Page 40 of Wedding Crasher

She glanced outside as she slid it back into the machine.

‘It’s gorgeous out there today. Perfect wedding weather.’

Marla nodded. Everything was in place, even the sunshine, so why did she feel an uneasy sense of foreboding? She checked her watch and chewed her bottom lip. Half past midday. The guests would be arriving soon.

‘Dora definitely,definitelylet them know next door that we have a wedding on today?’

Due to Marla’s reluctance to go within spitting distance of Gabe, they had ungraciously settled on a system of using Dora as a neutral go-between to ward off potential problems. It was far from ideal yet so far it had worked, just about; but this wedding had been a last-minute booking from a couple who’d decided at the eleventh hour that they wanted to start married life in a more exciting way than the registry office they’d had planned.

Emily nodded.

‘All covered. I asked her twice. Stop worrying, Marla, we’re ready to go.’

Dora wasn’t on duty at either the chapel or the funeral parlour that morning.

At precisely half past eleven, Ivan held the door open to the little Italian restaurant further down the High Street for his wife to walk in ahead of him. It was their wedding anniversary, and come hell or high water, he always made a point of taking Dora out to celebrate. It used to be dinner, but had slowly crept forward to a lunchtime date because it was easier on their ageing digestive systems. Their bodies might have aged, but their love and affection for each other burned as bright as the day they’d married.

Alfonso, the effervescent Italian chef and owner appeared, and ushered them across the restaurant to a candlelit alcove he’d prepared especially for them.

‘Dora, my darling, bellissima as always,’ he said, and kissed her cheek as he pulled a chair out for her to take a seat. His heavily accented English added to his charm as he greeted the couple like old friends, shaking hands with Ivan and wishing them both a happy anniversary as he handed them their menus.

Dora settled into her chair and smiled around at the smattering of other diners, knowing most of them by name, or face at least. Beckleberry was small enough for few people to be strangers, and Dora and Ivan were well respected as quite possibly the eldest and most established residents of them all.

Ivan opened his menu, dazzled by the delights of a lunch cooked by someone other than Dora. Much as he loved his wife, he hadn’t married her for her culinary skills.

Dora flicked a cursory eye over the menu and then closed it.

‘Lasagne, my love?’ Ivan said, knowing she was a creature of habit.

Dora nodded. The lasagne was not only delicious, it provided no challenge to her false teeth.

‘I think I might have the T-bone,’ Ivan mused, adjusting his tweed dickie-bow.

‘Don’t be an old goat, Ivan,’ Dora chided, knowing that however much his rheumy eyes might still have their same blue twinkle, his gut didn’t have the same cast-iron constitution it had enjoyed thirty years back.

Alfonso reappeared in short order and threw a knowing look towards Dora.

‘Lasagne for you, bella?’

Dora preened, hoping that the other customers had overheard and realised that she was a regular customer. Or once yearly, in any case.

Alfonso scribbled on his pad and then looked up and tipped a wink at Ivan. ‘For you, I have something special, my friend.’ He pocketed his pen without further comment and left them alone again, feeling thoroughly special and spoiled.

Ivan reached across and patted Dora’s hand. ‘Sixty-nine years. Thank you, a-Dora-ble.’

She smiled at the use of the nickname he’d given to her, looking down at their old hands, his wedding ring and hers. Neither had been taken off so much as once since the day they were slid in place. It had been a day full of joy, and loaded with the anticipation of many happy years ahead and children on their knees. The years had indeed been happy ones, but the much-longed-for children had never come to pass.

‘No regrets?’ she asked.

‘Not one.’ Ivan squeezed her hand, knowing that she was thinking of the babies she’d never been able to carry to term. ‘I’ve even grown to love your cooking.’

Dora laughed softly, aware that he was joking to lighten her heart and she loved him all the more for it. These days there was all sorts of medical help available for women, but back in her day, her miscarriages had been put down to Mother Nature decreeing that she just wasn’t destined to be a mother. She’d settled instead for mothering everyone around her.

She glanced up as Alfonso approached the table with two plates.

‘Lasagne for the lady,’ he said, presenting it with a flourish.

‘And for you, Ivan, my special roast beef.’ He placed Ivan’s lunch down; meltingly soft beef, baby rosemary and garlic roast potatoes and seasonal vegetables. Leaning in to imply confidentially, he said ‘better than any T-bone,’ and kissed his fingertips expressively. ‘Delizioso. Enjoy!’

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