‘What do you mean, today, Bells? I might be dressed up like him, but he made that whole movie where he dressed up like me, what was it called, Heather?’
‘Perfect Storm, and how I truly hate that film.’ Her mother’s tone was clipped. No one needed to ask her why.
Merrin decided to change tack. ‘We’ve got ages yet, Dad. We don’t have to be at St Michael’s until three.’ Merrin knew loitering around in his uncomfortable borrowed clothes would do nothing to aid his stress levels, or anyone else’s, for that matter. In a small space, moods were infectious. And she understood; her dad was either in his fishing gear or jeans and a holey old sweatshirt with a soft shirt underneath. She had only seen him in a suit once before and that was for Gramps’s funeral.
‘I know that, love, but I have something I need to do first.’ He winked at her.
‘Oh no, not work! I thought Robin and Jarvis were taking care of things today; you’ll get filthy! I don’t want you walking me up the aisle covered in stinking fish guts!’
‘I’ll remind you that it’s stinking fish guts that has paid for the roof over our head and the food we put on the table.’ He pointed at her. ‘But actually, no, I’m not working. But I do need to go out for a bit.’
‘Don’t be late, Ben! Please!’ her mother pleaded.
‘I won’t.’ He made his way to the door before turning to look back at his family. ‘Think I’d better go and put my trousers on first!’
They all howled with laughter and Merrin savoured the moment. Despite her eagerness to go and grab the next chapter of her life, she felt an ache deep in her gut at the fact that her side of the bedroom was packed up and her clothes and bits and bobs had been stuffed into bags, ready to move to the chauffeur’s flat. She wanted to be married to Digby more than anything, but this was her last morning as a single girl in this little house with all its comings and goings, and it felt strange. There was a faint echo of loss edging her thoughts, as the realisation hit that she was going to miss moments like this when she was up at the big house. Silly, inconsequential exchanges, but it was just this silliness, this shared ordinariness, that made up her whole life, as the Kellows wrapped each other tightly with a web of love.
‘I can’t believe that this time tomorrow I’ll wake up and you’ll be sleeping somewhere else, Merry.’ As if reading her thoughts, her mum barely got the words out before the next bout of tears.
‘For the love of God, she’s only going up the road!’ Ruby pointed out.
‘Ruby’s right. I won’t be that far away, Mum.’
‘Up the road or halfway round the world, you still won’t be at my breakfast table.’ Her mum pushed the wad of loo roll up under her nose as her husband appeared from the bathroom, newly trousered.
‘What you crying for now?’ He placed his fingers inside his collar and pulled. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve got to wear a get-up like this too? Cos if you have, then I understand completely, I feel like bloody crying as well!’
‘Dad, it’s for one day! Less than that, half a day! You always said you’d do anything for your girls and so today I am asking you to get trussed up like a turkey . . . and if you could do it without moaning every five minutes, that would be marvellous.’
‘I’ll try, my littlest maid.’ He beamed at her. ‘I will try.’ He, too, reached for the handkerchief in his trouser pocket and wiped his eyes.
‘Flippin’ ’eck, am I the only one not crying?’ Ruby yelled. ‘She’s getting wed, not going to the gallows. This is a time for celebration! If it was me leaving home, you’d be dancing a jig and roasting a whole hog!’
Her sister did this, too, joked about petty rivalry and smarted if ever Merrin was shown any advantage. Ruby’s envy was sometimes funny, but just as often it was upsetting and misplaced, and Merrin was unsure from where it had sprung.
‘That’s not true, Rubes,’ her dad placated. ‘I’ve never had fancy for a whole hog; reckon we’d go for a couple of pheasant.’
‘Very funny.’ Her sister huffed. ‘Well, be in no doubt, I’m not sad. I finally get the whole bedroom! It’s a good, good day. I’m opening the gin!’
‘Atta girl!’ Bella clapped.
Her sister rummaged in the cupboard, pulling out four mismatched glasses of varying shapes and sizes, into which she sloshed generous amounts of gin, topped up with slightly flat tonic. ‘Here we go!’ She handed a glass each to her mum, Bella and Merrin, before taking one herself. ‘To the bride!’
‘To the bride!’ they chorused.
Merrin sipped the strong drink and set it to one side. Drinking wasn’t really her thing. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it; she just wasn’t very good at it. Digby ribbed her over the fact that after one small glass of wine she was what he described as tipsy.
‘Don’t I get one?’ Her dad had no such issue – he’d certainly had enough practice. ‘It’s thirsty work putting a shirt and bloody tie on.’
‘No, you’ve got to pace yourself, Dad. We can’t have you turning up at St Michael’s half cut. Can you imagine Ma Mortimer’s face if you started slurring your words or tripped up the aisle, or worse, farted during the vows? She’d never forgive you!’ Ruby pulled a wide-eyed expression at their dad, who nodded at the truth.
‘Don’t think she likes me much as it is, can’t see a fart making that much difference. I recall the great Sunday lunch when we were summoned and old Guthrie was as pickled as a herring at the top of the table, and she was swanning around like it was normal to have her husband snoring in the chair before they’d even served the pud. Nuts, they are. And she had the nerve to tut when I licked my finger, having pushed up the drip on the gravy jug. Bloody woman.’ He mumbled, then left the cottage, whistling.