Читать книгу The Great Escape: The laugh-out-loud romantic comedy from the summer bestseller - Fiona Gibson, Fiona Gibson - Страница 11

‘Why aren’t you and Dad getting married in church?’ Daisy fixes Hannah with a cool stare as she enters the kitchen.

Hannah pauses, taken aback by the fact that Daisy’s query isn’t about why she crept outside to make a call on her mobile. Ryan is muttering about gym kits in the utility room and Josh is chewing slowly and rhythmically, like a bull, whilst staring blankly ahead. ‘Well,’ Hannah says brightly, ‘we’re only having a small wedding with the people we’re closest to, and it’s …’ She falters, deciding not to utter the unmentionable words: and it’s your dad’s second wedding, after all. ‘It just seemed right for us,’ she adds. ‘We don’t want anything too fancy or formal, you know?’

Clearly, Daisy doesn’t know. She gnaws on a toast crust and blinks down at Hannah’s bare feet. Josh continues to eat in silence, the Lynx Effect engulfing the kitchen as if being pumped in through a pipe. ‘Why not?’ Daisy asks.

‘Well, er,’ Hannah starts, deciding yet again that it’s ridiculous to feel intimidated by a ten-year-old, ‘I’m not really religious so it wouldn’t feel right for me to get married in church when I don’t go any other time.’

Hannah hears Ryan slamming the washing machine shut and switching it on. Daisy is now gawping at Hannah as if she’s just confessed to a liking for torturing kittens. ‘You mean you don’t believe in God?’ she gasps.

‘Well, not really,’ Hannah blusters, her cheeks flaring up. ‘I mean, I believe in something, I suppose, like we should treat people well and respect each other but, er … I’m not really a churchy type.’

Daisy purses her pink lips. ‘I believe in God.’

‘Well, that’s good, Daisy. It’s completely personal and up to you what you believe in.’

‘Don’t you believe in Heaven either?’

No, because I’m the Antichrist … ‘Er, not really, I mean …’

‘Dad doesn’t go to church either,’ Josh intercepts, pushing back a dark, shaggy fringe from equally dark, foreboding eyes. ‘But him and Mum got married in a church and that was all right.’ He juts out his bottom lip.

‘Well, I suppose what I mean, what I should’ve said,’ Hannah explains, feeling her jaw tighten and any semblance of hunger rapidly ebbing away, ‘is that I don’t really follow a religion.’

‘Do you follow a religion then?’ Josh meets her gaze over the gingham tablecloth.

Hannah frowns. ‘What d’you mean, Josh?’

He flares his nostrils at her, like a horse. ‘You said you don’t follow a religion. Like you’d say you follow Chelsea but you don’t follow Spurs. Like religion’s a football team.’ He sniggers and clamps his mouth shut like a trap.

‘Oh, right!’ She laughs a little too heartily. ‘Well, what I mean is that I don’t support – I mean practise – any particular religion.’ As Josh blinks slowly, waiting for her to dig herself into an even deeper hole, Hannah wonders if this is how it’ll be when she’s Ryan’s wife, and their stepmother. Like being sandwiched between a Gestapo interrogator and a belligerent English teacher who ticks her off for using an ill-chosen verb. Christ-on-a-sodding-bike. She has a sudden urge to shriek, Okay! We’re not getting married in church because your dad was married before, as you both know, a fact I’ve avoided mentioning because I’m trying to be nice. And actually, while we’re on the subject of marriage, why don’t we just forget the whole business and carry on living together? It was your dad’s idea in the first place, you know. Getting married, I mean. Because he loves me. Yes, I know you might find the idea completely repulsive, and God knows, his feelings might waver a bit when he sets eyes on my cauliflower nurse dress. But still …

‘What were you saying, Daisy?’ Ryan asks, emerging from the utility room with a bundle of sports kits.

‘We were just talking about the wedding, Dad,’ Daisy says pleasantly.

‘Oh, right.’ Ryan smiles at Hannah, his eyes meeting hers, making her stomach flip as it always does when he looks at her like that. ‘Well,’ he adds, turning to Josh, ‘speaking of the wedding, we should all go shopping next weekend and pick you both something to wear.’

‘But it’s ages away,’ Josh replies. ‘It’s weeks.’

‘Yes, I know there’s still six weeks to go. But you’ll be at Mum’s the next three, and then we’ll be cutting it fine, really, to get things organised …’

‘Eddie’s birthday’s on Saturday,’ Josh mumbles. ‘We’re going bowling.’

‘Oh,’ Ryan says. ‘Right. Well, that’s nice. Maybe we could do it on Sunday instead.’

‘And we’re staying over till Sunday,’ Josh adds, ‘like all day.’

‘Are you? Oh …’ Hannah can detect the stress creeping across Ryan’s forehead, and longs to ask Josh why he’s being so bloody difficult when all his dad wants to do is festoon him with new clothes. However, she suspects that that would be even more outrageous than admitting she doesn’t follow Christianity. Anyway, perhaps Ryan doesn’t mind this rudeness, or has become immune to it over the years. Maybe he thinks Josh and Daisy’s behaviour is perfectly fine and it’s the wedding that’s stressing him out. They’ve planned it together, with the intention of keeping it low-key and simple. But the guest list has grown, and Ryan’s new suit came back from being altered with the trousers so short they flapped pathetically around his ankles. He’s been worrying about the food when Hannah would be perfectly content with a pile of sausage rolls dumped on the table if that’d put a smile on his kids’ faces. Now, what started as Ryan blurting out, ‘I want to marry you, Han, and spend my whole life with you’ has morphed into something stressful and dark, like a storm cloud billowing towards them.

‘And I’ve got stuff to wear anyway,’ Josh mumbles, looking down at his crumb-strewn plate.

‘I know, but I thought you might like something new.’ Regaining his composure, Ryan rolls his eyes good-naturedly at Hannah. How he manages to scrabble together these reserves of patience, she has no idea. Perhaps it just happens when you have children. You suddenly develop this bottomless well of kindness and goodwill.

‘You’re not going to turn down your dad’s offer of new clothes, are you, Josh?’ Hannah asks lightly.

‘Well, I’ve got plenty of T-shirts and jeans.’

‘Right, so which T-shirt were you thinking of?’ Ryan asks with a snort.

‘Dunno. My dark green one maybe.’

‘The one with the rip in the shoulder?’ Ryan laughs. ‘Sure, that’ll look great in the photos, Josh.’

Josh stares at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Photos?’

‘Yes, wedding photos, like people usually have when they get married,’ Ryan says with exaggerated patience.

‘What’s wrong with my T-shirt?’

‘Well, apart from the rip, it does tend to whiff a bit even when it’s been washed,’ his father explains, ‘like something’s actually embedded in its fibres and will never come out, even if I boil-wash it which I’ve done on several occasions …’

Daisy starts giggling. ‘You smell, Josh. That horrible T-shirt stinks of BO and even washing powder can’t get it out.’

‘And it’s age nine-to-ten,’ Ryan reminds him, ‘and you’re fourteen, Josh, if I remember rightly. Now, I know you’re fond of that T-shirt but we could be radical and buy you something in the right size.’

‘Oh, Josh can wear whatever he likes,’ Hannah cuts in. ‘It’s not going to be formal, is it, Ryan?’ She smiles at his son. ‘It’s probably best to wear what you feel happy and comfortable in.’

‘He’s not wearing that T-shirt,’ Ryan mutters.

‘I just don’t think it’s worth falling out over …’ Hannah glances at Josh. Instead of responding, and being grateful to her for not trying to cram him into a suit, he takes a big gulp of orange juice, wipes his lips on his cuff and allows his mouth to hang open, as if airing its interior. Trying to decipher these kids is a bit like learning to drive, Hannah decides as Ryan shoos them upstairs to fetch their schoolbags. In fact it’s harder than driving because at least she was able to pay for a teacher. As far as Hannah is aware, there’s no British School of How to Handle Daisy and Josh.

‘I’d better be going,’ Hannah tells Ryan, trying to quash the trace of relief from her voice.

‘Okay. Have a good day, darling.’ He steps forward and pulls her close, smelling freshly showered and delicious.

‘What are you wearing to the wedding?’ Daisy has reappeared in the kitchen doorway.

‘Me?’ Ryan springs away from Hannah. ‘Erm, a suit, Daisy. A new one that’s being altered for me.’

‘I meant Hannah, Daddy.’ Daisy gives them a fake smile.

‘Oh, just a simple dress,’ says Hannah quickly.

‘Aren’t you wearing a veil?’

Hannah pauses. ‘No, but Lou, one of my best friends from—’

‘Why not?’

Because I don’t like them! ‘Well, veils are lovely but my friend Lou from college is an amazing jeweller and she’s made me this beautiful silver tiara with—’

‘Mum’s wedding dress was pretty, wasn’t it, Dad?’ Daisy beams at her father.

‘Er, yes. It was very nice …’ Ryan turns away and swills out the washing-up bowl noisily.

‘Mum’s dress,’ Daisy continues, eyes fixed determinedly on Hannah, ‘was white and low at the front like this.’ She draws an invisible V-shape to indicate a plunging neckline.

‘Well, that sounds gorgeous.’ Hannah smiles tightly.

‘And it was long with millions of sparkly beads sewn on, and the veil was so massive two people had to walk behind and carry it through the church, didn’t they, Dad? So it didn’t drag on the floor and get dirty. Didn’t they, Dad?’

‘Er, yes,’ Ryan croaks, now scraping the remains of the kids’ breakfasts into the bin.

‘Wow,’ Hannah says hollowly. Why don’t we get out the album, she thinks darkly, then we can all gather round and ooh and ahh over Petra’s incredible dress before I go to work, and I can show you how crappy and plain I’m going to look in my dumpy little shift that I must have chosen in a fit of madness …

‘Mummy looked beautiful,’ Daisy breathes.

‘I’m sure she did.’

Sorry, Ryan mouths from the sink. Taking a deep breath, Hannah pauses for a moment, focusing on the area behind Daisy, where the family-sized super-deluxe fridge stands proudly, with its ice maker gadget which once spurted frozen crystals in her face, causing Daisy and Josh to keel over with helpless laughter. It had never done that before, Daisy had informed her when she and her brother had finally managed to compose themselves. Well, of course it hadn’t. Petra had chosen it – she’d picked virtually every appliance and piece of furniture – and at times like that, Hannah couldn’t help feeling that the whole house was against her. ‘D’you want to see a picture of Mummy’s dress?’ Daisy enquires.

‘Daisy!’ Ryan barks. ‘Could you hurry up and get your shoes on?’

‘But, Dad …’

‘Sometime, maybe,’ Hannah says briskly, ‘but I’d better get off to work now. I’m running late as it is.’