Page 55 of The Player

“Oh god,” Con whispers.

I snort. “Do you want to smoke a last cigarette?”

He groans. “Stop laughing. What am I going to do?”

“Relax, the show’s not until next week. The other flowers will have bushed out by then.”

“And your knowledge of gardening has come from where, Frankie?”

I nudge him. “Mr Samuels from next door. I always make him a cup of tea. His persistence in thinking that I could even raise a cactus is quite heart-warming.”

“It wouldn’t be quite as heart-warming if he knew you were the antichrist of the garden world.”

“Good morning.”

The bright voice behind us makes me jump, and Con instantly spreads out his arms, hoping to hide the crime scene behind him.

“L-Lucy,” he stutters, and I bite my lip hard to conceal a laugh.

“Con and Frankie. I’m looking forward to the wedding celebration very much. I thought I’d check on my flowers before I get changed for the party.”

Con gives a groan as if he’s tired and stretches his arms out even more to shield the damage. “I do like a good stretch, don’t you, Lucy?” She stares at him, and he carries on quickly, “You know, I’m sure I heard that Don wants to talk to you about the appropriate paint for the doors and windows on his shop.”

“Does he?” She gazes down the high street towards the innocent shop owner, who’s currently arranging a tray of strawberries, unaware of the carnage that Con has just brought down on him. He glances up, and Lucy waves. A look of terror crosses his face, and he offers something that looks like a wave but is more akin to raising a white flag and scurries back into his shop.

I shake my head at Con in disapproval, and he shrugs. “What?” he whispers. “It’s my wedding day. Someone else can take the pain today.”

Lucy turns back to us. “I’ll go and see him now. I’m sure I have a paint chart in my bag.” She looks us up and down. “You look very nice.” She tuts. “Your suit is a little creased though, Frankie, and Con, your corsage is looking rather thirsty.”

“Like its owner,” I offer helpfully. “I think Con might be laying off the booze though, Lucy. It makes him do foolish things.”

Con makes a hissing noise that makes me want to laugh, and I offer her a very wide smile instead. She stares at us suspiciously for a few seconds and then obviously dismisses our strange behaviour. “Well, that is good to hear, Con. No one likes silly behaviour, after all.”

“No,” I say in an angelic tone of voice. “I’m training him. We’ll get there eventually.”

She nods approvingly, and with a final dubious look at us, she moves away down the high street. I hear her say, “Dorothy, may I have a word about the state of your shop window, please?” and l lose the battle against laughter.

Con shoves me, making me laugh harder, and then sniffs. “Twat,” he says, and taking my hand, he steers me down the street.

When we get to the stone steps leading to the hotel’s front door, we pause to talk to the crowd of close friends who are attending the wedding. They’re wearing bright clothes, the dresses and hats fluttering in the summer breeze.

I look up at the hotel. It’s a huge old coaching inn from the seventeenth century and immaculately kept. We’ve spent a lot of happy evenings eating and drinking here, so it felt like the perfect place to get married. I love that whenever I walk past it I’ll be able to remember our wedding.

I open my mouth to greet George, who’s waiting for us at the door, but then I’m blinded by a haze of pink and yellow confetti. “Fucking hell,” I mutter as I pick the tiny bits of paper out of my mouth. “Warn a bloke, George.”

He chuckles. “I’m starting as I mean to go on. I love weddings. Congratulations, boys.”

I grin. “Looking spiffy.” He’s wearing a navy blue suit with a bright pink tie. I eye the parrot on his shoulder warily. “I’m not sure about your accessorising though. You look like a rather smart pirate.”

“Pirate,” Hank Marvin croaks, lifting his head up as though scenting blood—my blood, probably. “Pieces of eight. Ahoy ahoy, you fucking pirate.”

“Oh my god, George,” I groan. “Is Joan really insistent on that bird being at our wedding ceremony?”

He nods. “She says he’d be sad if we left him out.”

“I’m sure he’d get on with his life eventually.” Con and George stare at me, and I sigh. “What a wonderful thought, George.”

He grins and grabs Con in a hug. Hank Marvin instantly slides along his shoulder, cooing and rubbing his head against Con. The bird starts to hum “The Lightning Tree,” and I give up.

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