‘Look, Mum, I know you’re doing this with the best intentions, but we haven’t even set a date yet. It is up to Martin and me.’ Emma’s painkillers are starting to wear off and she can feel a dull throbbing at her temples. She looks around for an ally.
Rachel is sitting with her arms folded enjoying every second of the spectacle while her husband, Steve, talks to Edward about football. Meanwhile, Martin is being coerced into the role of Captain Hook by the three children.
‘I’m only trying to help. I know how stressful these things can be and I’m just trying to take some of the pain out of it. By the way, my cousin Eunice has already said she will do the flowers and I think it has to be white lilies, yes?’
‘Mum, just stop it!’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said stop it. You’re not helping, you’re interfering!’
Rachel is watching Emma wide-eyed and impressed.
‘Well really, there’s no need to be rude!’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that –’
‘I only wanted to help.’
‘I know but –’
‘I’m just trying to make it special for my little girl. I mean Rachel just eloped so I didn’t get the chance then.’ Her eyes are beginning to fill with tears and Emma is wishing she could dig a large hole and crawl into it.
‘Mum, please!’
The tension is broken by a piercing cry as Alfie falls off the lowest branch of an apple tree having been made to walk the plank by his determined older brother, Will. Chaos ensues and everyone runs over offering advice. Steve and Rachel bundle the hysterical patient into the car with Diana following them, barking instructions about where to park when they get to A&E. Edward reassures the distraught Will, and soon has him and his sister are distracted with a spot of blackberry-picking.
Martin looks sheepishly at Emma.
‘I hope you’ll take better care of our children,’ she jokes.
Martin wraps her in his arms. ‘I will always take care of my family,’ he says.
Sensing an exit plan, he and Emma take the chance to leave, but she is still wound up on the journey home.
‘I mean, what is she on? How many years exactly do you get for matricide?’
‘You probably won’t want to hear this, but I think she is just trying to help, Em.’
‘Oh why do you have to be so bloody reasonable?’
‘It’s why you love me.’
‘I know and I do feel bad because I guess she is trying to help and I’m just tired and hung over, but it’s our big day and I don’t want anyone hijacking it,’ she says resting her hand on Martin’s knee.
He smiles at her. ‘It will be fine, try not to worry. We’ll find a way to manage your mum. We probably just need to put her in charge of something like the cake or flowers or something.’
Emma feels a little consoled and leans over to kiss him on the cheek. ‘I knew there was a reason I was marrying you.’
‘What apart from my infinite charm and the fact that I’m so much better looking than Daniel Craig?’
‘Yeah, that as well.’ Emma’s phone beeps and she flicks it to read the text: ‘Hope you’re not too nervous re tomorrow. Get an early night, lovely. Exx’
Emma smiles at Ella’s message and is suddenly filled with nerves at the thought of what lies ahead tomorrow. She is pitching for a new book, which, given the buzz in publishing circles, is destined to become the next big thing. Her anxiety and waning hangover make her feel tired so she foregoes Sunday evening TV and a glass of wine for an early night curled up with Allen Chandler’s potential new bestseller. Martin comes up to find her and picks up some of the scattered pages.
‘The Red Orchid. Sounds a bit poncey.’
‘It’s not poncey: It’s going to be huge and I’m going to publish it.’
‘Well I hope you do, my sweet. Have I ever told you how proud I am of you?’
‘Never,’ says Emma with a grin.
‘Would you like me to show you?’ asks Martin, prising the pages of the book from her fingers, kissing her hand and along her wrist.
‘I really should finish this,’ sighs Emma, as Martin works his way up her arm and onto her neck.
‘Well if you really have to,’ he adds, continuing to kiss her chin and face and the corner of her mouth.
‘Oh sod it. I’ll do it on the train!’ says Emma, casting the manuscript to one side, wrapping her arms and legs around him and pulling him down on top of her. There is an urgency and intensity to the movement so that minutes later they are pulling at each other’s clothes and Martin is exploring Emma’s body with his tongue: down the curve of her breast to one nipple where he toys a while, inciting and enjoying her reaction. Emma’s body rises and she lifts her pelvis in a moment of pure pleasure and lust. And suddenly, he reaches down, moves her underwear to one side and is inside her causing Emma to gasp and pull him deeper into her. Later, after they have both come and Emma has retrieved her underwear from the nose of an indignant looking giant toy frog they won on a trip to Brighton, they lay together like spoons, both heavy and warm with sleep.
‘I do love you,’ says Emma, reaching an arm up to stroke his face.
‘‘Course you do,’ says Martin and she can feel the grin on his face. ‘I’m bloody lovely.’
Rachel throws miscellaneous chunks of Lego and tiny dolls’ shoes into whichever receptacle is nearest.
‘Glass of wine?’ asks Steve.
‘Lovely,’ she answers without looking up.
He returns smiling, placing the glasses on the coffee table and stretching out an arm to her. ‘What a day eh? At least Alfie’s OK though.’
Rachel nods, accepting the embrace for a second and then pulling away. ‘Just got to reclaim the living room before I sit down.’
‘Sure, sweet-cheeks, you do what you godda do,’ says Steve turning on the TV and flicking to the sports news.
‘Maaaarm!’ yells a small voice from the top of the stairs.
‘Alfie,’ says Rachel in a weary voice.
‘I’ll go. You sit,’ says Steve.
Rachel accepts with gratitude, slumping onto the sofa and sipping her wine.
‘He’s fine. He’d just dropped Raggy,’ reports Steve on his return.
‘Good. Thanks. So, do you want to watch Grey’s Anatomy or The Wire? I’ve got them both on Sky Plus.’
‘Actually Rach, I need to talk to you.’
She looks at his weary face and realises how little she actually looks at him these days. The early months of their relationship had been spent memorising every part of each other’s face and body, but with time and children their faces became somewhat obscured as they were replaced by younger, smaller and more impatient versions of themselves. Looking at him now, she recognises the man she fell for, but his face is punctuated with more lines and his eyes are underlined with purple-grey shadows. She looked at her own face in the mirror recently and had been shocked when she realised that the lines were now caused by too much frowning rather than too much laughter.
‘OK, sounds serious. What’s up?’
‘Well –’ Steve looks unsure where to begin and Rachel is starting to feel a little worried.
‘You’re having