“Won’t it look a bit cheap if I wear the same outfit I’ve already worn to another family event?”
“Don’t be daft. No one will notice, and even if they do, it doesn’t matter. Save yourself a headache and give that pretty blue dress another wear. It looks gorgeous on you.”
“Hmm. I suppose it would save me having to find something new online or dash to the shops.”
Carole didn’t need much convincing. With everything going on right now, she didn’t have time to search for a new dressy occasion outfit. She’d bought the blue dress specially for her parent’s anniversary party last year and hadn’t worn it since. It seemed a shame to leave it hanging in the wardrobe—or folded up inside a packing box, to be precise—while she looked for something brand new.
And Jane was right. The dress did suit her, with its floaty skirt and elegant neckline and lush blue colour. She’d be mad not to wear it again.
“Thanks, Jane. I’ll take your advice.”
“I do give the best advice, so you’re absolutely right to take it,” Jane said with a laugh. “However, there’s something else I need to alert you about as far as Zara’s wedding is concerned.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Mum wants to set you up with a plus-one for the wedding.”
“Oh, no!” Carole moaned. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I never joke where Mum’s scheming is concerned. She’s worried you’ll feel awkward going to the wedding by yourself, now that you and Greg aren’t together anymore, and she wants to ‘help’ set you up with a date.”
Carole could hear her sister’s air quotes down the phone line. “Why would I feel awkward going to a wedding by myself? Plenty of people go to weddings by themselves.”
“I know, but Mum said she doesn’t want you to feel sad, seeing a big happy romantic wedding taking place just a few weeks after you and Greg broke up.”
“But I was the one whoended the relationship. I’m not sad. I’m relieved!”
“I know that. But Mum can be a bit old-fashioned about this sort of thing. You know how she is. She means well enough and just wants you to have a nice day at the wedding.”
“If there’s food and wine and dancing, then I’ll definitely have a nice day whether I have a plus-one with me or not.”
“It’s not me you have to convince, Carole. It’s Mum. I just wanted to give you a warning that she’s lining up someone she hopes you’ll take to the wedding as your guest.”
Carole sighed. “Who is this random person she thinks she can pair me off with?”
“I have no idea. She was still rooting around for an unattached male when she mentioned all this to me. I think she’s been quizzing her friends about the marital status of their various sons and nephews.”
“Oh, God, that’s completely humiliating,” Carole cringed.
“So, now that you know what she’s up to, it won’t come as a complete shock when she announces that she’s found someone to be your wedding date.”
Carole let out another sigh. Her mother was incorrigible.
The doorbell rang. Still clutching the phone to her ear, Carole walked from the kitchen to the front door and peeked through the spyhole. Since she’d moved in, several neighbours had dropped by to introduce themselves and welcome her to Foxglove Street, and she expected to see yet another unknown but friendly face on her doorstep, wanting to say hello.
Earlier that evening, she’d had a visit from a nice older lady who lived further down the street, Olive Nimmo, who was a friend of her grandmother’s and who had chatted for a while over tea while Carole took a quick break from her kitchen redecorating work. She’d enjoyed the visit very much, especially as she got to meet the sweet little dog Olive was looking after, Elsa, which in turn led her to chatting to the neighbour over the fence, Grace, who Carole hadn’t met yet since moving in.
But while all this socialising was very welcome, given Carole’s enthusiasm for settling into Hamblehurst and making herself feel properly at home, it was later in the evening now and her arms were sore from all the painting work, and she was really looking forward to relaxing in the bath after another busy day spent wrangling her new house into order.
Meeting yet more neighbours wasn’t quite what she had in mind right now.
However, when Carole peered through the spyhole in the door, it wasn’t another new neighbour she saw there.
It was her parents.
Her mother, Nina, had a determined look in her eye as she pressed the bell a second time. Her father, Frederick, wore the expression of a man who was there under duress.
“Mum and Dad have just turned up at my door!” Carole hissed down the phone to Jane. “Mum has that ‘don’t mess with me, young lady!’ look on her face!”
“Oh no. Well, it sounds like I delivered my warning about her wedding guest plus-one shenanigans in the nick of time,” Jane said.
“Maybe I’ll just pretend I’m not in,” Carole whispered.
“Carole!” Nina called out from the other side of the door. “Are you there? I can hear you talking!”
“Busted,” Jane said. “Good luck.”
The line went dead. Carole peered through the spyhole again. At thirty-five years old, it was ludicrous that she should be terrified of her mother—or more accurately, terrified of her mother’s scheming antics—but there it was.
Carole stifled a sigh and pasted on a smile as she opened the door to greet her parents.
