Eve Devon - The Wedding Planner

‘I see.’ Fortuna looked very much like she was trying not to smile, but Gloria was almost certain she wouldn’t have been smiling if it was her engagement ring that was being dismissed. ‘Did something happen for you to feel you needed to express that particular opinion?’

Gloria’s mouth turned down as she remembered Emma showing off her ring to harmless Betty Blunkett and Betty then going on and on and on about her own emerald ring which she’d now had on her finger for fifty-five years.

Tossing the stress ball up in the air, Gloria caught it in her other hand and squeezed it hard. ‘Nothing happened,’ she answered. ‘I said it because I could. Because it’s what I do, isn’t it?’

‘Is it?’

Gloria’s gaze flicked to Fortuna defiantly before dropping to her left hand and noticing once more that there wasn’t even an indent left to show she’d once been married.

The cold shame she’d felt after insulting Emma’s taste, and by association, Jake’s entire family, washed over her once again.

Was that what all this was about?

She was suffering from petty jealousy?

For something she wanted no part of ever again?

Where was her perspective?

Why couldn’t she just let all the endless wedding talk float over her head?

‘Gloria?’ Fortuna prompted. ‘Is a quick quip still your first defence mechanism? Because I believe you might have more than that in your arsenal, these days?’

‘But killing people with kindness isn’t as much fun,’ Gloria responded with a pout.

Fortuna did smile this time. ‘So what happened afterwards?’

‘I apologised.’ She hadn’t needed to see the flicker of hurt in Emma’s eyes for the sorry to be immediate. She’d been mortified that in another unguarded moment, this time she’d managed to upset the actual bride-to-be.

You see? It just wasn’t right, was it? Getting so pernickety over an institution that people could enter freely into and did, day after day, the world over. There was no need whatsoever to be feeling this … this burning need to save Emma and Jake from going through the rigmarole of a big special day only to end up a modern-day statistic.

Not that all marriages came to an end.

She wasn’t stupid.

She was just …

Jaded.

A look which so didn’t mesh with her metamorphosis.

She breathed out slowly.

‘Why the sigh? Wasn’t your apology accepted?’ Fortuna asked.

‘It was, although if I was Emma, I guarantee I wouldn’t have let myself off that lightly. I swear it’s like I’ve somehow managed to get the nicest person on the planet to like me.’

‘And that baffles you?’ Fortuna surmised.

It did.

She didn’t have a great track-record in the friendship department. She’d spent most of her childhood deliberately making it difficult for anyone to like her and as an adult the few friends she’d cultivated had scarpered as soon as Bob had left.

She swapped the stress ball back to her other hand. ‘How can simply apologising every time I let my tongue get away from me be enough? How is that progress?’

‘Keep practising all the techniques we’ve been working on.’ Fortuna leant forward in her chair, her hands folded neatly over the top of her notebook. ‘You’re not going to let yourself down.’

‘Can I have that in writing, please?’

Fortuna smiled again. ‘You’re still using your apps?’

Gloria rolled her eyes but then nodded her head. ‘You do realise you’re going to be out of a job now that the whole world and his dog is into mindfulness. I lose count of the number of people posting how many times a day they meditate, which kind of defeats the object in my humble opinion, but I guess, what do I know?’

‘I really wouldn’t focus on what everyone else is doing. If it works for you, use it. If it doesn’t, ditch it. How’s the art coming along?’

‘I suck at it.’

‘But is that the point though?’

‘No,’ she grudgingly admitted. The point of it was to relax her. Distract her. Give her some breathing space.

‘So …?’

‘I’m no Banksy,’ she said, although that wasn’t to say she hadn’t sometimes thought of painting the whole village with murals. ‘For the purposes of your notes though, I’ll admit I’m enjoying it. I used to draw when I was younger. I’m not sure why I stopped.’ Well, she did, but that story was for another time she liked to call ‘Never’.

It had taken weeks of gentle suggestion followed by a confronting ‘What exactly are you afraid of?’ from Fortuna for Gloria to sign up to the notion that using drawing as a form of self-care might not be a truly awful concept. Even then, she’d walked past the art supply shop twice before making herself go in, muttering under her breath about how stupidly indulgent it would be to buy a sketchbook and set of pencils. But as soon as her fingers had stroked over the graphite she’d smiled and got that warm fuzzy feeling in her heart that was usually reserved for things Persephone did.

‘Well, again, I’d say if you enjoy it and it’s working for you, keep doing it. It’s important to have something you enjoy just for the sake of it.’

Gloria tried to quieten the panic in her chest as Fortuna closed her notebook and then started rearranging the stack of papers underneath. ‘You’re rustling those papers there like this is really it – I’m out on my own.’

‘You’re not on your own. You have friends.’

Gloria blinked.

She guessed she did.

Emma Danes, the Jane Austen-loving mixologist, had taken the biggest gamble going to bat for her working at Cocktails & Chai. A huge deal seeing as the moment it became the latest business to open up inside the clock house it also became the new headquarters for Whispers Wood’s gossip mill. Emma’s unswerving friendship had even (okay, nearly ) convinced her that the tearoom/bar would still have customers if she wasn’t part of the wallpaper for customers to ogle and discuss.

Then there was award-winning garden designer, Jake Knightley, the only one of six siblings with the passion and vision to take over the running of their ancestral home, Knightley Hall, which stood on the edge of the village. At least, she was going to claim they were friends. He was quite succinct was Jake, so she was pretty sure he’d have simply stopped talking to her altogether if he was still pissed at her publically pointing out last year what an idiot he’d been being over Emma.

She thought – hoped – she was making progress with hairdresser, Juliet Brown, owner of Hair @ The Clock House. Super-chic and sweet Juliet who, because of the nature of her job, had a lifetime’s experience seeing and hearing too much but, thankfully, was way too nice to comment on any of it.

Even no-nonsense Kate Somersby, owner of the day spa Beauty @ The Clock House, and perhaps the hardest to win over, given her need to make sure the clock house businesses succeeded, now liked her enough to spend more than the agreed budget on Secret Santa presents. Who else could be responsible for giving her the impressively coffee-table-sized: How to Stop Swearing and Other Bollocks Ways to Improve Your Manners book, last Christmas?

And obviously there was Old Man Isaac. Like she’d said, he was her Gandalph. Her Obi-Wan. Or, if you wanted to get less ‘mentor’ and more ‘friend’, the way he insisted she had a lot of potential, the Pretty Woman Vivian to her Kit De Luca.

Oh, and then there was Seth.

Seth Knightley. Jake’s younger brother.

A claxon sounded inside her head.

Everyone kept joking about the ‘magic’ chandelier at the clock house and the ridiculous fairytale about how it brought single people together. Joking like she and Seth weren’t friends … so much as its next victims.