The Bluebird Café by Rebecca Smith Page B

doesn’t even like cooking. Blue Denby mugs. I think those are compulsory.’
    Paul didn’t seem that interested, but she carried on anyway.
    â€˜Five Le Creuset saucepans. Five! A Le Creuset gratin dish, £38! Glasses … glasses. A £58 laundry basket … £34.95 bathroom scales. £38 kitchen clock. Four different chopping boards. Six sheets, three quilt covers, twelve pillow cases. Honestly!’ She passed it to Paul.
    â€˜Here’s ours,’ he said. ‘Strawberry huller. £2.85. Or egg cups, £8 for three. Do you think you can buy them separately? They can’t really need all of this stuff.’
    â€˜Well, they are lawyers,’ said Lucy.
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜Well, that might mean they need it all … or that they are rich enough to buy it themselves, I suppose.’
    â€˜Mmm.’
    â€˜We could get something together with Abigail and Teague,’ Lucy suggested.
    â€˜Are they going?’
    â€˜I assume so. I hope so or we won’t have anyone to talk to.’
    â€˜There’s garden stuff too, Lucy. How about a terracotta planter? £8.99 to £34.99. We could get one of those. At that price they must be big.’
    Lucy and Paul, Abigail and Teague were an hour early. They decided to wait in the Squirrel and Firkin which had once been the King’s Head and was just around the corner from the church.
    â€˜I think we’re among fellow guests,’ said Lucy.
    â€˜Either that or it’s a hats theme pub,’ said Teague.
    â€˜Well, I hope we don’t meet anyone we know,’ said Paul.
    â€˜Isn’t that a bit of the point of coming?’ said Abigail.
    â€˜Surely we don’t have to be sociable till after the ceremony?’ he continued. ‘I’ll get the drinks. Two dry white wine and sodas, and two pints of Flowers,’ he told the barman.
    â€˜Spritzers,’ the barman corrected him.
    â€˜People wouldn’t know what we meant if we asked for spritzers where we come from,’ said Lucy.
    â€˜Southampton,’ said Paul.
    â€˜You’re not in Southampton now though, are you?’ the barman replied with a menacing glint. They turned away.
    â€˜Are you allowed to drink beer at weddings, before the ceremony?’ Lucy asked Paul, hoping that he wouldn’t smell of it in the church, but then she saw him reach for the bowl of complimentary peanuts on the bar. All was lost. What with the perpetually crumpled knees of his trousers, even though that suit had just been dry-cleaned, and them not asking for ‘spritzers’ and her flat shoes and the ancient tapestry knitting bag that had seemed such a stylish alternative to a handbag back home in Southampton, and arriving in the café van, wondering if they’d be mistaken for the caterers, they were a pair of frumps, freaks, country bumpkins. A Couple of Swells. It made her smile into her glass. She felt in her bag for cough sweets to mask the peanuts, beer and wine.
    â€˜Lucy! You do look sweet!’ Some bright red lips darted at her. ‘And Paul!’
    â€˜Sara. Hi! We didn’t know you were coming. I didn’t know you were still in touch with Vicks.’ (And I didn’t think she liked you, Lucy thought.)
    â€˜Oh, look,’ said Sara. ‘There’s Abigail and Teal. Are they still together?’
    â€˜Very much. They might go on a three-year dig in Yorkshire together.’
    â€˜Hi, Sara, how are you?’ said Abigail. Sara, Abigail and Lucy had been in the same block of their hall of residence, but Sara and Abigail hadn’t ever really hit it off. Sara was too keen on early-morning tennis for Abigail’s liking; also her boyfriends gratuitously stole other people’s food from the communal fridge.
    â€˜And this is Toby. Toby du Bois,’ said Sara. They obviously should have heard of him. The men nodded at each other, all still silent.
    â€˜Toby and I met while I was still just a