Page 117 of Next Time I Fall (Excess All Areas 2)

“Then we best get a wiggle on over to Nan’s,” Jase said. “For all we know, he might already be there.”

Getting a wiggle on meant banging on Ben’s door so Alex, Ben, and a cute brunette called Chaya could join them.

“I’ve performed piano in front of two thousand people at the Palace Theatre, but I’ve never felt this nervous,” Cerys said, certain her palm was sweating in Jase’s as they walked with Alex towards his nan’s house.

“You’ll be fine. She’ll love you. Boddington, her cat, won’t. He’s a dick and hates everyone. But Nan will. It’s not a big deal.”

“Nan’s making a big deal, though,” Alex warned from behind them. “We don’t all normally come on a Sunday.”

“What do you mean?” Cerys looked over her shoulder at him.

“Nan borrowed Cousin Allan’s pasting tables.” Alex said it with a sombre nod.

“Pasting tables?”

Jase squeezed her hand, which was reassuring until he muttered an expletive under his breath. “Pasting tables. Those long tables decorators use to apply wallpaper paste to wallpaper. Nan’s house is a shoebox. Her table sits four. But when she wants to do what she calls a ‘fancy do’, she ...”

“She what, Jase?”

“She invites the whole family.”

“Whole family?”

“Yep. ‘Fancy do’ is the DEFCON One of her catering levels. Level five, also known as ‘the cheat tea’, is eating on your lap in front of the telly. The cheat part is not sitting at the table. The ‘quick tea’, level four, is eating at the kitchen table. A ‘nice tea’, level three, means sitting at the square table in the corner of the living room. It involves placemats. Level two is where it gets posher and involves tablecloths. It’s the ‘buffet’, a finger food affair with a home cooked ham, homemade pickled onions, and a trifle. And level one, the ‘fancy do’ is the pasting table, usually reserved for Christmas Day and funerals.”

“And meeting serious girlfriends, apparently,” Alex chipped in less than helpfully. “Mum took the four chairs from our table this morning.”

Cerys felt her stomach churn again. “So, how many will be there?”

“About twenty is my guess,” Ben supplied cheerfully. “The band, four—or five if Luke makes it—you, six; Iz, seven; Chaya, eight; Mum and Dad, ten; Uncle Allan with any number of his lot, and Gerry, that bloke Nan’s been seeing. But twenty is my guess, because you can squeeze ten people around a single pasting table, and she borrowed two.”

Cerys stopped walking and took a deep breath. “I’m going to hyperventilate.”

Jase rubbed her back. “You’re not. It’s fine.”

“I’ve only got flowers for your Nan, though. I should have got some for your mum, Alex.”

“In fairness, that bouquet you got for Nan is likely the biggest she’s ever seen. She’ll probably split it with Mum anyway because she won’t have enough vases.”

Cerys looked up at Jase. “Is it too much?”

Jase grinned. “Babe, I told you that when you were buying it. But you were the one who insisted on getting Chaya’s friend, Grace, at The Outhouse Florist to make her a custom bouquet when she’d have loved a bunch of carnations from the petrol station just as much.”

She placed her hand on her forehead. “I’ve got a fever. We should go home.”

Jase playfully smacked her hand away. “You do not have a fever. We aren’t going home. You’re going to meet my nan and she’s going to love you.”

Ben threw an arm around her shoulder. “She will. Because you could be the first to carry one of the great-grandchildren she wants more than a night with Daniel Craig.”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him. “Great-grandchildren?”

Jase laughed and looked at Ben. “Cerys does this thing when she’s nervous, repeats two or three of the words you just said. Adorable, really. Usually does it when she’s hanging out with Little Jase.”

Ben smiled. “She’s cute.”

“She’s still here,” Cerys said, indignantly. “And enough with the Little Jase.”

“Babe. You can never get enough Little Jase. You told me this morning when—”

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