Page 78 of A Wedding in Tuscany

‘Oh!’ I look at Jaelee, panicked. ‘What are we gonna put it on?’ I ask. ‘We can’t serve it out of the box.’ Or can we?

‘This.’ She crosses the short distance to the other side of the kitchen and holds up an ornate ceramic platter. It’s large enough, though I’m not sure what farmers working the fields have to do with a wedding. Hmm, I suppose all but one horse will be covered by the ‘cake’.

‘Perfect,’ says Cat, putting things into perspective. ‘Now can I borrow you?’ she says to me.

‘Oh, right, yes. What’s up?’

‘My hair?well, maybe?that’s what I wanted to get your thoughts on. Up or down?’

‘Up, definitely,’ I say right as Jaelee says, ‘Down.’

Cat’s eyes flick between us. ‘Sorry, Jae,’ she says. ‘You’re out numbered. I’m going with up.’

‘Then why did you ask?’

Cat shrugs. ‘Just getting a sense check. Right, off to wash my hair.’ She leaves and I notice a flicker of sourness cross Jaelee’s face. She’s probably used to her opinions having more sway.

‘So, what time are the caterers coming?’ I ask, trying to lighten the mood?well, her mood.

‘Four. Let’s finish with the flowers, then I’ll head back to the Airbnb to get ready.’

‘Sarah! Sarah!’ Mum’s voice rings out frantically. I pull the front door to the apartment shut with a bang and Jaelee and I rush to the staircase that leads to the loft. My parents are halfway up, Dad grimacing in pain and Mum looking stricken. ‘There you are. I’ve been calling you for ages.’

‘Sorry, Mum,’ I say as I clamber up the steep stairs. ‘Dad, what happened? Are you okay?’

‘He’s clearly not, Sarah.’ Mum gets extra pissy when she’s worried. ‘He’s twisted his ankle.’

‘I’ll get some ice,’ Jaelee says.

‘What happened?’ I ask.

‘Oh, you know, love. Just walking up the stairs, tripped and slid down several steps, then tried to right myself.’

I’m trying to remember my first aid?should we be taking his shoe off or leaving it on? ‘Well, do something,’ says Mum frantically. Karen Parsons?cool in a crisis except when that crisis is a hurt hubby. How to help someone with a twisted ankle suddenly pops into my head.

‘Right, Dad, we’re going to need to get you down into the apartment so we can take off your shoe and elevate your foot.’

‘I’ve brought ice,’ says Jaelee, breathless, from behind me.

‘Great, ta. Bring it with you, ’cause we’re going back to the apartment. Come on, Dad, I’ll help you stand.’ It’s an awkward manoeuvre on a thousand-year-old staircase (okay, it may not be that old) but Mum and I help Dad up. We take it slow so we don’t end up down the bottom, the three of us in a heap, and Jaelee goes on ahead to open the door for us.

Minutes later, Dad’s shoe is off, his foot is resting on a chair, and I’m strapping it with a bandage from my first aid kit. When I’ve finished wrapping his ankle, I secure the bandage with a clip and rest Jaelee’s homemade icepack on the injured joint.

‘Here, darling,’ says Mum, handing him two ibuprofen and a bottle of water.

‘Thanks, love.’

Just then, Cat comes into the kitchen, wearing a bathrobe, her hair wrapped up in a towel. ‘Oh, my god, Dad. What happened? Are you okay?’

Dad laughs in that self-deprecating way he has. ‘Just a little tumble, love. Should be right soon.’ He shifts slightly, then winces.

‘If it’s not broken,’ says Jaelee. All heads swivel in her direction and she retorts defensively with, ‘I’m just saying.’

‘She’s right,’ says Mum. Jaelee is only voicing what the rest of us must be thinking, but it’s a Saturday, only a few hours before Cat’s wedding, and I’m sure that none of us want to head to the nearest emergency room.

‘What about Anders?’ says Cat. ‘He could come and have a look, see if he thinks it’s broken.’

‘Isn’t he a vet?’ asks Jaelee.

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