It Started With a Kiss (11 page)

Taking a deep breath to combat the shaking in my legs, I followed him into the warmth of the mansion.

‘A toast!’ Jack said, pushing back his chair and raising his glass, much to the bemusement of the other diners in the cosy French bistro. ‘To our wonderful Romily Parker. May all her dreams come true this year and may she not be arrested for stalking the poor fella who kissed her at Christmas.’

Laughing, my friends rose to their feet and joined the toast. ‘To Romily!’

‘Speech!’ Tom called and Wren whistled.

There was no point refusing, so I stood up. ‘Thank you, you nutters. Well, seeing as I now have less than a year of my twenties left, I would just like to thank you all for being my fabulous friends through almost three decades of my life. And I know the quest might seem certifiable to some of you …’ I couldn’t help noticing that Charlie skilfully avoided my eye at this point, ‘but I’d like to say I value your support. Um, that’s it really. I think we should eat now before it gets cold.’

‘Hear hear!’ Jack shouted as I sat down amid the applause of my friends. ‘But before you do, we’ve bought you this to help with your search.’ Beaming, he produced a large gift box from under the table and presented it to me.

Casting a cursory glance at the collected grins around the table, I untied the ribbon bow and lifted the lid. I laughed as I drew out a large deerstalker hat, magnifying glass and pair of plastic kid’s binoculars. ‘Hilarious,’ I said, popping the hat on my head. ‘I’m sure these will come in very handy.’

D’Wayne coughed self-consciously to summon my attention. ‘While we’re on the subject of presents, I’ve got you this.’ He handed me a small, flat package wrapped in jelly-bean-printed paper. When I opened it, I was surprised to find a reporter’s notebook, Bic biro and pencil.

‘I thought it might be useful, you know, for writing your jingles. Or keeping notes about this bloke you’re looking for.’

‘Where did you pick that up, D’Wayne?’ Tom laughed. ‘A twenty-four-hour garage?’

D’Wayne picked at the edge of his napkin. ‘It was the only place to stop on the way here.’

The rest of my friends fell about laughing, whooping at the opportunity to joke at D’Wayne’s expense, but I reached across the table and patted his hand.

‘Well, I think it’s wonderful. And very useful. Thanks, D’Wayne.’

As we ate, laughed and drank, I couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at Charlie from time to time. He didn’t look at me, and although his smile had returned and the jokes were once again bouncing back and forth between him, Jack and Tom, I knew what he was thinking. Or suspected, anyhow. It felt odd to see him acting normally with everyone else when I knew he was still being careful around me. This time last year, he would have been sharing those jokes with me …

But it didn’t matter. I couldn’t worry about what Charlie did or didn’t think about me. I needed to focus on happy things – like finding PK again. Instinctively, I took a quick look around the packed Friday night restaurant, just in case he might be one of the diners tonight. Now
that
would be a great birthday present, I mused to myself, closing my eyes for a moment and summoning the memory of his lips on mine.

‘You look happy.’ Jack nudged me.

‘I am happy.’

‘Good for you. And things with you and Charlie are …?’

I shrugged. ‘No different. Anyway, what he thinks doesn’t worry me.’

I couldn’t exactly make out what Jack’s reaction to this was. Maybe he couldn’t either, because he changed the subject as quickly as he’d brought it up. ‘Listen, I’ve a confession to make. You remember the tracks we wrote last year for that ad client of yours at Brum FM who wanted pop songs for a campaign?’

‘Vaguely. I remember that the client didn’t use them in the end and went for some awful disco covers instead.’

‘Well, I came across them at the studio last week when I was sorting through old files and kind of re-jigged them a little. They’re good, Rom. All they needed was a new arrangement, so I did that and sent it off.’

My heart did a little skip. ‘Sent it off where?’

‘One of my clients works with a music lawyer in London, who places songs with record companies looking for material for their artists. I don’t know if it will be what he’s looking for, but I thought it was worth a shot. I haven’t heard back yet, but I thought you should know.’

Wow. This was a lot to take in. But as Jack proceeded to describe in detail the changes he had made to the arrangements, it all seemed to fall into place. I had committed to making this year count, and what better than to push the songs I had written with Jack? Regardless of whether this led anywhere or not, I felt the move had a greater significance than Jack realised: it was a sign that I was doing the right thing. Maybe this
was
going to be my best year so far …

The following Saturday morning, we packed the van and headed down the M5 to the West Country. Several of us had raised concerns about travelling to the Somerset countryside for a late January wedding, especially given the ominous weather forecasts threatening more snow. Much to everyone’s relief, however, the morning of the wedding was clear and cold, pale winter-blue skies and bright sunshine greeted us as we drove in convoy towards the venue.

D’Wayne had surprised everyone by turning up at Jack and Soph’s that morning in time to help load the van, instead of turning up at the venue to meet us as usual. To give him his due, he certainly seemed to be embracing the responsibilities of being our manager. It must have been a bit of a baptism of fire after years organising events in one venue.

‘I just thought I should be more involved in the whole operation,’ he explained when he saw our genuine shock at his arrival.

As we climbed into the van, Jack winked at me. ‘You know, I seem to remember Wren making a sideways comment to D’Wayne at your birthday meal about him never helping with the heavy lifting bits. Don’t suppose
that
could have had any bearing on his decision this morning, do you?’

As venues go, Elstone Farm Estate was surprisingly different. Set in the middle of the one-hundred-and-fifty-acre estate, surrounded by rolling Somerset countryside, the venue for the wedding was an impressive sixteenth-century tithe barn made of honey-hued stone with huge oak doors and beams. When we stepped inside, we were delighted to discover how warm the building was, due to the underfloor heating installed beneath the large flagstone floor.

‘It’s sort of like sixteenth-century history with twenty-first-century comforts,’ Liesl, the attractive wedding co-ordinator commented, as she took us on a tour around the barn. Large round tables covered with crisp white linen cloths and surrounded by gold chairs were already laid out for the reception, and a team of florists was putting the finishing touches to table arrangements that rose from the centre of each table in high glass vases, filled with pure white roses and lilies, deep blue agapanthus and palest pink hydrangea, the beautiful scent of which filled the vaulted space.

‘In the summer, there’s a meadow at the back that the guests use,’ Liesl continued. ‘But obviously they won’t be out there today. If you can set up at the far end of the bar, we’ll clear the tables back this evening so that this whole central run becomes the dance floor. Acoustic-wise, it’s a bit echoey, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s fine. We’ll work from in-ear monitors and keep front of house sound at a good volume,’ Charlie suggested. ‘And I’ll watch the level on my drums.’

‘That’ll be a first,’ Tom sniggered. He was decidedly happier today than the last time we played. Since his breakup with Anya, Tom’s sparkle had started to make a welcome return and it was good to see my friend heading back to his old self.

Liesl smiled politely, but I’m sure I detected the merest blush in her cheeks. Tom caught it immediately and extended his hand. ‘I’m Tom, by the way. I play guitar.’

‘I’m trying to learn at the moment,’ she confessed.

‘Really? Well, perhaps I could help with that,’ he smoothed. ‘Tell me more …’

Jack and Wren rolled their eyes as we watched Tom leading the pretty blonde away towards the bar. ‘Since he and Anya split he’s been dreadful,’ Jack said. ‘He was helping me on a wiring job yesterday and he spent his lunch break chatting up one of the office girls. I think he may be starting to enjoy his new-found freedom.’

‘Watch out world,’ I laughed. ‘This place is amazing, isn’t it?’

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Wren breathed, as we carried equipment in from the van, fifteen minutes later. ‘If I ever – you know – I reckon somewhere like this would be perfect.’

‘Isn’t it just? If only I had a
man
, this could all be
mine
!’ Jack slapped a hand to his heart and pretended to swoon at the surroundings.

Wren punched his arm and he yelped. ‘That’ll teach you to mock, Jack Williams. Ignore him, Rom. We have every right to lust after the venue.’

‘Absolutely.’ I linked my arm through Wren’s and poked my tongue out at Jack. ‘This is the main reason we come, you know.’

Rating wedding venues is an essential part of enjoying the wedding band experience for Wren and me. Neither of us are desperate to trip down the aisle – far from it – but there’s an irresistibly girly pleasure in enjoying the details of someone else’s big day. Especially when we find a lovely one like this. Needless to say, the boys in the band are more than happy to mock us for this, but we press on regardless, even occasionally eliciting agreement from some of them if they think the others aren’t looking. At the end of the day, all of us are romantics at heart, however hard we try to hide the fact.

The only exception to this is our esteemed manager.

‘How much has this cost them?’ he scoffed, as we set up the band around him. ‘Over twenty grand, for sure. And for what? A day of someone else’s ideas to launch a marriage that probably won’t last more than two years.’

Wren looked aghast. Even by D’Wayne’s standards, this was a harsh assessment. ‘You can’t say that! How can you possibly know?’

D’Wayne nodded sagely. ‘I know.’

‘He’s only saying that because he can’t get a woman to stay with him for long enough to consider marriage,’ I said, tightening the adjuster on a microphone stand.

‘Hey, I date,’ D’Wayne protested. ‘I just choose to leave when the fun’s over.’

I winked at Wren. ‘What a catch. No wonder the ladies are queuing up for the McDougall love-in.’

D’Wayne glared at me. ‘See, this is why I don’t come early to your gigs. If anyone wants me I’ll be in the car.’ Grabbing his keys and phone from the top of a speaker cab, he stormed off.

‘Nice one, ladies. That’s the
D’Wayne Diva
taken care of,’ said Jack, rubbing his hands together. ‘Now let’s find the caterers and blag food! Wren – you’re the drama specialist – I want to see poor, starving musician and big, baby doll eyes, please.’

Wren smirked. ‘No problem. So what’s my motivation, Mr Scorsese?’

‘Grub, my dear. And lots of it!’

An hour before the start of the set, Jack gathered us together behind the tithe barn by the catering van, which had very kindly provided us with some spare portions of the wedding breakfast being served inside.

‘Right. We’re doing “What a Difference a Day Made” for the first dance – Rom can lead that. OK with you, Wren?’

Wren grinned. ‘Fine by me. I can never remember the words.’

‘OK, you and I’ll do some harmony pads behind, then.’

‘Standard oohs and aahs, people,’ Tom joked, referring to the in-joke we have about Jack only being trusted to provide random sounds as harmonies, owing to the fact that he often muddles up lyrics which throws everyone else off completely.

Jack pulled a face. ‘
Thank you
. Happy couple’s names are Andrew and Sarah, so make a note of that. Then it’s standard first set, ending with “Lovely Day” into “Valerie”. They reckon everyone will be up for dancing, so let’s try to get the dance floor occupied as soon as we can. Wren, are you happy to tag-team with Rom on hosting?’

‘Sure.’

‘Chas, if you count us in on the first dance and then I’ll lead it from there.’

Charlie saluted his agreement.

Jack consulted the set list. ‘O-K. So, I’ll start off “Ain’t Nobody”, but can you nod me in so I don’t get the speed wrong, Chas?’

‘What, you mean like you did last week at The Quiet Gig?’ Charlie grinned. A ripple of laughter passed round the band.

‘Man, that’s the only time I’ve heard a Chaka Khan song played as a funeral march,’ agreed Tom.

‘Is this International Pick on Jack Day?’ Jack protested.

I patted his back. ‘Nope. It’s just a regular Saturday, honey.’

‘I get no thanks …’ Our dejected keyboard player didn’t have the opportunity to wallow for long, as we all piled on to him in an overly sympathetic group hug.