Читать книгу I Put A Spell On You - Kerry Barrett - Страница 18

Chapter 9

Esme and Jamie, however, had obviously not received the misery memo, because I arrived home straight into wedding planning central.

They were in the living room, surrounded by magazines, Esme’s laptop open, foolish grins on both their faces and an enormous sparkler on Ez’s finger.

“Look!” she shrieked as I walked in. She waved her finger in my face and I caught her hand. It was a beautiful ring – a traditional solitaire with a square diamond set in a platinum band.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said truthfully. “Well done, guys.”

My bone-aching weariness was actually beginning to wear off in the face of such happiness, so I flopped down beside Esme.

“Are you making plans?” I said.

“We are,” she said. “You can help. Jamie, give Harry some fizz.”

Jamie went off to the kitchen and came back with a champagne glass and a bottle of Prosecco.

“There’s another bottle in the fridge,” he said, handing me the glass and filling it to the brim.

We chinked glasses.

“So what are you thinking?” I asked.

“We looked at some fancy Edinburgh venues,” Jamie said. “But they weren’t really us. And then Esme had an idea.”

“I want to go home,” she said with a smile. “I want to get married at the café.”

My mum, Suky, Esme’s mum, Tess and their friend Eva, ran a café on the banks of Loch Claddach, where we’d grown up. It was a thriving little business with amazing views. They’d had a difficult time a couple of years ago, when my mum had been diagnosed with breast cancer and the vultures started circling their business. But things were on the up again. In fact, they were expanding. Eva’s husband, Allan, who was a landscape artist whose paintings adorned birthday cards, posters, prints and teacups across Britain, had come up with a plan. He’d persuaded Mum and Suky to clear the top floor of the café – a little-used attic space with incredible light – whitewash the walls, sand the floorboards and turn it into a gallery. Claddach was brimming with artists, writers, poets, musicians – it was that sort of place – so there was no shortage of interest.

He started with an exhibition of his own work, had quickly found other artists to feature and now ran poetry readings, concerts and all sorts in the room upstairs. In fact, that’s what he’d called it – The Room Upstairs. Cute, huh? He was in the process of drawing up plans for an extension out the back, which would allow the gallery and the café to grow. I’d helped him out with business plans and accounts and the like and been pleasantly surprised by his financial acumen. He was a dark horse, Allan, I’d decided. But he was making a massive success of the gallery and it was, without a doubt, the most perfect place for Esme and Jamie’s wedding. I clapped my hands in a very girly way – apparently talk of brides and flowers can do that even to a cynic like me.

“What an amazing idea,” I said. “Have you asked your mum?”

“I have,” she said. “She was thrilled. Your mum was in the background shouting out ideas. We’ll have to go up and have a look and make some lists.”

“Oh that’ll be nice,” I said. “You guys can tell me what the gallery’s like.”

“Not Jamie,” Esme said. “He’s too busy to come up. I meant you and me.” She looked shifty for a second. “Actually, H, I’ve got something to ask you.”

“What?” I said warily.

“I rang Chloe,” she said. “I asked her to be bridesmaid.”

I nodded. Chloe was the obvious choice – she’d been Esme’s best friend forever and knew all about our family and its quirks.

“She said no,” Esme said.

“What? Why?”

Ez screwed her face up.

“She’s pregnant.”

“Again?” I said in horror. “She’s got about four kids already.”

“She’s got two,” Esme said, in a tone that suggested she thought I was less intelligent than either of Chloe’s sprogs. “I think this one was a bit of a surprise and she’s only just found out.”

“So why can’t she be bridesmaid?”

“Because her baby is due in August,” Esme said. “And we’re getting married in September. She says she’ll do a reading, or be a witness, or whatever. She just doesn’t want to be bridesmaid and have to squeeze into a fancy frock while she’s sore and lumpy and breastfeeding.”

I shuddered.

“You’re not selling it, Ez,” I said. “So what has Chloe’s fertility got to do with me?” Realisation dawned.

“No,” I said. “I’m not the bridesmaid type.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Mum would love it. Your mum would love it.”

Esme looked at me, her blue eyes twinkling.

“Will I have to organise a hen night?” I said.

Esme shook her head.

“What about the dress? Can I choose it?”

“You can even choose mine,” she said. “You’re much better at clothes than I am.”

I knew when I was beaten.

“Okay,” I said. “But you are not to call me anything vile like matron of honour.”

Esme grinned.

“Maid of honour,” she said. “Because you’re not married.”

I whacked her with a wedding magazine and she chuckled.

I left her and Jamie to their plans, ran myself a bath, and sank into the bubbles, closing my eyes and letting my mind drift. It was just what I needed after such a stressful few days.

I didn’t think about Star, or the power cut and our lost files, or Xander’s pursuit of Esme, or even the fact that I’d just agreed to be a bridesmaid. It was bliss.

Maybe it was all coincidence, I thought. This wasn’t the Wild West. No one had a grudge against me, no one would have targeted Star deliberately. It was just bad luck. I got out of the bath, and into bed feeling much better about everything. And then, the next day, it all went wrong again.