The Wedding Date (26 page)

I can do this. It’s just Eleanor from next door.

‘Do you know who I ran into on Friday afternoon?’ Eleanor asks Ryan as I seat myself at the table a few moments later. ‘Do you remember Carolyn St. Clair? She was in the choir at Bower Green for Girls? You two had a thing going on if I remember correctly.’

I remember Carolyn St. Clair. She had an annoyingly nasal voice and Ryan dumped her when one of the other boys from his school offered her a KitKat for a grope of her boobs and she accepted.

‘She was engaged to a chap quite high up in the advertising world,’ Eleanor says when Ryan fails to answer her probing. ‘But they split up last year.’

‘Maybe one of his mates offered her a KitKat,’ Ryan says and I choke on the bit of garlic bread I’ve just put in my mouth. Ryan manages to keep his face straight but I can tell he wants to laugh. He nudges my foot under the table and I can’t help the giggle I’ve been holding in from bursting its banks.

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Eleanor looks from a straight-faced Ryan to me. I’ve managed to stem the giggle with my hand but my face is turning puce with the effort.

Ryan shrugs. ‘She was always a fan of KitKats, that’s all.’

Eleanor narrows her eyes, knowing there is something else going on here, but decides against pursuing it. ‘Carolyn says she’d love to meet up for coffee some time. She gave me her card.’ Eleanor reaches into her handbag, which she’s hooked over the back of her chair, but Ryan holds up his hand.

‘I don’t want it. I don’t want to meet up with Carolyn for coffee or anything else. What are you doing, Mum? My girlfriend is sitting right there. Have you no manners?’

Eleanor’s mouth drops open.

‘Now, son,’ Phil says. It’s the first time he’s paused in the shovelling of spaghetti into his mouth. At least one of our guests is a fan of my cooking.

‘No, Dad. This can’t go on. Delilah and I are living together. What will it take to stop you from trying to set me up with your snobby acquaintances?’ He glares at Eleanor but she refuses to meet his eye or speak. ‘What if I told you Delilah was pregnant? Would you stop then?’

There’s a gasp. I’m not sure whether it’s from Eleanor or me. Probably both of us.

‘I’m not,’ I state before this whole situation gets even more out of hand. Mum would be heartbroken if we dangled that particular carrot in front of her and it turned out to be a lie.

‘Thank goodness for that.’ Eleanor slumps against the table. I can almost see her heart beating through her blouse. ‘Why would you do that to me, Ryan?’

‘To make my point. You can’t keep doing this, Mum. Especially when Delilah is sitting right here. You’re being incredibly rude.’

‘I just want what’s best for you.’ Eleanor reaches across the table but Ryan snatches his hand away.

‘What’s best for me is to be happy with the woman I choose to be with. I’m not interested in KitKat Carolyn or any of the other women you think I should be with.’

Ryan and his mother have a sort of stare-off, with neither willing to back down. Phil resumes his spaghetti-shovelling while I study the tablecloth intensely. It’s finally Eleanor who breaks.

‘So. The two of you.’ Eleanor waves a hand between Ryan and me. ‘How did this happen?’ Her face contorts in an almost comical way, her nostrils flaring while her lips screw up so tight they nearly disappear inside her mouth. She can’t believe that her darling, handsome, teacher son has ended up with me.

‘I think it was always meant to be.’ Ryan slips his arm around my waist and rests his head on my shoulder. I can’t see his face from this position but I can imagine the dreamy expression Ryan will be faking for Eleanor’s benefit. ‘We just didn’t realise it until now.’

Eleanor shakes her head, her nostrils flaring further to Mersey Tunnel proportions. If she inhales hard enough, she’ll suck in the lot of us, plates of spaghetti and all. ‘But what about that nice girl I introduced you to recently?’

‘Which one?’ I mutter. Eleanor has set up more dates than Cilla Black, Paddy McGuinness and Cupid himself combined.

‘Marianne?’ Ryan asks.

‘Patricia?’ I look at Eleanor for signs of recognition but there is none, only a blank expression and the giant nostrils. Even she’s forgotten all the women she’s foisted onto her son. ‘Gina? Or Heather? Or what about Yvette?’

‘She said a nice girl. Yvette put a brick through Mum and Dad’s dining room window,’ Ryan points out. ‘And she left a bag of dog crap on the doorstep.’

‘I said she was nice, not perfect.’

‘That’s enough.’ Eleanor relaxes her nostrils to nearly normal size and closes her eyes. ‘I’ve heard quite enough, thank you very much.’ Eleanor opens her eyes, boring them into Ryan’s. ‘Don’t you see what she’s doing to you? You never usually speak to me in such a manner.’

‘I’m just tired of it, Mum.’ Ryan sighs, the weight of dealing with Eleanor over the years pushing down on him. ‘I thought you’d quit all your meddling when I started dating Delilah but if anything it’s got worse.’

‘I just don’t think you’re right for each other,’ Eleanor says. ‘You have nothing in common! You’re a teacher, Ryan. You worked so hard to get where you are but Delilah just doesn’t have that drive.’

I’m twirling strands of spaghetti onto my spoon with my fork, concentrating really hard, but my head snaps up when I hear this. Cheeky cow!

‘She’s just an office worker, happy to plod along without any form of career or thought for the future.’

‘She’s here, you know.’ I feel the need to remind Eleanor of my presence as she’s speaking as though she’s forgotten I’m sitting right here.

‘I know that, dear. And I don’t mean any offence. I’m sure you’re great fun to be with but I expect more for my son. We didn’t pay through the roof for his education, only for him to end up with someone like you.’

Someone like me?

I reach across the table and give Eleanor’s hand a pat. ‘I’m afraid the queen’s already taken.’

Eleanor throws her hands up in the air. They’re still holding her cutlery but thankfully they remain clutched in her fingers. ‘See! This is exactly what I’m talking about. Can’t you be serious? This is my son’s future we’re talking about and you’re making fun of me.’

‘I don’t want serious,’ Ryan says. ‘You keep trying to set me up with these boring, snooty women and I’m not interested. I never have been and never will be. Why can’t you accept that?’

‘Because you deserve better.’ Eleanor drops her gaze to her lunch and prods disdainfully at her spaghetti. Ryan starts to rummage in his own spaghetti with his fingers.

‘What are you doing?’ I hiss but all becomes clear when he pulls out a long strand of spaghetti, grinning as he places one end between his teeth and passing me the other. When Eleanor looks up after placing a tiny morsel into her mouth, Ryan and I are acting out the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp. Ryan is snapping a selfie, which we’ll post on Facebook later as proof of our love.

‘Phil, I think it’s time we left.’ Eleanor places her cutlery down on her plate and gathers her things. Without a word, she marches across the garden and disappears into the kitchen.

‘That went well.’ Ryan grins as his father scuttles along after Eleanor. ‘Do you fancy a pint in The Farthing?’

‘Yes please.’ I don’t think I can stomach my spaghetti now after our cheese-fest display of affection.

Chapter 31

Birthday Celebrations

Text Message:

Ryan:
I need help!

Delilah:
I’ve been telling you that for years

Ryan:
Funny but I need actual help. I’m out shopping for Mum’s birthday. What can I get her?

Delilah:
Arsenic, cyanide, good old-fashioned rat poison?

Most adults I know dread the arrival of their birthday as it signals yet another year has passed and brings with it the prospect of more wrinkles or grey hairs or lack of bladder control. Once you hit twenty-one, that’s it. It’s all downhill with no other milestones to look forward to. The next is thirty and nobody actually wants to be thirty, do they?

But not Ryan. Ryan still relishes his birthdays as much as he did when he was an eight-year-old boy hoping to unwrap a Furby. He counts down the days, his excitement mounting with each day that passes until it seems he will burst. It’s sweet and worrying in equal measure.

‘Morning!’ Ryan bursts into my bedroom at a wholly unacceptable hour for a Saturday morning, bouncing over to my bed and leaping into the air before landing mere millimetres from my feet.

‘For Pete’s sake, Ryan.’ Scrabbling around on the bedside table, I find my phone and squint at it to read the time. ‘It isn’t even nine o’clock yet.’ Ryan may pop out of bed at an ungodly hour to jog along dog-poo lined streets before breakfast but I am a normal person who realises what weekends were designed for: lie-ins. Glorious, soothing lie-ins.

‘It’s three minutes to, you lazy cow.’ Ryan bounces up and down on the mattress. ‘Come on, get up. It’s my birthday!’ He bounces a bit more vigorously. ‘Get up, get up, get up.’

‘Fine.’ Bending my leg so that my knee is practically grazing my chin, I stretch it out again, making contact with Ryan and sending him toppling to the floor. ‘Whoopsies.’ Lazy cow indeed! Throwing back the covers, I force myself out of bed and look down at Ryan, who is sitting where I dumped him on the floor. ‘Happy birthday, mate.’

‘Thank you!’ Ryan leaps to his feet, his tumble forgotten as he throws his arms around me. ‘Now hurry up. I said we’d meet Lauren at ten.’

Pushing Ryan out of the door, I get myself ready in record time so that by the time we leave the house forty-five minutes later I’m showered, dressed and am wearing a mask of makeup to hide how tired I am. I don’t know how Ryan can be so perky – we stayed up until almost three o’clock this morning watching a marathon of That ‘70s Show on Netflix. The meagre six hours of sleep has rendered me mole-eyed and ready to drop back off to dreamland while Ryan is bouncing around like Tigger stuffed full of E numbers.

‘Come on.’ Ryan is flapping his hands at me, his car keys jingling as he waits by the open door on the driver’s side. ‘We’re going to be late.’

Ryan, Lauren and I have a tradition for celebrating our birthdays. We all meet up for breakfast of the birthday celebrant’s choice and then we decamp to The Farthing for a day of drinking, jukebox singing and general merriment. It’s a simple plan, but it’s one we all look forward to.

We pick Lauren up on the way to town. She’s looking gorgeous in a floaty turquois jumpsuit and white wedge-heeled sandals. I feel like a bit of a tramp in comparison, having thrown on a pair of skinny jeans, stripy t-shirt and ageing flip flops.

‘Look at you,’ I say as Lauren sashays towards the car from her flat. She does a twirl before she opens the passenger door at the back of the car.

‘Do I look ok?’

‘You look gorgeous. Far too good for a day in The Farthing.’

Lauren grins and climbs into the car. ‘That’s exactly the look I was going for.’

We drive into town for pancakes, scoffing enough of the wickedly tasty breakfast treats swimming in syrup that we’re rendered immovable.

‘I’m going to look like a Teletubby in this jumpsuit,’ Lauren groans, giving her full tummy a rub, which sets off a discussion about the names we would have if we actually were Teletubbies (we’re a sophisticated bunch, I know). Ryan would, according to Lauren, be Dinky-Winky (‘How would you know?’ Ryan asks her. ‘You’ve never seen my fun stick.’). I say I’d be Tipsy (because it’s one of my most favourite states to be in) and Lauren would be Lau-Lau.

‘Now all we need is a Po-replacement,’ Lauren says and I immediately think of Adam. He’d fit rather nicely into our little group and with his handsomeness could become our Beau. Thankfully I say none of this out loud as it is beyond cheese.

‘Maybe Tyler can join us,’ Ryan suggests, his lips already twitching as he awaits Lauren’s reaction. Tyler is the guy who lives in the basement flat below Lauren. When she first moved into the flat, she developed quite a crush on Tyler, sending me updates via text – ‘Just found out that the guy in the basement flat is called Tyler. Don’t you LOVE that name?’ and ‘OMG, Tyler just touched my hand. I’m pretty sure it was by accident but O.M. Freaking G!!!’ – for example. They flirted in the hallway for a while until Tyler finally asked her out. The date went fantastically, as did the second and the third. On their fourth date, they ended up back at Tyler’s basement flat and that’s where it all went wrong.

Lauren:
Tyler is a freak. An actual FREAK

Delilah:
Oh God, what did he ask you to do?

Lauren:
He didn’t ask me to do anything. I only got as far as his sitting room and then I made my excuses and left

Delilah:
What the cheese did he have in his sitting room???

Ponies. Tyler had ponies in his sitting room. Lots and lots of brightly-coloured ponies of varying sizes.

‘I’m not a Brony or anything,’ Tyler had said as Lauren took in his vast My Little Pony collection. He had stuffed animals lining shelves and sitting on the sofa, plus DVDs, figurines and framed posters on the walls.

‘He looked like a Brony to me,’ Lauren told me later. ‘I dread to think what his bedroom looks like. He probably has a My Little Pony bedspread.’

Lauren has never found out what Tyler’s bedroom looks like as she avoids him, as much as she can when they live in such close proximity.

‘Tyler would be a perfect member of our Teletubbies group,’ Ryan says now. His mirth is evident in his quivering lips and the way he’s leaning across the table towards Lauren. ‘We can call him Po-ny.’

Ryan thinks this is hilarious, slamming his hand down on the table while he chuckles to himself. It is a little bit funny but I keep my face straight in an act of female solidarity.

‘Shall we get going?’ Lauren asks as though Ryan hasn’t spoken at all and isn’t convulsing with merriment. ‘I’ve worked up quite a thirst with those pancakes.’

So we settle the bill and head back to Ryan’s car, dropping it off at his house before walking the short distance to The Farthing where the real fun can begin.