A Spot Of Bother

57

Jean was going to have to arrange the wedding herself. She was clearly not going to get much help from the rest of the family.

Honestly. She loved her daughter. But for all Katie’s talk about women being as good as men, she could be heroically disorganized sometimes.

“Laid-back” was the term Katie used.

Coming home from university with all her clothes in black rubbish bags and leaving them in the open garage so the binmen took them away. Spilling that paint over the cat. Losing her passport in Malta.

Poor George. She did give him the runaround. It was like two creatures from different planets.

Twelve years arguing over toothpaste. George assuming she did it deliberately to wind him up. Spitting it into the sink and refusing to rinse it away so it hardened into lumps. Katie unable to believe that anyone in their right mind could get worked up about something so trivial.

She still did it, actually. She’d done it this morning. Jean had cleaned it up. Just like old times.

Actually, Jean was secretly rather proud of the way Katie refused to take orders from anyone. Of course there were times when she worried. That Katie would never get a decent job. Or fall pregnant by accident. Or never find a husband. Or get into some kind of trouble (she’d been cautioned once for being rude to a policewoman).

But Jean liked the fact that she’d brought such a free spirit into the world. She would look at her daughter sometimes and see little gestures or expressions that she recognized as her own, and wonder whether she might have been more like Katie had she been born thirty years later.

How ironic that Jamie should turn out to be gay. Now, if he were getting married he would have his guest list and invitations printed several years in advance.

Never mind.

The first time round arranging a wedding seemed like planning the D-Day landings. But after working in the bookshop and helping out at the school, she realized it was no more difficult than buying a house or booking a holiday, just a string of small tasks, all of which had to be done by a certain time. You wrote a list of things to do. You did them. You ticked them off.

She arranged the flowers. She booked the disco Claudia had used for Chloë’s wedding. She finalized the menu with the caterers. She booked the photographer.

It was going to be perfect. For her sake if no one else’s. It was going to run like clockwork and everyone was going to have a good time. She was going to put her feet up at the end of the day and feel a sense of achievement.

She wrote Katie a letter detailing all the things she still needed to do (taped music for the register office, Ray’s suit, present for the best man, rings…). It would drive Katie up the wall, but judging by her daughter’s performance at the weekend it seemed entirely possible that Katie might actually forget she was getting married.

She ordered the place cards. She bought herself a new dress and took George’s suit for dry cleaning. She ordered a cake. She booked three cars to bring the immediate families back to the village. She put names on their invitations and addressed the envelopes.

She briefly considered crossing David off the list. George had insisted on inviting him after their dinner. Something about boosting their numbers to avoid being “swamped by Ray’s clan.” But she didn’t want George asking uncomfortable questions. So she sent him an invitation. It didn’t mean he had to come.