“Yes. OK, do that.”
I thrust down the receiver and return to the sofa, trying to look composed.
“Your mom’s clearly gotten involved in the wedding preparations,” says Michael with a smile.
“Oh, er… yes. She has.”
The phone starts to ring again and I ignore it.
“You know, I always meant to ask. Didn’t she mind about you getting married in the States?”
“No!” I say, twisting my fingers into a knot. “Why should she mind?”
“I know what mothers are like about weddings…”
“Sorry, love, just a quickie,” comes Mum’s voice again. “Janice was asking, how do you want the napkins folded? Like bishops’ hats or like swans?”
I grab the phone.
“Mum, listen. I’ve got company!”
“Please. Don’t worry about me,” says Michael from the sofa. “If it’s important—”
“It’s not important! I don’t give a shit what shape the napkins are in! I mean, they only look like a swan for about two seconds…”
“Becky!” exclaims Mum in shock. “How can you talk like that! Janice went on a napkin-arranging course especially for your wedding! It cost her forty-five pounds, and she had to take her own packed lunch—”
Remorse pours over me.
“Look, Mum, I’m sorry. I’m just a bit preoccupied. Let’s go for… bishops’ hats. And tell Janice I’m really grateful for all her help.” I put down the receiver just as the doorbell rings.
“Is Janice the wedding planner?” says Michael interestedly.
“Er… no. That’s Robyn.”
“You have mail!” pipes up the computer in the corner of the room.
This is getting to be too much.
“Excuse me, I’ll just get the door…”
I swing open the front door breathlessly, to see a delivery man holding a huge cardboard box.
“Parcel for Bloomwood,” he says. “Very fragile.”
“Thanks,” I say, awkwardly taking it from him.
“Sign here, please…” He hands me a pen, then sniffs. “Is something burning in your kitchen?”
Oh fuck. The Chinese herbs.
I dash into the kitchen and turn off the burner, then return to the man and take the pen. Now I can hear the phone ringing again. Why can’t everyone leave me alone?
“And here…”
I scribble on the line as best I can, and the delivery man squints suspiciously at it. “What does that say?”
“Bloomwood! It says Bloomwood!”
He puts down the phone and there’s a scary silence.
“Becky, what doesn’t your mom know?” he says at last.
“It… doesn’t matter.”
“I get the feeling it does.” He looks at me shrewdly. “I get the feeling something’s not right.”
“I… It’s nothing. Really…”