Page 28 of Husband Material
“I was…I was wondering if you had any contacts who could get us…get us a nice place for a wedding at literally no notice? We were thinking maybe a park or a house with a garden? If you can’t, that’s fine.”
“No, no, that seems like it should be pretty straightforward. After all, what’s the point of being famous if you can’t help out your own family?”
This was worryingly easy.Suspiciouslyeasy. “And we need to know as soon as possible because it’s this weekend and we need to work out how to get everybody to the new venue.”
“I said I have it covered, Luc.” Technically he hadn’t said anything of the sort. “Trust me.”
And for a moment, against all the odds and against all evidence, I did. “Thanks.”
“Leave it to me,” he said. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
And then he was gone.
Honestly, the whole thing started to feel unreal three seconds after he’d hung up. Partly it was just the image my dad worked so hard to project. That larger-than-life sense of magic and wonder, like he was a grizzled angel from rock heaven who you’d be lucky to have touch your life for an instant before he moved on. And it was partly that I knew from experience that relying on Jon Fleming to do anything for anybody not named Jon Fleming was a complete sucker’s game.
I buzzed the buzzer, and Bridge let me up to the flat where I gave her the good news.
“You don’t seem very excited,” observed Liz.
“I know.” I sat down on the sofa. “It’s…it’s—”
“He has a complicated relationship with his father,” explained Bridget. “Which is why it was so sweet to reach out to him for us.”
“It’ll probably not come to anything,” I told them. “He’s not exactly reliable.”
But that didn’t stop me hoping. And hoping didn’t stop me being surprised when, three hours later, my phone rang.
Except it wasn’t my dad; it was my mum.
“I just wanted to find out how it went with your father,” she said.
“About how you’d expect.” I tucked the phone against my shoulder and mouthed “It’s my mother” to the room before putting it back to my ear.
“The thing is, mon caneton, after you called, I spoke to Judy and she said that if your father couldn’t help you or if you—um, well—if you wanted to tell him to go and fuck himself, then you could have the wedding in her garden.”
I shouldered her again. “Wedohave a backup, Bridge,” I relayed. “Apparently you can have the wedding in Mum’s friend’s garden.”
“I heard that,” said Mum from shoulder height, “and I will have you know it is a very nice garden.”
“Apparently it’s a very nice garden,” I clarified.
“Luc, I think you are being very dismissive of Judy’s lovely garden.”
I scooped the phone back to my ear. “Sorry, Mum, it’s been a long day, and a long few days, and while I’m sure Judy’s garden is lovely, I really want this to be special for Bridge.”
“Just have a look on the internet and see if you would like it.”
It was the least I could do. “Tom,” I said, “can you grab the laptop and Google something for me?”
Tom obligingly opened up a browser.
“Is she on Facebook or something?” I asked. It seemed improbable, but then again everybody was on some kind of social media these days.
“No, they have a proper website. Well, English Heritage does.”
I made an I’m-not-sure-I-heard-that-correctly noise. “English Heritage?”
“Pfaffle Court is a very old building. According to Judy, the hedge maze goes back to the Restoration.”
