Page 13 of Strawberry Moon

CHAPTER SIX

The wedding is held in a beautiful church in a chocolate-box village.

We crunch up the gravel path, and I look around. “I’m pretty sure this was another scene in Midsomer Murders ,” I offer. “The one where the vicar fell off the steeple.”

“You’ve watched far too many of those shows.”

“Enough to know never to move to Norfolk. I’m pretty and mouthy enough to be a murder victim.”

He takes my hand. “You certainly are.”

It feels so natural to hold hands and walk beside him—easy and the way it should be. I’m proud to be by his side, and he looks particularly handsome today wearing a dark grey suit that shows off the width of his shoulders. The sun picks out golden highlights in his dark hair.

With my free hand, I fidget with my shirt collar.

“Leave it,” he says serenely. “You look wonderful.”

I look down at my own dark blue suit. I’d had it for my sister’s wedding and scandalised the tailor by demanding it be tighter. If I’d ever had any plans to have children, I might be out of luck, because the cut of these trousers has cancelled out a few thousand sperm.

We shake hands with Harry’s uncle, and then we’re escorted into the church by ushers showing everyone to their seats.

Ours are on the bride’s side, and I slide into the old pew as Harry sits on the worn-smooth wood beside me.

His body is hard and warm against mine, and I have a flash of him driving into me yesterday, his head thrown back in the moonlight.

We’d spent the night fucking, and I flush at the thought.

I cough and try to think of something less scandalous.

I think of how I’ll soon have to confess the silly plan that started us down this path, and that stops any amorous feelings dead. I’ll tell him about the scheme. It’s the way I’m built. He’ll probably think I’m a complete weirdo and run a mile.

He nudges me. “You okay?” he asks. His face is full of the same concern I’ve seen over the years when he’s ridden into battle for me. It always makes me feel special.

“Of course ,” I say with emphasis.

“Well, that’s enthusiastic.”

“That’s me.”

He edges close. “You’re not regretting last night, are you?” The undercurrent of anxiousness touches my heart, and I grab his hand.

“Never,” I say forcefully, and he relaxes, smiling.

I wonder if I can slip my confession into the next moment, but the vicar announces the arrival of the bride, and we all stand as she drifts past us, a vision in creamy lace and tulle.

“So, you don’t know her well?” I whisper up into Harry’s ear.

He grins. “I couldn’t pick her out in a police line-up.”

I snort and cover it with a cough.

The service is long and boring and my attention drifts. I can guarantee I’m not alone in that. Most of the wedding guests are probably not thinking about the sanctity of marriage but rather about what’s for lunch.

The vicar announces a prayer and an old man in the pew in front of us turns around. He has a shock of white hair and faded green eyes that look familiar. He looks me up and down, and I smile bemusedly.

“So, you’re the boy who’s got our Harry’s head in a spin?” he says in a slightly too-loud voice.

“Grandad,” Harry hisses. “Face forward.”

I shoot the old man a wink. “So, you’re the jailbird?”

The old man laughs loudly, interrupting the vicar’s prayer. The vicar glares at him before going back to his job and Harry’s grandad pokes me in the arm so hard I nearly fall out of the pew. Harry grabs me calmly and sets me upright again. We grin at each other.

His grandad reaches back to tap Harry’s knee. “I like this one. The lad’s got spirit.”

Harry puts his finger to his lips as the vicar’s words falter.

“You can say that again,” I whisper, grinning at his grandad.

“You should keep him, Harry,” the old man says.

The vicar stops and says, “Arthur, do you want to speak to the Lord personally?”

“No, vicar,” he responds, trying very hard to look pious.

“Then stop talking,” the vicar snaps.

I bite my lip to hold in a laugh and bend my head like everyone else.

Harry whispers, “You and my grandfather would make a good pair.”

“I don’t understand the Leg before Wicket rule.”

His grandad sucks in a shocked breath, and I smile helplessly at Harry.

Eons later, we emerge into the bright sunshine. The bride and groom come out and confetti explodes with pink, green, and yellow paper hearts fluttering around us.

Everyone cheers as the married couple climbs into an old Bentley, and we line the road ahead of the car to cheer them along.

“How are we getting to the do?” I ask Harry, shuffling carefully forwards to accommodate the sharp-elbowed ladies behind me. I’m balanced on the edge of the kerb and about to fall in the road, but they don’t seem bothered by that. Maybe they like an element of danger with their weddings in Norfolk.

Harry picks a piece of confetti off my nose and kisses me. I smile into it, feeling him do the same.

“We can walk. It’s only five minutes.”

I blink. “So why are they going in a car?”

“Getting their money’s worth. My aunt is notoriously tight. The bride and groom will probably sleep in it tonight.”

I laugh and watch the car do a slow loop around the cul-de-sac in front of the church. “Why do they tie tins and cans to a car? It’s a strange start to married life dragging the contents of a rubbish bin with you.”

“It was believed that it startled evil spirits away from the newlyweds. The superstitious had obviously never encountered my aunt.”

The car finally moves slowly out of the cul-de-sac and the crowd surges forward happily to throw more confetti. There are cheers and shouting, but I’m a little occupied by how the ladies behind me are acting as if they’re front row at a Bon Jovi concert.

“Congratulations,” one of them shrieks into my ear.

I wince. As I put my hand to my ear, one of the ladies falls into me, and I stumble on the edge of the kerb.

I teeter, catching a glimpse of the car approaching, the bride’s and groom’s horrified faces very clear.

Then I fall into the road, windmilling my arms. Just as I manage to sit up—my intention to get out of the road as fast as possible—something heavy hits me with a glancing blow and everything goes dark.

When I come to, I’m lying on the ground staring up at the sky.

Someone is holding my hand while talking. I blink up to see Harry’s face lined with worry. His parents and his grandad are hovering, and a crowd of wedding guests are also watching me avidly.

Harry’s face clears as I look at him. “Hey, you,” he says softly.

“What happened?” I mutter.

“The wedding car hit you.”

“ What ?” I say much too loudly.

“The car hit you,” he says with a little less certainty.

“Oh my god, that’s what happened to Fiona.”

“Who? Is that one of your family?”

“It certainly feels like that lately,” I say grimly. I struggle up, fending off his hands and examining myself. I have a bit of a headache, and when I prod the side of my head, I feel a lump where the car bumped me.

I smile at Harry. “Apart from a bit of gravel rash in unmentionable places, I feel okay.”

“He’s fine, everyone,” he immediately calls, and the crowd moves back a bit. “It’s just a knock, but I’m taking him to hospital to get checked out anyway.”

“Oh my god, no ,” I whisper.

A woman nearby says, “Did he throw himself in front of the wedding car? Has he got deep-seated objections to marriage?”

“Of course he hasn’t,” Holly snaps. “Don’t be ridiculous, Monica.”

I groan. “Only when its J Lo and Ben Affleck. They don’t go together at all.”

Harry strokes my hair back. “Hospital, here we come. But look on the bright side. At least we’ll miss the wedding speeches.”

“This is Mills and Boon karma,” I say through gritted teeth. “Wait until I tell my grandfather.”

I come awake to two realisations. My neck is stiff, and I’m drooling on myself.

Charming. I crack open my eyelids and look round.

I’m lying on a bed in a small, curtained cubicle.

Outside the curtain is audio chaos—people shouting and someone crying.

Footsteps rush by, and there’s an air of controlled focus, but in here it’s fairly peaceful.

I take a careful stock of myself. My face is a bit sore, and my body feels like I was at an all-night rave, but apart from that, I seem remarkably whole. I wriggle my toes just to double-check and relax when they appear to be working.

Harry is sitting by the bed, his dark head bent over a book on his lap. He’s still wearing his wedding suit but has got rid of the jacket and waistcoat and is in the grey trousers with his white shirt unbuttoned to show a trace of his hairy chest.

I watch him for a few seconds. I need to tell him about the plot now. I can’t bear that I seem to have somehow landed him, despite my personality defects, and now I might lose him because of that stupid, fucking Mills and Boon book.

He looks very handsome and real, and I surreptitiously wipe the drool just in case he hasn’t already noticed it, but the movement attracts his attention, and he looks up.

A smile crosses his face immediately. “Hey, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Oh fine,” I say hoarsely. He quickly helps me sit and take a sip of water from a water bottle. “I’m so sorry I spoilt your cousin’s wedding. You never made the reception.”

“Don’t ever say sorry for that. I got to sit in peace without talking to my great aunt Andrea. She never remembers my name and makes up for that by squeezing my face in a grip like a sumo wrestler’s.”

“Well, I do like to be of service.”