Four Weddings and a Fiasco. Catherine Ferguson

he’s too modest to ever pick up on the signals.

      A widower in his early fifties, he retired from the police force when his wife died five years ago and turned his lifelong hobby into a job. I doubt he needs the money. I suspect he set up his gardening company to keep himself busy, and because physical work in the open air really suits him. Actually, it was me who got him the job at Clandon House.

      I first met him at Newington Hall, where he gardens for Mallory’s folks, and when Mum said the gardener here was retiring, I had no hesitation in recommending Gareth and his small team.

      I joke that his real job is to keep an eye on Mum when I’m not here. And he jokes that really he’s only here to stop himself falling off his perch now he’s retired. Although from the healthy tan and the twinkle in his eyes, I’d say he’s a long way off that. It’s lovely to know he’s on hand if Mum ever needs him.

      I shrug into my parka against the chill of the March day and walk across the gravel at the front of The Stables then along a path that takes me into the little wooded area.

      The first person I spot is Annabeth. A tall, auburn-haired woman in her late fifties, she’s looking trim in navy track pants and a pink T-shirt and as I watch, she bends to the grass and performs a carefully controlled headstand against the trunk of a horse chestnut tree. My eyebrows rise in admiration. The last time that I did a headstand was in the school playground. I’d probably need a crane lift to get my legs up there now.

      Then I spot Mum, several trees away, psyching herself up to do the same. I have to hand it to Annabeth. Under her influence, Mum seems game for anything these days. She’s exercising much more, and even her fashion sense has undergone a make-over. Today she’s wearing the peculiarly youthful, bang-on-trend grey and white patterned tracksuit she picked up a few weeks ago on eBay. Since being forced to tighten her belt financially, Mum’s turned bargain-hunting into something of a hobby. I grin to myself. Today’s edgy outfit is rather more ‘Snoop Dogg at the O2 Arena’ than ‘lady of a certain age’. I love that, at sixty, she doesn’t care a jot.

      For her first attempt at a headstand, her legs get no higher than a foot off the ground, and the second is not much better.

      Mum scrambles up to remove her glasses and passes them to silver-haired Grace, who’s standing nearby, hands on hips, watching their antics with a mixture of amusement and incredulity. To be fair, despite being slightly older – she turned sixty-three last year – Grace is just as fit, and would probably be joining in if she hadn’t recently had keyhole surgery on a painful knee joint.

      On Mum’s third attempt, just as her legs are about to come back down to earth, Grace springs forward, grabs her ankles and hoists them up so that her feet actually make contact with the tree trunk. Their precarious balance is short-lived, however. I’m not sure if it’s the shock of suddenly seeing the world upside down, but Mum starts to list to one side, and she and Grace end up on the grass, shrieking with laughter.

      Mum spots me and waves.

      ‘I haven’t done a headstand since I was about ten,’ I laugh, joining them. ‘What on earth are you up to?’

      Grace snorts and murmurs, ‘Ask Annabeth. This is her crazy idea.’

      ‘Shh!’ whispers Mum, with a quick glance over at Annabeth, who’s still upside down, her eyes closed, I suppose in a sort of meditation.

      ‘We’re rebalancing our energies by communing with nature,’ Mum says loudly, so Annabeth can hear, but winking at me.

      ‘It’s the rush of blood to the head I worry about,’ says Grace. ‘Look at that one.’ She nods at Annabeth. ‘She’ll be there for ages, and it’s all in aid of a better sex life.’

      ‘No, it’s not,’ calls Annabeth calmly. ‘It’s to relieve stress.’

      ‘Why would you need stress relief?’ calls Grace. ‘You lead a charmed life.’

      ‘I live next door to you, don’t I?’ replies Annabeth.

      Mum laughs and gets to her feet, then helps Grace up. ‘You probably think we’re bonkers,’ she says to me.

      I grin. ‘Must be something in the water here.’

      Her eyes sparkle with mischief. ‘Oh, do I embarrass you, darling?’

      ‘Of course. But isn’t that your job?’ I joke. ‘As a parent?’

      To be honest, she could prance around on the lawn doing the dance of the seven veils stark naked and I’d cheer her on. It’s such a relief to see her so happy and upbeat these days.

      ‘Come on. Hurry up,’ says Annabeth, passing us at speed. ‘That programme’s on in a minute.’

      ‘What programme?’ I ask, as we follow her back to The Stables.

      ‘It’s about Princess Anne,’ says Mum.

      ‘You mean The Princess Royal,’ calls Annabeth sternly.

      ‘She thinks we’re related to royalty,’ mutters Grace, rolling her eyes. ‘It’s a story that’s been passed down the generations and, for some reason, Beth’s bought into it.’

      I stare at her. ‘Hang on. Are you two related?’

      ‘They’re sisters. Didn’t I mention that?’ says Mum.

      I shake my head in bemusement and Grace laughs. ‘I know. You’d hardly believe it, would you? We’re like chalk and cheese in everything.’ She pauses. ‘Well, maybe not everything.’

      Something in her tone makes me glance over. Her sunny expression has vanished.

      But before I have time to wonder, she smiles at me. ‘Did your mum tell you she’s coming for a spa weekend with us?’

      ‘Oh, lovely. Can I come?’

      I’m only jesting but Mum looks at me in delight. ‘Of course you can, love. That would be wonderful.’

      Feeling bad for getting her hopes up, I put my arm round her and give her a little squeeze as we crunch our way across the gravel to The Stables’ main entrance. ‘I’d love to, Mum. But I can’t. I’m just—’

      ‘Too busy. I know.’ She smiles at Grace. ‘This daughter of mine …’

      The pride in her voice makes me feel emotional. But also guilty. Yes, I am too busy to take a weekend off. But it’s more than that. I simply don’t have the spare cash. But Mum knows nothing about my dire financial state. And while I tell myself I’m only keeping it from her so she doesn’t worry about me, deep down I know it’s also because I’m too ashamed to tell her.

      ‘You could come to the séance instead,’ says Grace matter-of-factly. ‘You must be able to take an evening off?’

      ‘Séance?’ I look from Grace to Mum in bewilderment. ‘What séance?’

      The two of them glance at each other and grin.

      ‘It’s Annabeth’s idea,’ murmurs Mum as we climb the stairs to Annabeth’s first-floor flat. ‘Venus at the yoga class in the village fancies herself a bit of a psychic and she offered to conduct a séance here for free.’

      Grace chuckles. ‘She’s hoping Venus might be able to conjure up the spirit of our dear departed Great-Aunt Edna.’

      ‘But why?’ I ask, mystified as to why anyone would want to try and summon dead people.

      ‘Oh, Great-Aunt Edna was a practising psychic herself. And Annabeth’s convinced she might be able to confirm whether or not we have royal blood.’

      Grace grins. ‘It should be a laugh. Venus is nutty as a fruitcake with extra pecans.’

      ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of it,’ whispers Mum to me and I make a face in agreement.

      ‘In here,’ calls Annabeth, and when we walk into the living room, she’s