Something Blue Read online

  She returned to the kitchen. Sam had forgotten to put the kettle on. Restraining herself from ruffling his carefully styled and gelled hair as she passed, she went to the sink to fill it. As she took the tea caddy from the dresser, she saw Sam exchange a meaningful look with Lucy. What now, for heaven’s sake? Had they discovered Jack’s underpants dangling from the lampshade? Unearthed the copy of Hot Sex and How to Do It she kept stashed behind the cookery books? Suddenly she clicked. Of course – she should have thought to ask. Lucy didn’t drink tea. ‘Sorry, Lucy, I didn’t think to ask. Coffee’s no trouble, if you’d –’

  Sam cleared his throat. ‘Actually, Mum, we’ve got something to tell you.’

  Lucy nodded.

  He’d lost his job, and – no, he’d just told her about the Zenith thing, and the Goldman Bloom whatsit, it couldn’t be that. Oh, dear god. Perhaps he was seriously ill and he’d decided to come down and tell her personally instead of giving her the news by phone.

  He and Lucy stood close together, holding hands. ‘Mum …’

  Whatever happened, she wouldn’t cry. She’d take it on the chin, the way she’d always taken everything in life, and she’d deal with it.

  ‘… Lucy and I – we’re getting married.’

  Anna burst into tears.

  It was some time before she could convince them both that her reaction was simply one of amazed pleasure. She hugged them both, offering her warmest congratulations and heartfelt good wishes for a long and joyous future, which – she smiled at Lucy – she was absolutely certain would be in store for them. As Anna spoke, looking at her much-loved son and his bride-to-be, she realised that she meant it. Her words precipitated a flood of tears from Lucy; they cried pleasurably in one another’s arms for some minutes while Sam looked on with lofty embarrassment. At last Anna disengaged herself, laughing, and wiped her eyes. ‘I think a toast’s in order, isn’t it?’

  Sam eyed the wine box on the dresser warily. ‘Actually, Mum –’

  Lucy hiccuped, took her calfskin bag from the table and produced a bottle of champagne. ‘Ta da!’

  Anna blinked. Wow, Moët – she’d had champagne several times in her life, but rarely one as expensive as this. When she’d rustled up glasses, and filled a couple of bowls with nuts and crisps, they repaired to the living room. Sam prised the cork from the bottle with a pleasingly loud pop, and Lucy applauded as he poured it, foaming wildly, into their waiting glasses.

  Anna raised her glass. ‘To Sam, my beloved son, and to Lucy, his beautiful fiancée.’ Fiancée? Dear lord – that meant daughter-in-law would come next. How could this possibly be? She wasn’t old enough for this, she wasn’t ready. Please God it would be a long engagement. Oh, why wasn’t Jack here to help her make sense of everything? Sam smiled at her approvingly; Lucy kissed her again. Anna noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring. Struck by a thought, she turned to Sam. ‘Darling, why don’t you take Lucy to the Lanes to find a ring? There are some fabulous antique shops there with really beautiful things, you know, Georgian garnets, Victorian sapphires in those sort of twisty settings…’

  She’d been looking for a present for her mother’s birthday a few weeks ago in the area of Brighton known as the Lanes. The winding, cobbled streets boasted several shops selling antique jewellery; she’d found the little silver creamer she’d bought for her mother beside a locked case with row upon row of exquisite rings. She’d stood for ages gazing at a square-cut amethyst surrounded by tiny seed pearls, hoping that one day Jack would …

  She swallowed hard, and smiled brightly at Lucy. ‘Though I expect you’d probably prefer to look for something in London.’

  ‘Actually, Mum –’

  ‘What about Portobello?’

  ‘Mum.’

  ‘Though from what I’ve read, it is incredibly expensive there now. Apparently the Americans –’

  ‘Mum, I’ve bought Lucy a stone – a rather special stone.’ He grinned. ‘I think you’re going to be surprised.’

  ‘And when he says stone, he means stone.’ Lucy looked serious. ‘It has meaning, you know?’

  Anna tried not to look surprised. Lucy looked far too – well, worldly – for esoteric tokens. Her cashmere jacket and knee-high boots must have cost more than Anna’s entire wardrobe. Still, maybe she was a secret Druidess or something. Anna had read an article in one of the Sundays on the way stress was taking its toll on female high-flyers; apparently they were taking up yoga and meditation in droves. If Lavaglo was as repellent as it sounded, working on its account would surely tax the staunchest constitution. Druidism was probably the latest stress-buster for top female advertising executives – Lucy would certainly look good in the flowing robes, and those twig crowns they went in for would look great on her auburn hair. And all that chanting and prancing around in the open air must be doing her the world of good.

  ‘I think that’s fantastic.’ She put her arms round Lucy and hugged her. ‘What kind of stone?’ She put her hand to her mouth. It would doubtless have some obscure meaning that was none of her business, like runes or something. ‘Sorry, Lucy. Honestly, I don’t mean to pry –’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Mum, it’s not exactly a state secret.’ Sam looked impatient. ‘I got it last week in London.’

  Must have been at one of those weird little shops near the British Museum.

  ‘It was from a jewellers in Hatton Gardens. A two-carat diamond. Pricey, but what the hell – frankly, we look at it as an investment.’

  Well, OK! It was definitely one way of looking at ‘meaning’.

  Lucy smiled at her. ‘We’re having it set in platinum.’

  Platinum?

  ‘Mum. You’re spilling your champagne.’

  Anna resolutely banished memories of a small boy earnestly counting pennies from his china pig to buy her a tube of Love Hearts on Mothers’ Day. ‘So I am. Well, I must say it sounds as if it’ll be absolutely fantastic – can’t wait to see it.’ She drained her glass. ‘So, when’s the big day? And where’s it to be?’

  She knew Lucy came from a big right-wing middle-class family. More to the point, perhaps, she knew they were staunch Catholics. But Lucy herself no longer attended church, and as far as Anna was aware, Sam had held no religious convictions since he was a small boy. Obviously Sam and Lucy would do what most young couples did these days – those that got married at all, that is – and opt for a simple civil service at a registry office. In London, presumably, since that was where most of their friends lived, to be followed by a party of some kind later in their flat, perhaps.

  ‘… so that will mean about two hundred and fifty people at the church …’

  Church?

  ‘… I rather thought a buffet at the reception, actually, but Mummy – oh, her name’s Tina, by the way, she’s absolutely dying to meet you – insists it should be sit-down. She says …’

  Two hundred and fifty?

  ‘… in September. Probably the second week …’

  Carricktown? Wasn’t that somewhere in Ireland? Still, be grateful for small mercies; at least it wasn’t to be for another eighteen months. Anna murmured something jolly about leprechauns and shamrock, and let Sam refill her glass.

  ‘… or roses and gypsophila. – Mummy hasn’t decided yet. And I’m going to have page boys as well as bridesmaids. Well, Mummy says we’ve got to, most of her brothers have got sons and obviously they’ll be terribly offended if they aren’t included…’

  Page boys? Anna risked a glance at her son. He was sitting in the velvet-covered armchair she always used to find him curled up in when she got home from work, devouring the peanut butter sandwiches she’d left for him while he did his homework (‘it’s easy-peasy, Mum’) and watched Blue Peter … Grange Hill … Star Trek … She looked away quickly, but he’d caught her glance.

  He grinned. ‘Got the message, Mum.’ Getting up, he refilled the glasses, giving Lucy a kiss on the top of her head as he reached across her.

  ‘… and probably The Trumpet Volunt
ary at the end, you know, when we come down the aisle.’ She burst out laughing. ‘Daddy says we ought to have Fight the Good Fight. I don’t know, he’s awful, Dads.’

  Anna thought she didn’t like the sound of Mummy too much, either.

  ‘They’re being absolutely fantastic about Sam not being a Catholic, aren’t they, darling?’ Lucy put her hand over Sam’s. He nodded earnestly. ‘So’s Father O’Malley – he’s known me forever. He baptised me, served my first communion and everything. He’s grand.’

  Anna thought of Father Ted, one of her all-time favourite television programmes, and the dissolute, drunken old priest who was one of the most popular characters, and repressed a desire to laugh hysterically.

  ‘… children, of course – but he says as long as Sam attends the full course of marriage training all his engaged couples attend, it’s fine with him.’

  Marriage training? Sam? With his flash car and Alexander McQueen suits? Or maybe Lucy was joking? Yes, surely that must be it. Anna shifted slightly against the sofa cushions and looked at Sam. He was frowning at his clasped hands and nodding earnestly. So it wasn’t a joke, then. Oh, well. Best not go there. She must think of something intelligent to ask Lucy.

  ‘Cake. I expect there’ll be a cake, will there?’

  Lucy beamed. ‘Oh, yes, Mummy says she’ll …’

  Anna gripped the stem of her glass. Saw Sam notice, and twirled it lightly, smiling at Lucy and nodding in what +-

  Smiling cheerfully, Anna raised her glass to her lips.

  ‘… on the top tier, and pale pink rosebuds trailing round the rest …’

  How many sodding tiers were there going to be? Hundreds, probably – after all, they were going to be feeding the five thousand …

  ‘… and ivy twining round the bottom one, though Mummy may change her mind about that.’ Lucy glanced at her watch. ‘Lord, I can’t believe it’s nearly half-two! I’m sorry, Anna, I’m afraid you’ll think me terribly rude, but I’m going to have to go.’

  Anna was already on her feet. ‘No, honestly, Lucy, I quite understand –’

  ‘It’s just that while we’re down I want to see Kate. We were at uni together, best friends. She and Ben have just moved down to Kemp Town and their flat sounds to die for. They design company websites and honestly, they’ve made an absolute fortune. I’m going to ask her to be my matron of honour, and with time so short to get a dress made …’

  What did she mean, with time so short? Anna laughed. ‘It won’t take eighteen months to make, surely?’ Though come to think of it, Lucy’s gown almost certainly would. Her mother was probably hiring the royal dressmakers, God help them; Kate Middleton’s lacy gown with its semi-bustle and exquisite veil would seem like a mere practice run.

  ‘For god’s sake, Mum.’ Sam hugged Anna affectionately ‘It’s April now, OK? Wedding’s in September, right?’ He counted on his fingers with exaggerated care. ‘Yup, I still make that five.’ He rolled his eyes at Lucy. ‘Her maths always were lousy.’

  Five months?

  Anna set her glass down carefully. ‘But?’

  Five months?

  Sam shrugged. ‘No point in waiting to implement a decision once it’s been made. First rule of management, right?’

  Lucy gazed at him adoringly. ‘Right, darling.’

  Anna clutched weakly at a frail straw, knowing that it would snap even as she spoke. ‘But how on earth will your mother get everything …?’

  ‘You don’t know Mummy.’ Lucy laughed. ‘She always says she works best under pressure.’

  ‘But what about your dress? If five months is barely long enough to make one for the matron of honour –’

  ‘Oh, that’s no problem. Mummy wants me to wear hers.’

  Anna made a sound that even to her own ears sounded like a chicken being strangled. Sam nudged her affectionately. ‘You girls – I dunno. Talk about excited.’ He turned to Lucy. ‘Look, you really ought to be going, darling.’

  ‘Bye, Anna.’ Lucy beamed at her radiantly. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re so thrilled about everything.’ She turned to Sam. ‘Back in about an hour to pick you up, OK, Samipops?’

  Anna blinked. The champagne must be affecting her hearing. She couldn’t have called him that.

  ‘Sure, Lucykins –’

  Anna picked up Lucy’s still half-full glass, and drained it.

  Kisses were exchanged; Sam went out into the hall with Lucy. Anna sat down again, and concentrated hard on staying calm. At least she’d have Sam to herself for a bit. Maybe once they were alone he’d feel safe to express his true feelings about the ridiculously grand scale of the wedding plans, and this marriage-training guff with Father O’Whatever-his-name-was.

  ‘OK, Mum?’

  Sam was back, and pouring more champagne into their glasses.

  ‘You are happy about the news, aren’t you? Lucy, she …’ He beamed at her.

  Anna thought with a pang that it was exactly the same expression he’d had when he’d rushed home from school to tell her he’d been picked for the first-year swimming team. Or the day he’d heard he’d got straight As in physics, maths and chemistry. Or the time he’d –

  ‘She really is the one, you know.’

  Anna felt a rush of love for her son so intense it required a major effort not to jump up and throw her arms round him. Instead, she picked up her glass. ‘I’m happier than I can say for you, darling. And for what it’s worth, I’ve never seen a couple better suited in my life.’ It was true. Lucy and Sam fitted. And she’d get used to Lucy’s mother’s wedding with its poxy page boys and its festering Father O’Malley and its trillion-tiered cake being only five months away if it killed her. She raised her glass. ‘Here’s to you both.’ They clinked glasses. Anna settled back comfortably amongst the cushions. ‘Certainly sounds as if it’s going to be quite a wedding. So many people – I’d no idea you had so many friends.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not only our friends, Mum. Tina and Eamonn are inviting all their friends, too. And everyone from the firm, of course – and their most important clients.’

  Anna blinked.

  The firm?

  Clients? Lucy had mentioned something once about her father’s company; something to do with steel imports. Sam must be furious, having his wedding turned into some sort of public relations jamboree. Hell, if it was her and Jack, she’d … No. Definitely mustn’t go there. She drank some more champagne. She’d have to find a way to drop a discreet hint to Lucy.

  ‘Makes a lot of sense – there’s always plenty of opportunity for networking at these occasions. There’ll be some useful contacts there; in fact one or two who could prove to be very helpful in the future.’

  ‘And you’re OK with it being in church?’

  He looked puzzled. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? Always think there’s no sense of occasion in a registry office. We went to Jules and Ozzie’s do at Hampstead a couple of weeks ago. Frankly, they might as well have been nipping in to pay their council tax. No, if you want a sense of occasion, if you really want to make a bit of a splash, it’s got to be a church. You get that sense of grandeur, of – I don’t know – splendor, of –’

  ‘So you’ve got no problems with the page boys, then.’

  ‘Hell, no.’ Sam drained his glass. ‘There’d be a civil war in Fergustown if we veto page boys.’

  ‘Right … Sam?’

  ‘Gotcha.’ He tipped the rest of the champagne into Anna’s glass.

  ‘No, I mean … Thank you, darling.’ She took a sip. ‘I … I’m sure you don’t have to go through with this …’ She imagined the dissolute old priest from Father Ted drunkenly effing and blinding his way through a lecture on the sanctity of holy wedlock. A giggle bubbled up in her throat. ‘… this marriage-training business, if you don’t want to.’

  Sam set down the empty bottle. ‘I think it really is a very sound idea, you know. Consolidates one’s sense of … things. Confirms one’s idea of various … other things. Matter of fact, Tina’s
made it a condition of the union; she and Father O’Malley are very close. In fact you know, Mum, I sometimes wonder –’ He gazed into space, frowning, then pulled himself together. ‘And Eamonn –’ He spread his hands comically. ‘Well, you know Eamonn –’

  ‘We’ve never met, darling –’

  ‘No sorry, I keep forgetting. Don’t worry, you soon will. Tina’s planning to ring you –’

  Oh god.

  ‘And Lucy’s keen to get things sorted out, so …’

  ‘So?’

  ‘It’s just … I mean … no sense in rocking the boat.’ He looked at her intently for a moment, then got up and moved to stand in front of the fireplace. ‘Mum?’

  He was hungry. Anna realised she was ravenous herself; she’d eaten hardly anything all day. She stood up, swaying slightly as the champagne made itself felt.

  ‘Let me fix you something to eat, darling, you must be starving. There’s loads of pasta, and I’ve got a pot of that sauce you like in the freezer. If I stick it on now, it’ll be ready by the time Lucy gets back.’

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Or there’s some quiche, if you’d prefer – mushroom, I think, or is it spinach?’

  ‘Mum? About Lucy’s family. I don’t just mean Tina and Eamonn – there are two sets of grandparents, and several aunts, and loads of great aunts, too. Plus all the uncles and their wives –’

  She giggled. ‘Going to be heavy on bath salts at Christmas.’

  ‘The point is they’re a very traditional lot. Conventional. Like things done a certain way.’

  Anna smiled fondly at him. She knew exactly what he was trying to get up the courage to say: he wanted her to wear a hat. She’d never possessed a hat in her life, other than the despised berets and Panamas she’d been forced to wear at grammar school. Not surprisingly, they’d instilled a lifelong loathing of head gear of any kind. Still … maybe it was time to change her attitude. Look on hats as fun, a means of self-expression. Think of Andie McDowell in that film with Hugh Grant – she’d looked fabulous in that black and white cartwheel thing. And what about Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady? She’d worn some amazing creations …