‘Right then, with that said’ – Stella clapped her hands together like she meant business, – ‘the first hen event is this Sunday. So, soon-to-be Mrs Harte, we’ll be picking you and Ed up at eleven a.m. sharp.’
‘Ed?’ Florrie asked, wondering how her fiancé was going to fit in with a hen party. ‘But?—’
‘Don’t fret, Ed’s already up to speed with everything.’
This was news to Florrie, he hadn’t breathed a word to her. ‘But—’ she tried again, only to be cut off by Jasmine this time.
‘This one’s our Lark’s idea, and she thought it’d be good to kick off the celebrations with a joint hen and stag do. Mind, Ed’s been sworn to secrecy, so no interrogating him when you get home, okay?’
‘Okay,’ Florrie agreed, feeling more than a little bewildered and wondering what the heck a joint do would involve. She reassured herself with the thought that if it was Lark’s idea, then it wouldn’t be anything completely ‘out there’. Stella and Jasmine, however, she wasn’t so sure. Her mind drifted, thinking it would more than likely be something to do with meditation and yoga, and copious quantities of essential oils and crystals would no doubt be included. That would be very Lark, not to mention very safe. Florrie breathed an inward sigh of relief. She quite liked the idea of having a moment or two’s calm, especially with having Dawn’s arrival to contend with. Maybe Lark, with all her extra-sensory perception and picking up of vibes from people had already known this? Florrie wouldn’t be surprised. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time her friend had got a sense of something that would happen in the future. Such feelings served her well with her business. Any item that had the slightest whiff of negative energy or gave Lark bad vibes wouldn’t get across the threshold of her shop. It was positive, happy vibes only.
‘And you need to wear comfyclothing, the sort of stuff that lets you move around easily,’ Maggie said, chuckling at Florrie’s increasingly confused expression.
‘Yoga pants and a T-shirt would be ideal,’ added Stella. ‘And some flat shoes – no chunky boots.’
Florrie subconsciously wriggled her toes in her said chunky boots.
‘Oh, and you’ll need to bring something smart but casual to change into afterwards,’ said Maggie.
‘Right,’ said Florrie, her confusion growing by the minute.
‘But you’ll totally love it, flower, and it’ll help you forget your worries about Ed’s mum for a while,’ promised Lark. The look in her friend’s pale green eyes told Florrie she was being sincere. It was sounding more and more like her meditation session suspicions were right – for part of it, at least. And having a few hours where she could forget about whatever it was Dawn was plotting couldn’t come soon enough.
‘Too right,’ said Stella, raising her glass of wine. ‘Cheers to us all having a great time on Sunday, lasses!’ A wide grin spread across her face as the friends followed suit and a chorus of ‘cheers’ went up, sending a pulse of happiness through Florrie.
FOUR
SATURDAY 11TH APRIL
The air could only be described as bracing as Florrie and Ed made their way briskly along the top prom hand in hand, Gerty, their black Labrador, trotting jauntily on the end of a lead. Florrie was glad she’d wrapped up well in her thick wool duffle coat and red bobble-hat, which was doing a good job of keeping the biting wind at bay. They were taking their usual walk to work at The Happy Hartes Bookshop, one which she’d savoured ever since she was a young teenager and had first started working as the shop’s Saturday girl.
They strode on, a clear blue sky above with just the odd cloud scudding by. The planters placed at intervals along the prom were brimming with brightly coloured spring flowers, the vivid yellow of the daffodils glowing golden under the sun. Florrie’s gaze strayed to the view of the beach below as it always did. A small fishing boat was being thrown about by the choppy waves as it chugged its way out to sea. Further on, she spotted a gaggle of swimwear-clad women racing across the sand. The Goosebump Gals. They’d be taking their Saturday morning dip in the North Sea, Stella’s mum, Alice, amongst them. ‘Brr!’ The mere thought made Florrie shiver. She released her hand from Ed’s and linked her arm through his, hugging him close in a bid to suck up any stray warmth.
He turned to her, before following her line of sight, laughing. ‘Not tempted?’ he asked with a chuckle, amusement dancing in his navy-blue eyes.
‘No! Never in a million years would you catch me so much as dipping my big toe in that sea at this time of year.’
‘Don’t blame you, though I’m surprised sport-loving Stella hasn’t been tempted to join them.’ He brushed his dark, floppy fringe off his face, his nose rosy from the cold.
‘I’m not, our Stells might be into her running and keeping fit, but she likes her creature comforts and hurling herself into a freezing body of water with the Goosebump Gals doesn’t tempt her in the least. Give her a sun-warmed ocean somewhere exotic and she’d be the first to dive in, but the sea off Micklewick Bay? Pfft! Not a chance,’ Florrie said, shivering again. They watched as the women threw themselves into the sea, letting the waves wash over them, their resultant shrieks scooped up by the wind and blown across the sand. ‘Oh,blimey. I’m even more nithered now, let’s get moving.’ She upped her pace, making Ed laugh some more.
It was a sound Florrie was glad to hear; he’d been quiet all morning, had seemed distracted which didn’t bode well, especially with his track record. And though they were well organised, there were still a couple of things to tick off the to-do list – like pay the balance for the wedding flowers, and call in at the Jolly where they were having their wedding reception, and have a final run through the menu with Mandy. With their wedding now exactly three weeks away, the last thing Florrie needed was to try to work out what was going on behind those dreamy eyes of his.
It hadn’t taken long in their relationship for her to learn that if anything was bothering Ed, he had a habit of going in on himself and clamming up. Much as she understood – and sympathised – that it was a habit he’d developed in childhood; a subconscious self-preservation mechanism to help him navigate a cold and uncaring home life and avoid attracting the negative attention of his parents (they had a lot to answer for in her book), it could still be frustrating. His lack of communication had, at times, causedproblems in their relationship. Indeed, their romance had almost ended before it had got properly started because of it. It would send Florrie’s mind into overdrive, and she’d come up with all sorts of explanations and scenarios as to the reason. And though it was a behaviour Ed was conscious of and was trying his hardest to change, it was so ingrained that finding out what was on his mind could still, at times, feel to Florrie like pulling teeth. For someone who preferred to talk her problems through, it was frustrating.
But, this morning, she knew his clamming up had nothing to do with what her friends had planned for their joint hen and stag celebration tomorrow. She’d quizzed him gently about that over their rushed breakfast. His face had broken out into a smile, pushing his frown away. He’d reached for her hand, telling her he was sworn to secrecy and that all he could say was that she’d love it. With that, he’d taken a last gulp of tea before nodding at the clock and saying they needed to get a wriggle on.
Which meant that there was only one thing – or rather,person– that had got under his skin since she’d left to meet her friends at the Jolly last night: his mother.
Florrie’s stomach clenched at the thought of what Dawn Harte could have been bending her son’s ear about. She wished the woman didn’t trigger such hostile feelings in her; it was almost Pavlovian. She’d give anything to get on well with her future mother-in-law the way Maggie got on with hers, it would make life so much easier. But then, Chrissie Marsay was a totally different kettle of fish and thought of Maggie as a daughter. Unlike Dawn, who did nothing to hide her resentment of Florrie. It didn’t help that Ed got on with Florrie’s parents like a house on fire; they’d grown enormously fond of him and he them. With the young couple both being in possession of a calm and easy-going temperament, the only time Ed and Florrie bickered was when his parents got in touch, stirring up trouble. But what Florrie particularly disliked was how they treated Ed.
‘So, other than quizzing me about what they’ve got planned fortomorrow, you didn’t get the chance to tell me how your night went with the lasses. Were they all on good form as usual?’ Ed asked, pulling her back into the moment.
Florrie fought against the urge to roll her eyes. The reason she ‘didn’t get the chance’ was that Dawn was still holding court at Samphire Cottage by the time she’d arrived back home from the Jolly at almost eleven o’clock. And she was still there when Florrie had declared she was tired and heading to bed, Dawn’s assertive tone rising through the floorboards, grinding away at Florrie’s patience as she’d tried to get to sleep. Her bedside clock had told her it was well after midnight by the time she’d heard the front door closing, the sound of Dawn’s car driving off up the road minutes after. Not wanting to end the night on a negative conversation – which Florrie knew it would invariably be – she’d pretended to be asleep when Ed had finally come to bed. But sleep had eluded her until at least two a.m. according to the clanging chimes of the bells of Saint Thomas’s Church, her mind turning over how the conversation between Ed and his mum had gone, stress running on a loop around her body.
Her sleep deprivation had meant she’d turned her alarm off that morning and slipped back into the warm, comforting arms of slumber, as had Ed, making their usual leisurely breakfast a hurried affair involving only a few slurps of tea and the wolfing down of half a slice of buttered toast.
‘The lasses were on excellent form, actually,’ she said. ‘They were having a whale of a time winding me up when I told them what I’d heard about their plans for my hen do.’
