‘It’ll be fine – we can manage them both given this much notice.’
Bridget put her hand on my arm, to stop me typing. ‘But Dad can’t.’
Would it stop one day, the reminder slugging into my guts like a slow-moving sledgehammer, stirring up anger and sadness at how my dad was only allowed snatches of normal life, constantly weighing up every activity against how it would impact him for the rest of the week?
I hated it. I hated what his life had become.
I made a note in my phone right then to start planning my cakes for the pop-up. Maybe I’d branch out, add in some dainty sandwiches and mini quiches. Stick it all on a tiered cake-stand. People would pay stupid money for an afternoon tea.
‘Let’s do the week after. The twenty-ninth.’ Bridget gave my hand a squeeze of solidarity. ‘If he only pops along to the pop-up, which is the whole point, he should be okay to make the wedding a couple of weeks later.’
I nodded. He was as likely to be okay for that date as he was any other. We’d learnt the hard way that this battle could not be fought via mental or physical effort, as if he could somehow will himself to be well enough. If anything, the ultimate strength was in having the courage and the confidence to admit the need to stay home and rest despite all hopes and expectations to the contrary.
But another glance at Bridget in her dress was enough to stop me wallowing and shake me into action. If I wasn’t mistaken, my sister had finally committed to a wedding date!
‘I’ll just confirm with Ginger… Send a quick message to Mum… SisterApp… oh, and Paolo… There, done! We have a date and a dress!’
I gave myself an internal high five, ignoring the slightly dazed look on my sister’s face as we helped her out of the dress and sorted the deposit.
‘Oh, come on, isn’t that why you asked me to be your chief bridesmaid, because I’m an organisational maestro?’
Bridget squinted at me as we hurried back through the rain towards her car. ‘I asked you because, not only do I love you because you’re my sister and so I have to, I actually really, really like you as a friend, and I wanted you to be involved. Involved, not taking over. Plus, if I’d asked Orla she’d only have ended up falling out with Mum and Sofia would arrange a bring-and-share lunch in the back of the church. Which was fine for her, but Paolo’s family would go mad without a catered reception.’
‘But it was also because my planning skills are legendary. And actually you want me to take all the hassle away so you and Paolo can simply say yes or no to my carefully presented choices, then rock up all stress-free and enjoy it.’
‘If that will make you feel better, then yes, that’s also why.’
‘Right. We’d better get back so I can put a timetable together. Oh, and, Young One?’ We reached the car, and I paused with one hand on the passenger door. ‘This is your wedding. It’s going to be amazing, I promise. And at the end of it you’ll be married to Paolo!’
Bridget beamed back at me, jiggling up and down on her heels. ‘I know. I can’t wait!’
I think that was the first time my baby sister ever lied to me.
* * *
Cooper
It was definitely getting easier. Itwasgetting easier, walking into the lab every morning and seeing her hunched over her workstation, or frowning at a machine printout. Face scrunched in concentration as she titrated a precise number of drops of solution into a row of test tubes.
Some days, he even managed to stroll past the lab door, coffee in hand, and resist glancing to see if she was there.
So, he was getting used to it. That feeling of awareness that constantly hovered behind his shoulder when he knew she was just at the end of the corridor. How one ear couldn’t help listening out for the squeak of her trainers, and how he subconsciously braced himself for the squeak to stop outside his cupboard-office.
This morning, he’d lasted until midday before the magnetic pull of Bridget sucked him out of his office and into her lab. He found her slumped at her desk, head in her hands. No lab coat, instead a pair of raggedy boyfriend jeans and a rainbow-striped jumper.
‘Working on the side project today, then?’ He walked up, nudging her shoulder so she’d look up and see the offered travel mug.
‘Unfortunately, yes.’ She hauled herself upright, accepting a grateful mouthful of coffee with eyes closed in relief. Cooper reached out and unpeeled a clump of hair stuck to the side of her cheek, tucking it behind her ear.
‘I’ve tried everything.’ She began ticking the list off on her fingers. ‘Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, all those social medias that people old enough to get married haven’t heard of yet, the uni newsletter, notice boards. That horrendous radio interview. I even put an ad in theNottingham Post.’
‘And no one’s replied?’
She shook her head. ‘If only. Then at least we could shut the whole thing down and I could go back to the actual neuroscience I’m paid to be researching.’
She waved at a pile of forms on her desk. ‘What the genius Professor Cole failed to consider is that relatively normal humans might apply to go on a TV show and have a blind-date wedding, because an army of production people and a team of experts, including a famous and very charming professor, seemingly legitimise it. They also happen to get a free wedding reception, an amazing honeymoon and a swanky flat to live in for three months. But when it comes to marrying a stranger to help an egomaniac win a drunken bet, with zero budget, even less credibility and absolutely no chance of being invited onto breakfast TV afterwards, the pool of hopeful applicants looks more like a swamp.’
Cooper pulled up a lab stool. ‘Let’s have a look.’
