Drip Dry (30 page)

‘Oh,
there
you are! And look! Your poor nose!' And then she is gone, swept out the doors by the force of her three eldest sons and Bronte, who crowd behind her and grin at me as they pass.

‘Love the nose!'

‘What have we told you about fighting?'

‘Hit with the left
, protect
with the right!'

There are only a few stragglers moving up the aisle now so Terry and I stand and prepare to exit. I haven't seen Alex and Maggie pass (despite keeping a rather close eye out), so they must have been one of the first ones to escape. By the time we emerge blinking into the sunlight, the bridal party has been whisked away by limousine to Harold's house, which incidentally is only one block away. Most of the guests have followed, either on foot or by car, and the only ones that I know who are still hanging around are Phillip, who is talking to Fergus at the bottom of
the steps, and Nick and Bronte, who is wringing her hands and looking out for her mother impatiently.

‘Mum! I forgot the present! I left it on Nick's dining room table!'

‘Well, calm down, Bronte. It's not the end of the world.'

‘That's what I told her, Terry,' says Nick casually, ‘but she won't listen.'

‘What do you think of your mother's new flame, Bronte?' I ask curiously. ‘You know, Fergus over there.'

‘Weird,' says Bronte, sending Fergus a dismissive glance before turning back to her mother in agitation. ‘I
have
to have it! I spent
ages
picking it out!'

‘Well, why don't you and Nick just go home and get it?' I ask reasonably.

‘Because we came with Nick's dad, and he's already gone!'

‘For god's sake, Bronte!' Terry looks at her daughter with irritation. ‘If it's
that
important, I'll simply swing by Croydon and pick it up. Not a problem. After all, it's only half an hour out of my way!'

‘I should have known
you
wouldn't understand!'

‘Look,' I say before the situation turns into a full-blown domestic, ‘why don't you and Nick take my car and go over to get it. I'll just walk around to Harold's.'

‘Cool,' says Nick, who quite obviously doesn't care much either way but would simply like to keep his girlfriend happy. ‘Is that the one with the possum shit all over it?'

‘Oh, are you
sure
?' Bronte looks at me as if I have
just single-handedly saved her from a fate worse than death. ‘I'd be ever so grateful.'

‘Of course I'm sure.' I fish my car keys out of my tiny shoulder bag and pass them over. ‘Off you go. Only watch out for the reverse – it gets stuck sometimes. See you later on.'

Terry and I watch them wander over towards my Holden in silence. Bronte looks rather virginal in a snow-white broderie anglaise shift and high heels that make her legs look like they go on forever, but I'm beginning to think she might be a trifle neurotic.

‘You're not really going to walk, are you?' Terry asks doubtfully.

‘Are you kidding? In these shoes?' I reply. ‘Come on, where's your car?'

‘Okay,' she laughs. ‘And thanks for that. Fergus! Fergus! Come on, we're off!'

Fergus and Phillip come wandering over and Fergus nods at me happily and then grabs Terry around the waist, twirls her in a circle, and leans up to plant a big kiss on her mouth. While they are thus engaged I notice that my relief at Fergus's traditional garb earlier was a little premature. His suit might be perfectly conventional, but his floral shirt and monogrammed tie (to match his work overalls) most certainly aren't. The kiss continues. Phillip and I grin at each other, slightly embarrassed.

‘Heard about your accident,' he says, looking straight at my nose. ‘How's it feel?'

‘Like it looks,' I answer wittily. ‘But a little bit worse.'

‘Hey, Phillip!' says Terry, having been abruptly released by her paramour. ‘Are you walking over to Harold's?'

‘Yes. I left my car there earlier. I wasn't sure what the parking would be like here.'

‘Well, you can grab a lift with us. C'mon, the car's this way.'

By the time we get to Terry's little blue Holden Barina, it's the last car left in the car park. It's also a two-door hatch, so Phillip and I have to manoeuvre ourselves in with considerable dexterity past the front seats and into the back. When Terry and Fergus lower the front seats back into position and clamber in, I start to feel positively claustrophobic. Especially because Phillip and I are now in extremely close proximity and his elbow is jammed into my waist. I fold my arms across my chest to give us a little more room. But I don't think I'm going to get out of here without a shoehorn.

Fortunately Harold's house is close and we pull up at the kerb mere seconds before my breathing starts to become embarrassingly rapid (because of the claustrophobia,
not
because of Phillip). Fergus clambers out of the passenger seat and lifts it up for me to get out. And that's where the real fun starts. First I try grabbing the back of the front seat and the edge of the door and pulling myself out but I can't quite get enough momentum going. Then I try leaning backwards and giving myself a push start, but that doesn't do the trick either. Then my shoe gets stuck under the front seat so I have to take it off to get it free. At this juncture, Terry begins to laugh and I shoot her
a filthy look. Phillip, who has been sitting back and watching with considerable interest, offers to lend a hand and Fergus reaches in to grab one of my arms. I take hold of the back of the seat with my other hand and as Fergus pulls, Phillip shoves me firmly in the small of the back and I pop out of the car like a champagne cork, one shoe on and one shoe off.

I breathe a sigh of relief and turn to thank Fergus for his help, and that's when I notice that a small but very interested crowd has formed to watch the events. Alex among them. Our eyes meet momentarily and I have a spilt second to register that he is looking
very
smooth in a slate-grey suit, black shirt and black tie. And that Mum's magic ointment has done the trick and he has only the
tiniest
bruise on his left cheekbone. Then his eyes leave mine and flick away to stonily watch a laughing Phillip emerge from the other side of the car, and walk around to me with my errant shoe in one outstretched hand.

‘Here you go,' Phillip says with a smile. ‘You might need this.'

‘Thanks,' I answer distractedly as I take the shoe and hop over to the side of the car to put it on. While I am thus engaged, I look around surreptitiously for Alex, but he and Maggie are already heading up the driveway to the back of the house where the reception is to take place. I put my shoe on and, with Terry, Fergus and Phillip, follow.

Harold's house is a small, neat brick home with an exceptionally tidy garden mainly consisting of roses. The driveway is gravel and leads around to a white picket gate, which has been left open to welcome
the guests through into the backyard. And what a backyard!

The Thursday setting-up crew (of which I
should
have been one) has worked wonders. The lawn has been mowed to within an inch of its life and is scattered with circular white tables, each with long white tablecloths and bowls of pink and white roses. Several wrought iron archways dot the area and are adorned with more matching roses and luxurious greenery and, as if that wasn't enough, numerous pots of tall standard roses have been placed judiciously around the yard. I am beginning to feel really guilty that I wasn't part of all this hard work – I'll definitely have to make a point of coming to help clean up tomorrow. A crowd has already started to surround a small bar that has been set up in the corner and from where drinks are being dispensed by catering staff as soon as they can be poured. Our eyes are drawn there like magnets.

‘Shall I be doing the honours?' asks Fergus magnanimously.

‘Please,' sighs Terry appreciatively. ‘I'll have a white wine.'

‘Me too,' I add quickly.

‘Nothing for me, thanks,' says Phillip. ‘I'd better go and see if I can rescue Beth.'

Terry and I find a vacant table in a nicely shaded corner of the yard and sink down onto the chairs. I dump my handbag under the table and lean forwards to smell the roses in the centre.

‘Mmm . . . heavenly. Can you believe how many people are here? I didn't even know that my mother
knew
so many people!'

‘And look at all the presents!' Terry gestures over to a table in the far corner that is heavily laden with wrapped gifts of every size and shape. ‘It almost makes you want to get married again.'

‘No thanks. And my present's in the car with your daughter so remind me when she turns up to grab it, will you?' I lean back and yawn sleepily.

‘Tired already?' Maggie slips into the seat next to me and grins. ‘Could you have got a bigger bandage?'

‘Big nose, big bandage,' says Terry helpfully.

‘No, I don't think so.' I ignore Terry and concentrate on Maggie, who looks like a lilac chiffon-draped beach ball. ‘And how are you, Maggie? You're looking good, as usual. Didn't Ruby want to come?'

‘No, you know how she hates these sort of things. And thank you, I'm good. Yeah, really good. Love your dress – and yours too, Terry. Great about your mother, isn't it? They really seem happy.'

‘I know.' I follow her gaze over to where my mother and Harold are mingling with some of their friends. Mum seems to be in her element.

‘He looks so pleased, like he's finally met his Mrs Right,' says Terry as she watches Harold beam at my mother devotedly.

‘Yeah, but wait till he finds out her first name is Always,' I comment with considerable feeling.

‘True. So, been studying more of those dirty movies of yours?' asks Maggie with a grin.

‘What dirty movies?' Terry looks at me curiously.

‘Just some stuff from uni. Nothing much.'

‘Bit more than nothing much, I'd say. And I have
to tell you about you-know-what.' Maggie looks around surreptitiously and lowers her voice: ‘It was all a big misunderstanding. So the coast is clear.'

‘What coast? What misunderstanding?' Terry is looking at both of us in confusion. ‘And
what
dirty movies?'

‘Oh, Terry, how rude of me,' Maggie continues in her normal voice. ‘I haven't asked how
you
are. So how are you?'

‘Why do I get the feeling I have no idea what's going on?' asks Terry petulantly as Fergus comes back with a tray full of glasses that he places carefully on the table.

‘I saw you over here, Maggie, so I took the liberty of getting you your favourite,' he says brightly while Terry's face slowly turns a dull red. ‘Here you go!' He puts a glass of wine in front of Terry and me, a beer in front of himself, and what looks like a gin and tonic in front of Maggie.

‘Why, thanks, Fergus.' Maggie looks rather surprised to see him here, and says so.

‘To be sure,' says Fergus with a proud grin, ‘but I came with Terry.'

‘I would have liked a G & T too, you know,' says Terry, looking at Maggie's drink.

‘I didn't even know you liked them,' replies Fergus apologetically, ‘but I'll be fetching you one if you want.'

‘But you knew that Maggie liked them, hey?'

‘Well, yes, but I thought you
asked
for a white wine.' Fergus is starting to look confused. ‘Didn't you?'

‘That's not the point, and you know it.'

‘Didn't she ask for a white wine, Camilla?' Fergus turns to look at me appealingly. ‘Didn't she?'

‘Well, yes, but –'

‘The point, Fergus,' interrupts Terry, without taking her eyes off him, ‘the point is that you knew what Maggie's favourite drink was.
That's
the point.'

‘But I only know that from all the times I've been over there,' cries Fergus helplessly.

‘And that's the bloody point!' yells Terry, causing several heads to turn and glance in our direction.

‘Hmm, I think I know what this is all about,' says Maggie, with a benevolent smile at them both. ‘And I think I can clear it up as well.'

‘Doubt it,' mutters Terry crossly as she takes a sip of her wine and leans back in her seat. ‘Doubt it very much.'

‘Look, I'd better go over and say hello to my aunts before I start to relax,' I say, getting up with my drink, ‘so you guys just enjoy and I'll be back shortly.'

I make my escape, leaving the table in a rather uncomfortable silence. But they'll have to sort it out sooner or later, and I'd prefer for them to do it sooner
and
without me there. I walk over to the table at which my Great Aunt Pru and Aunt Annie are sitting. Unfortunately Aunt Emma and several of her offspring are also sitting there, but beggars can't be choosers.

‘Great Aunt Pru!' I yell, pulling up a chair next to her.

‘Who did?' she exclaims, looking around. ‘Where?'

‘It's me!' I yell even louder. ‘Camilla!'

‘Well,
really
!' she replies, giving me a rather disgusted look. I turn to Auntie Annie, who is trying not to laugh.

‘I give up. How are you, Auntie Annie?' I lean forwards and we kiss cheeks. ‘You're looking very well.'

‘Thank you, Camilla, and so are you – apart from the bandage. We heard all about it from your mother, you poor thing. Does it hurt?'

‘No, not at all,' I lie, mainly because I am getting heartily sick of people asking me how my damn nose feels. After all, isn't it obvious that it would be rather painful?

‘And your mother tells us that you're going back to university?'

‘That's right. I start in two weeks.'

‘That's wonderful! I always thought you had it in you. And your mother is so proud.'

‘She is?' I ask with surprise.

‘Oh, yes, she's telling everybody.'