Page 7 of The Wedding Cake Wish
‘Fine?Fine?’ She throws up her hands in despair. ‘Idon’t know, Fen. I work my fingers to the bone to make your wedding the mostspecial day ever and all you can say is “it’s fine”?’ To my horror, I see thesparkle of tears in her eyes.
‘Oh, Mum.’ My heart goes out to her. ‘Just because we havedifferent ideas about what makes a good wedding doesn’t mean I don’t reallyappreciate all the effort you’re going to. I know you just want to give me themost wonderful day ever.’
She swallows. ‘I do, love. I really do. Your father and Ihad quite a modest wedding, as you know. And I always said I’d spare no expenseto give my one and only daughter the wedding of her dreams.’
We finish stacking the dishwasher and I turn it on. Then wego back through to the drawing room, where Mum walks to the window and staresout.
I go over and join her, and we stand there, looking at themoonlit view of the expanse of lawn, edged by the five magnificent horsechestnut trees, and out across the acres of sweeping parkland beyond. Withoutturning, Mum takes my hand and squeezes it.
‘We’re so lucky to have this place, aren’t we? To actuallylive here,’ I murmur. ‘And it will make the most incredible backdrop for thewedding photos.’
She nods vaguely.
‘Imagine if it’s a sunny day,’ I continue, wanting to cheerher up. ‘It’ll be absolutely stunning with the autumn colours, won’t it?’
‘Hmm. I’m wondering about that tree,’ she murmursdistractedly.
I turn, puzzled. ‘Which tree?’
‘That one.’ She lets go of my hand and points to the treejust a few yards from the main door. It’s a gloriously majestic old oak, andit’s been growing at the edge of the lawn probably since the house was builtback in the eighteenth century. My brother Richard and I spent many a happyhour as kids, playing on an old tyre Dad rigged up as a swing in itswonderfully sturdy branches.
‘Whataboutthe oak tree?’ I ask nervously.
She sighs. ‘Well, it’ll get in the way of the photos, won’tit? It’s not in the right place. I’m thinking we should have it chopped down.’
I stare at her in shock, but before I have a chance torespond, she whisks away, and I hear her opening the heavy front door,presumably off to examine the impertinently positioned tree in question.
Horror at what she’s suggesting lends my feet wings, and Irun out after her.
‘Mum, you arenotchopping that tree down! Iabsolutely forbid it.’ I insinuate myself between her and the tree, holding myarms wide. ‘And if you care about me at all, you’ll listen to what I’m saying.I will have my wedding at the localcommunity centrebefore I allow youto chop this beautiful old oak tree down. In fact, to be honest, I’d book thecommunity centre in a flash if it wasn’t for the fact that we’ve got the manorand it’s so beautiful here.’ I glare at her, hands on hips, tears ofexasperation pricking my eyes. ‘Especially with this oak tree that’s beenstandinghere for more than two hundred years!’
She stares at me in astonishment. Then she laughs. ‘Dear me,it was only a suggestion, Fen. There’s no need to go all Swampy on me. Thecommunitycentre, indeed!’
‘Swampy?’
‘A tree-hugging environmental protestor. Before your time.’She waves her hand dismissively. ‘But anyway, I won’t touch that tree if youdon’t want me to. I didn’t realise you were so passionate about it.’ And withoutanother word, she marches back inside.
I stand there in the moonlight for a while, allowing thesoft evening breeze on my face and the scent of freshly-mown grass to ease myfrazzled nerves.
I love my mother very much, but she’s so different to me Isometimes find her hard to understand. She’s clever, outwardly confident, kindand brilliant, and as a kid, I was in awe of how she could work a room,chatting as easily to a viscount as she would to the pizza delivery boy. I sowanted to be like her, because I was painfully shy and awkward around people Ididn’t know.
She’s never been a hands-on sort of a mum, free with thecuddles and the expressions of love. I’ve always wished she’d be more open...thatwe could have proper chats about real things, like I know other mothers anddaughters do. Ellie and Rose are so close, and although Rose’s dementia ischallenging for Ellie, they’re still like best friends, as well as mum anddaughter.
They’ve drawn even closer because of the things they’ve gonethrough recently – from the shock of Rose’s diagnosis to marriage happiness forboth of them.
I was secretly hoping my wedding would bring Mum and mecloser.
But with emotions stirring in both of us – placing even moreemphasis on our differences – I’m starting to think it will be a miracle if wemake it to the Big Day without everything unravelling...
I go inside, where I find Mum on her laptop in the drawingroom, the TV on in the background. She’s checking over the guest list, which wouldrival a royal wedding for the vast number of people she’s intending to invite.I told her right at the start that I’d prefer a smallish, more intimatewedding, but when I suggested she might pare down the list, she just looked atme with a puzzled expression and said, ‘Fen, I wish you would stop worryingabout the expense.’ She took my hand and smiled. ‘You wouldn’t be my daughterif you didn’t, of course, but don’t worry. Your father and I have been savingfor this ever since you were three, so we can really afford to push the boatout on your Big Day.’
‘It wasn’t the cost I was worried about,’ I protested. ‘Imean, obviously the cost is a factor. But – ’
‘Fen, I said don’t worry. It’s all in hand.’ And she sweptout before I had a chance to press her further on the subject. Leaving me topick up the list and wonder who the hell half these people even were...
She looks up from her laptop and smiles. ‘Don’t worry. I’mnot looking up tree surgeons. Your oak tree is safe.’
‘Thank goodness. Cup of tea for the wedding plannerextraordinaire?’
