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1
‘Where have you been, Natasha?’ The feathers on her mother’s fascinator bristled in echo of the indignation in her words as Tasha Blake climbed out of her car next to the pretty stone church that served the village community of Little Nedling. It was more a squeeze than a climb as the car park was packed to overflowing and the only space Tasha had been able to find was next to a Mercedes estate with two wheels over the white line. She breathed in as she inched her way out of her much smaller hatchback, wishing she’d found the time to take a trip through the car wash. The last thing she wanted was to be standing at the font later with a dirty smear across her backside.
The last thing she wanted was to be standing at the font, full stop, especially on Valentine’s Day, but refusing her sister Danielle’s invitation to be godmother to her second child would have seen her ostracised from the family for good. ‘Mind your clothes!’ Victoria Blake’s tone was even sharper as her unforgiving gaze swept her daughter from head to toe.
‘I am minding my clothes,’ Tasha responded through gritted teeth. ‘If whoever owns this monstrosity hadn’t parked so badly, I wouldn’t have to mind them, would I?’
‘If you’d arrived in good time, you would’ve had your choice of parking spaces. Now come here and let me look at you.’ Tasha closed her eyes for a second as she swallowed down a retort. There was no point in saying anything about the horrendous journey she’d fought around the M25 and along the A12 thanks to several accidents caused by the awful weather, because her mother would simply point out she should’ve travelled down the night before. Telling her mother she couldn’t have come down because she was working would only have opened another can of worms about her prioritising her job over her family, especially at the weekend.
Her mother always had an answer for everything, and they had a long day ahead. If they started fighting, the waterworks would be next, and Tasha would be to blame for spoiling Danielle’s special day. So she held her peace and silently counted the hours until she’d be able to escape back to Reading while her mother brushed the back of her blouse as if she were a grubby child.
‘Did you have to wear trousers?’ Victoria grumbled. ‘I can’t remember the last time I saw you in a dress.’
Couldn’t she?
Tasha could remember it as if it were yesterday. She’d been standing on a platform in the bridal shop while the dressmaker pinned and tucked and adjusted the gown that had later adorned a charity shop window after Tasha had caught her fiancé in bed with his ex-girlfriend three weeks before their wedding. A wedding that – like every other milestone occasion for generations of their family – had been due to be held in this very church in the heart of the Suffolk countryside.
‘I didn’t want to be cold,’ Tasha replied, keeping her tone light. If her mother was going to pretend all of this was fine, then she was more than happy to play along. The sun was shining, a pleasant contrast to the torrential rain she’d battled through for most of her journey, but there was little warmth in it. As though to underline her point, the February wind made itself known as it whistled across the car park and sent the feathers and net bow pinned to her mother’s head dancing. Should’ve bought a thermal vest while I was at it. She’d chosen the pale pink suit somewhat against her better judgement, thanks to a persuasive sales assistant who’d assured her it was the perfect choice for a christening.
There must’ve been something wrong with the lighting in the changing room, because when she’d put it on that morning Tasha had realised the colour did not suit her ginger hair. At all. She’d surveyed her wardrobe in a panic, but all her other suits were dark, sensible business wear. The handful of dresses she owned were the kind you accessorised with a cocktail while sitting at a beachside bar, and were either too short or too low-cut for church. Using half a bottle of curl-tamer, she’d managed to coax her hair into a sleek, severe twist at the nape of her neck, and had softened the look with a couple of flower slides she’d picked up in an accessory shop. Escaping her mother’s clutches, Tasha reached into the back seat and managed to retrieve her jacket without incident.
‘No hat?’
‘Stop fussing, Mum, please.’ Tasha locked her car and slid the keys into her jacket pocket. At least wearing a suit meant she hadn’t needed to worry about finding a handbag to match her outfit. She wasn’t a handbag type of woman, much preferring the practicality of the small Kipling rucksack she used for work, and, well, for everything else really.
‘I’ve brought a spare one with me, I’ll fetch it from the car. Give me two ticks.’
‘I think people are going in,’ Tasha called after her mother’s retreating back even though the people milling around outside the church showed no sign of it. She watched Victoria for a few more seconds before breaking into a jog to catch up with her. ‘The flowers will be fine, Mum. Leave it.’
‘Nonsense, you want to look your best for the photos, don’t you?’ Her mother turned to wave an imperious hand towards where Tasha’s father was chatting with a group of guests. ‘Adrian! I need the keys.’
Barely breaking eye-contact with the man next to him, her dad pulled the remote from his pocket and pointed it at the back of the BMW. The lights flashed in unison with the clunk of the locks. Her mother opened the boot and rooted around in a large John Lewis carrier bag before pulling out what looked like the remains of a dead chicken. She tried to hand it to Tasha, who shoved her hands quickly in her pockets as she backed up a step. ‘No way am I wearing that.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ The feathers on Victoria’s almost matching fascinator quivered again.
‘Nothing,’ Tasha replied, hastily. ‘It’s lovely, it’s just not me.’
Her mother’s sigh was one Tasha knew all too well. Victoria Blake was wondering yet again how she’d managed to raise two daughters so close in age and yet so radically different. ‘Everyone suits a fascinator, darling, that’s the whole point of them.’
Tasha shot a look of appeal across the car park to where her father was still chatting away. Rather than coming to her rescue, he sent her a cheery wave before bending down to scoop up the small boy who was charging past waving what looked like half a tree branch. Mason was Danielle’s son and had rolled right past the terrible twos, through the tempestuous threes and was deeply embedded in the fucking-awful fours. To Tasha’s mind, her sister would’ve been better to have named him Damien, but he was the apple of his grandfather’s eye. As though to prove her point, her dad reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handful of sweets, which he traded for Mason’s weapon of choice. What a marvellous idea to fill him full of sugar just before he would be expected to sit quietly through a service where his new baby sister would be the centre of attention. Seizing the opportunity to distract her mother, Tasha rearranged her features into an exaggerated frown. ‘I thought Danni was trying to restrict Mason’s sugar intake…’
Her mother’s head whipped around, and she gave an outraged squawk as she thrust the fascinator towards Tasha. ‘Adrian! Adrian!’ Victoria’s heels beat a staccato rhythm across the car park as she marched towards her startled husband. He cast a baleful look at Tasha, who grinned and waved. Serves you right. Still smiling, she tossed the hideous fascinator back into the boot and pulled it shut with a firm click. Knowing it wouldn’t take long for her mother’s attention to wheel back in her direction, Tasha made a break for it and hurried over to where her sister was holding court on the steps of the church.
She knew it was clichéd to say that new mothers had a glow about them, but Danielle looked positively radiant. The skirt of her long-sleeved navy dress fell from the empire-line beneath the bosom in a forgiving wave of narrow pleats that neatly disguised any post-pregnancy weight she might still be carrying around her waist and hips. Pretty white daisies decorated the dark background, adding a sunny touch. In her arms, baby Luna snoozed contentedly in a froth of lace that might once have been cream but was now golden with age. Somewhere in the collection of photographs that littered the walls and surfaces of her parents’ home were pictures of a beaming Victoria holding both Tasha and Danni dressed in that same family christening gown.
As Tasha approached, Danni’s hazel eyes lit up and a smile wreathed her face as she juggled the sleeping baby into one arm so she could wrap the other around Tasha’s shoulders. ‘Hello, you!’
‘Hello, you.’ Tasha hugged her back, careful to arch her body so Luna wasn’t squashed between them. ‘You look bloody amazing.’ Releasing her hold, Tasha bent to drop the softest of kisses on Luna’s forehead then stepped back. ‘Hello, darling girl. I hope you are going to be good for your Aunty Tasha today.’
‘With any luck, she’ll sleep right through.’ They exchanged a rueful look and Tasha could tell her sister was recalling how an outraged, red-faced Mason had objected to the vicar dripping water on his forehead by unleashing the kind of hideous poomageddon only very small babies were capable of. Thankfully, Tasha had been excused godparent duties in favour of Danni’s brother and sister-in-law, but even sitting in the second row of pews the smell had been enough to turn her stomach.
‘You look very…’ Danni trailed off with a shrug and a smile as she surveyed Tasha’s outfit.
‘Pink,’ Tasha said with a laugh. Danni had always been the one with style and, though she was the youngest by eighteen months, she’d declared her older sister an absolute fashion disaster when they were teenagers and had insisted on taking charge of her wardrobe. More interested in books than boys, Tasha had shrugged and let Danni get on with it. It was something Danni enjoyed and it had saved Tasha the bother, so a win-win as far as she’d been concerned. ‘You know I can’t be trusted in a shop on my own.’
Danni grinned. ‘You let the assistant bully you, again, didn’t you?’ She brushed a hand over the lapel. ‘The fit is great on you.’ Her gaze lifted. ‘And I love your hair like that; very chic.’ Bless her sister for always finding a way to make Tasha feel good about herself. Danni shifted closer, her body turning to block the other people standing on the step as she lowered her voice to whisper, ‘I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to be Luna’s godmother. I know I’m asking a lot of you.’
Tasha pressed a kiss to her sister’s cheek, her heart swelling with love. They might be like chalk and cheese, but Danni and she were lucky to be the best of friends as well as sisters. ‘It’s my absolute honour. And as for everything else…’ Tasha forced herself to look past her sister to where Danni’s husband, Stuart, was chatting to a group of his friends, including the man who was going to be Luna’s godfather. ‘That’s all water under the bridge.’
