Page 59 of A Wedding in a Week

She’s quieter now. “I wish you’d told me, love. About wanting to do something different. You know I’ll help any way that I can, right?”

“You already have, which means I need to know what you’ve done with my shirts.”

“Why?” She answers her own question. “Oh my God. The bank got back to you? They want to see you?”

“Yes. Tomorrow, so I need a shirt to wear with my suit, only I can’t find the ironing basket. Have you got it?”

She draws out her answer, back to teasing. “Maybe.”

I mentally count backwards from ten, wondering if Dad ever regretted fighting so hard for her.

She gives in unusually fast. “I’ve got it, Stef. Couldn’t have you going out with more buttons missing, could I?” I can picture her grin. “I know you’re almost back to managing your own laundry, but I thought a needle and thread might be beyond you.”

My phone beeps again, this time telling me I’ve missed a call from Marc.

“Listen, Mum, I’ve got to go, but could you drop a shirt over later this evening?”

“Yes.”

My phone beeps again, Marc still trying to get through. I say goodbye to one person I care about and pick up a call from another.

“Hey.” He sounds so much better than earlier, lighter, and there’s even a hint of laughter in his voice prompted by something Hayden says in the background. I might have bristled at that earlier. I can’t now. Not while he’s helping to keep Marc in Cornwall long-term.

All I can do is be grateful. “Hey, yourself.” I turn to the window with its glimpse of the headland. I can’t see Hayden’s four-wheel drive parked there. “You on your way back?”

“Nope.” There’s another hint of that laughter. “We’ll be a while yet, but listen, I feel bad about keeping Hayden here so long. If you’ve had a chance to practice the presentation, could you grab something to eat and drink and walk it over to us?”

Join them?

“I’m on my way.”

“No hurry. In fact, give us another hour.” His tone softens, quietening as if this part of our conversation is private. “Because I know what you’re like.”

I sit on my bed, and Mum might have a fit about the state of the duvet cover, but I don’t see any creases. I just see one of Marc’s T-shirts, which is just as crumpled. It also has a tear, which is par for the course when it comes to farm work, being caught by a nail or barbed wire. I wedge my phone between my ear and shoulder and that hurts like a fucker, but I get to shake the T-shirt out and fold it. I also hear myself tutting and get an insight to my mother’s psyche, or to a strand of DNA we must share—I want to take care of this for Marc. I don’t know why that makes my voice pitch lower. “What do you mean, you know what I’m like?”

Marc doesn’t answer. Not right away. I listen to him breathe for a few beats, each inhale and exhale rising and falling like gulls must close by him. I hear their cries in the background, and closing my eyes means I’m on the headland with him, and that’s better than this distance. I hold my phone even closer. “Marc?”

“I mean, you’d march over right away and want to do all the work for me.” I’d refute that if he didn’t keep going. “I know you would because it’s what I want to do for you.” He clears his throat. “From the minute I saw the photos of the Land Rover. From the moment I saw you in pain. Every single day since I got here.” Gulls cry some more. I could too at him asking, “Let me, will you?”

He’s helped me so much already. I nod, and of course he can’t see that.

“Let me, Stef,” he almost whispers. Then he raises his voice, and I guess it’s so Hayden gets to hear him being grateful. “I mean, the tent’s already looking amazing, but Hayden’s helping me set up for the last photos. Give us an hour.”

“Okay.” I hedge a little. “I won’t come right away.”

He laughs. It’s with me, and somehow private, even though I also catch Hayden’s voice. It sounds close to Marc. Too close. Then Marc’s breathing registers again and I close my eyes again, seeing the slow smile that makes accepting help easier each time I do it. “In an hour, Stef,” he finally says. “With something to eat and drink, yeah? I’ll see you then?”

“Yes. Okay. What do you want me to bring?”

“Food-wise? Just something to stop Hayden’s stomach from rumbling.” I hear a deep laugh in the background, which is easier to take when Marc adds, “And mine. Bring the biscuit tin or a sandwich. Nothing fancy. No need for a full wedding menu.”

I hear his smile again then and picture him shoulder-to-shoulder with me on a straw bale, digging into the cool bag that I now head downstairs to re-fill for him.

“You know what I like, Stef,” he says before ringing off. “Surprise me.”

He ends the call, and, one-handed or not, I try my best to do that for him.

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