Free A Groom With a View by Sophie Ranald Page B

secrets of the known universe, and I can rope Iain in too, and Callie will want to be involved, won’t she? And of course Mum will be here in a few days and although she needs a break from work, you know what she’s like. She’ll be scrubbing our kitchen cupboards and arranging all our books in alphabetical order within about three hours, she’ll get so bored. She’ll love helping out with it all. So don’t worry. I’ll plan the wedding and it will be the perfect day, just wait and see.”
    I ate the last of my chips – the extra salty ones at the bottom of the bowl – and finished my wine. It took an absolutely mammoth effort of self-control not to say that if Erica so much as opened one of my kitchen cupboards there would be hell to pay. Because now that Nick was being so lovely and reasonable about work, and offering to singlehandedly arrange our wedding, there was no way I could complain about anything his mum did, was there? I’d just have to suck it up.
    “Well, the one thing you can’t do is choose my dress,” I said. “So I’d better see if Katharine can come shopping with me.”
    “If she can’t, Mum would love to,” said Nick. “She really would! She. . .”
    “I’ll bear that in mind,” I said.
    It felt as if I’d barely had time to accept the terrible blow of Erica’s approaching visit, when the day of her arrival came. I made sure I left work on time, and stopped at Wholefoods to stock up on out-of-season Peruvian asparagus and avocados, three kinds of tofu, two kinds of quinoa, some sort of superfood breakfast cereal that looked like lip-liner sharpenings, dairy-free carob chocolate, spelt bread, cartons of oat and almond milk and a bottle of sulphur-free champagne. That pretty much covered all bases, I thought, lugging it all home along with the hard-won morels sourced from Mick the mushroom man at vast expense.
    Nick was in his studio when I got home, but there was no sign of Erica.
    “Hey, Pip,” he said. “Mum arrived safely, I met her at Heathrow this afternoon.”
    “Great!” I said, thinking that she couldn’t be as exhausted as all that if she’d already gone gallivanting off somewhere.
    Nick lowered his voice. “She’s asleep at the moment. She really isn’t looking well. I’ve changed the sheets on our bed for her – I’m really sorry, I forgot to mention it to you last night but I thought it would be a good idea for her to have our room, and you and I can sleep on the sofabed in here for the next couple of months. I thought you wouldn’t mind, as you’re going to be away such a lot.”
    “You what ?” I couldn’t believe it, I honestly couldn’t. So for the next three months I was going to have to knock on my own bedroom door every time I wanted a clean pair of pants, sleep with my legs under Nick’s desk, and shower in the tiny second bathroom while Erica wallowed in luxury in our en-suite. I sound horribly selfish, I know I do, but it was our bedroom . Our little haven where we slept and had sex and where Nick brought me breakfast in bed on Sundays.
    “I thought it made sense,” said Nick, “otherwise I’d disturb her if I have to work late. You don’t mind, do you?”
    I took a deep breath. “Of course not. As you say, it makes sense. I’d better get on with making dinner.” And I flounced off to the kitchen, no doubt leaving a strong smell of burning martyr in my wake.
    Two hours later, everything was ready. My morel, tofu and kale filo parcels were keeping warm in the oven. There was an elegant salad of endive, orange and pomegranate with a sumac dressing, and even a vegan chocolate mousse I’d found a recipe for online, made with carob and avocado. I suspected it was going to taste disgusting, but it’s the thought that counts. I would have loved to have changed out of my work clothes and into something a bit nicer, but our bedroom door remained firmly closed. I poured myself a glass of wine, sat in front of the telly and seethed.
    It was