from her aqua aerobics class and could she pop in. She seemed delighted when I told her Josh was with me.
The moment she saw him, she kissed and hugged him and said how happy she was that he was going to be her son-in-law.
“I even got you a present,” she said, “which is why I’m here.” She handed him a shiny silver gift bag.
“Shelley, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Mum, that is so sweet.” Aw, she’d taken our conversation to heart and she really was trying to make an effort with Josh.
“It’s nothing much,” she said. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I was passing this vintage clothing shop in my lunch hour and I saw it in the window. It’s just a bit of fun.”
He opened the bag and pulled out a bright red shirt covered in tiny clowns. Josh, who was strictly a Gant-denim-shirt-andchinos kind of a guy, clearly wasn’t sure what to say. He cleared his throat. “Wow . . . It’s very bright . . . and clowns . . . Well, it’s certainly unusual . . .”
Mum’s crest couldn’t have fallen any further. “The clowns were the whole point. I thought you could wear it for work.”
“For work?”
“Yes. I thought the children might like it—especially the little ones. I saw it as a bit of a conversation piece—something to distract them from all the tubes and needles.”
“You know what,” he said, holding the shirt against him, “it’s a brilliant idea, but I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be way too small for me.” The relief on his face was obvious.
“Oh, well,” Mum said. “It was just a thought.”
“No, it was a great idea,” I said. “I’m just not sure it’s quite Josh’s style.” I felt the need to relieve the tension. “Mum, how’s about we pop down the road to the wine bar and have a glass of something?”
She said she had a pile of chores to do before bed and didn’t have time. She said good night to Josh, who had the manners to thank her again for the shirt. Then I walked her to her car.
After I’d waved Mum off, I went back inside. Josh was watching the TV news.
“You could have been a bit more diplomatic,” I said. “She’s trying to bond with you.”
“Yes, by getting me some ridiculous comedy shirt that makes me look like I trained under Dr. Seuss.”
“Well, get you.”
Just then the phone rang. Josh was nearest, so he picked up. I muted the TV.
“Hi, Nana . . . Well, I’m glad you’re going to be my nanain-law, too. Yes, Tally and I are both very happy. You want to do what to celebrate? . . . Take us all to see Micky Bubble at the O2 and then out to dinner?”
I burst out laughing. “She means Michael Bublé,” I whispered.
He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “No way. This isn’t happening. Have you actually heard his version of ‘I’m Your Man’? I’m going to tell her I’m busy.”
“Don’t you dare! My family is trying to make nice. Stop being difficult. You are so coming.”
He screwed up his face at me. “OK, Nana—Tally and I would absolutely love to see Micky Bubble.”
Chapter 3
A month before the wedding . . .
I could hear Josh telling me to wake up. “I come bearing tabloid trash,” he said. “Oh, this is right up your street: ‘Billionaire Wills His Fortune to Imaginary Friend.’ And according to the Sunday Star . . . fish communicate by farting.”
I was still half-asleep in Josh’s bed, head under the duvet. “Ver’ funny,” I said regarding the newspaper headlines. “Wha’ time is it?”
“Past nine.”
I groaned. We’d been to a party the night before and hadn’t gotten in until after two.
“Ooh, and Sarah Palin is planning to adopt an alien baby.”
“Good for her.”
I decided I ought to rouse myself. We—that is, Mum, Scarlett, Grace and I—were having Sunday brunch at Nana Ida’s and she was expecting us at twelve. Josh couldn’t make it because he was helping his best mate, Andy, move house.
I pulled back the duvet to see Josh standing over me in his boxers.
The moment she saw him, she kissed and hugged him and said how happy she was that he was going to be her son-in-law.
“I even got you a present,” she said, “which is why I’m here.” She handed him a shiny silver gift bag.
“Shelley, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Mum, that is so sweet.” Aw, she’d taken our conversation to heart and she really was trying to make an effort with Josh.
“It’s nothing much,” she said. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I was passing this vintage clothing shop in my lunch hour and I saw it in the window. It’s just a bit of fun.”
He opened the bag and pulled out a bright red shirt covered in tiny clowns. Josh, who was strictly a Gant-denim-shirt-andchinos kind of a guy, clearly wasn’t sure what to say. He cleared his throat. “Wow . . . It’s very bright . . . and clowns . . . Well, it’s certainly unusual . . .”
Mum’s crest couldn’t have fallen any further. “The clowns were the whole point. I thought you could wear it for work.”
“For work?”
“Yes. I thought the children might like it—especially the little ones. I saw it as a bit of a conversation piece—something to distract them from all the tubes and needles.”
“You know what,” he said, holding the shirt against him, “it’s a brilliant idea, but I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be way too small for me.” The relief on his face was obvious.
“Oh, well,” Mum said. “It was just a thought.”
“No, it was a great idea,” I said. “I’m just not sure it’s quite Josh’s style.” I felt the need to relieve the tension. “Mum, how’s about we pop down the road to the wine bar and have a glass of something?”
She said she had a pile of chores to do before bed and didn’t have time. She said good night to Josh, who had the manners to thank her again for the shirt. Then I walked her to her car.
After I’d waved Mum off, I went back inside. Josh was watching the TV news.
“You could have been a bit more diplomatic,” I said. “She’s trying to bond with you.”
“Yes, by getting me some ridiculous comedy shirt that makes me look like I trained under Dr. Seuss.”
“Well, get you.”
Just then the phone rang. Josh was nearest, so he picked up. I muted the TV.
“Hi, Nana . . . Well, I’m glad you’re going to be my nanain-law, too. Yes, Tally and I are both very happy. You want to do what to celebrate? . . . Take us all to see Micky Bubble at the O2 and then out to dinner?”
I burst out laughing. “She means Michael Bublé,” I whispered.
He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “No way. This isn’t happening. Have you actually heard his version of ‘I’m Your Man’? I’m going to tell her I’m busy.”
“Don’t you dare! My family is trying to make nice. Stop being difficult. You are so coming.”
He screwed up his face at me. “OK, Nana—Tally and I would absolutely love to see Micky Bubble.”
Chapter 3
A month before the wedding . . .
I could hear Josh telling me to wake up. “I come bearing tabloid trash,” he said. “Oh, this is right up your street: ‘Billionaire Wills His Fortune to Imaginary Friend.’ And according to the Sunday Star . . . fish communicate by farting.”
I was still half-asleep in Josh’s bed, head under the duvet. “Ver’ funny,” I said regarding the newspaper headlines. “Wha’ time is it?”
“Past nine.”
I groaned. We’d been to a party the night before and hadn’t gotten in until after two.
“Ooh, and Sarah Palin is planning to adopt an alien baby.”
“Good for her.”
I decided I ought to rouse myself. We—that is, Mum, Scarlett, Grace and I—were having Sunday brunch at Nana Ida’s and she was expecting us at twelve. Josh couldn’t make it because he was helping his best mate, Andy, move house.
I pulled back the duvet to see Josh standing over me in his boxers.
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