Page 4 of Love or Your Money Back

‘I’m not going to object to the wedding. Today is closure. Okay? I need to move on. And seeing Chris get married, as painful as it will be, will help me know the door is closed. To make the omelette of success, eggs need to be cracked.’

‘Good girl.’ Aunty Sylvia pats me with a rose-fragranced hand. ‘You get your closure. And I’ll find you some nice men to meet. I wish you’d donesomethingwith your hair and worn a little colour. You’re a beautiful girl underneath all that baggy drab. There are no ugly women, just lazy ones. Come along!’ Sylvia clicks fragranced fingers.

‘Can’t I just have a few moments more wallowing time before the wedding party arrives?’ I ask.

‘No.’ Aunty Sylvia pulls me to my feet. ‘And frankly, I have no idea what you have to wallow about. Would you have wanted this make-do-and-mend we-don’t-want-to-pay-for-a-venue woodland wedding?’

‘I wouldn’t have minded.’

‘Why on earth would you want to be with a man who has no career –’

‘Chris is an actor.’

‘Exactly. Now listen. I know you’re in your thirties and still unmarried. And Chris treated you terribly and kept drunkenly proposing to you and then cheated on you and broke your heart. And then you took him back, only for him to leave you for this beautiful, young woman who he’s now marrying. And you’re still single and alone andthirty-fouryears old and time is ticking. But do not give that a moment’s thought today, Katerina. Okay? Come and meet this man I’m sitting next to. He’s a dentist. Completely bald, but sometimes the nicest gifts come in bad packaging.’ She looks me up and down. ‘How are your legs today?’

‘Fine.’

‘Because I know that stress can –’

‘I’m not stressed. I’m sad.’

‘Yes.’ Aunty Sylvia eyes my outfit. ‘You look like you’re attending a funeral. A very shabby funeral.’

I look down at myself. ‘This dress isn’t shabby. It’s from Marks and Spencer.’

‘Wool isn’t the right fabric for a wedding, dear.’ Sylvia plucks sadly at navy weave. ‘You should invest in some new clothes before everything drops. This is the decade when it all falls apart. Your bosom and … other areas. Do you know that educated women over the age of 35 are more likely to get shot by a terrorist –’

‘Yes, you’ve mentioned that statistic before,’ I say. ‘Many times. Frankly, I’m amazed you didn’t ice it into that offensive cake you made me for my 34th birthday.’

‘It wasn’t offensive,’ says Sylvia. ‘It was a Mary Berry recipe. And the fondant bride and groom were supposed to be inspiring. I wanted to show you that even though Chris was engaged to somebody else, you could still dream of your own big day.’

‘It’s too late now, Aunty Sylvia.’ My eyes wander to the front of the clearing and a wooden altar hung with fairy lights. ‘The plan was to marry before I turned 35. Which would still give me time to get pregnant without all the health risks. But Chris is marrying someone else. I’ll never love anyone the way I love him.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Sylvia grabs my arm. ‘You’re a beautiful girl with a stunning bosom and still young enough to fall madly in love again.’

‘But Chris was my first love –’

‘So? Come and meet this dentist. Lovely fellow. He was telling me that dental hoovers – you know the ones that suck out rotten, broken shards of teeth? Well, apparently, they’re very similar to my Dyson V15.’

CHAPTER2

I follow Sylvia to the back of the woodland clearing, where I see Aunt Caro, perched on a bumpy log, looking as uncomfortable as I feel. Aunt Caro is overweight, with a backside that doesn’t ask, but demands, extra space. She wears a white fedora, black suit, black tie and white shirt, and looks like a friendly mafia boss. One who doesn’t do her own torturing.

‘Good to see you, Aunt Caro.’ I manage a smile.

Aunt Caro is basically a fat version of my dead mother, which is always a comfort. She has the wild, black hair of a windswept gypsy, and the chapped hands of an overly-sanitised germaphobe.

‘How have you been keeping, Kat?’ Aunt Caro gives me slightly frantic, golden-brown eyes. ‘Regular doctor visits? Have you had your –’

‘Yes, I’m up to date with my scans.’

‘Move along, Caro.’ Sylvia makes urgent gestures with her white gloves. ‘I want Katerina to meet –’ Sylvia watches the clearing with narrowing eyes. ‘Where did the dentist go?’

‘He said something about haemorrhoids and finding a soft seat,’ says Aunt Caro.

Sylvia looks horrified. ‘You let him get away? He was single. You should have struck up a conversation –’

Some awful fairy tale castle music starts up, and Sylvia’s face takes on a delighted quality. ‘Oh! Isn’t that sweet? I think it’sDisney’sAladdin soundtrack. The ceremony must be starting. Quickly, Katerina. Sit down or they’ll think you’re objecting to the wedding.’

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