the bottom of their shoes they’ll have little stickers on there saying, “Sponsored by Linda’s Luxury Buffet Services?”’

‘Why not? The price weddings are these days. And you could invite all the famous people you know. Get the paparazzi there.’

‘I don’t know any famous people, Phil,’ said Molly, heaving one of the PA speakers into the back of the car.

‘Yes, you do. You’ve interviewed loads of celebrities.’

‘Yes, but there is a big difference between interviewing them and inviting them to your daughter’s wedding. Give me a hand with this, will you?’

‘Says who?’ persisted Phil. ‘There was that bloke off “The Bill”, oh and that girl who was on “Holby City”. Some of the guys at Norwich City football club, Delia – oh, and that really famous artist bloke who got that big prize.’

Molly raised an eyebrow. ‘Remind me not to hire you as Master of Ceremonies on the door announcing the arrivals. “Oh look, here’s the woman who used to go to school with the one that’s getting married.”’

Instead of being offended, Phil grinned. ‘Oh wow, does that mean you’re going to invite me to the wedding?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake. Come on, let’s get the rest of this stuff stowed.’

‘A few celebs would really add a certain something to Jess’s wedding.’

‘That’s right, Phil, a security nightmare and lots of photographers elbowing my family out of the way so they could get a good shot of some bird with a trout pout and a sprayon tan.’

‘But you got on with them really well.’

‘That’s what I’m paid to do, Phil, I got on with that clown in a bear suit but it doesn’t mean I’m going to invite him round for tea.’

‘So where’s Jess having her engagement party?’

Molly looked up from the box of electronic oddments she was currently packing away under a seat. ‘What?’

‘The engagement party. I mean, presumably she’s having one, isn’t she?’

Aware that she had her mouth open Molly closed it fast and said, ‘Phil, I only just found out that they’re getting married. I don’t know what she’s having yet, or come to that where or when.’

But Phil was on a roll. ‘When my sister got married we had this big engagement party at the Norwich Arms – and my parents put an announcement in The Times. And then there was the stag night and hen night. We had a great time. My sister and my mum and all my sister’s mates flew to New York, and the blokes all went to Amsterdam, and then my parents organised a do for the groom’s family so we could all meet up and get acquainted before the big day.’

Molly decided that she had heard quite enough. ‘Fish and chips?’ she suggested, nodding towards the parade of shops that fronted the little harbour.

Phil grinned. ‘Do you want me to go and get them in case someone nicks the van?’

Molly glanced at the EAA radio car. Painted in the station’s livery, it was an unmistakable mix of orange, pink and lime green with ‘EAA’ emblazoned down one side and across the roof. At least if it was involved in a police chase it would give everyone a sporting chance of picking out the right vehicle.

‘We’ll eat in,’ she said.

While Phil finished off the lock-down, Molly broke out the lipstick and dealt with the ravages of headphone hair.

‘My sister used a wedding planner,’ said Phil conversationally as they headed off across the car park and joined the queue outside French’s chippie, where holiday-makers were gathered two abreast.

Molly wasn’t really listening; her stomach was rumbling, she was tired and they still had to get back into Norwich to drop the radio car off before going on to a management meeting.

‘They asked me to be an usher. We all had these cravats and cummerbunds that matched the bridesmaids’ dresses.’ He mimed.

Molly settled into line. ‘The wedding planner, was it a person or a wall chart?’

‘She was called Cheryl-Ann. She did all the arrangements at the hotel where my sister had her wedding. She was very keen on themes.’

‘Who, your sister?’

‘No, Cheryl-Ann. She had a whole book full. My sister brought it home for everyone to have a look through – pirates, princesses, wenches.’ He grinned. ‘And that was just for the civil partnerships. My sister picked this one Cheryl-Ann had done before called Spring something or other – there were a lot of daffodils involved and a lamb.’

Molly decided not to ask whether the lamb was gambolling up the aisle with a ribbon round its neck or on the buffet in slices.

Chapter Two

‘Hello? Hello, Dad, can you hear me?’

In a cottage on the Somerset coast, Jess was curled up on an enormous floral sofa that dominated the tiny sitting room of the place Max had rented for their romantic break. Despite it being summer it was chilly and Max had lit the fire. Mobile phone pressed tight against her ear, Jess was straining to pick out her father’s voice amongst a sea of static.

‘Puss?’ said a familiar voice. ‘You there?’

‘Dad? Dad? Is that you? How are you?’

‘Fine. We got your email. Congratulations. Sorry if the line’s a bit strange but I’m using some sort of internet phone thing that the chap here’s rigged up for me. I just wanted to let you know that we’re delighted. Aren’t we, Marnie? Absolutely delighted – couldn’t be more pleased for you. Presumably you’ve already told your mother?’

‘Yes, I rang her a little while ago,’ said Jess, enunciating every syllable in case he missed some important detail, her finger wedged in her other ear so that she could concentrate on his voice. Max was watching her from the armchair pulled up at the other side of the hearth.

Her father sounded as if he were a million miles away.

‘How’s the holiday going?’ she asked.

‘Fine. I’ve had Delhi belly and Marnie has come out in some sort of a rash – we’re having a lovely time,’ he said, without a hint of irony.

‘So where are you?’

Jess heard him turn away from the phone and say, ‘Where are we again?’

Her father, Jonathon, had an innate distrust of all things foreign and when Jess and Jack were small had refused to take them anywhere abroad for holidays and only begrudgingly travelled there for business – there being anywhere other than Britain.