Remy turned to look at her husband.
‘Right.’ Midge spoke to the crowd. ‘First let’s move so these people can get in.’ The family parted, and the couple walked through the gap between them like sheepish participants in a country reel. The man lifted his hand in a reticent wave, as if it were his fault they would not be getting their gnashers into roast beef and Yorkshire pud. ‘What’s plan B? We could try and find somewhere else? We could go into the centre of Salisbury and try our luck?’
‘It’ll be heaving.’ Dennis put the kibosh on that idea.
‘What about if I go and buy some hot chickens and fresh bread from Sainsbury’s and we can do hot chicken sandwiches at your house, Mum?’ Remy took her lead from Midge and went into solution mode.
‘We could go to the cathedral and see the Magna Carta!’ Bertie held up a leaflet.
Sophie laughed.
‘Hot chickens? She’s coming all the way from bloody London!’
Remy knew it was bad when her mum said ‘bloody’, but at least she hadn’t pointed her finger. Yet.
‘Could I ask you to move outside, do you think?’ the woman asked. ‘It’s just that we are expecting guests. Guests with bookings.’
The downcast troupe made their way into the car park, while Remy continued to fret. She had been wondering earlier how long the warm, fuzzy glow of joy she’d felt at Sophie’s marvellous triumph might last. It was apparent that this was the moment it faded, if not disappeared entirely.
Shit. She had messed up.
Catching Midge’s eye, she felt the bloom of tears. It was all her fault, all of it. This realisation turned her once more into her seven-year-old self, without confidence in her own decision-making or her ability to get a task done, knowing it was the small details that could wreck not only a neighbourhood, but a birthday too.
It was as they clustered like a bunch of hungry nomads in the car park that her sister’s shiny Range Rover pulled into the tight space.
‘It’s Ashleigh! Ashleigh’s here!’
Her mother squealed with more emotion in her voice than those women who saw tears coming from the eyes of the Holy Mother’s statue at Lourdes.
‘Hello, family!’ Her sister waved as her window wound down. ‘Where am I supposed to park?’
‘You look like my mum!’ Bert shouted. It always blew his mind. ‘But shinier!’
‘None taken,’ Remy quipped.
‘It has been said before.’ Ashleigh shot her a look, and Remy smiled, because it was true. Ashleigh, her identical twin, was now a younger-looking, shinier version of her. Remy also smiled because her twin was home.
Her twin washome, and theirs was a connection that was beyond the material, and it ran deep.
Ashleigh
‘Don’t be long!’ Her mum waved from the front door. ‘We’ll do pressies and cake after we’ve eaten!’
‘We’ll be as quick as we can!’ Remy replied from the passenger window. She smacked the dashboard and shouted, ‘Drive! Drive! Drive!’ as soon as they left the road.
Ashleigh laughed. ‘That bad?’
‘Mum is driving me frickin’ crazy!’
‘Well, in fairness, you did mess up the booking and therefore spoil everyone’s weekend, not to mention ruining Dad’s birthday.’ She made a clicking noise with her tongue.
‘Do you think she’ll let that rest any time soon?’
‘Nope.’ This was nice, easy, just chatting to her sister. A lovely reminder of how good it felt to be together, reunited.
‘I’m dreading it already. She’ll probably cut me out of the will, and I was really looking forward to getting my hands on Great-aunt Bet’s trifle bowl.’
‘God, that trifle bowl! Do you remember when it sat on its own special doily on the table, like an Oscar! To be admired by all!’
