Page 7 of Paper Roses

I shift position. “Is everything okay, Esme?”

“Of course. Of course, of course, ofcourse.”

“Hmm. Only the staff reported rather a lot of screaming coming from here. Is there something I can help you with?”

She swings the door in a cheery fashion. “Not really, Jed. I’m just having a chat with Cynthia.”

Footsteps sound and the woman in question appears behind Esme with her hair hanging out of her neat updo. I hear Artie say, “Oh,” in a tone of revelation, and I shoot him a wry look. Now he’s getting it.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Cynthia says, trying to pat her hair back into place. I wish her luck. She looks like she’s been in a wind tunnel.

“Evening,” we chorus like we’re at Sunday school.

I take a breath and gird my loins. “What’s the problem here?”

There’s a moment of beautiful silence, and then they both begin to talk over each other. The shouting is loud in the enclosed space and I wince.

“Can I just—?” I try.

“She said my cooking was terrible.”

“Well, she’s always hated me. She said I looked like a strumpet when Lee took me home and?—”

“Ladies.” My voice is very loud, and they fall silent. “Thank you. Now apart from food and Esme’s individual dress sense—” I hear a soft snort from Artie. “—what is the problem?”

“She wore a wedding dress to my fuckingwedding,” Esme shrieks.

And there we have it.

She’s not wrong. Cynthia is wearing a long, white, lace dress which is undoubtedly a wedding dress.

“Hmm,” I say. “Well, it does appear so, yes.”

“Appearso? If she got any closer to a bride, she’d be shagging the groom tonight.”

“How dare you? That’sdisgusting,” Cynthia says shrilly.

“It’s actually a compliment to wear a white dress,” I interject quickly. Both women turn to me, and I resist the urge to cower.

“Why?” Esme asks in a warning manner.

“Oh, maybe you hadn’t heard. It’s very much a ‘this season’ trend.”

Esme’s eyes narrow. She would happily follow a fashion trend off a cliff like a style-conscious lemming. “The mother-in-law wearing a wedding dress is a trend?” she asks.

“Oh, you didn’t know,” I say sadly. “It’s not aweddingdress per se. Just a white dress. I’m seeing it a lot at celebrity weddings,” I finish hopefully. Esme refers toHellomagazine more frequently than the Archbishop of Canterbury does the Bible. “Close relatives wear white to echo and enhance the beauty of the bride. Isn’t that right, Cynthia?” I say in a slightly steely voice as she opens her mouth to no doubt contradict me.

She hesitates and Artie steps forward.

“What alovelygesture,” he says in his warm voice. The two women turn to him like sunflowers sensing the sun. “After all, the two of you are together now because you both love Lee.” They shift awkwardly, and he bestows another smile on them. I watch, hypnotised. “It would be so awful if the two most important people in his life can’t get along. I’ve seen cases where it’s happened.”

“Have you?” Esme asks.

He nods like a little wise owl in a grey suit. “The son usually chooses his bride’s side.”

Esme brightens but sags as he makes a sad face.

“But unfortunately,” Artie continues, “it then ruins his relationship with his mother. So, no one is happy.”

---