The Wedding Diary (Choc Lit) by Margaret James Page A

that all the time,’ said Adam gravely, as he unlocked her door – no central locking on this great green dinosaur, she noticed. ‘It’s heavy on the gas, it isn’t pretty, but I need it for the stuff I cart around.’
    ‘It’s big enough to live in.’
    ‘Sometimes, Cat, I do.’
    As Adam held the door open, once again she felt that warm sensation when he said her name.
    Adam couldn’t believe how pleased he was to be with Cat again.
    Or how much pleasure he had felt when she had opened her front door, smiling and apparently delighted to see him. Of course, he had to admit this pleasure probably had a lot to do with Cat being so pretty – especially this morning, in her washed-out jeans, white sandals, short-sleeved cardigan and flowery top.
    She wasn’t wearing any make-up, or it didn’t show, and that was fine by him. He hated painted faces, even though he knew he shouldn’t, that it was a woman’s right to choose.
    ‘What about you, Adam – got something thrilling planned?’
she’d asked him, and his name upon her lips had seemed a kind of blessing.
    ‘You’re almost smiling, Adam,’ she observed as he started to untangle the old-fashioned seatbelt.
    ‘That’s because it’s such a lovely day.’ Then he suddenly found that he was smiling properly, that he was grinning even, for the first time in weeks, or maybe months. ‘It must be the best day we’ve had for ages.’
    ‘Yes, it must,’ said Cat and she grinned, too. She took the buckle and, as her left hand brushed his, he felt a pleasant shock, a jolt of happy electricity.
    ‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘I’m properly strapped in. What do you have to do to get this monster moving? Where do you keep the mice and bits of string?’
    Adam turned the key in the ignition and Cat felt the huge green Volvo growl into life. ‘We’ll stop in Warwick, shall we, have a coffee, then go on to Wolverhampton?’ he suggested.
    ‘Great,’ said Cat, and smiled. She couldn’t help it. She knew today was going to be a good one. ‘I’ve never been to Warwick. But there’s a castle – right?’
    ‘A castle, lots of Tudor buildings, mediaeval churches. It’s an interesting little town. Well, if you like that sort of thing?’
    ‘I do,’ she said.
    She stretched her legs out, deciding you could keep a dozen chickens in the left hand foot well. She giggled at the thought of Adam driving round the country in a mobile chicken farm, never short of eggs.
    ‘What’s so funny?’ he enquired.
    ‘Oh, I was just thinking – but I’m not going to tell you. It’s too stupid, and you’ll think I’m mad.’
    ‘You think my lovely vintage Volvo is a joke?’
    ‘Well, maybe – just a bit.’
    ‘You’re a good walker, are you?’
    ‘Sorry, Adam.’ Glancing at her feet, she realised she hadn’t done her toenails for a while. The polish was at least a fortnight old and it was badly chipped.
    Moving up, there wasn’t much improvement – in fact, it all got worse. There was a big black mark on her left knee. A button was missing from her cardigan. But – most embarrassing of all – she’d got a long white trail of toothpaste dribble down her top. She must look a sight, she thought, as she started scrubbing at it with a tissue, failing to make much of an improvement.
    This morning, she had pressed the snooze button a time or three too many. So she’d had to rush around to dress, to eat a bit of breakfast and be ready for when Adam said he’d come. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, and she hadn’t done anything with her hair.
    She couldn’t remember even brushing it.
    But it didn’t matter, any more than it would matter when she had a slob-around-and-pizza day with Tess. Today, she could forget about her real life in London, about Fanny Gregory, the wedding competition, bloody Jack – especially Jack.
    ‘Who will you say I am?’ she asked as they drove through the quiet weekend suburbs.
    ‘Who do you want to be?’
    ‘What do you mean?’