‘We were just talking about the wedding, Dad,’ Daisy says pleasantly.
‘Oh, right.’ Ryan smiles at Hannah, his eyes meeting hers, making her stomach flip as it always does when he looks at her like that. ‘Well,’ he adds, turning to Josh, ‘speaking of the wedding, we should all go shopping next weekend and pick you both something to wear.’
‘But it’s ages away,’ Josh replies. ‘It’s weeks.’
‘Yes, I know there’s still six weeks to go. But you’ll be at Mum’s the next three, and then we’ll be cutting it fine, really, to get things organised …’
‘Eddie’s birthday’s on Saturday,’ Josh mumbles. ‘We’re going bowling.’
‘Oh,’ Ryan says. ‘Right. Well, that’s nice. Maybe we could do it on Sunday instead.’
‘And we’re staying over till Sunday,’ Josh adds, ‘like all day.’
‘Are you? Oh …’ Hannah can detect the stress creeping across Ryan’s forehead, and longs to ask Josh why he’s being so bloody difficult when all his dad wants to do is festoon him with new clothes. However, she suspects that that would be even more outrageous than admitting she doesn’t follow Christianity. Anyway, perhaps Ryan doesn’t mind this rudeness, or has become immune to it over the years. Maybe he thinks Josh and Daisy’s behaviour is perfectly fine and it’s the wedding that’s stressing him out. They’ve planned it together, with the intention of keeping it low-key and simple. But the guest list has grown, and Ryan’s new suit came back from being altered with the trousers so short they flapped pathetically around his ankles. He’s been worrying about the food when Hannah would be perfectly content with a pile of sausage rolls dumped on the table if that’d put a smile on his kids’ faces. Now, what started as Ryan blurting out, ‘I want to marry you, Han, and spend my whole life with you’ has morphed into something stressful and dark, like a storm cloud billowing towards them.
‘And I’ve got stuff to wear anyway,’ Josh mumbles, looking down at his crumb-strewn plate.
‘I know, but I thought you might like something new.’ Regaining his composure, Ryan rolls his eyes good-naturedly at Hannah. How he manages to scrabble together these reserves of patience, she has no idea. Perhaps it just happens when you have children. You suddenly develop this bottomless well of kindness and goodwill.
‘You’re not going to turn down your dad’s offer of new clothes, are you, Josh?’ Hannah asks lightly.
‘Well, I’ve got plenty of T-shirts and jeans.’
‘Right, so which T-shirt were you thinking of?’ Ryan asks with a snort.
‘Dunno. My dark green one maybe.’
‘The one with the rip in the shoulder?’ Ryan laughs. ‘Sure, that’ll look great in the photos, Josh.’
Josh stares at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Photos?’
‘Yes, wedding photos, like people usually have when they get married,’ Ryan says with exaggerated patience.
‘What’s wrong with my T-shirt?’
‘Well, apart from the rip, it does tend to whiff a bit even when it’s been washed,’ his father explains, ‘like something’s actually embedded in its fibres and will never come out, even if I boil-wash it which I’ve done on several occasions …’
Daisy starts giggling. ‘You smell, Josh. That horrible T-shirt stinks of BO and even washing powder can’t get it out.’
‘And it’s age nine-to-ten,’ Ryan reminds him, ‘and you’re fourteen, Josh, if I remember rightly. Now, I know you’re fond of that T-shirt but we could be radical and buy you something in the right size.’
‘Oh, Josh can wear whatever he likes,’ Hannah cuts in. ‘It’s not going to be formal, is it, Ryan?’ She smiles at his son. ‘It’s probably best to wear what you feel happy and comfortable in.’
‘He’s not wearing that T-shirt,’ Ryan mutters.
‘I just don’t think it’s worth falling out over …’ Hannah glances at Josh. Instead of responding, and being grateful to her for not trying to cram him into a suit, he takes a big gulp of orange juice, wipes his lips on his cuff and allows his mouth to hang open, as if airing its interior. Trying to decipher these kids is a bit like learning to drive, Hannah decides as Ryan shoos them upstairs to fetch their schoolbags. In fact it’s harder than driving because at least she was able to pay for a teacher. As far as Hannah is aware, there’s no British School of How to Handle Daisy and Josh.
‘I’d better be going,’ Hannah tells Ryan, trying to quash the trace of relief from her voice.
‘Okay. Have a good day, darling.’ He steps forward and pulls her close, smelling freshly showered and delicious.
‘What are you wearing to the wedding?’ Daisy has reappeared in the kitchen doorway.
‘Me?’ Ryan springs away from Hannah. ‘Erm, a suit, Daisy. A new one that’s being altered for me.’
‘I meant Hannah, Daddy.’ Daisy gives them a fake smile.
‘Oh, just a simple dress,’ says Hannah quickly.
‘Aren’t you wearing a veil?’
Hannah pauses. ‘No, but Lou, one of my best friends from—’
‘Why not?’
Because I don’t like them! ‘Well, veils are lovely but my friend Lou from college is an amazing jeweller and she’s made me this beautiful silver tiara with—’
‘Mum’s wedding dress was pretty, wasn’t it, Dad?’ Daisy beams at her father.
‘Er, yes. It was very nice …’ Ryan turns away and swills out the washing-up bowl noisily.
‘Mum’s dress,’ Daisy continues, eyes fixed determinedly on Hannah, ‘was white and low at the front like this.’ She draws an invisible V-shape to indicate a plunging neckline.
‘Well, that sounds gorgeous.’ Hannah smiles tightly.
‘And it was long with millions of sparkly beads sewn on, and the veil was so massive two people had to walk behind and carry it through the church, didn’t they, Dad? So it didn’t drag on the floor and get dirty. Didn’t they, Dad?’
‘Er, yes,’ Ryan croaks, now scraping the remains of the kids’ breakfasts into the bin.
‘Wow,’ Hannah says hollowly. Why don’t we get out the album, she thinks darkly, then we can all gather round and ooh and ahh over Petra’s incredible dress before I go to work, and I can show you how crappy and plain I’m going to look in my dumpy little shift that I must have chosen in a fit of madness …
‘Mummy looked beautiful,’ Daisy breathes.
‘I’m sure she did.’
Sorry, Ryan mouths from the sink. Taking a deep breath, Hannah pauses for a moment, focusing on the area behind Daisy, where the family-sized super-deluxe fridge stands proudly, with its ice maker gadget which once spurted frozen crystals in her face, causing Daisy and Josh to keel over with helpless laughter. It had never done that before, Daisy had informed her when she and her brother had finally managed to compose themselves. Well, of course it hadn’t. Petra had chosen it – she’d picked virtually every appliance and piece of furniture – and at times like that, Hannah couldn’t help feeling that the whole house was against her. ‘D’you want to see a picture of Mummy’s dress?’ Daisy enquires.
‘Daisy!’ Ryan barks. ‘Could you hurry up and get your shoes on?’
‘But, Dad …’
‘Sometime,