«Mum, meet» Oliver ushered a girl forward, «this is Poppy. My fiancée.»
Margaret Winchester was so stunned she collapsed onto the nearest chairthankfully, it was right where it should be. Her little boy, her Ollie, looked like a schoolboy next to his bride-to-be, who might as well have been his headmistress.
«Alright?» Poppy kept her hands in her jeans pockets and her gum in her mouth, staring down at Margaret with the confidence of someone who owned the world.
«H-hullo,» Margaret stammered, utterly gobsmacked. «So, how did you When?»
«Mum, its fine!» Oliver kicked off his shoes and nodded for Poppy to do the same. «Were moving in with Poppy. Right, Pops?»
«Yep,» she agreed, chewing vigorously.
«Darling, can I have a word?» Margaret stood and marched to the kitchen.
«Say it in front of me.» Poppy plopped onto the sofa, crossed her legs, and snatched the TV remote, flipping channels. «Ollie and I dont keep secrets. Right, bunny?»
«Right, Mum,» Oliver mumbled, turning pink.
«Fine.» Margaret took a deep breath. «Son, are you sure this girl is right for you? Shes at least ten years older!»
«Eight!» Poppy corrected. «And it doesnt matter. Got a problem with that? Im independent, well-off, a grown woman»
«Exactly! A woman! My boys barely twenty!» Margaret clutched her head.
«Well, someones got to turn him into a proper bloke, since no one managed by now,» Poppy snorted.
Margaret gaped like a goldfish out of water.
«Mum,» Oliver finally spoke up, «we came to askwe need money for the wedding.»
«Whats that got to do with me?» Margaret scoffed, floored by the cheek of it.
«Come off it!» Poppy rolled her eyes. «Traditionally, the grooms family pays. Mine certainly thinks so.»
«Oh, brilliant!» Margaret threw her hands up. «Dump your shelf-worn goods on me and demand cash? I should be paid for handing over my baby boy to an old bat. Not a penny!»
She crossed her arms like a judge delivering a verdict.
«Righto.» Poppy stood, smirking. «Cry all you like, love. Come on, bunny, well manage.» She strode to the door, yanking it open. Oliver scurried after her, flashing his mum one last hopeful glancemaybe shed cave. But Margaret turned away. Just before they left, she blurted:
«Why bunny?»
«Cause of his massive ears!» Poppy cackled, shoving Oliver onto the landing.
«Bye, Mum!» he called before the door slammed.
«Lord, where did I go wrong?» Margaret wailed, drowning her sorrows in custard creams at the kitchen table. Her sweet, gentle Olliesnatched by a predator!
«His ears are perfectly normal,» she sniffed belatedly at the door.
«What now?» Poppy scratched her head outside, eyeing Oliver. «We cant afford a proper dovenue, caterer, DJ. My parents wont chip in either.»
«Maybe we could have it at our cottage, then go travelling?» Oliver suggested hopefully. Hed only just started his jobsaved barely enough for a holiday.
«Why didnt you say sooner?» Poppy clapped his shoulder. «Go sweet-talk your mum for the keys. Ill waitwouldnt want to traumatise the poor woman with my modern ways.» She cackled.
Margaret had just calmed down when the doorbell rang again.
«Who now?» she grumbled, stomping to answer.
Oliver stood alone. She peeked past himno sign of the she-devil.
«Did she ditch you?» Margaret gasped hopefully.
«Mum, honestly!» Oliver huffed. «Were in love.»
«Then what?»
«Can we borrow the cottage keys? For the wedding.»
«Over my dead body! Youll wreck the place!»
«Well clean up! Promise!» Oliver pressed. «Everyonell help. Dont you want me happy?»
Margaret choked on her tea. «I do! Just not this!»
«Poppys wonderful, Mum.»
«Couldve fooled me,» she muttered. «Fine.»
She fetched the keys, grumbling. Oliver snatched them, kissed her cheek, and bolted before she changed her mind.
«Look, Popsgot em!» He waved the keys triumphantly outside.
«See? Youve got skills.» She spat out her gum and planted a smacker on him.
Margaret was invitedmildly shocking.
«How am I meant to look happy?» she moaned to her neighbour. «Id rather drown her in coleslaw, but noI must toast their happiness.»
«Relax,» the neighbour waved. «Kids these days change partners like socks. Mines on husband number three. Just pray they dont spawn.»
«But whats marriage for, then?»
«Who knows? Some collect spouses like stamps.»
The wedding was a sunny affair.
«Perfect weather!» guests cheeredthirty-odd, including Poppys parents, who strutted about like prize turkeys. Her mother whinged nonstop»Bugs in my hair! Bugs in my wine!»while her dad, after a few brandies, flirted shamelessly with bridesmaids.
«What does she see in him?» Poppys mum sniffed to Margaret. «She had lawyers, athletes chasing her!»
«Im not thrilled either,» Margaret snapped, moving away before she ruined the day.
Outside, her heart sankchaos reigned.
BBQs nestled between trampled vegetable patches. Her carefully stored firewood vanished into flames. Guests relieved themselves behind apple trees despite her pointing to the loo (adorable heart-shaped door and all).
«What sort of animals?!» she wailed, watching her garden turn into a festival ground.
By dawn, the revelry ended. The cottage was a bombsitebottles, crumpled napkins, half-eaten kebabs fertilising her radishes. A few stragglers snored in the greenhouse. Silk scarves dangled from branches like tragic bunting.
At least no knickers, Margaret thought grimly.
Oliver emerged, stretching. «Mum, whatre you doing?»
«Admiring the mess! Whos cleaning this?»
«Theyll help when they wake,» he said breezily, then went to fetch Poppy.
Margaret gaped as the newlyweds appeared with suitcases.
«Where are you going? What about the clean-up?»
«Mum, weve got a flight,» Oliver said, nudging her aside.
«But the guests!»
«Theyve got legs,» Poppy said, dragging Oliver off. «This dumps all yours.»
«Dump?!» Margaret spluttered.
Guests slunk away like hungover ghosts. No one lifted a finger.
«Sorry, love,» Poppys dad hiccuped, reeking of booze. «Wifes poorly. Were off.»
His wifehair like a birds neststaggered after him.
Alone, Margaret surveyed the wreckage. Inside, amongst gift boxes, she spotted an envelopecash from the guests. A small fortune.
«Well, well.» She smirked, dialling a cleaning service. «Hello? Sparkling Homes? I need a full deep-clean…»
Pocketing the rest, she sipped her coffee, smiling. «Safe travels, kids. «…and dont let the airport lounge chair bite.» She flipped through the wedding cards, chuckling at the clumsy well-wishes, then added Poppys to the bin. The sun climbed higher, glinting off broken glass in the rosemary bush, and Margaret hummed as she tied back her hair. «Next time,» she said to the cat licking custard cream crumbs off the step, «they can elope in a bin bag for all I care. The cat flicked its tail, unimpressed, and sauntered into the ruined garden. Margaret watched it go, sipped her coffee, and began picking up a crumpled paper plate without haste. Somewhere beyond the hedge, a car engine spluttered to life, then faded. She didnt wave.
