“But, love, you need to approve the list of songs! I’ll send you a fax, shall I?”
“Yes. OK, do that.”
I thrust down the receiver and return to the sofa, trying to look composed.
“Your mom’s clearly gotten involved in the wedding preparations,” says Michael with a smile.
“Oh, er… yes. She has.”
The phone starts to ring again and I ignore it.
“You know, I always meant to ask. Didn’t she mind about you getting married in the States?”
“No!” I say, twisting my fingers into a knot. “Why should she mind?”
“I know what mothers are like about weddings…”
“Sorry, love, just a quickie,” comes Mum’s voice again. “Janice was asking, how do you want the napkins folded? Like bishops’ hats or like swans?”
I grab the phone.
“Mum, listen. I’ve got company!”
“Please. Don’t worry about me,” says Michael from the sofa. “If it’s important—”
“It’s not important! I don’t give a shit what shape the napkins are in! I mean, they only look like a swan for about two seconds…”
“Becky!” exclaims Mum in shock. “How can you talk like that! Janice went on a napkin-arranging course especially for your wedding! It cost her forty-five pounds, and she had to take her own packed lunch—”
Remorse pours over me.
“Look, Mum, I’m sorry. I’m just a bit preoccupied. Let’s go for… bishops’ hats. And tell Janice I’m really grateful for all her help.” I put down the receiver just as the doorbell rings.
“Is Janice the wedding planner?” says Michael interestedly.
“Er… no. That’s Robyn.”
“You have mail!” pipes up the computer in the corner of the room.
This is getting to be too much.
“Excuse me, I’ll just get the door…”
I swing open the front door breathlessly, to see a delivery man holding a huge cardboard box.
“Parcel for Bloomwood,” he says. “Very fragile.”
“Thanks,” I say, awkwardly taking it from him.
“Sign here, please…” He hands me a pen, then sniffs. “Is something burning in your kitchen?”
Oh fuck. The Chinese herbs.
I dash into the kitchen and turn off the burner, then return to the man and take the pen. Now I can hear the phone ringing again. Why can’t everyone leave me alone?
“And here…”
I scribble on the line as best I can, and the delivery man squints suspiciously at it. “What does that say?”
“Bloomwood! It says Bloomwood!”
“Hello,” I can hear Michael saying. “No, this is Becky’s apartment. I’m Michael Ellis, a friend.”
“I need you to sign again, lady. Legibly.”
“Yes, I’m Luke’s best man. Well, hello! I’m looking forward to meeting you!”
“OK?” I say, after practically stabbing my name into the page. “Satisfied?”
“Lighten up!” says the delivery guy, raising his hands as he saunters away. I close the door with my foot and stagger into the living room just in time to hear Michael saying, “I’ve heard about the plans for the ceremony. They sound quite spectacular!”
“Who are you talking to?” I mouth.
“Your mom,” mouths back Michael with a smile.
I nearly drop the box on the floor.
“I’m sure it’ll all run smoothly on the day,” Michael’s saying reassuringly. “I was just saying to Becky, I really admire your involvement with the wedding. It can’t have been easy!”
No. Please, no.
“Well,” says Michael, looking surprised. “All I meant was, it must be difficult. What with you based in England… and Becky and Luke getting married in—”
“Michael!” I say desperately, and he looks up, startled. “Stop!”
He puts his hand over the receiver. “Stop what?”
“My mum. She… she doesn’t know.”
“Doesn’t know what?”
I stare at him, agonized. At last he turns to the phone. “Mrs. Bloomwood, I’m going to have to go. There’s a lot going on here. But great to talk to you and… I’ll see you at the wedding, I’m sure… Yes, you too.”
He puts down the phone and there’s a scary silence.
“Becky, what doesn’t your mom know?” he says at last.
“It… doesn’t matter.”
“I get the feeling it does.” He looks at me shrewdly. “I get the feeling something’s not right.”
“I… It’s nothing. Really…”
I stop at the sound of the fax machine whirring in the corner. Mum’s fax. I quickly dump the box on the sofa and launch myself at the fax machine.
But Michael’s too quick for me. He plucks the page from the machine and starts to read it.
“Playlist for Rebecca and Luke’s wedding. Date: 22nd June. Venue: The Pines, 43 Elton Road… Oxshott…” He looks up, a frown on his face. “Becky, what is this? You and Luke are getting married at the Plaza. Right?”
I can’t answer. Blood is pumping through my head, almost deafening me.
“Right?” repeats Michael, his voice becoming sterner.
“I don’t know,” I say at last in a tiny voice.
“How can you not know where you’re getting married?”
He surveys the fax again. I can see comprehension slowly dawning.