‘Don’t worry, I restrained myself. She’s not the type of mother to force her child’s delicate feet into shoes, either, but for some reason found that idea quaint rather than offensive. And we can get the name printed onto a ribbon lace, save writing it out a hundred times in icing. I wouldn’t mind so much if she was called Ann or Mo. But Genevieve would give me repetitive strain injury. I’m going to try an old-style Silver Cross pram shape, too, but that would mean icing the names so it’s a token gesture.’
‘Well, they will look lovely.’ I took a sip of tea. ‘After the ten-thirty consultation, I’m heading to the wholesaler’s. Is there anything else you need that’s not on the board yet?’
‘Could you get me some jar lids? As many shapes and sizes as they’ve got, please.’
‘I won’t ask.’
‘Don’t, it’s just something I’m mulling over.’
‘I’ve emailed you the preliminary info from the couple coming in this morning – Poppy and Mike. Please don’t make any reference to poppies being part of the cake, she’s expressly stated she doesn’t want that. Or the lemon and poppy seed flavour. She said she’s had enough poppy-themed everythings to consider officially changing her name.’
‘Duly noted.’
‘Oh, and did you remember I need to leave at four? Bridget wants me to look at a wedding venue with her, to dilute the Mamma factor.’
Nita, adding another few strokes to the sketch pad, frowned. ‘About time, too. I thought she’d never get around to it.’
‘She’s been engaged less than two weeks.’
‘And the rest. Hasn’t she known this man for nearly her whole life? Why wait all this time if you’ve found the person you want to be with? I knew Vik for two months before we got married.’
‘Two months?’
She shrugged, a smile playing at the edge of her mouth. ‘When you know, you know. And when you aren’t allowed to spend any time alone together before the wedding night, it adds a bit of incentive to get moving.’
‘Was it an arranged marriage?’ I sat down on the spare chair, nearly spilling my drink as I wobbled about on the pile of books that already occupied the seat. Nita and I had discussed many, many different types of wedding over the two and a half years we’d been working together. I’d seen the stunning photos of her own special day, but somehow we’d never talked about the details of how her marriage came about. I suppose that was one pitfall of this job – we focussed on the happy moments, rather than the hard work that comes before and after.
‘No. It was an introduction, arranged by our families, but the choice was ours.’
I waited for her to go on, not sure which of the questions jostling to be asked were rude, or simply betrayed my own ignorance.
‘We met three times before the wedding, each time the house crammed full of parents and grandparents, aunties, uncles and siblings. I was so shy I barely spoke a word.’
‘He married you having barely spoken to you?’
‘He tells people my pakoras won him over.’ She smirked. ‘But the truth is we fancied each other rotten. You can’t arrange chemistry, but there it was.’
She let out a dreamy sigh. ‘More importantly, he was kind. And we were both committed. Chemistry, kindness and commitment – good soil in which love can take root, and a family can grow.’
Nita handed me a tissue from the box on her desk to blot the tears welling up. I wanted to pretend they were all for Nita’s benefit – we had celebrated her silver wedding anniversary not long after I met her, and Vik’s face softened every time he looked at his wife, the hard-nosed businessman brimming with tenderness. But, honestly? Some of the ache behind my eyeballs was for me. I never expected to be thirty-three and still single. If things had worked out as expected, I’d be celebrating my own eight-year anniversary this year. I thought about Mum and Dad, my sisters and their husbands and husband-to-be, and I longed so deeply for the chemistry, kindness and commitment they had found that it stung.
I just wasn’t sure how many more first dates I could put myself through before I found it, too.
* * *
Later that afternoon, I met Bridget and my mum at a boutique wedding venue a few miles outside the city.
‘Emma!’ Mum called across the car park, loud enough to set off dogs barking on a nearby farm. ‘You look tired. Did you catch Sam’s cold? Working too much compromises your immune system.’
I waited until I reached them before replying. ‘Hi, Mamma, no, I’m fine. I took the whole weekend off, as you know since I spent yesterday with you. Hi, Bridge, how was uni today? Has Prof recovered from the weekend’s revelry?’
Bridget shrugged her bag back up on her shoulder. Underneath her tan leather jacket she wore a vintage red and white polka-dot dress, with a matching scarf to hold her hair back. My skinny black trousers and grey jumper, which had earlier seemed stylish and sophisticated, now felt frumpy and stiff. Oh, well. Next to Mum’s brightly patterned leggings and turquoise furry gilet, no one would notice.
‘He has, unfortunately. What’s even worse is that he remembers most of what happened. Including that insane blind-date wedding bet he made with Prof Love.’
I gasped. ‘No – he isn’t going to go through with it?’
‘He has to – professional pride. And the worst thing of all is that—’
