“Carpets,” she said, resigned. “Of course.”
Stan nodded. “Just take the last of these boxes in and we’ll go.”
“Great.” Carrie went to get back in the car. Somehow, she’d thought the Seniors helping would mean less work for her. As it was, she barely remembered what her tiny attic room looked like. But it would all be worth it when she saw Graeme gaze lovingly across the Willow Room at Ruth on their wedding day.
Hopefully.
Carpet Madness specialised, it seemed, in exactly the sort of carpets Carrie was trying to get rid of. At least now she knew why they were so cheap.
“This one is very popular,” Stan’s grandson told them, pointing at a heavy roll of turquoise and purple paisley.
Carrie stared at it and tried to be tactful. “Actually, I’m looking for something a bit...plainer.”
Stan looked worryingly taken with the paisley. Carrie wondered if he’d somehow been involved in picking out the original. “Can’t go with anything too plain in a hotel,” he told her, stroking the roll of carpet. “Need something with pattern. Something with colour. Something to hide the food stains and the spills and the baby vomit.”
Carrie wasn’t sure which of those was supposed to be turquoise, but she figured it might be safer not to ask. “Still, maybe something a little less bright would work.”
Stan’s grandson shrugged, then looked away as another customer came in. “Why don’t you take a wander around and see if anything catches your eye.” He was already halfway across the store before he finished speaking.
“I’m going to...” Carrie waved a hand over at the other side of the store, and, at Stan’s nod, moved away, leaving her companion looking longingly at the turquoise paisley.
Somewhere amongst burgundy pile and cream shag, Carrie’s phone rang.
“Oh, God, Carrie, I’m so sorry, but...” Ruth trailed off.
“What?” she asked, steeling herself. Because, whatever it was, two phone calls in one day meant it clearly wasn’t going to be good.
“The parents have been reviewing the guest list again, and they think they’ve found a few more families that they need to invite.”
“How many?” Carrie asked, already doing the maths in her head. They were already at full capacity with Selena’s existing list. Unless they wanted to put tables in the bar...
“About another thirty people,” Ruth said, the words sounding like stones. “Give or take.”
“That’s three more tables!”
“I know!” Carrie would have been angrier if Ruth didn’t sound so upset. “And now Graeme’s saying maybe we should postpone until next year, if we can’t get this sorted out.”
“Maybe there’ll be an epidemic of chicken pox or something, and some will have to cancel.” It was only when she heard Ruth’s squeak on the other end of the line that Carrie realised she’d said the last bit out loud. Covering quickly, she added, “Okay, don’t worry. I’ll fix it. Somehow. Just...bring the revised list with you when you come up, and I’ll see what we can do.”
But even as she hung up Carrie knew it was hopeless. If Aunt Selena was only finding additional friends and family to bulk up the list in order to rule out the Avalon Inn as a prospective venue, as she suspected, shoving a few extra tables in a side room wasn’t going to change her mind. She needed the inn at its best to even stand a chance. And now she needed it bigger, too.
She was still trying to figure out a solution when they left the carpet shop three quarters of an hour later, order placed for a chocolate and coffee swirly-patterned carpet that even Stan approved of. The mixture of browns was, he told her, the exact colours of Jacob’s beef and chicken gravies, respectively, so should work a treat for hiding stains.
Carrie was just glad it wasn’t paisley, or any shade of purple.
As they pulled into the drive of the Avalon Inn the front door flew open, leaving Cyb and Moira peering out at them.
“Everything okay?” Carrie called out, slamming the car door behind her, and already mentally running through all the other things that could have gone wrong.
She’d reached Jacob’s burnt down the kitchen by the time Moira said, “Everything’s fine. It’s just...”
“Just what?” Carrie started the list going again.
Cyb grabbed her left arm and turned her away from the inn. “Did you get the carpet you wanted?”
“It’s very practical,” Stan said, but even he was looking at the two older women in confusion. “Won’t show a thing.”
“They’re fitting it next week,” Carrie said, still staring at Moira. “So what’s going on here?”
“Um...” Moira stalled, and was saved by Jacob appearing from behind the inn. “Jacob!”
Jacob gave Carrie a wide grin. “Nate’s got some things to show you in the gardens, if you’ve got the time.”
“Well, I...” She didn’t have the time, really. Her to do list wasn’t getting any shorter, after all. But there was something going on, and Carrie really wanted to know what it was. “Sure.”
As long as it wasn’t the burnt out-remains of the kitchen, how bad could it be, anyway?
* * * *
Nate hovered inside the cutting garden, tweaking the occasional piece of twine and replanting the windmills when an overly strong breeze knocked them over. They’d heard Carrie’s car returning almost five minutes ago. Jacob had headed straight round to the front of the inn, and Nate had run for the first stop on the Nate Green Utterly Worthwhile and Self-Supporting Prospective Garden Tour. Any moment now, Carrie would arrive and he’d have to convince her of his plans.
Because if she didn’t go for them, if she didn’t keep the gardens, what place was there for him at the Avalon Inn?
“Before we start whatever this is,” Carrie said, stepping into the garden between the surrounding foliage and shrubs that kept the area secluded and staring around her at the twirls of twine, “just reassure me nothing has burnt down or broken.”
Nate smiled. “I promise. Everything is just as intact as when you left.”
“So it’s just tied up with string, then.” She glanced around the four beds again, her brow crinkling in confusion when she spotted the windmills.
Jacob was standing behind her, giving him encouraging nods, and Nate realised he had to get on with it. Otherwise Carrie would start asking questions, and he’d never get his well-rehearsed spiel spoken at all.
“Okay,” he started, after taking a deep breath. Carrie’s gaze flicked to his face, and he reminded himself again to speak slowly and clearly. “So. I know you were concerned about the value of the gardens to the inn.”
Carrie shook her head. “That’s not it, Nate. Honest. I know we need them for photos and—”
“Actually,” Nate interrupted, his tone apologetic, “this is going to be easier and quicker for both of us if you just let me say my bit first.”
“He’s been practising all morning,” Jacob put in from the path. Nate wasn’t sure if that counted as helpful or not.
“Practising what?” Carrie asked, and Nate just looked at her, trying to convey just listen and find out in a glance. It must have worked, because Carrie tucked her hands behind her back and said, “Fine. This is my best listening face. Go ahead.”
Nate tried to remember where he’d got to, and decided it was probably best to start from the beginning