in time-honoured before-the-wedding tradition so Hannah was happy to bunk in Nan’s narrow cottage in Rotten Row, a terrace of cottages edging one side of the three-legged junction named The Cross, hat-like dormer windows snuggled into tiled roofs.
‘It’s great to be back!’ Hannah kept declaring, and was happy to be asked to run errands because it gave her an excuse to tour the village. When sent to buy extra pins because Mo was sure the florist wouldn’t bring enough for the buttonhole flowers she took a long way round to the shop, Booze & News, marking off the familiar landmarks: Angel Café, the school, the playing fields and village hall, The Three Fishes pub – already lit up for Christmas and a sleigh and reindeer galloping over the roof. The red-brick terraces and stone cottages were comfortingly familiar with garden walls and picket fences. Roadside trees had shaken off their leaves as if to make room for the Christmas lights that would soon appear.
At the shop, she listened to Melanie behind the counter earning her nickname of Village Updates. When she finally got away, she collected Nan and they ambled arm in arm to Mo and Jeremy’s detached pebbledash house up Main Road, opposite the Bankside Estate, for the gathering of the clan.
By evening the house was bursting with friends and relatives scoffing Mo’s sandwiches and Jeremy’s home-brewed beer. Hannah caught up with aunties, uncles, cousins and friends and everyone talked endlessly about the wedding.
Jeremy press-ganged people into the garage to admire ‘The Bus’, the 1957 split screen VW camper van that he’d finally finished restoring. ‘She’s going to take Mo and me all over Europe.’ Proudly, he ran his fingertips over the paintwork in the original colours of palm green and sand green. Hannah thought it looked like strong pea soup and weak pea soup but didn’t hurt his feelings by saying so.
It wasn’t until late, when Hannah and Nan strolled back to Nan’s little cottage that Hannah mentioned an absentee from the celebrations. ‘Sorry to hear you and Brett have parted ways, Nan.’ She gave a gentle squeeze to the shoulders of her tiny, shuffling grandmother. ‘I thought you were an item.’
‘Yes.’ Nan sighed and tip-tapped her stick past a frosty hedge. ‘He proposed.’
Hannah halted stock still. ‘Proposed?’
Nan pulled her collar closer against the chilly air. ‘But he wanted me to sign a prenup.’ Indignation rang in her voice.
‘Oh.’ Hannah turned this over as they crossed the forecourt of the village garage, MAR Motors. ‘Because his family owns a farm? He’d have to be sure he was being fair to them.’
Nan snorted. ‘How can you begin a marriage by acknowledging your husband-to-be doesn’t trust you?’ Stiffly, she rounded the final corner past the shop and unlocked the door on the side of her house. They stepped into the kitchen. Beyond lay the lounge, dining room and a tiny hall from which the stairs led.
Shutting the door and relishing the warmth, chilled by the slow walk, Hannah hunted for positives. ‘But you and Brett liked each other. Couldn’t you carry on without getting married?’
‘Trust’s gone. You need trust,’ Nan said simply. ‘Don’t you trust Albin?’
Hannah hedged. ‘I’ve never asked myself that question.’ And now she did, she wasn’t sure of the answer.
On Saturday, Mo was on the phone by eight a.m., checking Hannah would be ready when Jeremy called to run her to the hotel to get ready with the rest of the bridesmaids.
‘Yes, Mum,’ Hannah replied soothingly. ‘And I’ll have had breakfast, and I’ve got my wedding undies and overnight bag and I won’t be snitty with Amanda Louise.’
Her mum laughed. ‘Our Rob’s nervous and it’s spreading to us all.’
At the appointed hour, Hannah kissed Nan and got her coat. ‘I’ll see you there.’
Nan looked over her copy of My Weekly, blinking through her glasses. ‘Yes, I’ll go up in the wedding car with your mum later.’ She returned to the latest serial.
The morning proved to be fun. Leesa’s friends Zara and Francie, a hairdresser and beautician respectively, were doing bride and bridesmaids’ hair and make-up in the bridal suite. Hannah stashed her overnight things in her room then joined the beautifying production line.
Even Amanda Louise was all smiles. ‘There’s this hot guy here. I overheard him talking about the wedding so he’s probably a guest. If so, I saw him first, girls!’
Jemima’s husband brought the smaller bridesmaids, Saffi and Raya, to have their hair woven into French plaits; the hotel delivered a brunch of fruit and pastries