The sooner I text Lando, the sooner I can move on.
Hi Lando, photo call 10 am Tuesday. Be at the shop for 9 and Oliver from Groomswear will sort out your outfit. See you there, Maeve
When I read it back after I press send, it’s short, sharp, and shows I mean business. Best of all, there’ll be no need for me to jump every time there’s a ping in my inbox for the rest of the weekend as there’s absolutely no need for a reply.
I slam the door in my brain and shut Lando safely on the other side, and for a whole three seconds, I’m back to how I was. Then my phone pings, and I lurch so hard I slide off my stool and almost squash Angel as I land on the herringbone flooring.
I pull my phone from under the dishwasher, clamber back to my feet, steady myself by the island edge, and look at my screen.
You’re assuming I’m free, Maevey W?
This is exactly the kind of back-and-forth conversation I wanted to avoid.
Yep (I am)
My phone pings again.
You’re in luck. Hope it’s going to be a fun-packed morning?
I refuse to spend a whole morning.
We should be done in minutes not hours. See you Tuesday. M
It wasn’t worth the fall.
And I hate that it feels like he’s back in our kitchen. It’s a new extension– he never actually came in this bit– but even so.
Despite me falling off three more chairs and a sofa when my phone pings during Sunday, that’s all I hear from him. I can’t help thinking: one brief appearance and already the waves of disruption are moving outwards in rings that just get bigger and bigger.
After so long without Lando, he’s suddenly terrifyingly close. I can’t even begin to think how it’s going to feel spending time with him. Hearing him talk. Seeing him as a living, breathing three-dimensional person, rather than as a shadowy image in the past.
An hour on Tuesday, and then we can dispatch him off into oblivion. We have to dispatch him. Because the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.
6
Brides by the Sea, St Aidan, Cornwall
Simultaneous equations
Tuesday
‘You’re looking very Brides-by-the-Sea appropriate this morning, Maevey.’
Tia must have been waiting by the door when I arrive at the shop on Tuesday morning, because she opens it before I have a chance to push, and I follow her straight through to the bridal room.
‘I ditched the “mum jeans” and went for “upmarket independent retailer”. Is there a staff dress code?’
Tia grins. ‘Years ago we wore black, but assistants now are expected to express their individuality while looking sharp and stylish, yet suitably neutral.’
‘All at the same time?’ I blow my fringe up, then glance down at my best white sweatshirt, and pick a dog hair off my knee.
Tia’s smile widens as she reads the logo written across my boobs. ‘“Warm waves and lazy days”. That’s very St Aidan, which is great because there’s already lot of love for our “Dancing on the Boardwalk” reel.’
Tia put it up yesterday. She also caught my big splash followed by a serious amount of dripping on the harbour’s edge, but even though we fell off the sofa laughing when we re-watched it, we made a pact that we would never put it out there. I’ve now watched it a lot more times than I’d care to count, but only because I was trying to get used to seeing Lando without shock waves running through me.
I nod at Tia. ‘I thought the cropped sweatshirt might work over one of Sera’s lace dresses for a bride around town? I brought you my spare, just in case you wanted one too.’ It’s one of my things, buying two of any items I fall in love with on Vinted.
Tia’s eyes light up. ‘Better and better. I’ve got a great feel about today’s shoot.’
