The Wedding that Changed Everything: a gorgeously uplifting romantic comedy. Jennifer Joyce
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СКАЧАТЬ same, but my childhood doesn’t have a great deal of happy memories to look back on fondly.

      ‘Granny and Grandpa were wonderful. So warm and fun. I miss them.’

      ‘You’ve never mentioned the castle before.’ Which is odd, given my passion for the past. ‘I can’t wait to have a nose around and breathe in its history.’

      Alice reaches for the CD player, but I bat her hand away. We’ve agreed the music is my domain for the duration of our trip.

      ‘The castle’s still in my family,’ she tells me. ‘But when Uncle Ned inherited it, he turned it into a weddings and events venue, so we couldn’t have turned up for a nosy around. Which is why this week is perfect for us: you get to satisfy your nerdiness and I get to relive some fond memories.’

      An hour later, we’ve reached Little Heaton. It’s a picturesque village, almost cut in two by the canal running through it. Barges painted in bright greens, reds and blues sit on the water while ducks, swans and geese glide by. There’s an arched bridge up ahead, which we turn onto, crossing over the canal into the heart of the village. A memorial stands in the centre of the high street, with a terrace of shops on one side and a red-brick pub on the other, half covered in ivy. Ahead is a small church with a pointy steeple, its grounds filled with crumbling headstones.

      ‘Is that where Carolyn is getting married?’ I ask as we pass, but Alice shakes her head.

      ‘She’s getting married in the chapel, like Mum and Dad.’

      ‘The castle still has its own chapel? Is it original?’ For the first time, I’m genuinely quite excited about the week ahead.

      ‘I think so.’ Alice’s brow furrows. ‘I know Uncle Ned had to have the roof restored a couple of summers ago and it was apparently a nightmare trying to source original materials. Cost a fortune too.’

      My heart is bleeding for the poor rich man.

      We pass a primary school, its bright-yellow railings and play equipment jarring against the nineteenth-century building, another pub (this village is looking up), and lots of little, white-rendered cottages with pretty gardens that would give our neighbour a run for her money with their show-quality lawns and bursts of colour from the flowerbeds, window boxes and hanging baskets.

      We reach the end of the latest batch of cottages and turn into a clearing, with a blanket of buttercups and daisies thrown over fields either side of a narrow lane. The fields rise into a hill, upon which stands Durban Castle.

      ‘Wow,’ I say, my jaw practically hitting my lap.

      ‘Yes.’ Alice sighs happily. ‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’

      The narrow road winds up the gentle slope of the hill until we reach the castle’s curtain wall and a giant, arched gateway made of pale-grey stone. The castle, which I haven’t taken my eyes off during the short drive up the hill, is made of the same stone, and two flags flap in the breeze as they stand proudly on top of the keep. The gates are open, so we drive through, my jaw dropping more and more the closer we get to the castle.

      ‘I’ll drop you and the suitcases off at the front,’ Alice tells me as we drive towards the looming castle. Trees line the road either side of us, with lush lawns beyond. It is beautiful, like stepping into a real-life fairy tale. The six-year-old who received that book of fairy tales would be in heaven if she could see this place. ‘There’s a car park just to the right. I’ll park and meet you at the main entrance so we don’t have to lug the suitcases too far.’

      My only reply is a slow nod. I am unable to form a sentence at this moment in time. Of course I’ve seen castles before. I’ve studied them extensively. But Durban Castle is magnificent, and I can’t quite believe I’m going to be staying here for a whole week. I am no longer recoiling in horror at the thought of gatecrashing Carolyn’s wedding, and Alice can chuck as many eligible bachelors at me as she likes.

      ‘Look at you.’ Alice giggles as we step out of her car. Stone steps lead up to a pair of thick, iron-studded wooden doors. My chin is grazing the gravelled ground by now. ‘I told you you’d love it. Wait until you see inside. It was beautiful when Granny and Grandpa lived here, but it was a little bit crumbly and musty, to be honest. Uncle Ned really went to town restoring it to its former glory when he took over.’

      We heft the suitcases out of the car and, with instructions for me to wait, Alice climbs back into the car and follows the signs to the parking area. I take this moment to get a grip. I cannot allow myself to become swept away by all this. Yes, the castle is gorgeous and I’m desperate to drink in its rich history, but I need to keep in control. Alice hasn’t really brought me here to satisfy my history nerdiness; the girl means business when it comes to my love life. She thinks I’m responsible for bringing Kevin into her life (which is technically true, I suppose, but I merely introduced the pair, playing no part in their courtship at all) and she’s desperate to repay the favour. It doesn’t matter one tiny bit that I take no credit for her relationship, nor want one of my own.

      I move the suitcases to one side as a car sweeps up the road, its rumble low and animalistic. It’s a stunning car with its sleek, glossy-red body that screams expense and class. I watch as it makes a perfect arc to stop at the entrance, spitting gravel from beneath its tyres. The window glides down and a tanned forearm appears, leaning against the frame, followed by a face. It’s hard to tell if the driver is good-looking as a pair of sunglasses seems to take up half his face, but his hair is perfectly styled and his lips are pulled into a seductive smile.

      ‘Hey.’

      That one word is enough to put me off, especially when coupled with the head jerk commanding I scuttle over to join him. As soon as he opens his mouth, I spot his rather large teeth. It’s hard to not spot them to be fair – it might as well be Shergar sitting there in a sports car.

      ‘Parking’s over there.’ I point in the direction Alice headed off into, still standing with the suitcases. I will not scuttle over to the car, awaiting a head pat for my good-doggy behaviour. Even if I would very much like to be taken for a spin.

      When he smiles at me, displaying his gnashers in all their glory, I half expect him to neigh. ‘I know, babe. I just wanted to introduce myself.’

      Babe? Ugh.

      ‘Ezra Bardon.’ Seemingly in one swift movement, he’s opened the door, slipped out onto the gravel and leaned against the shiny body of his car. He folds his arms lazily across his chest and flicks his chin into the air. A slight frown creases his brow when I don’t respond. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t have a name?’ He removes his sunglasses, hooking them on to the open collar of his polo shirt. ‘Or would you like me to guess?’

      I really, really wouldn’t like him to guess. It would be agonisingly cringe-worthy standing there while he reeled off name after name.

      ‘It’s Emily. Emily Atkinson.’

      He grins toothily (there is no other way this dude can grin). ‘Hello, Emily Atkinson. What a beautiful name.’

      My eyes are aching to roll. If I don’t concentrate really hard they will begin the cycle. ‘Thank you. I like it.’

      ‘It suits you.’ He pushes himself away from his car and saunters over to me, the stupid, Jaws-like grin taking up half of his face. ‘A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.’ I didn’t think it was possible, but the grin widens. Jeez, this guy has a lot of teeth. СКАЧАТЬ