Nicola Marsh - The Wedding Contract

His mother’s next words made him sit down. ‘She told me, Steven.’

‘Told you what?’ Surely his grandmother hadn’t confided in the daughter she despised?

‘About your promise. So what are you doing about it?’

He proceeded with caution. His mother hadn’t mentioned the money and he found that unusual. If she’d known about the stipulation in Ethel’s will she would have been screaming into the receiver rather than speaking in the cultivated sotto voce he’d grown to hate. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Stop answering my questions with questions. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Mother informed me that the only reason she’s fighting this nasty disease is to see you married. Well?’

Her short, clipped tones reminded him of endless criticisms of days gone by. ‘Steven, don’t talk with your mouth full. Don’t run inside. Don’t speak like a commoner. Don’t let me catch you playing with that little tramp from next door…’ It had continued throughout his childhood, a never-ending nightmare.

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