Saturday
‘It’s not just a castle, Lando. It’s a village!’
‘With flagpoles instead of bunting…’
‘It’s even got clog dancers and an ice cream man!’
Fifteen miles out of St Aidan the rambling bulk of Nancarrow Castle looms into view beyond walls and parkland. To miss the crowds, Lando drives past the main gates complete with the promised stone lions and instead brings us in through another less exuberant entrance a bit further on, which leads to some sprawling outbuildings he refers to as the stable yard. He parks his Golf and we all pile out into the yard, while he gets my change of clothes out of the boot and I smooth out my blue dress and slip into my heels. As we take a short cut past the paddocks and into the country fair entertainment field already busy with guests, the kids’ exclamations are more incredulous with every step they take.
I have to put them right. ‘Those things aren’t here every day. And before you ask, none of them are suitable for birthday parties in St Aidan.’
They’re wrong about the lack of bunting too. There’s actually miles of the stuff; they were just looking in the wrong place. We also pass donkey rides and kite flying, a dedicated frisbee area, space hoppers and wheelbarrow races, go-carts, straw bale seats and a huge open tipi shelter surrounded by festival food trucks and a gin bus or two that are very like Lando’s. When we go a bit further there’s a whole imported beach with a helter-skelter, and a merry-go-round with painted horses.
I murmur to Lando, ‘If this is what they threw together at short notice, I can’t imagine what they’d have come up with if they’d had an extra year.’
He laughs. ‘Esme is the self-appointed family events planner; she has no limiter.’ He lowers his voice. ‘You’re only here because of me and the kids, remember. The coping trick I use is to suspend all judgement for a day. That way you might find you enjoy it.’
I laugh. ‘Thanks for the tip, I’ll give that a go.’
I look at the shepherd huts scattered across a nearby orchard and instead of thinking why the hell does anyone want five of the things, I think how pretty they are and leave it at that.
As we move through to more formal gardens with flat, neat lawns and luxurious herbaceous borders, we pass some willow structures sheltering upright pianos. Someone is playing a Coldplay tune and as the notes drift through the branches I let myself relax into them. Then we reach neatly mowed lawns and the festival vibe gives way to aPeriod Livingfeel, with pretty open-sided marquees, and curly wrought iron tables and chairs spilling towards the house. There are already lots of guests milling and chatting over champagne, with a string quartet in the background, and because it’s all so much more than I’d counted on I’m glad I’ve got a strategy.
There’s a machine sending soap bubbles drifting through the air, and the kids are jumping to pop them, and beyond them the bride and groom are making up for missing out the speeches by mingling instead.
I smile at Lando. ‘Fi looks stunning.’ She was right about making the dress her own. It’s shining in a completely different way than it did when I wore it.
He squeezes my hand and smiles back. ‘Thanks to you and Tia.’ As a cluster of bubbles float across in front of us, he pops one himself, then turns to the kids. ‘Let’s go into the house, pick up some drinks then decide where to go first.’
We step into a drawing room that smells of floor polish and lavender, and Nemmie points to the side of the French windows. ‘Their shoe basket is just like ours.’
Lando raises his eyebrows. ‘I’m told you help yourself to those when your feet get tired.’
They’re bright-coloured Birkenstocks rather than the Primark flip flops my friends all had at their weddings, and when Zara and Nemmie stare at them longingly I give them a look. ‘As your sparkly Converse are flat, maybe leave them for people who need them more.’ The other heels I’ve seen so far are towering, so I’m sure the feet savers will be in demand within seconds.
Lando steers us across a surprisingly airy sitting room filled with pale blue linen sofas and buckets of hydrangeas, and comes to a halt by a table laden with sweets. ‘The first job is to help yourselves to these.’
I’m still getting over seeing so many boxes of pink champagne truffles in one place, but the kids dive straight in. As they load up their paper sweet bags I glance at Lando. ‘Jellybeans and sherbet lemons!’
Nemmie’s eyes are shining. ‘It’s like the old-fashioned sweet shop in town, only better.’
Lando reads my mind. ‘Don’t worry, they don’t have to eat it all now. Esme’s plan is that you gather as you go, and take everything home at the end in a lorry.’
We wander past a display piled high with bite-sized cakes and I point to a plate. ‘Are those Poppy’s blondies?’
He nods. ‘Most of that table are hers. Fi insisted Esme sourced locally.’ He looks at the kids. ‘If anyone wants to avoid the Portaloos, there’s a family-only cloakroom in the next hall. While you go there, I’ll put our party clothes in the downstairs study. And then we’ll find the best drinks.’
Lando’s tendency to let the kids take charge means that we skip the grown-up marquees and the drinks, and head straight for the ice cream van. After a round of ninety-nines we find a bath full of ice where the kids grab bottles of Orangina and paper straws. Then, as Lando and I sip our chilled Peronis, the kids head for the helter-skelter and the roundabouts. By mid-afternoon we’re exchanging ironic glances as we laze in deckchairs that we’re so far inland and the kids still want to play in sand. Lando’s tie finally hits his pocket and I despair that his throat is on view. We all squash into a photo booth for a selfie, and I despair all over again at how fabulous he always smells. Then we find another shoe basket and Lando insists we all change into Birkenstocks and have a space hopper race then visit the burger van. We join the kite flyers, take an unscheduled visit to see some of Esme’s baby alpacas, then find a pudding tent, eat our weight in trifle and pavlovas, and head back to the lawns for a game of croquet. And before we know it, Lando’s leading us through the castle corridors and up to his room in a turret so I can drop off my toothbrush and change into my dress for the evening.
By the time the kids have poured over some very ancient pirate treasure maps Lando made as a child, I’m out of a bathroom on the floor below that is so basic it could have come out of the ramshackle cottage next door to Mum’s, and back in Lando’s room sitting on his reassuringly narrow bed. I slide my feet into Fi’s red suede stilettos, swish my red and orange skirts, and congratulate myself on the first part of my ordeal being almost over.
As we head for the curving staircase back to the ground floor, Lando holds the door open for me and my smile comes right from the heart. He couldn’t have been any more attentive or supportive; he’s joked around with the kids, and been fastidious about them not missing anything. My only grumble is he’s done it all while looking so insanely hot that my hands are aching from me sitting on them to stop myself grabbing him.
As we take the kids back to the stable yard after finding Fi and everyone saying their thank yous, I can see Mum’s car already waiting in the dusk.
‘First the seals, and now this! You’re the best friend, Lando!’ Nemmie squeals.
There’s a flurry of high fiving, and as they climb into the back seat Dale’s squinting back at the castle. ‘Have you ever searched for tunnels?’
