He stood in the doorway and stared.
She turned and saw him. And grinned.
‘I overheard,’ she said, and she chuckled. ‘I decided I’d better come to the wedding. Maybe I needed Dora’s chaperonage.’
‘You need to be in bed.’
‘I’m too scared to stay in bed. Over-sexed, eh?’
‘You shouldn’t be scared,’ he said sourly. ‘I’m going to a wedding.’
‘Me, too,’ she said cheerfully, and linked her arm through his. ‘Overpaid too?’
‘That’s from the war,’ Mr Grubb said, disconcerted. ‘It’s what we said about all the Yankee soldiers. They’re not like that now,’ he told his wife. ‘At least this ‘un isn’t.’
‘I can see that. How nice.’ Mrs Grubb had changed tack, beaming at the unexpected expansion in her wedding party. ‘You make a lovely couple. My mum’s best friend, Ethel, ran away with an American sailor. He bought her silk stockings and they lived happily ever after.’ She poked Mr Grubb in the ribs. ‘Silk stockings. That’s the way to a girl’s heart.’
‘We have other things than silk stockings,’ Mr Grubb said with dignity.
‘What things?’ Dora demanded. Then she relented and giggled. ‘Oh, well, I guess you are OK in the cot.’ Then at the sight of Georgie and Alistair’s stunned expressions she choked back her giggles and sighed. ‘Oh, what it is to be young. Look at the pair of you. Ooh, I hear Cupid in the wings.’
‘Dora,’ Georgie said, quelling her with a look. ‘I’m only going for the service.’
‘Me, too,’ Alistair said, and Dora beamed some more.
‘Yes, dear. And then you can walk home together after. If this wind settles, like Sergeant Harry says it’s going to settle—which it’s not going to. It’s going to be a biggie. I said to Grubb just before we got dressed, I said, it’s going to be huge. I can feel it in my waters.’
‘Um … what are your waters talking about?’ Georgie said nervously, while Alistair said nothing at all. He was feeling like he was having an out-of-body experience and it was getting weirder by the minute.
‘Cyclone, dear, that’s what I’m feeling, no matter what Sergeant Harry’s telling us. Veering offshore indeed.’ Dora puffed herself up like an important peahen—or maybe peacock with that hat—gathered her shiny purse and took her husband’s arm. ‘But no matter. We’ve weathered cyclones before and we’ll weather them again. Now, then, Grubb, let’s all of us go to this wedding. Ooh, I do like a good wedding. Mind, one wedding breeds ten more, that’s what I always say, and this one’s no different.’ She cast a not so covert look at Alistair and then at Georgie. ‘I can feel that in my waters as well.’
‘You have truly impressive waters, Mrs Grubb,’ Alistair said, feeling it was time a man had to take control and move on. He took Georgie’s arm just as possessively as Dora held Grubb, and he smiled down at her. ‘Let’s go see if they’re right.’
Which meant that they were together. They were driven to the church together. In deference to Georgie’s wounded face, Grubb insisted on dropping them off right at the church door before he went to find a parking place. Georgie and Alistair were practically blasted into the church together. Of one mind, they turned to the back pews, finding seats in the most obscure corner of the chapel.
‘How come you’re not a bridesmaid?’ Alistair whispered as they settled in their back pew, and Georgie poked him in the ribs.
‘Shh.’
The wedding hadn’t started yet. Céline was singing ‘My Heart Will Go On’ at the top of her lungs, courtesy of Mrs Poulos, who was in control of the volume button. There was time for a brief conversation, even if Georgie didn’t want it.
‘But everyone else is,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d be a shoo-in.’ Then he frowned. ‘Isn’t this the song from Titanic?’
She giggled. ‘Nothing stops our Sophia. No little iceberg could get in the way of this wedding.’
‘So why aren’t you a bridesmaid?’
‘Mike has three sisters and two cousins who, according to Mrs Poulos, would be offended enough to cause a rift in the family for generations to come if they’re not bridesmaids. Em had already asked Susie so that made six, and enough was enough. However, one of Mike’s sisters left coming here too late—the storm’s stopped her—so Gina’s taken her place. This is amounting almost to a plague of bridesmaids. I’m going to be Gina’s bridesmaid and that’s one bridesmaid experience too many in my book.’
‘But you are Em’s friend,’ he said, watching the clutch of men around Mike at the altar. There were almost more wedding party participants than guests.
‘I come from the other side of the tracks from Em,’ she said, and he blinked.
‘You mean there’s a reason you weren’t asked?’
‘No, I …’ She shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. Em doesn’t care.’
‘That you’re from the wrong side of the tracks.’
‘Yes.’
‘You mean you’re illegitimate?’
‘I mean my family’s dole bludgers and petty crims.’
‘But you’re not?’
‘Maybe not,’ she whispered dully. ‘But you can’t escape your family.’
He thought about his mother. And then he thought he’d rather not think about his mother. ‘That’s a hell of a chip on the shoulder you’re carrying,’ he ventured cautiously.
She glowered. ‘Deal with it. I know when people are patronising me.’
‘I’m not patronising you.’
‘Right.’
‘You know, I’m not exactly blue blooded either,’ he said, eyeing her with caution. ‘I’m not so far from the other side of your tracks that you’d notice.’
‘Says the eminent neurosurgeon.’
‘To the eminent obstetrician.’
She tried to glower. He smiled. She tried a bit harder to glower. He glowered for her.
She giggled.
It was a really cute giggle.
The bride was about to make her entrance. Mrs Poulos did her worst with the control button. Whitney at her finest. ‘I will always love yoo-oo-oo …’
The church was festooned with apricot and white ribbons, flowers and bows as far as the eye could see. It was …
‘Very tasteful,’ Georgie said, still giggling, and they rose to their feet as the priest motioned them all to stand. ‘Someone should tell Sophia this is a farewell song. Why are you from the wrong side of the tracks?’
‘Um … my parents didn’t have much money.’
‘Is that all? That’s not the wrong side of the tracks. That’s shabby genteel.’
‘My dad went to jail. Embezzlement. He stole to feed a gambling habit.’
That made her pause. Her smile died. ‘Your real dad?’ she asked cautiously, and he nodded.
‘Golly. You almost qualify.’
‘Thank you,’ he said dryly. ‘So where’s your real dad?’
‘He lit out when I was four.’
‘Mine