Cordelia ignores her water, and takes a deep breath, as though she’s about to let me in on an important story. “Have I ever told you about the time I—”
“Let me stop you there, Cordelia.” I laugh, putting my glass down. “You haven’t told me aboutanyof the times.”
“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Let me tell you about the time I founded my school’s origami club.”
“Youwhat?”
“I was eight and my mum had taught me how to do a swan, because, well, the name, right? I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I bought a book and everything. So, I spoke to my teacher and asked if I could start an origami club, and she said yes. I put the word out and arranged the first meeting for a Tuesday lunchtime. Do you know how many people showed up for the inauguration of the origami club?”
“No one?”
“Wrong!” she cries, wagging her finger at me. “It was actually one! One person turned up.”
“Was that one person, by any chance, you?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “So what if it was?”
I laugh. “How long did this crowd-pleasing origami club last?”
“An entire term,” she says triumphantly. “I persevered and made many works of art. Paper swans, rabbits, pigeons, dinosaurs. All sorts! I got a special badge.”
“You got abadgefor founding a club that no one went to?”
“I got a badge for being an excellent origami-club captain,” she protests. “Sadly, the club folded before it had a chance to spread its wings.”
“What might have been.”
She nods solemnly.
“But it’s cool that your mum taught you how to do origami. Not really something I see Lady Meade doing in her spare time.”
“She’s very artistic. We used to paint a lot together. Mostly horses and dogs and stuff, but she’s really good. We’d sit outside on that small patio bit—you know, where I had that cigarette after Annabel pissed me off?—and she’d set up a little canvas, one for me and one for her, and we’d paint next to each other and chat. I used to love it.”
She hesitates, reaching for her water and taking a few gulps.
“You and your mum clash a lot, huh?” I say gently.
“How could you tell?” She gives me a knowing smile. “The wedding has put extra tension on our relationship.”
“That’s normal. Most brides go through the same thing.”
“I don’t know, maybe it’s all part of growing up,” Cordelia says, sighing heavily. “We had a lot of fallouts when I was a teenager. I disappointed her a lot then. But, recently, I’ve had to work at not being disappointed byher.”
“In what way?”
“I wish she wasn’t so caught up in the things that don’t matter.” She runs a hand through her hair. “The society stuff, the society people. Sometimes I wonder if she even cares about what I want for the wedding. It’s all about how thingsshouldbe. Does that make sense? I want her to be happy. I know how much work she’s put into it, but I also don’t want any of it to be a farce. I don’t want it to be the spectacle that all those people expect from us. You know?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I can see why you’d be worried about that. But if you want proof of what really matters to your mum, just look at me.”
She frowns. “You?”
“She hiredme,Cordelia. She knew you’d be furious with her about it, she knew you’d argue and rail against it, but she did it anyway. She wanted someone to be there for you and she made sure that was the case, whether you thought you’d need it or not. She wasn’t going to let you do any of this alone.”
She stares at me, my words sinking in.
“I’ve never thought about it like that,” she says eventually. “I figured it was because she didn’t think I’d be very good at any of the wedding planning. And that maybe she was embarrassed I didn’t have any friends to parade in front of the guests.”
“I think she cares less about that society stuff than you think she does. I mean, I’ve seen her with all those people at your engagement party and I’ve seen her among her chickens, and let me tell you, she iswaymore animated with the chickens.”
