Jennifer Joyce - The Wedding that Changed Everything - a gorgeously uplifting romantic comedy

‘I know what it’s like to lose a parent. I know it’s different for me – my mum died when I was really little and I barely remember her – but I’d give anything to have a reminder of her. Dad got rid of everything when he married Francelia – all the photos, her perfume and jewellery, the cards she wrote for me and Carolyn. Said he wanted a fresh start.’ She stands up from the bed and places a hand on my shoulder. ‘I know you’re angry with me right now, but one day you’ll thank me for keeping hold of the book.’

I roll my eyes, still not looking at it. ‘It’s a book of fairy tales, Alice.’

‘It’s more than that.’ Alice gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘The little girl who received this book believed in happily ever afters. You told me once that she used to dream of being rescued by the handsome prince. What happened to her?’

I throw my shoulders back, dislodging Alice’s hand, and lift my chin slightly. ‘She grew up and realised life isn’t a fairy tale.’

Alice crosses the room, stopping in front of my small bookcase. She squeezes the book of fairy tales into a gap at the end of the middle shelf. ‘I’ll do you a deal.’ Alice turns to face me again. ‘If you come to the wedding with an open mind and at least give the guys there a teeny chance, I’ll stop pestering you about finding a boyfriend once we get home.’

We stare at each other across the room. I’m still angry, but it’s dying down now the book is no longer in my vision.

‘There’ll be no more pushing me to date when we get back?’

Alice shakes her head. ‘I won’t mention it again.’

We stare some more.

Can I do this? Can I endure one week of intense Alice matchmaking (because that’s what this will turn into)? Can I get through it for the chance of being left to my own devices when we return?

‘Fine.’ I cross the room and stick out my hand. ‘You have yourself a deal.’

Alice’s grin is wide as we shake on it. ‘You’re not going to regret this.’

‘We’ll see about that in a week’s time.’ I reach past Alice and slide the fairy tales book off the shelf.

Alice looks stricken. ‘You’re not going to throw that away again, are you?’

‘What would be the point? You’ll only dig it out again with teabags and food stuck to it.’ Instead, I shove the book to the very back of my wardrobe, where I won’t have to face it on a daily basis.

‘Come on, Cinderella.’ Alice tucks Hubert back under her arm and hefts my suitcase off the bed. ‘You shall go to the ball!’

I take the handle of my suitcase so Alice can trundle her own down the stairs. ‘I thought Kevin was Cinders?’

‘No way am I being an ugly sister. You, honey, are Cinderella, and I am your fairy godmother.’

Chapter Five

With our suitcases squeezed into the tiny boot of Alice’s sleek but impractical car, there’s an emotional goodbye between Alice and Kevin on our doorstep. I wait in the car, fingers firmly crossed that Alice will feel so guilty about leaving Poor Kevin (as I have taken to calling him in a bid to induce more guilt) behind that she’ll call the whole ‘let’s irritate the absolute crap out of Emily by matching her up with some god-awful people for a whole damn week’ thing off. Kevin and I will switch places and Carrot and I will wave them off.

No such luck. Alice is blubbering, but she isn’t in family-issues-battling mode and she’s soon walking backwards towards the car, unable to tear her eyes away from her beloved. She plonks herself down in the driver’s seat, taking a moment to compose herself before strapping herself in and, giving one last wilted wave, setting off towards the M60.

‘You’re going to love Durban Castle,’ she tells me once she’s managed to stop the hiccupping her crying has caused. ‘It’s so gorgeous. It’s such a shame I haven’t been there in so long.’ She looks like she’s about to burst into tears again but manages to regain her composure and aims a watery smile at me. ‘It’s been in my family for generations, so Carolyn and I would spend every Christmas there and the summer holidays with my grandparents. My step-cousin would visit too, and we’d have adventures around the castle and its grounds together. There was always a quiz on Boxing Day, when other relatives would visit, and fireworks and a huge bonfire on New Year’s Eve. It was magical.’

Alice’s smile brightens as her mind wanders back to her childhood. I wish I could do the same, but my childhood doesn’t have a great deal of happy memories to look back on fondly.

‘Granny and Grandpa were wonderful. So warm and fun. I miss them.’

‘You’ve never mentioned the castle before.’ Which is odd, given my passion for the past. ‘I can’t wait to have a nose around and breathe in its history.’

Alice reaches for the CD player, but I bat her hand away. We’ve agreed the music is my domain for the duration of our trip.

‘The castle’s still in my family,’ she tells me. ‘But when Uncle Ned inherited it, he turned it into a weddings and events venue, so we couldn’t have turned up for a nosy around. Which is why this week is perfect for us: you get to satisfy your nerdiness and I get to relive some fond memories.’

An hour later, we’ve reached Little Heaton. It’s a picturesque village, almost cut in two by the canal running through it. Barges painted in bright greens, reds and blues sit on the water while ducks, swans and geese glide by. There’s an arched bridge up ahead, which we turn onto, crossing over the canal into the heart of the village. A memorial stands in the centre of the high street, with a terrace of shops on one side and a red-brick pub on the other, half covered in ivy. Ahead is a small church with a pointy steeple, its grounds filled with crumbling headstones.

‘Is that where Carolyn is getting married?’ I ask as we pass, but Alice shakes her head.

‘She’s getting married in the chapel, like Mum and Dad.’

‘The castle still has its own chapel? Is it original?’ For the first time, I’m genuinely quite excited about the week ahead.

‘I think so.’ Alice’s brow furrows. ‘I know Uncle Ned had to have the roof restored a couple of summers ago and it was apparently a nightmare trying to source original materials. Cost a fortune too.’

My heart is bleeding for the poor rich man.

We pass a primary school, its bright-yellow railings and play equipment jarring against the nineteenth-century building, another pub (this village is looking up), and lots of little, white-rendered cottages with pretty gardens that would give our neighbour a run for her money with their show-quality lawns and bursts of colour from the flowerbeds, window boxes and hanging baskets.

We reach the end of the latest batch of cottages and turn into a clearing, with a blanket of buttercups and daisies thrown over fields either side of a narrow lane. The fields rise into a hill, upon which stands Durban Castle.

‘Wow,’ I say, my jaw practically hitting my lap.

‘Yes.’ Alice sighs happily. ‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’

The narrow road winds up the gentle slope of the hill until we reach the castle’s curtain wall and a giant, arched gateway made of pale-grey stone. The castle, which I haven’t taken my eyes off during the short drive up the hill, is made of the same stone, and two flags flap in the breeze as they stand proudly on top of the keep. The gates are open, so we drive through, my jaw dropping more and more the closer we get to the castle.

‘I’ll drop you and the suitcases off at the front,’ Alice tells me as we drive towards the looming castle. Trees line the road either side of us, with lush lawns beyond. It is beautiful, like stepping into a real-life fairy tale. The six-year-old who received that book of fairy tales would be in heaven if she could see this place. ‘There’s a car park just to the right. I’ll park and meet you at the main entrance so we don’t have to lug the suitcases too far.’