You know, about me and Max?’
‘Of course I am, I’m really pleased for both of you. Have you rung your dad yet?’
‘No, he and Marnie are still away on a cruise at the moment. We’ve just emailed them. And then we’re going to ring Max’s parents. You don’t sound very pleased,’ said Jess.
‘I’m working, sweetie.’
‘I wanted you to know first.’
Robbie sang on in Molly’s headphones.
‘So you are pleased?’
‘Of course I’m pleased. Just a bit shocked. You know me, it’s not often that I’m speechless.’ Molly forced a laugh, trying hard to recover her composure. ‘It’s a bit of a surprise, that’s all. I mean, I hadn’t realised that it was that serious.’ Inwardly Molly groaned. ‘Though I mean, obviously it is,’ she stumbled on. ‘Look, can I ring you back later?’
‘Okay,’ said Jess, giggling.
‘Have you rung Jack yet?’
Jess snorted. ‘Not yet, every time I ring my little brother’s phone it goes to voicemail. I’m sure he’s trying to avoid me.’
‘I don’t think it’s you, Jess, I think it’s Pippa.’
‘No! Pippa? She’s not still after him, is she? Are you serious? They split up months ago. She must be mad…’
‘I think that is the general consensus. He thinks she’s stalking him.’
‘Really? God, shows how long it is since I’ve talked to him. Mind you, she must be desperate if she’s stalking Jack. Anyway, I’ll leave him a message.’
‘I’ve got to go –’
‘Talk to you later,’ Jess said, and then the line went dead.
‘You okay?’ asked Stan through Molly’s headphones.
‘What do you think? What the hell are you playing at, putting Jess through live on air?’
‘It was lovely. Really touching – and I thought you’d want to know.’
‘I did, but not on air – it was nuts to put her through. What the hell are they going to say upstairs?’
‘They’ll love it,’ said Stan. ‘Trust me. The phone lines are jammed solid. See you at three.’
As soon as they finished broadcasting Molly unhooked the pocket battery pack for her radio mike and her headphones and handed them back to Phil. ‘I just need to thank the guys who were on the show.’
‘Sure thing – and congratulations, Mum,’ Phil said, with a grin.
Molly turned to her guests and the impromptu audience that had gathered around the radio car. ‘Thanks for coming along, you were brilliant. Great show, we’ve had lots of calls. Well done,’ she said warmly, shaking hands and paws and smiling, signing autographs and handing out pens and balloons and various other station freebies to anyone who wanted them.
‘Congratulations on the wedding,’ said one woman brightly.
Molly smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘Very exciting. Did you know anything about it?’
‘No, not at all – bit of a surprise,’ said Molly, scribbling her name on a glossy eight-by-ten.
‘Oh, it’ll be lovely,’ said the woman. ‘One minute you’re taking them to nursery school, next thing you know they’re getting married. My oldest daughter got married last year – I’m a granny now.’
Phil meanwhile was putting away the PA system, and retracting the giant aerial which very slowly slid down into the body of the car like a giant periscope all clad around with a curl of gold cable.
‘Ah, show business,’ he said, as Molly handed out an autographed paper sunhat to a small child with a horribly runny nose and what looked like it might be impetigo.
‘Thanks for coming,’ said Molly, ignoring Phil. ‘And I hope you have a lovely holiday.’ The little boy skipped away to rejoin an exhausted-looking young woman in a sundress who, along with a bad case of sunburn, had a baby on one arm and was heavily pregnant. Molly caught herself staring; the young woman looked a lot like Jessica. Another five years or so and it could be Jessica. Looking away Molly dropped the give-aways back into a plastic stacker box.
‘You are extremely cynical for one so young,’ she replied, sliding the box into the back of the car.
Phil apparently took it as a compliment. ‘Jess telling everyone she was getting married on air was a masterstroke. Did you know she was going to do it?’
‘Of course I didn’t know,’ said Molly indignantly. ‘It’s incredibly unprofessional –’
‘There’s nothing people like better than a bit of romance. We could do a feature on the show, do a countdown to Jessica’s big day. Have a competition – I can see the strapline on the website now, “Be a bridesmaid at Jessie’s Big Fat Norfolk Wedding” You want me to bring it up at today’s planning meeting?’
Molly fixed him with an icy stare. ‘No, I do not, no, don’t you dare bring it up at the planning meeting. Okay? No one’s interested.’
‘All those people coming up to get your autograph were interested.’
Molly said nothing.
‘Oh come off it,’ said Phil. ‘Anyone who is anyone has got their wedding all over the glossies these days. Everyone’s obsessed with it. Who’s marrying who, what they’re wearing, who’s invited, who isn’t, who’s likely to have a fist fight break out over the canapés, are they going to fly out to Italy or up to – where’s that castle in Scotland they all schlep off to?’
Molly held up her hands. ‘Stop it, you’re scaring me – you’re a boy. Boys hate weddings.’
‘It’s not me, it’s my girlfriend and all her mates. Our whole flat is stacked with celebrity magazines, who’s got fat, who’s far too thin, who’ll never love again, who’s had lipo. I can’t help it. I never used to read that kind of crap, I was strictly an Autocar and What Hi-fi guy, but it’s addictive. The weddings are a bit of light relief really.’
‘Okay, okay, I’m getting the picture.’
‘So how about talking to the management? Shoehorn Jess’s big day into the show?’
‘Have you got no shame?’
‘Not much, why? You could probably wangle all kinds of freebies.’
‘So when my daughter and future son-in-law kneel down at the altar rail instead of having price tags on the bottom of their shoes they’ll have little stickers on there saying, “Sponsored by Linda’s Luxury Buffet Services?”’
‘Why not? The price weddings are these days. And you could invite all the famous people you know. Get the paparazzi there.’
‘I don’t know any famous people, Phil,’ said Molly, heaving one of the PA speakers into the back of the car.
‘Yes, you do. You’ve interviewed loads of celebrities.’
‘Yes, but there is a big difference between interviewing them and inviting them to your daughter’s wedding. Give me a hand with this, will you?’
‘Says who?’ persisted Phil. ‘There was that bloke off “The Bill”, oh and that girl who was on “Holby City”. Some of the guys at Norwich City football club, Delia – oh, and that really famous artist bloke who got that big prize.’
Molly raised an eyebrow. ‘Remind me not to hire you as Master of Ceremonies on the door announcing the arrivals. “Oh look, here’s the woman who used to go