Forfeit (Original Edit)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Hanging bunting with my dad while my husband of three weeks knocked together a salad bar for fifty was not my idea of a honeymoon. The first one, where the HMS and I lolled around on a Maldives beach for a month, was much nearer the mark. Why the hell hadn't I employed someone to do this? I cursed Xander, my Dad, anyone I could think of. In the midst of my vicious tirade against God, Xander arrived in my TT and our honeymoon got a whole lot worse.

Marcus had wrapped his car around a tree and was being airlifted to Lancaster. We left my dad finishing the bunting and my mum slicing tomatoes but, as we hurtled down the M6, we couldn't care less about the party. By some miracle, we made it to the hospital alive - a detail I thanked God for as I climbed out of the car. Xander had taken his driving to a new level of terrifying and I'd spent much of the journey with my eyes closed, clinging to the door handle. He strode off and I scampered after him as quickly as I could in my flip-flops. Before we'd even reached the hospital doors, he scowled at me.

'Can't you take those stupid things off and just run?'

I pulled my hand from his, stopping and staring at him. Okay, he was bloody upset but he didn't get to talk to me like that. Ever. He closed his eyes for a second then apologised so I took off my flip-flops and jogged after him, praying my JC was okay.

He wasn't. Marcus had a broken leg and a few fractured ribs but more worryingly, swelling on his brain. He lay in a large private room, pale and silent, with James and the Dowson-Gunn parents at his bedside.

From her tidy black chignon to her green crocodile skin pumps, Bella Dowson-Gunn had the same classy elegance as Xander's mother but, where the latter had a Grace Kelly chill about her, Bella exuded warmth. She leapt off her chair to envelop Xander in a massive hug, kissing his cheeks. She held his face in her hands as she spoke to him in Italian, making him blush. Even I was treated to a excited monologue as she kissed my cheeks with the exuberance you can surely only get from an Italian mother. I could only assume she was saying complimentary things from Xander's pleased laugh.

A grave Henry Dowson-Gunn nodded at us but quickly turned back to his son, checking for movement. James gave me his customary glare before dragging Xander off for a chat. It was the first time they'd spoken since the wedding.

'What on earth happened?' I asked Bella.

'The police said he simply lost control of the car,' she replied, her accent heavy with emotion. 'He was driving his old MG. If he'd taken his BMW, he'd have been much better protected.'

We stayed with them for a couple of hours, until an MRI scan showed the swelling wasn't going down and the docs decided to induce a coma. With no chance of Marcus waking that day, Bella shooed us away.

'Go and enjoy your party.'

Xander shook his head. 'I'll cancel it. We can't-'

'It's a Topping Off,' James said. 'This is for your team. You can't cancel.'

The traditional 'Topping Off' party, according to Derek the project manager, is held when the roof is on. At the Bobbin Mill, we were a step ahead. As well as a reclaimed slate roof, new oak windows and the enormous glass doors leading you in, the studding was up, ready for the external wall insulation, and first fix plumbing and electrics were underway.

Xander and I headed back up the M6, wondering if the guests would mind sitting on plasterboard stacks while they ate burgers with no salad and drank warm lager. There was still so much to do and no time to do it. But we arrived at the Mill to find my dad was wiping down tables while Xander's mum arranged chairs she'd appropriated from God knows where. The Cava was on ice, the Becks was chilled and trestle tables sagged under salads, cheeses and breads. Xander clutched my hand. I stared.