The Accidental Honeymoon Page 16

  ‘The thing is,’ Jacks starts, ‘I paid the guy who runs the wheel to stop it when we got to the top, so that Georgie would think we’d broken down up there. The sun was just setting when we got to the top – the view was absolutely stunning – and then we ground to a halt. Soon as Georgie thought we were stuck up there, that was it, she started freaking out. It was kind of cute really, she just clung to me, as though I’d be able to do anything if we were to crash to the ground.’

  ‘I guess I didn’t realise I was scared of heights until we were stuck up there,’ I say, in my own fake defence.

  Everyone at the dinner table is captivated by Jack’s story. He really knows how to command the attention of a room and work a crowd.

  ‘So the guy who works the wheel grabs his megaphone and shouts up, “Sorry guys, we’re having some technical difficulties – it might be a while.” My plan was to sit and admire the view, talk, then pop the question… but Georgie was absolutely petrified, so I interrupted her panic attack to ask her to marry me.’

  ‘Suddenly, I didn’t care about being stuck eighty-five feet in the air,’ I say. ‘I was on top of the world – literally.’

  ‘Aww, isn’t that sweet,’ my mum gushes.

  ‘Like something out of a movie,’ Fliss adds, sounding almost annoyed.

  I glance down under the table to see Jack offering me his hand for a low-key high-five. I gently tap his hand victoriously because, for an ad-lib, that was pretty good.

  We all chat among ourselves, to the people closest to us at the table, until our starters are done. I’m not really the biggest fan of prawns but I’ve made a real effort to eat as much as possible, because I’m so scared of offending the hosts.

  One of the servers comes in, closely followed by a tall, slim young woman with waist-length dark hair. She’s wearing a long, black cocktail dress and her cheeks are so deeply contoured, she looks unwell.

  The server whispers into Fliss’s ear, causing her instant, visible distress.

  ‘Oh my God, why is this happening?’ she says, massaging her temples for a second before picking up her glass of champagne and knocking it back.

  ‘Everything OK, dear?’ my Auntie Di asks.

  ‘This is Elspeth, she’s a singer,’ Fliss tells the room. ‘I’d arranged entertainment for tonight, but the piano player has broken a tooth and he’s had to go to the dentist. So, we can’t really have a singer without music, so the entertainment is ruined.’

  With every word, Fliss gets more and more hysterical.

  ‘We don’t need music,’ Darren, Dougie’s dad, says, batting his hand. ‘No offence, flower.’

  Elspeth remains emotion-neutral throughout all of this.

  ‘Fliss, you’re forgetting something,’ my Auntie Di chimes in. ‘You’ve already got a professional pianist sitting at this very table.’

  Everyone turns to Jack expectantly, as though he’ll just crack his knuckles and get right on it. Perhaps a real professional would.

  I look over at Jack who, thus far, has been a great ad-libber, but even he looks concerned. I got lucky with his dance skills, but it doesn’t look like playing the piano is in his repertoire.

  ‘He’s a guest,’ I remind them.

  ‘But he’s a professional pianist,’ Di insists. ‘It would be such a treat.’

  ‘We can’t expect him to play while we’re eating dinner,’ I say, panic starting to prick my throat.

  ‘Why not?’ Fliss asks. ‘We’re between courses.’

  ‘Well, we’re not asking Dougie to wash our cars,’ I point out.

  Looking over at Fliss, I can see all her tells that indicate an imminent tantrum. Her nostrils flare, her lips are pursed and her eyes appear both dead and all-seeing.

  ‘That’s different,’ Dougie jumps to his wife-to-be’s defence. ‘Anyway, I don’t wash the cars. You know that.’

  God forbid anyone might wrongly believe he does any work.

  ‘If my mum had a heart attack and Jack was a doctor, would you tell him not to help?’ Fliss asks me angrily.

  Now doesn’t seem like the time to joke: ‘Maybe.’

  ‘It’s a pianist emergency,’ Fliss insists.

  So those are a thing.

  ‘It’s, er…’ Jack laughs for a split second. ‘It’s OK, I’ll play something.’

  He stands up confidently and walks over to the piano.

  Hot on his heels, I let him sit down before wrapping my arms around him from behind, whispering into his ear.

  ‘Can you actually play piano?’ I ask.

  ‘Nope,’ he replies. ‘Well, I can play the right hand of the Indiana Jones theme, but I’m not sure Elspeth has lyrics to that. I was hoping you’d have an idea.’

  Speaking of the devil, Elspeth hands Jack a sheet of music for ‘Hello’ by Adele.

  ‘So, you can’t read this?’

  ‘Nope,’ he whispers back, arranging the sheets at the grand piano in front of him.

  I mean, this isn’t exactly ‘Clair de lune’, but if you can’t read music, you can’t read music.

  ‘One of us needs to think of something,’ he says quietly through gritted teeth.

  I wrack my brains for a way out of this situation. The fact that I spent so long insisting Jack shouldn’t be expected to play the piano is going to make things a thousand times worse when people find out he can’t play. We’ll both be exposed as frauds.

  I could make a scene maybe? Although that would land me in everyone’s bad books, too, ruining this lovely dinner party because I’m jealous my cousin is getting married first, or some crap like that. I could start a fire? No, that’s arson, and that’s frowned upon by everyone, not just my auntie. I could hurt his hands…

  ‘How much would I have to pay you to let me break one of your fingers?’ I ask, a fake smile plastered firmly across my face.

  ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ he asks as quietly as possible, his face falling for a second.

  Damn it, he’s right. Of course I can’t break his fingers. I could pretend, though.

  ‘I’m going to knock the lid down, just scream in pain,’ I whisper.

  ‘What?’ Jack asks, confused, but it’s too late, I’m already doing it.

  The lid slams down with a bang, covering the keys. It takes Jack a few seconds to process my request before he belatedly, and pathetically, cries out in pain.

  ‘Ahh, my fingers,’ he wails. ‘It trapped my fingers.’

  ‘Go run them under some cold water,’ I demand.

  ‘What… what happened?’ Fliss asks, puzzled. ‘Did you do that?’

  ‘I knocked it,’ I lie. ‘I’m so clumsy since I went blonde.’

  I exhale deeply, satisfied we just dodged another bullet. People might not think we’re liars, but they definitely think we’re weird.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  If I’m being honest, the last thing I want to do today is trek to some old people’s home to meet Jack’s random great auntie – whom even he has never met. I can see why he wants to, though, if he doesn’t really have any family left, and he’s temporarily in a country where he has a relative just an hour or so away.

  Now we’re on the road, I’m actually pleased I agreed to come because not only is it a glorious day, but Jack has hired a pretty sweet convertible Mercedes to drive there in. If that weren’t lovely enough, it’s just nice to have a little time off from keeping up the act. Who knew it could be so hard to live a lie? My ex managed it just fine.

  ‘Yorkshire is beautiful,’ Jack says with a sigh as he glances around outside the car.

  ‘It’s no Lancashire,’ I insist defensively, unsure whether or not I should explain the rivalry the neighbouring counties have shared throughout history. I’ll probably give it a miss.

  Rivalry aside, Yorkshire is beautiful. The fields are green, the sun is shining and the sky is so blue. It really is a glorious summer.

  ‘We’re nearly there,’ Jack tells me, glancing at the satnav app on his phone. ‘Then you can let go of
your hair.’

  It’s true, I’ve had my hands on the sides of my head pretty much this whole time. Convertibles and long flowing hair don’t mix.

  ‘It’s this fake hair,’ I tell him. ‘It’s so hard to take care of. I can’t afford to get windswept, I’ll never get a brush through it.’

  I have to admit, in my head, old people’s homes are horrible, hospital-like places, but the place where Jack’s auntie lives is lovely. It’s a large, old building with ivy growing up the sides. It’s situated in large grounds – they’ve even got a lake.

  ‘So, your auntie doesn’t know you’re coming?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m not even sure she knows I exist,’ he laughs. ‘My mum used to tell me all about my Great Aunt Mavis. How so very English she was – my mum said she spoke like the Queen of England. She lived through the Second World War. I don’t really know if she has any family, so I guess that’s why I want to meet her. Just show her I exist.’

  ‘That’s sweet,’ I reply. ‘How did you find her?’

  ‘When you went out the other night I started searching for old folks’ homes in Yorkshire, I called a few up. I didn’t think they’d tell me if a person was or wasn’t there, so I pushed my luck, called each one and said I was Mrs Bonneville’s nephew and what time was visiting. I did that until I got lucky. I mean, that’s a pretty rare name, right? Gotta be her.’

  ‘You’re like this master of deception,’ I tell him, astonished. ‘I don’t know if I’m impressed or scared.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jack says, bowing his head gracefully before getting out of the car.

  Once we’re inside I take a step back as Jack approaches the front desk.

  ‘Hello, I’m Mavis Bonneville’s nephew,’ he says brightly.

  ‘Just a sec, love,’ the woman replies as she frantically sorts through papers. ‘This is my first week, I’m in a bit of a flap, you know?’

  Jack pulls a face which leads me to believe he probably doesn’t know what a ‘flap’ is.

  ‘Sure,’ he replies.

  ‘Right, sorry, what was that name. I’ll look up the apartment for you.’

  ‘Bonneville,’ Jack says as clearly as possible.

  ‘Mrs Bonneville, here we go,’ she says victoriously.

  The frazzled receptionist gives us directions to the floor we need to be on, and how to find Auntie Mavis’s apartment.

  I thought this place was your typical old people’s home, but it’s actually a beautiful old building that has been converted into flats for the elderly. A quick glance at one of their leaflets tells me there are different levels of support available. Some people living here need round-the-clock care, some can’t afford to live in their homes any more, whereas others just move here to be around other people their age with similar interests. It’s more like a retirement community, really.

  Once we get to Auntie Mavis’s room we ring the bell, but there’s no answer.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Jack says, flagging down a nurse. ‘I’m here to see my auntie, do you know where she is?’

  ‘If she’s not in her room and she hasn’t signed out of the building, she might in the social room,’ the nurse says helpfully. ‘Just down there.’

  As we follow the nurse’s directions, something occurs to me.

  ‘Jack, how are you going to know which lady is your auntie?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, I was wondering that,’ he laughs. ‘Family resemblance maybe?’

  ‘So we’re looking for a hench old lady with dimples,’ I joke.

  The social room is large and full of everything you’d expect. The mismatched armchairs littering the room are almost all occupied by residents and visitors. Activities include board games, watching TV and there’s a library of books that could make me consider moving here.

  As Jack approaches ladies and asks them if they’re Mrs Bonneville, I can’t help but wonder if there’s maybe something a little sketchy about his approach. I know all he wants is it connect with a member of his family, but to a spectator, this might come across as odd.

  ‘I’m looking for a Mrs Bonneville,’ Jack says politely to two old dears sitting on a sofa, drinking tea together.

  ‘I’m Mrs Bonneville,’ one of the ladies says brightly, setting her teacup down on its saucer delicately.

  ‘Oh,’ Jack says quietly, before his voice picks up with excitement. ‘My name is Jack, I’m your great nephew. I’m not even sure you know I exist, but my mom told me all about you.’

  The old lady smiles from ear to ear, clearly delighted to find out about her long, lost nephew.

  ‘This is Georgie,’ Jack introduces me. ‘She’s my fiancée.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Bonneville,’ I say, offering her my hand to shake.

  ‘Well, isn’t this just fantastic,’ she squeaks. ‘It’s so lovely to meet you both. Give me a hug. And less of the Mrs Bonneville – people around here call me Betty.’

  ‘Betty,’ Jack echoes. ‘OK, sure. Wow, I can’t believe I’ve found you.’

  ‘You’re American,’ she observes.

  ‘Yeah, so Judy, my mom, was your sister Helen’s kid – remember, she married an American and moved there?’ Jack prompts.

  Betty thinks for a moment.

  ‘Helen? I suppose,’ she says unconvincingly. ‘I’m sorry, my love. My memory isn’t what it used to be.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Jack assures her. ‘It’s just great to finally meet you.’

  ‘Well, get yourselves a cup of tea and sit down. We’ll have a catch-up,’ she says warmly. ‘This is Ethel, by the way. She’s my next-door neighbour here.’

  Ethel gives us a wave, although I can’t help but notice that the majority of her attention is on Jack. It just goes to show, no woman is immune to his effortless charm.

  ‘I’ll grab the tea,’ I say helpfully. ‘You two start making up for lost time.’

  ***

  After an hour of chatting and catching up, Jack and Betty are getting on famously. Betty is such a sweet old lady, although she seems to be quite confused, which is heartbreaking. Getting old is no fun, is it? She’s stuck in this home, no family coming to visit her, large gaps in her memory – it makes me happy to see Jack filling in the blanks for her, because she seems to have forgotten about most of her family. I’m not even sure whether or not Betty is a nickname, or if she’s confused about that, too.

  Jack has stuck to our story for the most part, although he’s not pretending to be John. Well, it’s probably for the best in case they have a piano here. I don’t think he wants to pretend to be something he isn’t to his auntie, but he does want her to think he’s happy and settled. I suppose she’d worry about him if she knew he was a recently unemployed person with no one else in the world – worse, she might think he’d looked her up in the hope of getting his hands on some inheritance.

  He’s told her that we’re engaged, and just in the country for my cousin’s wedding.

  Tonight the stag and hen dos are taking place. Jack is going out with the boys – much to Dougie’s annoyance – and I’m going out with the ladies.

  ‘That sounds wonderful,’ Betty says. ‘I bet you’ll have so much fun.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I say. ‘All of my female family members are going to be there, and it sounds like it’s going to be a really tacky affair. We’re going to a place called Naughty Nellie’s in Blackpool…’

  ‘Oh my, that does sound like a tacky affair. Is it going to be all todgers and strippers?’

  I feel my eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

  ‘It sounds like it,’ I laugh.

  ‘Well, you know what, that sounds wonderful,’ she laughs. ‘I’ve never been to a proper hen party. Not once in my eighty-six years on this earth. Always wanted to,’ she adds.

  Jack looks over at me, that mischievous glint in his eye more present that usual.

  ‘You should come,’ he blurts. ‘Are you allowed out of this place?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she laughs. ‘But you don’t want an old lady there.’
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  Despite Betty’s best efforts to convince us she wasn’t angling for an invitation, I see something light up inside her at the thought of getting out of this place for a couple of days. I mean, if she’s here simply because she has no one else, then no one will be showing up and taking her out on trips. She’ll just be here all the time.

  ‘I’d love you to come,’ I tell her. ‘You should stay for a couple of nights – come to the wedding, too.’

  ‘Really?’ Jack says. ‘That would be amazing.’

  I can see how happy the two of them are about the thought of spending time together. It makes me happy, too, to see them. I’m not sure how happy Fliss will be with me when I tell her I’m bringing an eighty-six-year-old to her hen party, and that I’m angling for another guest to attend the wedding, but hopefully, when I tell her why, she’ll understand. Anyway, with our grandma having passed away when we were younger, I feel like it will be nice to have a sweet old lady there – in a way, she reminds me of my gran, and we’ve got to make the most of our people while we still can. In a couple of days Betty will be back here and Jack will be back in the States, and the most likely outcome will be that none of us sees each other again. It’s the right thing to do, and I’m sure Fliss will see that.

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ Betty says. ‘I just need to let the staff know where I’m going and when I’ll be back.

  ‘I’ll go square it with them,’ Jack says excitedly.

  ‘I’ll go with him,’ I say, following him.

  ‘Thank you so much for doing this,’ he tells me as we’re walking. I can tell he means it and it’s so nice to be able to do something for him, especially after everything he’s done for me.

  ‘Any time,’ I tell him. ‘Your auntie is such a sweet lady, it’s just, she seems a little confused – even about her name. We’d better check it’s OK to take her out for a few days, and we need to work out how much care she’s going to need.’

  ‘Yeah, don’t worry. I’m going to ask now. I think Betty is just a nickname she prefers – like me being called Jack,’ he jokes.

  After a chat with someone in the office, Jack is delighted to find out that not only is his auntie perfectly fine to take a trip for a few days, but she doesn’t actually need any assistance at all. Betty lives in one of the residential flats independently, which means we can spoil her by checking her into the Majestic Hotel for a couple of nights. Sure, it’s going to come out of my winnings, but it’s only money, right? The only thing we need to do is sign her out and say where we’re taking her.