My Friend/His Sister Ch. 02

The two months that had passed saw her mind changed somewhat, she confessed herself quite sold on the local church that locals John and Karen had tied the knot in nearly four years before. I opened a second bottle of prosecco and poured it out. I was still the chief bridesmaid and that was very much part of my job after all.

Steve and Kev watched the proceedings from the glowing fire pit, with an enquiring look.

"Nothing to do with you Stevie," I said, "until the bills need paying."

"Yeah," said big brother John, gently rocking the pram my nephew Peter was sleeping in, "the words you're looking for are 'how much dear?' No more than that mate, honest."

Kev looked at his old school friend and chuckled.

"Smile and wave Steve!"

Steve shook his head and looked from him to me.

"And don't think you're totally immune from all of this Mr Goodall, I may just make you a bloody groomsman for the hell of it, and besides," Steve nodded towards me.

"Cheers Steve," said Kev raising his beer glass, and not seeming to mind the hidden suggestion in the slightest.

I waited for their laughter to abate and smiled a very loving smile across to him.

Shit, Stevie was actually quite right. I thought about that very thing, Kev and I were still crazy about each other.

We'd booked our first holiday together in August; we'd already made arrangements for his Dad to come to us a few times, especially at Christmas with all three of us to Mum and Dad's for Boxing day.

This was serious stuff, and the broody Laura that had cradled Baby Daisy in the staff room a fortnight before popped her head up and into my sub-conscience.

Holly was looking at pictures of Karen's wedding dress on her phone and was making hand movements around herself to indicate how she wanted the white lace to flow and leaning closer I was seeing me in my bridesmaid dress, which I realised I was mentally morphing into MY wedding dress.

I blushed and looked away; with her parental telepathy Mum looked across and me, wrinkled her nose, smiled and blew me a kiss, basically semaphoring across to me that it was OK, and it would my turn next!

I giggled and blew a kiss back to let her know the message was received.

A few weeks later with the wedding date set and initial arrangements made, Kev and I had a long weekend off together and he asked me if I'd like to go south and spend the bank holiday weekend in the country at his Dad's place.

"Will she be there?" I asked.

"She hardly ever goes there," he said, "but I'll ring and check the day before; if she's there we can book a Premier Inn and he can drive over to us."

I wiped a hand across my forehead, to remove the imaginary sweat that had formed during the discussion. Kev laughed.

And so we did, turning up at the immaculately kept retirement complex, parking in the visitor bay and checking in at reception, taking my weekend bag towards the big ground floor flat Mr Goodall lived in, and he was already in his garden reading a newspaper, the sports pages particularly.

"Dad!" said Kev brightly.

"Kevan!" said the older man, leaping to his feet with energy, "and this must be the lovely Laura!" he held out a hand, but I stepped closer and gave him a hug.

"Nice to see you again Mr Goodall," I said with a big smile.

"You haven't changed a bit Darling," he said brightly, "I can still remember you coming across to Mill Lane to visit with Claire in the old days."

"Yes," I said positively, casting a quick glance at Kev. He assured me that he'd told his Dad that he didn't want news of our romance reaching 'Claire Anita' as she was bound to create and cause trouble.

"I don't know why you're so worried, why would she cause trouble?"

"Because she can Dad, you know what she's like."

His Dad took a long breath,

"Yes, you're right of course," he shook his head, "I really don't know where I went so wrong with that girl Kevan, really I don't."

"You didn't Dad, Linda did," he looked at me and gave me a crafty wink, and I bit my lip to stop myself laughing about his step-mum revelations in bed that evening, now some months back, "From the day Claire could say 'I want', Linda would never say no... to anything. She became a spoilt little brat as a result of Linda giving her everything she wanted and giving you a hard time if you didn't."

"Glad you noticed mate," said Mr Goodall with a grin, "oh Linda could be such a cow, mind you, so can her daughter."

I thought back to the old days,

"Claire would mention her half-sister from Linda's first marriage, what was she like?"

Mr Goodall looked reflective,

"Linda's Mum told me a few times, her name is Nicola and she has Downs Syndrome; an amazing girl by all accounts, but I understand caring for her caused the first marriage to fail. Linda's first husband Nigel never had a problem with her, according to her Mum so she stayed with him and did brilliantly; Nicola went on to college, got her diploma and last I heard she was working for a disabilities charity."

"That does explain quite a bit about Linda," I said, "walking away from a kiddie with that kind of disability would leave a real big trail of guilt behind it."

"Precisely," said Mr Goodall, with a nod, "now Laura Darling, it's time I took you and your handsome boyfriend out for a splendid lunch!" he offered me his arm, and I took it with a big smile, and Kev took the other.

We walked out into the small town and to a nearby hotel restaurant, where a table had been reserved. The food was excellent, and we ate our fill, with his Dad, who insisted I call him Phil, paying the quite substantial bill. Substantial for a schoolteacher like me at least.

We walked around the small town with me having a Goodall man on each arm. His Dad was charming, and I had warmed to him almost straight away, despite some initial thoughts about his treatment of his son, my gorgeous boyfriend.

We walked back to his retirement complex and found a 'you have a message' post-it note on the door, 'your daughter rang'.

"Shit," said Phil, "just need to wander along to reception."

He came back five minutes later, with a long face.

The gist of the phone call had been that Claire had phoned to speak to (grumble and whine at probably) her father who, as a retired man, now only ever switched on his phone when it was convenient to him.

With a 'we are unable to connect your call-please try later' answer' she called the complex office, where she was told he had just gone out to lunch with his son and his girlfriend.

An already angry Claire had complained that her father better not have a bloody girlfriend, but was put right by the receptionist who pointed out it was his SON'S girlfriend, not the other way around. The receptionist was quite specific about the response.

"K...K...Kevan's got a girlfriend?" laughed the anonymous voice.

The phone went quiet and was disconnected without another word.

Father and son shared a look, and then both looked at me.

"Yeah," I said reading their minds, "she won't be able to take that news lying down."

"I'm so sorry Kev," he said, "the receptionist saw you both this morning, she didn't think anything of it."

"Shit," said Kev with a sigh, "I just bet the bitch is thundering down here on the train as we speak. How long ago?"

"A couple of hours," said Phil, "She'll demand lift from the station mate, you know she'd too lazy to take the bus then walk!"

Using the internet, we worked out which trains she might have used and figured we had a forty-minute window before she either phoned for a lift or appeared in a taxi.

Kev agreed that we'd drive around the forest for a while, grab a cream tea somewhere quiet and out of the way, and if his Dad hadn't rung him by five, we'd come back and spend the bank holiday weekend as we'd originally planned.

The phone call came at four thirty as we sat in another small village café with scones, strawberry jam, clotted cream and a pot of Earl Grey, and Kev switched on the speaker.

"Hi Trev," Phil said loudly, "about that late round this afternoon," there was a pause, "I won't be able to make it, my daughter has arrived and is staying over this evening..."

"And tomorrow!!" we heard snapped from the background.

"And tomorrow as well," said Phil with a hint of pissed resignation.

"All received Dad," said Kev, "there'll be other weekends mate."

"OK Trev, thanks mate, rain check?"

"Of course, Dad," said Kev looking at me, "I'll check my diary for my next free weekend."

"Cheers mate!" said Phil brightly and disconnected the call.

"Bitch!" said Kev, "she has so little going on in her fucking life..."

"Kevan!" I said firmly, "I will not have that mad woman ruining our long weekend, let's find a local B&B somewhere..."

Kev raised a hand,

"I suddenly have a much better idea," and flipped across his phone screen with his thumb, "It's still out in the country..." he paused to make a call, "and a bit of a drive... but the welcome!" he said grandly. He held it to his face, "Hiya... Nanna?"

Three hours later, we pulled up outside the most gorgeous red-brick farm house in the middle of Wales just as the sun began to set.

As Kev turned off the engine, and I stepped out into the still and silent Welsh countryside, the kitchen door opened and an archetypal British Granny stepped out, the hugest beaming grin on her face.

"Kevan!" she all but roared holding out her arms, and all but dragging him into them.

"Nanna," he said, then pulled back fractionally, "this is Laura, I told you all about her."

His grandmother turned to face me, squinting a bit then her face was illuminated in smiles.

"You are the spitting image of your Mum at your age Laura," said the beaming older lady, "the absolute spit, and as Kevan's already told me, GORGEOUS!" she grabbed me into a hug, and I got the same kind of welcome that Kev had in my Mum's kitchen.

We were rushed into her warm kitchen and into seats at the huge oak table, already set with plates, bowls and cutlery, then before I'd even had a chance to look around, a thick, dark stew full of chicken, vegetables, potatoes and dumplings was ladled into the bowl in front of me.

It tasted even better than it looked, with Kev having a second bowl while I confessed myself full, wiping my bowl clean with the lump of torn bread I'd taken from the basket in the middle of the table.

"That was amazing Mrs Edris," I said.

"Call me Nanna, Darling, everyone does," she said with a genuine smile.

Kev looked at me and nodded, as if to confirm her statement rather than his permission to call his much-loved Nanna by that name.

"OK... Nanna!"

I'd only ever known three of my four grandparents, and they had all passed in the last few years, it was lovely to be back in the company of one of their own. In fact, she had been close friends of my Mum and Dad, and my maternal Grandma.

"Well, you two look completely knackered," said the tiny lady, still moving around her kitchen like a machine, "Your room is made up Kevan, changed the sheets an hour ago!"

"Nanna!" he moaned, "We could have done that!"

`

"Not in my bloody house you won't!" she snapped back at him with a raised finger, "Honest Laura Honey, not sure where this young hooligan comes up with these silly ideas!" She bustled across to the kitchen sink, content in her domestic bliss.

At work o'clock the next morning, we'd begun to kiss and cuddle, inspired by the warmth and comfort, the fresh air, the greenness, and the natural splendour of our surroundings, driving in us a very simple need to make love.

Nanna's thump on the door gave us just enough time to stop what we were doing and try to look innocent.

There was the big tray with drop down legs, that she placed across him, and moments later, I saw a second one being lifted up for me. I struggled to get into the right position, only for the duvet to fall and expose my large breasts that I had been pushing against the rough warmth of Kev's chest hair not 60 seconds before.

Nanna looked at them briefly, seeming far less bothered by their exposure than I was, and just smiled.

"I'll bring the toast and marmalade up in a few minutes darlings!" We both stared stupidly at the trays and the huge full English breakfasts she had cooked for us, "eat up!" she said with a big smile, and we set to and did just that.

"I can see why you're such a big strong boy Kev!" I said, as I sliced the end off of a thick pork sausage, that I was to learn had been running around her farmyard not six days before, along with the thick slices of bacon, black pudding and some liver.

It tasted wonderful, and was washed down with tea, and followed up by thick slices of toasted white bread, plastered with marmalade.

Once I'd finished the amazing meal, I was up and into the adjacent shower, joined moments later by Kev, and then down to the warm kitchen and Nanna sipping her mug of tea and reading the newspaper that she had walked into the village to buy, as well as creating our perfect breakfast and one for herself.

I was dressed in my tight jeans and a fitted top, my damp hair brushed out and sat in the kitchen chatting with Kev's grandma, who was still as delightful as she had been the evening before.

"Oh Laura Darling!" she said looking me up and down, as I was framed in the doorway, "just like you Mum, although..." she hissed, "your boobs are bigger!"

"Thank you, Nanna," I grinned back, the heat in my cheeks not as bad as I thought they might be.

"I can see my Kevan is proper infatuated with you Laura," she handed me another mug of tea poured from the pot in the middle of the table.

"It's mutual Nanna," I said, "I'm..." I stared at my mug for a moment, "I'm crazy about him, totally loved up!"

"And quite rightly!" she said with a nod, "as he is with you! And talk of the devil!"

"Is she telling stories about me honey? Only about half of them are true you know," he said with a smile.

"I only made up good ones," said Nanna with an aggrieved inflection.

"Yeah, I must confess I didn't really think you'd turned over the Bank of Wales in Cardiff," I looked across to our host.

"Oh, THAT one's true," he said, "You don't think Nanna bought all of this place with her money, do you?"

"Cheeky little shite," she mumbled under her breath and with narrowed eyes but passing him his mug of tea as he sat next to me.

"Thank you for the breakfast Nanna, it was wonderful," I said.

"I should hope so, that was one of my pigs that went off to slaughter last week."

"Nanna makes her own sausages, AND the black pudding."

I'd never eaten the stuff before, but along with everything else it was a great introduction.

"Your eggs Nanna?" added Kev.

"Yeah," she said, "duck and goose, you had four of theirs this morning; the chickens are a bit off their laying at the moment. If they don't buck their ideas up, they could be for the pot next!"

"I think you should give Laura the tour Nanna," he said.

And so she did.

Her farmyard was quite considerable, and I was introduced to her pigs, including her brood sow with a mess of tiny porkers running around the pigsty. Then there were five cows, black dexters that supplied milk for her butter and cheese manufacture. A large run full of pecking chickens was next then across to the other side of the yard and the gaggle of crazy geese that noisily chased towards her then followed her out to the small duck-covered pond, and the handful of grain she threw out for them.

It was totally delightful, and I snapped some pictures.

"It's an idea for my class," I said, snapping away at the geese, then across to the dexter calf that was interested in what the geese were doing.

"Get into shot," said Kev, taking my phone, "Miss Hardy needs to be in there, just so they know it's real!"

Hand in hand, we followed Nanna down to the small village, even filing into the small flint church behind half a dozen other Welsh believers.

I wasn't terribly religious but was completely charmed by the small chapel and the wheezy organ that played some hymns I remembered from my childhood and my primary school.

Introduced to the priest as we filed out, I took his hand and he thanked me, saying a warm hello to my boyfriend.

"Why Kevan, how fantastic to see you again!" he said, his strong Welsh accent as charming as it had been reading the sermon.

"Always a pleasure to come and see you again Mr Davis."

"Well, you need to come visit Nanna more often, you KNOW we need paramedics out this way as well, look you!"

"I know Mr Davis," he grinned and looked a bit sheepish.

We stepped outside and I noticed Nanna across from the wide porch and its plaques to local boys that had been lost in foreign wars since 1914.

She was stood by a reasonably new looking stone. Taking Kev's hand, I stepped over to where she was fussing over the greenery and flowers in front of it, noticing her saying something but not hearing the words.

I read the inscription,

'Katherine Grace Goodall nee Edris, taken from us but forever in our hearts.'

And beneath that was a newer inscription,

James Bruce Edris, back with his Katie,' with a date of only three years before.

I was instantly choked up.

Kev's Mum AND his grandfather!

By the time Kev stepped up to the headstone, kissed his fingers and placed them on the top, my tears were flowing properly.

"Oh, Baby girl!" said Nanna, coming across to pull me into a hug.

"Sorry Mrs... Nanna," I corrected myself, "came as a bit of a shock, that's all!" I wiped my eyes with my fingers.

"And bloody Kevan never told you did he!" She made out to cuff her grandson, missing his broad shoulders by some distance.

"Sorry Baby," he said dragging his eyes from the grave, "it just never come up, honest!"

I could see that it hadn't, and I smiled at them both.

As we walked across the square to the local pub, and a quick pint before the walk back to Nanna's for lunch, I looked back over my shoulder, and the emotive discussions we'd had about Stevie and Holly's forthcoming nuptials came back to me.

If I never worked out anything else, I now knew the church I wanted to get married in.

To marry Kevan in.

I wanted to...

Yep; wanted to marry Kevan, no two ways about that.

The pub was half full of both drinkers and diners, all of whom called our wonderful host 'Nanna', many asking why she wasn't partaking of the Pub's Sunday lunch. Nanna almost snorted, but regained her composure, knowing that the locals were ragging the village's favourite chef.

We walked back to her farm where in a matter of moments, Sunday lunch was served. It was without doubt the finest of its kind I'd eaten in YEARS, and again, Nanna piled up our plates as if we may not eat again that week. I declared myself stuffed for a second time, as Kev took more roast potatoes, more roast pork, and stuffing.

We retired to the large sitting room, and I could see Nanna's chair with her books, a magazine or two, even some knitting, plus another one the same directly across the fireplace from it, that would have been Grandpa's chair, no question.

Kev and I relaxed into the wide sofa, with that well-fed, Sunday afternoon torpor I hadn't known in years, slowly lulling me towards a very relaxing sleep. I much as I tried to hide it, pretty soon Kev's arm was around me and my head was on his shoulder.

I woke sometime later, to him and Nanna chatting, things about the village his Mum's family originated from, things about our hometown, the NHS, my school and his objectionable half-sister and the fun and games from the day before.

"Well," said Nanna grandly, "she brought you here so I'm not going to complain!"

I woke up fully and stretched, getting a big smile and a kiss from Kev.

Nanna beamed at us both again and looked out of the large window down into the valley the house was at the northern end of.