‘Okay. Well. I’d best get on with it, then, hadn’t I?’
11
Emma
As soon as I’d got home that evening, I’d known something was up. It had been a fairly standard Thursday – baking fifty cupcakes for a bridal shower, meeting a woman whose daughter was allergic to strawberries but somehow wanted me to come up with a strawberry-flavoured gateau for her eighteenth birthday party. I’d caught up on some admin, been wowed by Nita’s wedding cake ideas for a couple who had met at a medieval re-enactment society, then caught the bus home to collapse on the sofa with a reheated bowl of lentil stew.
Bridget was already home, which wasn’t that unusual. But she’d cooked dinner, which started my suspicions humming. She’d also opened a bottle of wine, which never happened on a Thursday.
‘Is Paolo coming over?’ I asked, dumping my bag as I eyed up the carefully laid table.
‘No, it’s for you.’ Bridget smiled, but the way she wrung her hands together at the same time cancelled the smile out.
‘Okay… should I be worried?’
‘Definitely not!’
Unconvinced, I sat down and accepted a glass of wine and a portion of pasta bake.
‘Aren’t you going to eat it?’ Bridget asked a few minutes later, somewhat hypocritically given that all she’d done was push a few pieces of penne about with her fork.
‘I’m not going to be able to eat anything until you tell me what’s going on.’ I did, however, manage a slow sip of wine.
‘I found you a match.’
‘Oh.’
Oh.
I put the glass back on the table with a clonk. Then changed my mind, picked it up and took another swig.
‘It’s a 94 per cent compatibility. He’s the right age, has a brilliant personality, a good job. His moral values are in line with yours, and he wants the same sort of things in life. Plus, he loves cake. And, not that it matters according to your application, but he’s also not bad-looking.’
I sat back. Never mind butterflies, my insides felt as though there were a turkey flapping around in there. ‘You got all that from his application?’
‘I did some follow-up investigations. Maybe not strictly in line with the project remit, but, given that we’d already decided you were the most compatible pair, it seemed okay to do some off-the-record research.’
‘Well. Wow.’ I poured out another half-glass of wine, my hand shaking. ‘Is it too late to ask if we can go on a couple of dates first?’
‘You can back out whenever you like. But I won’t be able to give you any of his details if you do.’
‘Have you met him?’
Bridget’s cheeks coloured slightly, a chunk of pasta halfway to her mouth.
‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘I’m not going to let you marry someone unless I’m sure that you’ve got as good a chance as possible that it might come to something.’
I nodded.
My trust in my sister was absolute. She knew me better than anyone, and I knew that if she had doubts about this guy then she’d tell me. I reminded myself of my own track record in finding a partner. I’d made my mind up. I wanted to get married, and have a family, and, while not ideal, this was the best option I’d got. Who was I kidding? This was the only option!
‘Great. What do I have to do next?’
What I had to do next, it turned out, was plan a wedding in three weeks. With work commitments and the groom’s schedule, it was three weeks or wait until the wedding season was over, and there was no way I could hang about in limbo land until then. That was fine, the groom was happy to keep it simple, and I was very happy to be on maximum organisational duties between now and then, as a way of avoiding thinking too hard about what it was I was organising.
But before all that could begin, I had to face telling my family. Thank goodness Bridget agreed to let me get the Easter weekend out of the way first.
* * *
