Warning: Episode may contain strong language, violence and sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

PREVIOUSLY ON GLENDALE…

• The Oak & Vine was dressed in preparation for Ben and Emma’s wedding reception.
• Queenie was diagnosed with cancer.
• Kate had a chance encounter with Tom’s childhood friend, Stuart. She then invited unemployed Stuart to a trial shift at Greystone Downs Farm.
• Brian viciously attacked and sexually assaulted his wife, Pamela.
• Luke told Julia that James had killed a woman.

AND NOW, THE STORY CONTINUES…

Acorn Cottage,
Glendale

Emma Blake stood at the window of the guest bedroom at Acorn Cottage. With the sash window open, she could smell the jasmine that climbed the front of the cottage, hear a goldfinch chattering nearby, and feel the warmth of the morning air. The village green practically glowed in the summer sunshine, and there was but a whisp of a cloud in the sky.

Everything looked perfect.

Everything seemed perfect.

Only it wasn’t.

Today was her wedding day.

The happiest day of her life.

Only it wasn’t.

She should be buzzing with excitement.

She thought she’d be deliriously drunk with happiness.

Only she wasn’t.

Instead, all she could think about was Queenie and the news that she was dying. She’d tossed and turned all night, plagued by sleeplessness then haunted by nightmares. She’d woken at exactly 4:23 and just lay there, staring at the ceiling as her mind swirled with worries and fears. She’d watched the first light creep in through the curtains and tried to imagine a future without her elderly bestie. And now, she surveyed the village green while a single conversation played over and over in her mind.

“The biopsy has confirmed that you have cancer.”

She saw Queenie’s face.

“We’ve also found that it has metastasised to your liver and your bones.”

She heard Queenie’s breath hitch.

“The biopsy also tells us that this is an aggressive cancer.”

She felt Queenie’s heartbeat.

“We’re looking at a finite timeframe.”

She knew Queenie’s devastation.

She thought of Gail and Will. Of little Jemima. Of Audrey and Ben. Of the village as a whole. What was Glendale without Queenie? Was there even such a thing?

Emma closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat.

How could life be so incredibly cruel?

~

Downstairs, Queenie Baxter sat at the kitchen table, both hands wrapped around a mug of barely touched tea. She stared at the old pine, thinking about just how much of her life had been spent in that exact spot. The lunches. The dinners. The days spent baking.

She ran a hand gently along the wood grain, and the memories flooded back. She heard her mother’s laugh. Smelt the smoke from her father’s pipe. Felt her grandmother’s presence.

She could so clearly see all the days gone by. The Christmases. The birthdays. She remembered that awful fight when her dad had lost almost all their savings on the horses; the night her teetotal mother was brought home from The Oak & Vine drunk in a wheelbarrow; and the day she was sat down in that exact spot and told her grandmother had died in her sleep. She felt the dent in the wood where her brother Charles had tried to carve a cat and smiled at the memory before it faded and she remembered the day he had died. The car crash. The sound of her mother’s wail. The same wail she heard when her father had dropped dead in the shop at only 45.

Queenie frowned, realising she had now outlived her father by double his lifetime. 90 years still didn’t feel like enough. She couldn’t imagine what it felt like to take your final breath at 45. It was far too young.

Then, she thought of her mother. Cancer had got her at 64. Queenie had seen firsthand the pain and suffering she endured. She knew what lay ahead.

The palm of her hand swept across the wood, and she looked around the room.

So many memories made.

So many loved ones gone.

So little time left.

A tear escaped before she could stop it. Luckily, she caught it, wiping it away with the back of her hand, as the creak of the stairs told her Emma was awake.

“Ah, ‘ere she is. The blushin’ bride,” Queenie said through a smile that felt hard to achieve.

Emma entered the kitchen, following the smell of fresh tea, then stopped in her tracks. For the first time, Queenie looked all of her ninety years. Sat at the table in her dressing gown with her hair still in rollers, she looked drawn, pale and tired. The sight was confronting and a horrible reminder that yesterday wasn’t a dream.

Queenie’s eyes narrowed. “Wot?”

“Nothing,” Emma replied, forcing a smile before slipping into the chair opposite and pouring herself a cup of tea.

“Wot? Go on. Say it. Wot?”

“Nothing.”

“Wot?!”

Emma pressed her lips together. “You just look… tired.”

“Cheeky cow!” Queenie pulled the flaps of her dressing gown together with a huff. “Course I’m tired! I’m ninety-bloody-years-old! An’ ya ain’t no oil paintin’ y’self! Look like y’ve been kicked in the face by a drunk donkey with them dark rings round ya eyes! They don’t even sell bags that big in ‘arrods!”

Emma chewed on the side of her cheek, desperately trying not to laugh at her friend’s mock outrage. “Rude!”

Queenie took a calming sip of her tea, carefully returned the cup to its saucer and then looked Emma firmly in the eyes. “Not rude. ‘onest. There’s a difference.”

Emma smiled. “I just worry about you.”

“I know ya do.” There was a sadness to Queenie’s tone as she let out a long, slow exhale. She reached across the table and patted Emma’s hand. “An’ I appreciate it. Really, I do.”

Emma felt the lump in her throat return. “Queenie—”

“Not t’day, Doc,” she replied, sitting back in her chair, her eyes looking around the kitchen as if soaking in the history and committing every detail to memory. “We’re not gonna talk about it. Not t’day.”

“But Queenie—”

“T’day is ya special day. Yours and Benny Boy’s. It’s not a day to be thinkin’ ‘bout me, y’hear?”

Emma conceded defeat and nodded before taking a sip of her tea.

“It’s gonna be a day none of us is ever gonna forget,” Queenie said with the familiar sparkle returning to her eyes. “I can feel it in me waters!”

The Oak & Vine,
Glendale

Hilda Hollingsworth had been talking without, it seemed, taking a breath for exactly eleven minutes and sixteen seconds. Tess Montgomery knew because she had been counting.

“And don’t get me started on that daughter of hers!”

Eleven minutes and seventeen seconds.

“I won’t,” Tess replied with a sigh, sounding more disinterested than a teenager being forced to watch Bargain Hunt.

Standing behind the bar, polishing glasses with a cloth, she barely paid any attention to the rapid-fire ramblings of Hilda as she went about the pub polishing the tables for Ben and Emma’s big day.

“And then, did I tell ya, Jess—”

“Tess.”

“Whatever it is,” Hilda flapped a hand in her boss’s direction, “that my Stuart, my Sooky, is helpin’ out at bleedin’ Kate Spencer’s farm?! The nerve of that woman!”

Hilda stopped cleaning and stood with her hands on her hips, a cleaning cloth in one hand and a can of Mr Sheen in the other. With her usual look of a garish pinny and hair in rollers covered by a hairnet, Tess couldn’t help but think she looked more like Hilda Ogden from Coronation Street.

“Slave labour. That’s what it is, Ness. Bleedin’ slave labour. I mean, ya hear about all these zero-whatsit-contract-things on LBC, but ya never think it’ll happen to you. Nope. Never. Let alone that yer own kid will be taken in by one. Oh, no! Not my Sooky. He’s nearly fifty he is, and he’s now been dragged into some slave labour thingy up at Greystone because that Kate Spencer is too bleedin’ tight to pay someone. It’s bloody motorway robbering it is, Bess.”

“Tess.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Eleven minutes and thirty-two seconds.

As Hilda’s nasally rapid-fire settled over her, Tess frowned, piecing it all together. “Didn’t Stuart offer to help?”

A frown creased Hilda’s brow. What good was the truth when it ruined her story?

“Well, technicality, yes.” She sucked in her lips and resumed polishing a table. “But it’s because of Kate’s womanly ways that he did. Always has been weak when it comes to the fairest sex, my Stuart. That and a French Fancy.” She looked Tess dead in the eye. “The cake not those skirt liftin’ Mulan Roosh French girls.”

Tess stared at the glass in her hand and wondered whether she could have a drink without anyone noticing. Anything to dull Hilda’s drilling of her ears.

“Ain’t got the hands for farm work, my Sooky.” Hilda shook her head as she resumed polishing. “Our Fraser, yes. Now he’s the one yer’d expect to toss about a hay bale or ride a cow. But not my Stuart. He’s a gentle soul. A kind soul. With soft hands and an even softer heart.”

She glanced back at Tess.

“He always cries when he watches Titanic, y’know? That and Luton Town games. Oh, he’s dead romantic is our Stuart. And he pays for his own Netfrix!”

Tess nodded thoughtfully, although she had absolutely no idea what she was agreeing with.

“He’s an accountant, you see. Belongs in an office, tinklin’ the keys and pushin’ buttons. Not on a farm ticklin’ cows and pushin’ sheep.”

There was a sudden crash from somewhere upstairs.

Tess looked toward the ceiling, but Hilda didn’t notice.

“Oh, and did I tell ya what that Tilly Wainwright did the other day? Well, she…”

Another crash. Then a bang. Tess noticed as dust fell from the ceiling.

“…and then she told him to put it in even harder! Well, I tell ya what, Jess, I’ve never heard such filth in all me life!”

Something groaned and it wasn’t Tess.

Before Hilda could continue, the door from the hallway burst open, and Johnny Montgomery rushed into the bar. Hair soaked, face pale and carrying a mop.

“Water!” he shouted.

Tess stared at him. “What?”

“Water! Upstairs! Everywhere!”

“I’ve got a cloth!” Hilda held it proudly aloft as if it would do the job.

Johnny pointed frantically towards the stairs. “Pipe’s burst! It’s flooding everywhere!”

Tess was already running.

“How bad?”

“Bad!”

“How bad is bad?”

“Like, bad! Bad bad!”

There was another groan.

A large drop of water landed directly on Hilda’s head. She looked up. Another drop hit her nose. Then another.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack, and a waterfall began coming through the ceiling.

Hilda screamed, as if melting like the witch in The Wizard of Oz. “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Tess yelled, frantically trying to work out what to do to stop the water.

“Water and ‘lectric will melt me curlers and fry me brain!” Hilda shrieked.

“Gotta have one to fry,” Johnny muttered under his breath.

Tess looked up at the stream of water that poured in. “Has anyone turned the mains off?”

Johnny’s face dropped. “No.”

“Johnny!”

“I’ve been dealing with the water!”

“Turn the electricity off!”

Johnny turned to run.

“And don’t fry y’self!” Hilda called as Johnny disappeared. She stood beneath the dripping ceiling, staring upwards in horror. “I’ve always said this place was a death trap!”

Tess ignored her. She looked around at the water spreading across the pub floor. The ruined banner. The destroyed decorations. The soggy chairs. The limp flowers. Ben and Emma’s ruined wedding reception.

Hilda looked at Tess, who suddenly appeared green. “What?”

“The wedding reception.”

“What about it?”

A growing annoyance stirred in Tess, and she waved a hand at the flood damage like a cheap gameshow model.

“Oh, yeah, that,” Hilda said, nodding as she looked around at the chaos, completely forgetting her nephew’s nuptials that were just hours away. “A lotta people are gonna get fried an’ die.”

Tess’s temper boiled over. “Nobody is going to die, Hilda!”

“They bally well will if ya can’t stop the ‘lectricity!” Hilda huffed, crossing her arms like a naughty child that has just been scolded. “An’ I just cleaned all this! What about some condensation for my feelings, Bess?”

Before Tess could go nuclear, Johnny came rushing back.

“Electricity’s off!”

“Good.”

“Water’s off too.”

“Good.”

Hilda tapped her foot as she stood sulking, watching as Tess and Johnny tried to work out what to do now. “I told ya.”

Tess turned. “What?”

“I told ya them pipes were old.”

“No, you didn’t!” Tess’s patience was now tissue-thin.

“I bally well did!”

“Hilda!” Tess said with a raised voice as her eyes narrowed and her temper flared. “You didn’t mention anything about old pipes!”

“I did! I definitely did!”

“You said the toilets stunk.”

Hilda shrugged. “Same same.”

Before Tess could blow a gasket, another section of ceiling groaned.

Everyone looked up, and another bulge appeared in the plaster right above Hilda’s head. She screamed. Again. “IT’S GONNA CRUSH ME!”

“Then step out of the way, you stupid idiot!” Tess had clearly had enough.

Hilda’s brow lifted at the simplicity of the suggestion, and she stepped to the side, just as the bulge blew and another stream of water poured down from upstairs.

It was all too much, and Tess closed her eyes.

Ben and Emma had chosen the pub because she had promised them everything would be perfect. Now the ceiling was leaking, the floor was flooded, the flowers were soaked and the reception was ruined.

Hilda looked around the mess and sniffed. “So, I s’pose ya want me to start again.”

Tess let out a defeated exhale and stared at her. “Hilda.”

“Yes?”

“Please shut up.”

Hilda nodded.

There was a long pause.

Then…

“Did I finish tellin’ ya about that Tilly Wainwright?”

Tess looked at the ceiling and wanted to cry. “Dear God, take me now!”

Greystone Downs Farm,
Glendale

By half past nine, Stuart Hollingsworth had almost fixed the broken fence.

From the kitchen window, Kate watched him with his sleeves rolled to his elbows as he worked his way along the broken section. He had been at it since early morning, and she had to admit that she was rather impressed with the unemployed accountant whom she had assumed possessed no physical labour skills.

She filled two mugs with tea and headed outside.

Stuart was concentrating fiercely on a section of timber, hammer in hand, lining up a nail.

Kate paused under the portico.

Stuart wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his wrist.

Kate swallowed.

There was something unexpectedly attractive about seeing him like this, in her world. Stuart had an athletic build beneath his work shirt, which she noticed looked far too clean, so he had clearly run out and bought it yesterday after their discussion, broad shoulders and strong forearms. His salt-and-pepper hair was ruffled, and there was a smear of dirt across one cheek.

“Tea break?”

Stuart jumped and looked around, startled by the call, as he almost dropped the hammer in fright.

Kate chewed on her cheek at the absurdity of it all as she started across the farmyard toward him.

Stuart’s face broke into a smile. “Please.”

“Nearly there?” Kate asked, passing over a mug as she approached.

Their fingers brushed.

Kate felt a flutter.

Stuart felt a spark and quickly glanced back at the fence, proud of his achievement. “Nearly.”

“I can’t believe you’ve done so much… so quickly!”

“I’m beginning to think you didn’t have much faith in me.”

“I had faith.”

“How much?”

“About this much,” Kate replied, squinting as she held her thumb and index finger a few millimetres apart.

Stuart laughed in a way that made Kate smile. “That’s insulting!”

“Just being honest. That’s what they call me round these parts.”

“Just being honest?”

“No!” Kate smiled and playfully hit his arm. “Honest Kate!”

Stuart’s smile caused another flutter.

“No one calls you that… do they?”

“No,” Kate admitted, dropping her eyes. “But they should! I’m well honest me!”

Another laugh.

Another flutter.

Kate caught herself. What the hell was happening?

Taking a sip of his tea, it was then Stuart noticed Kate wasn’t dressed for farm work anymore. She had showered and changed for Ben and Emma’s wedding. The yellow mini dress that fitted her perfectly was elegant without being overly formal. Her auburn curls had been pinned back. She’d added small diamond earrings and the perfect amount of makeup that made her look natural and not overly made up.

“You look lovely,” Stuart said politely, hoping she wouldn’t think him a creep.

Kate smiled. “Thank you.”

“The dress suits you.”

Kate glanced down. “You think? I’m not sure.”

“It’s lovely.” Stuart took a sip of tea. “That colour suits you.”

Kate brushed a hand against the fabric. “Really? You like it?”

“I do.” Stuart took another sip of tea. “Very much.” He closed his eyes and grimaced. He’d tipped over into creep. Idiot!

There was something in the way he said it that made Kate look at him again. She could tell he was silently chastising himself, and it was rather endearing.

Something crackled.

She noticed the sweat on his brow. The grey at his temples. The angular line of his unshaven jaw.

“You’ve worked hard.”

“I wanted to get it finished before you left,” Stuart replied with a smile, hoping he could salvage things before she’d completely written him off.

Kate looked at the fence. “Why?”

Stuart shrugged. “So you wouldn’t have to worry about it while you were away.”

The answer was so simple and kind that it caught her off guard.

“That’s sweet.”

For a moment, Stuart looked embarrassed. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Kate took a sip of her tea and then her eyes widened at a memory. “Oh. Your morning tea!”

Stuart groaned. “Oh, God!”

“Hilda dropped it off earlier this morning,” Kate said, thumbing back towards the house.

Stuart’s shoulders sagged. “That woman. I swear.”

Kate smiled. “It’s cute.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“She just wants to look after you.”

“I’m forty-nine!”

“Practically fifty.”

Stuart’s eyes widened. The cheek! “Not for another six months, thank you very much!”

“I rounded up.” Kate chewed on cheek. “Wait here. I’ll go get it.”

Before Stuart had a chance to protest, Kate had dumped her mug with him and was jogging back toward the farmhouse. He titled his head slightly and realised that he had never seen someone in a dress and wellington boots before. It was certainly a unique look to say the least.

A few moments later, Kate was back.

“Here,” she said, a little breathless and shaking a paper bag.

“Let me guess,” Stuart began as Kate peered inside. “Two sandwiches.”

“Yes.”

“A banana.”

“Yes.”

“An apple.”

“Yes.”

“A French Fancy.”

“Two!”

“And biscuits.”

“No.” Kate looked at him. “A scone. With cream and jam. And crisps. Two packs.”

Stuart snuffled.

“And this is just morning tea?” Kate looked back down into the bag in disbelief. “I’m surprised you’re not the size of a house! Actually, I’m surprised this bag hasn’t ripped!”

Stuart smiled as he sipped his tea. “Apparently being unemployed has reverted me back to a child in her eyes.”

“And then you’ve still got all the food at the wedding!”

Stuart raised his eyebrows. “Exactly! Now you see why I need to do physical work.”

He patted his stomach.

Kate tried not to look.

Then, something caught her eye, and she reached into the bag, pulling out a folded piece of paper. “What’s this?”

Stuart groaned and prayed for the ground to open and swallow him whole. “It’s nothing.” He tried unsuccessfully to snatch it back.

Kate managed to pull the paper away and unfold it before Stuart could grasp it. She immediately recognised Hilda’s handwriting.

Good luck today, Sooky.
Don’t work too hard.
And remember, Mummy loves you xxx

Kate stared at it. Then she looked at Stuart. “Sooky?”

He closed his eyes. “Please don’t.”

Kate burst out laughing. “Oh, Sooky.”

Stuart wanted to die. “It’s not funny,” he said, trying not to laugh at Kate’s laughter.

“Mummy loves you.”

The laughter was infectious. “Stop.”

“Sorry,” Kate said, still laughing as she slipped the note back in the bag before handing it to Stuart. “God, Hilda does make me laugh!”

The air felt light as the pair chuckled. It was all so easy. So natural.

Stuart took another sip of his tea and then glanced at his watch. “Don’t you have to be getting to Queenie’s?”

Kate’s laughter immediately stopped and her face dropped. She’d completely forgotten about helping Emma get ready.

“Shit! Fuck! Pissing! Fuck! Shit!”

She ran around in a small circle like a headless chicken, trying to process the eight million thoughts that exploded in her head at once.

“Oh my Christ!”

She tipped out her barely touched tea.

“She’s absolutely gonna bloody kill me, she is!”

Stuart smiled with amusement at the Benny Hill sketch playing out before him.

Kate tossed her empty mug to Stuart like a hot potato and then remembered she was heading back to the house, so she snatched it back. She hitched up her dress, although it didn’t need to, and started jogging back toward the farmhouse like a toddler that had soiled itself as she tried to make running in welly boots look somewhat graceful.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks!”

“And don’t worry about anything here.”

“I wasn’t,” she called back over her shoulder.

“I’ll see you at the wedding.”

Kate didn’t turn to look back but instead waved a hand in acknowledgement.

Stuart watched her for a moment, with his tea in one hand and Hilda’s care package in the other. “Oh, and Kate…”

In the distance, she stopped and turned back. “What?”

“You really do look lovely.”

“Ta very much!” She yelled, her voice barely carrying on the breeze as she turned and continued jogging back toward the house. “Shame I can’t say the same about you!”

Stuart looked down at his dirty attire and laughed.  He had no idea what had just happened, but whatever it was, it felt special.

Ashbourne House,
Glendale

By the time Julia Harrington-Jones drove her black Rolls-Royce Spectre through the wrought iron gates of Ashbourne House, she had almost convinced herself that Luke Kennedy was lying. His words had been playing on repeat in her head all night, driving her mad.

“You’re the one who can turn a blind eye when her husband kills a woman.”

“You haven’t got a clue what James has done. Do you?”

It was absurd. James hadn’t killed anyone. He couldn’t. He didn’t have it in him. Luke was just toying with her, trying to get in her head. But yet, there was something in the way he said it, something in his eyes that made Julia doubt. She knew her estranged husband inside out and upside down. It simply wasn’t possible. But there was a small voice in her that seemed to believe that it was. That it could be.

And so, as her luxury vehicle drove down the gravel drive, there was only one thing for it. Julia needed to speak to James.

She pulled to a stop outside the impressive stately home and immediately noticed several vans and a truck parked nearby. Workmen moved about the garden and disappeared behind the building. Julia frowned as she exited the vehicle. She hadn’t realised James was renovating.

Climbing the steps to the front door, she had barely made it to the top when the door opened, and there stood Rebecca Williams, playing the role of lady of the manor with a cheap, smug smile to match her cheap polyester blouse.

“Good morning, Julia.” She looked her over from head to toe. “You look… decent.”

Julia proudly smoothed down the crepe-like fabric of her tailored, black midi dress. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

Julia pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed slightly.

Rebecca’s mouth twitched with delight and the start of a smirk. “Going to a funeral?”

“Ben and Emma’s wedding, actually.”

“Same thing.” She looked Julia over once more. “Although, I must say, I’m surprised you scored an invite. Obviously, the RSVP’s were slim in the first round.”

Julia ignored the insult.

“Is James in?” She asked, looking over Rebecca’s shoulder into the house she once called home. “I need to speak to him urgently.”

“He’s in Paris. On business.”

Julia arched a brow. “Paris?”

Rebecca nodded.

“Well, when you next speak to him, tell him to call me immediately.”

“I won’t.” Rebecca leaned against the doorframe. “Is there anything else, or…?”

Julia studied her estranged husband’s new lover. Everything everyone said about Rebecca was obviously true. “Just tell him to call me.”

She turned to leave, then stopped, and glanced back over her shoulder, preparing to fire off one parting shot as a delicious smile spread across her lips. “Oh, and do make sure James has a lovely time in Paris.”

Rebecca frowned.

Julia turned fully, and her smile widened. “With Marie.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Marie?”

“His French lover.”

Rebecca stared at her.

Julia could practically see the cogs turning. It was obvious this was the first Rebecca was hearing about James’s years-long mistress.

“I’m sure they’ll have a wonderful time together,” she said with a saccharine sweetness as she landed the final devastating blow and turned away, satisfied. She had won the battle.

As Julia headed back down the stone steps, the sound of machinery caught her attention. She looked across the garden to where workmen were tearing out one of the old oak trees, and her smile disappeared. “What’s going on?”

Rebecca followed her line of sight. “Landscaping,” she replied so matter-of-factly it was as cold as ice. “Not that it’s any of your business anymore.”

Julia stared at the gardens. Grass was being ripped up, trees were being ripped out, and flowerbeds were being ripped apart.

Then she saw them.

The roses. Her roses. The roses she had planted after every miscarriage.

“The rose bushes,” she said, looking back at Rebecca with an uncharacteristic look of fear in her eyes. “Please don’t touch them.”

Rebecca frowned. “They’re just roses, Julia.”

“Please!” Julia practically begged with an urgency that Rebecca immediately clocked. “They… mean something. Just please promise me you won’t touch the roses.”

Rebecca looked at her carefully. There was something in Julia’s face that made her stop.

“Promise me.”

Rebecca glanced toward the roses again and then back at Julia. “Okay, I promise.”

Julia searched her face, and for once Rebecca seemed sincere.

“Thank you,” she said with a deep exhale and the faint markings of a smile before resuming walking to her car. “And tell James to call me. It’s urgent.”

Rebecca remained in the doorway, watching as Julia got into her Rolls-Royce and set off back down the long drive. She watched until the car disappeared beyond the gates, and then she closed the front door. She stood there, thinking about Julia’s plea. They obviously meant a lot to her, more than anything in this world.

With a sharp intake of breath, she pushed it back out her nose, then removed her phone from the pocket of her jeans. She tapped on a number and placed the phone to her ear.

“Phil, it’s Rebecca.” She paused. “Yes. I’ve changed my mind. I want the rose bushes removed. Today.”

Glenbrook Farm,
Glendale

In the master bedroom of Glenbrook Farm, Ben Granger stood in front of the floor-length mirror, dressed in a sharp, fitted grey suit, wrestling with a silver silk tie.

“Give it here,” Hamish Granger said, stepping in and slapping his older brother’s hands away. “You’ll fuckin’ strangle yourself.”

“I had it!” Ben insisted with a huff but was secretly thankful for the help.

He stayed still as Hamish stood behind him, flipping and twisting the tie into a perfect Windsor knot.

“You had it looking like a noose, you div!” Hamish’s mouth turned up into a smile at the corners. “Honestly, second wedding and you still can’t get it right!”

“Says the man who’s never made it past a third date.”

“Some of us like to sample a bit of everything from life’s buffet instead of having the same reheated leftovers every night.”

“That’s grim,” Ben replied, shaking his head and pulling his mouth tight. He didn’t know if it was the butterflies or Hamish’s objectifying description, but something was making him feel uneasy. “No wonder you’re still single.”

“By choice,” Hamish added with a smirk. “And be nice to me or I won’t be kind when I write my best man speech.”

Ben’s eyes bulged at Hamish in the reflection of the mirror. “You haven’t written it yet?”

“I work best under pressure.”

“You panic under pressure!”

Hamish’s smirk widened into a grin. “Same thing.”

A comfortable silence settled over the brothers as Hamish finished working his magic on the tie.

“You nervous?” He asked, meeting his brother’s eyes in the reflection.

Ben shrugged. “A bit. More excited than anything.”

Hamish tightened the tie one last time and stepped back to assess his work. “Right. You look almost respectable. Miracle, that.”

Ben looked at himself in the mirror. Annoyingly, the tie looked good.

“Thanks.”

Another beat of silence. They both knew where their thoughts had gone.

“Do you think he’ll show up today?”

Ben didn’t need to ask who he was. The word ‘dad’ was now something they avoided, like the massive pothole on Albert Lane. After the brutal attack on their mother at Christmas, Brian was now persona non grata in the village, not just in the Granger household.

“He better not,” he replied firmly. “I don’t think any of us will be responsible for our actions if he does.”

Hamish glanced in his brother’s direction.

“He’s not part of today,” Ben added, turning to look back at Hamish as his jaw tightened. “He’s not part of anything anymore.”

They both took a moment of reflection as memories flickered to life. Pamela had refused to press charges, despite what everyone insisted. Instead, they had all cut Brian out of their lives. Every single one of them. Without hesitation.

Hamish nudged his brother’s shoulder. “Enough about him. Today’s about you and Emma.”

Ben let out a deep breath, easing the tightness in his shoulders. “Yeah. It is.”

“And I’m under strict instructions from that missus of yours to make sure you don’t look like something that’s been dragged through a hedge backwards.” Hamish looked his older brother up and down. “Still not great, but it’s an improvement.”

“Shut ya face!” Ben laughed and playfully pushed his brother away, messing up Hamish’s immaculately styled black hair in the process. “Then you’d better sort my cufflinks, too.”

“Bossy git,” Hamish muttered under his breath, fixing his hair as he stepped forward anyway.

~

Downstairs, Audrey Granger poured the last of the tea into her mug before setting the empty teapot down on the kitchen table. Already dressed for the day in a beautiful navy A-line lace dress, with her grey perm recently reset, she studied her granddaughter, who sat opposite, away with the fairies.

“Drink up, sweetheart,” she said, lifting her mug to her mouth but not taking a sip. “Cold tea is good for no one.”

Lost in thought, Gemma Granger stared off into space with her hands wrapped around her ever-cooling mug. She had only been back in her childhood home for an hour and already felt haunted by the memories of how violent and abusive her father had always been.

She was brought back into the land of the living and managed a polite laugh. “Sorry, Gran, I was a million miles away.”

“I could tell.” Audrey took a long sip of tea and savoured the sweetness of the brew before swallowing. “It’s so good to have you home, darling.”

Gemma’s gaze shifted to her mug, and her smile faded. “I wish I could say it was good to be home.”

Audrey frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Being back here, it’s… I don’t know. Odd. Strange.”

Audrey lowered her mug as her expression grew concerned.

“After what happened…” Gemma’s voice trailed off, and she began picking at the china with her thumbnail. “I just keep thinking about mum and dad and what he… did… to her… here.” Her eyes moved to the floor, and she wondered where exactly the Christmas attack had happened. When she had received the call about the brutality Brian had inflicted upon Pamela, she was horrified and shocked, yet, if she was being honest, deep down, a part of her wasn’t completely surprised. She had witnessed the abuse throughout her childhood. The yelling. The name-calling. The belittling. The slaps. The hits. She’d got used to falling asleep to her mother’s sobs. But to know there was also sexual violence, the thought made her want to be sick.

Gemma looked back at her grandmother. “Mum says she’s fine, but she’s not. I can see it.”

“Too brave for her own good that one.” Audrey paused and carefully considered her words. “What happened at Christmas… things like that don’t fade quickly. Not for Pammy. Not for any of us. I can’t help but think if I’d only been a better mother…”

A frown spread across Gemma’s brow. “Gran, none of this is your fault.”

“I know you think that,” Audrey said quietly, tracing the rim of her mug with her finger. “But I’m his mother. The boy I raised, my own son, did something like that. Something so vile. Something so horrible. To his wife. For years. It’s in him, Gemma, and I have to shoulder some of that blame.”

There was a pause as Audrey tried to push back the tears that threatened. “I’m just so ashamed of him, Gemma. So deeply ashamed.”

Gemma reached across the table and took her grandmother’s hand. “You have nothing to be ashamed about. What Dad did… was… well, beyond description really. But that was his choice, Gran. He is the one who should be ashamed. He is the one to blame. Not you. Not Mum. Not Ben or Hamish or me. And you didn’t make him that way.”

Audrey swallowed hard. “I don’t ever want to see him again, darling. Not after what he did. I hope he never shows his face in this village again.”

Gemma gave her grandmother’s hand another squeeze, although she doubted Brian would stay away from Ben’s special day.

Before either could say any more, the kitchen door opened as Pamela entered, ushering in Ben’s eight-year-old twins like a sheepdog herding lambs. Oliver was dressed in a small grey suit that matched his father’s perfectly, while Poppy wore a cream organza flower girl dress, cinched around the waist with a blush-pink silk bow. They were precious, and Audrey’s face brightened.

“Oh, my darlings!” She practically squealed in a pitch only Mariah Carey could reach and clapped her hands together. “Don’t you both look adorable!”

Pleased Poppy gave a twirl, while Oliver tugged at the tie that was practically strangling him.

“I look beautiful,” Poppy said proudly, giving another twirl that caused her skirt to puff up.

“I’m dying!” Oliver complained with a grimace, struggling to get two fingers between his throat and the fabric.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Pamela moaned with a roll of her eyes.

Gemma admired her mother’s outfit. In a pale powder-blue tailored dress with a matching fitted jacket and an elegant, angled floral fascinator, she looked every inch the proud mother of the groom. “You look beautiful, Mum.”

Pamela’s cheeks flushed a deep red, and she unthinkingly fidgeted with a pearl earring.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, unaccustomed to receiving compliments. “I feel a bit overdressed, to be honest.”

“Nonsense!” Audrey said, setting her mug down and tapping her fingers against the tabletop as if she were a judge ruling on a court case. “You look gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.”

Heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs, and everyone turned as Hamish bundled in through the doorway, his arms spread dramatically wide.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please, try to contain your awe, as I present to you, the one and only Benjamin Granger!”

Ben entered after his brother, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, darling!” Pamela gasped, holding a hand to her chest. “You look absolutely handsome.”

Ben’s cheeks flushed and he ducked his head. “Mum—”

“Really,” Audrey agreed, rising from her seat and turning her grandson by the shoulders to get the full view. “Emma is going to cry the moment she sees you.”

Hamish leaned in with a smirk. “And what about me, Gran? No praise for your favourite?”

“You’re not my favourite,” Audrey replied without missing a beat but kissed his cheek anyway. “You look very handsome too, darling.”

Hamish frowned. “Then who is?”

“Never you mind.” Audrey smiled a knowing smile and winked in the direction of the twins, who clocked the gesture and puffed out their little chests.

“You look like a spy,” Oliver declared, admiring his father’s outfit.

“No! A butler!” Poppy corrected.

Ben groaned. “Fantastic. Just the vibe I was going for.”

A ripple of laughter moved around the kitchen, and for the first time in a long time, Pamela forgot about everything that had happened. Today was going to be a good day; she just knew it.

“Alright, everyone,” Gemma said as the natural organiser of the family, clapping her hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Time to go. The cars are waiting.”

Ben inhaled a steadying breath. “Right then. Let’s go get me married.”

Acorn Cottage,
Glendale

Emma came slowly down the stairs, one hand resting on the bannister and followed by the rustle of fabric with each step.

Queenie and Kate looked up and, for a moment, forgot how to breathe.

In an ivory lace dress, embroidered with fine floral detail, Emma was radiant. The skirt swished with every step, and her hair was swept back into a chignon bun, with a few soft strands framing her face.

“You look lush!” Kate said, pressing a hand to her chest.

“Oh, Doc,” Queenie whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

“What?” Emma stopped halfway down the last few steps, and a nervous laugh escaped. “Is it that bad?”

“Bad?” Queenie repeated, almost offended by the suggestion. “You look stunnin’! Simply stunnin’!”

Emma’s cheeks turned pink. “You really think so?”

“I know so!” Queenie smiled through her tears.

Emma reached the bottom of the staircase and turned slowly. “I was worried it might be too much.”

“Too much?” Queenie swatted away the suggestion like a fly. “T’day’s the one day in ya life when ya can be too much!”

Kate nodded in agreement and Emma smiled, while Queenie hobbled over and took her hand.

“I just wish ya could see y’self the way we see ya.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”

The hint of sadness threatened again, but before it could take hold, Queenie swiftly moved things along.

“Bouquet!” She shouted suddenly, startling Emma and Kate as she thrust an index finger aloft as if struck by a sudden, great thought.

The trio moved toward the kitchen table, and Queenie handed the heavy bouquet to the blushing bride. It was almost as beautiful as the dress. Creamy white and blush-pink roses nestled among smaller white flowers and baby’s breath. It was everything Emma had imagined.

She ran her fingers gently along one of the petals. “They’re beautiful.”

“So are you,” Kate replied.

Emma looked back at her. “You’re going to make me cry.”

Queenie huffed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t do that, ya silly cow! That’ll ruin ya makeup!”

Emma chuckled.

Then came a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Queenie said and hobbled off down the hallway.

Emma and Kate couldn’t quite make out the voices. It sounded like something about a visit or a gift or something.

“Doc!” Came Queenie’s voice down the hallway. “I think yer’d better come ‘ere for a sec!”

Emma returned the bouquet to the table and followed the call. As she approached, Queenie turned and looked at her with an expression Emma couldn’t quite read.

“It’s for you.”

Emma frowned. “For me?”

Queenie nodded and stepped aside, opening the front door wider.

Emma looked at the man on the doorstep and froze. For one impossible second, she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. It had been years.

“Dad?” Emma said breathlessly, unable to comprehend the fact that her estranged father was standing on Queenie’s doorstep.

“Hello, Emily,” Martin Barlow said in the same deep voice she remembered as he looked her up and down, taking in the beautiful vision before him. “You look beautiful.”

NEXT TIME:

• Ben and Emma say “I do”.