Page 64 of A Wedding in a Week

“No buts. You did it. You did. So I know you can do anything. You could even set up your own enterprise practice on the farm if you wanted.”

I know it isn’t that easy. He needs his MBA to have credibility, and experience to be trusted. More importantly, working with this practice is what his heart is set on. He wants this job—this network—and lately I’m starting to see the positives of having more people in my life, not less, so of course I want that for him as well.And if this job really doesn’t pan out for him? That’s a problem for tomorrow, because if farming’s taught me anything, it’s not to borrow trouble. Instead I make another promise. “So it doesn’t matter if today doesn’t go according to plan—”

Marc finishes my sentence.

“You’ve got me.” That isn’t a question. It’s only what I promised below the same tall oak I guess we both must picture. He doesn’t wait for an answer. He also kisses me far too quickly. “But I’ve still got to get the job. I’ve got to.”

I guess that’s due to its earning potential, and if we had more time, I’d tell him how everything important to me this week has cost me nothing, that money might make the world go around for some people but mine turns for different heart–related reasons, but he’s gone.

The door slams, Marc leaving the Land Rover in a hurry, and so what if I almost drop my laptop while jogging to catch up with him?

Marc’s back on track, fired up and powering towards what he’s set his heart on, and that’s so much better than his nerves and what-ifs.

We’re back in step, our strides almost matching, his only faltering across the street from the enterprise centre, and he wasn’t kidding—its plate-glass windows mean we both see his competition.

Three strangers wait to fight for the same spot as him. They’re business-like and slick in grey suits. Sharks, I decide for no other reason than they aren’t the man beside me.

Marc doesn’t head across to join them. He walks me to the bank first. I don’t need him to carry my laptop as well as his, but Marc takes it regardless. I guess why when the fingers of our free hands brush on the way there, and I need that contact when the bank looms ahead and my own nerves take a turn to kick in.

He stops by a statue where pigeons perch. They also flutter like my heart does. “Okay?”

I nod, but I’m not okay. Not even a little. I can’t speak either. Every word of a presentation that I could recite in my sleep yesterday is gone, my head completely empty.

Marc points to a bench below the statue. “Want to wait for me here when you’re finished?”

I nod again, still voiceless.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be.” He looks over his shoulder to where his goldfish bowl full of sharks waits, nerves clear when he looks back, and just like that I can speak again with no problem, and apparently with no control either.

“It doesn’t matter how long you take,” spills out first, quickly followed by, “I’ve had a lot of practice at waiting for you. Turns out it’s what I’m built for.”

Traffic passes as well as tourists. I don’t see any of them when Marc smiles.

He also draws in one of those long, slow breaths Dad taught him. I exhale with him, feeling better—steady enough that I can nod and mean it after he asks, “You ready?”

I nod again. I am ready.

“Remember your buzz words?”

“Rural regeneration,” I parrot. “Local employment.” Facts and figures also flood back. I know my pitch inside out, and I’m dressed for success like my brother would have ordered, which reminds me to set my phone to silent so Lukas can’t ping me with ill-timed bullshit.

Marc does the same, pocketing his phone and starting to back off. “Smash it,” he tells me while leaving.

And me?

I’ve never tried harder.

* * *

I’m glad of that bench below the statue after my meeting.

I sit heavily enough that a few pigeons take flight, startled maybe by me buckling, only I don’t drop under the weight of having to carry a whole farm. It’s relief that I didn’t get a flat no. I didn’t get an outright yes either, but I only got halfway through my pitch when the business banking manager started running calculations.That never happens because I haven’t got past a computer-says-no hurdle until now.

Those buzzwords did it. I’ve said rural regeneration and local employment so many times the words stopped making sense even while that business manager nodded. He nodded even more at my links to grants and government departments charged with driving local business.

That’s got to be good, right?

The pigeons return, cooing like they agree while tourists chatter and more traffic passes. It’s all a blur until a child’s voice registers.

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