Kate Lawson - Mother of the Bride

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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A Paperback Original 2010

FIRST EDITION

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2009

Copyright © Kate Lawson 2010

Kate Lawson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Ebook Edition © MARCH 2010 ISBN: 9780007370979

Version 2016-09-23

Mother of the Bride is dedicated to Speedy and the Hellhound, to my lovely boys, their gorgeous women, and my brilliant friends, to Maggie Phillips, my good friend and agent, and all the great people who I sing with in Singers Inspired. You know who you are.

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Epilogue

Preview

Acknowledgements

About the Author

By the same author

About the Publisher

Lunchtime on the last Bank Holiday of the summer and Molly Foster was standing on the quay at Wells-next-the-Sea close to the radio car, where a man dressed as a bear was juggling rubber herrings. Alongside him stood an Elvis impersonator in a white jumpsuit and rhinestones, and beside him a woman called Linda, who knitted jumpers from the fur collected after grooming her three Newfoundlands – encounters that were all in the day’s work for a presenter on a local radio station.

Molly had one side of her headphones pressed to her ear, keeping the other one off so that she could hear the activity on the quay. The last track had played out and the East Anglian Airwaves FM station jingle was coming to a close. Ready with the mike, all the while nodding and smiling inanely at her guests, holding eye contact so they didn’t wander off, Molly was waiting for the moment when they went live to air.

‘You okay? All ready?’ she mouthed. Everyone nodded in unison, all except Elvis who curled his lip and said, ‘A-huh-huh. ’

‘Here we go then,’ she said, smile widening.

Phil, her broadcast assistant, should have been doing the sheepdogging but, thanks to some technical glitch, he was hunched over in the back of the radio car – a converted people carrier with a retractable mast that the station used for outside broadcasts – fiddling with the control panel.

Molly hoped that what she could see billowing out from the open door was steam from Phil’s coffee and not smoke.

Meanwhile through the headphones, Molly heard her producer, Stan, back at the studio, cue in her next caller. The music faded out at which point Molly said, ‘Great track, that. Perfect for a sunny day by the seaside – speaking of which, we’re here live on Bank Holiday Monday at beautiful Wells-next-the-Sea as part of our Great British Summer Days Out series. We’ve got some fantastic guests lined up for you in today’s show. But first of all on line one we’ve got Maureen from Little Newton, who wants to talk about – what is it you’re talking to us about today, Maureen?’

‘Death,’ said Maureen in a monotone. ‘I want to talk about how it felt when my cat Smokey died.’

‘Right,’ said Molly, pulling faces at Phil, who had stopped fiddling and was now busy flirting with two teenage girls in bikinis.

‘I’m sure that we all feel very sorry for your loss, Maureen. I know that my pets are very important to me but we were hoping that you were going to talk to us about your memories of the good old British seaside holiday – kiss me quick, fish and chips on the prom.’ Molly jollied the unseen woman along.

‘Smokey loved fish, particularly the heads,’ said the unstoppable Maureen. ‘We used to save them for him. Little tinker used to bury them down the back of the sofa if you didn’t watch him. I had him cremated last March. Fourteen, he was. I’ve got the urn here with me. He loved the radio. Not you but that other chap, the one with the glasses, what’s his name?’

‘Right,’ said Molly, waving now, desperately trying to drag Phil’s attention away from the wriggling, jiggling, giggling girls and back to the job in hand.

From somewhere close by she could hear a mobile phone ringing with the distinctive Laurel and Hardy theme, downloaded by her live-in lover Nick as a joke. She felt a flush of heat; how the hell had she managed to leave her phone on? It was the ultimate no-no. On TV and on radio, before you go on air you always check your mobile is switched off and if you’re not sure then you take the battery out, except of course hers was ringing and it seemed to be getting louder. It rang once, twice – after six rings it cut off and Molly turned her attention back to her caller.

‘I’ve been having grief counselling,’ Maureen was saying. ‘And we’ve had a séance – he’s still here, you know. Him and Timmy the rabbit…’

‘Well, thank you for that, Maureen. And we’re lucky enough to have Ken Barber with us here today,’ said Molly, praying that someone back at the studio would have the good sense to pull the plug on Maureen.

To her right the bear man was mid-throw.

‘Ken is currently working his way around the coastline of Great Britain, staging a one-man show to raise public awareness about the state of the British fishing industry. Now for the listeners at home, Ken, let’s just describe what you’re wearing, shall we?’ At which point Ken growled at her.

Molly forced a laugh; bloody man. ‘So, not very talkative, our Ken – maybe listeners would like to ring in and guess what Ken is dressed as…’

‘Jess from Norwich is on line two,’ said Stan in her ear.

‘Let’s go to our next caller, Jess from Norwich,’ said Molly. ‘Hello there, Jess. How’s your Bank Holiday shaping up?’

‘Mum?’ said a familiar voice.

‘Jess?’ Molly could feel her colour rising.

‘I couldn’t get through on your mobile so I got the studio to put me through instead,’ Jess gushed excitedly.