Mary wasn't supposed to like the first place they saw. June had told her this, along with several other sensible things that Mary remembered as she stood in the Fernleigh Hotel's garden room and liked it immediately.
There were doors opening onto a small terrace. The tables weren't set yet. In the empty room she could imagine people she knew, getting up to speak to one another, sitting down again with something to eat. It was grander than her kitchen and smaller than the enormous wedding rooms she'd seen online.
Adam came to stand beside her.
“You like it.”
“I'm maintaining a neutral expression.”
“Badly.”
She looked away from the terrace. The woman showing them round had been answering a question about the ceremony room. Mary made herself listen. This was Friday, the fifteenth of May. They had only been engaged for thirteen days. Nobody had said they had to choose anything today.
“The twentieth of June has become available,” the woman said. “Both rooms, and the registrar at two. A couple have cancelled.”
Mary looked at Adam. She had expected dates next year, or a year after that, something they could put in a calendar and wait for.
“This June?”
“Yes.”
The woman explained the temporary hold. They could have until five the following Friday to pay the deposit.
Mary went back to the doors. Outside, two people were having coffee on the terrace, unaware that she had begun placing wedding guests round them.
“It's soon,” she said.
“It is.”
“Do you mind that?”
“No.” Adam rested his fingers against hers. “But you don't have to want it just because it's there.”
She knew she didn't. She also knew a date further away wouldn't automatically make them happier or wiser. She could learn things about him in a year that she hadn't learnt yet. She could learn those things married too.
She was trying not to use that thought to answer every question.
“I'd want a small meal,” she told the woman. “No extra evening party.”
“That's possible.”
“And these tables rather than one long one.”
Adam looked round. “I'd pictured one table.”
“People at the ends can't hear each other.”
“I suppose.”
“I want to be able to move about. I don't want my mother having to wave for me to pass the butter.”
He smiled. “We'll use these.”
The woman went to fetch the figures. Mary sat on a chair by the wall, imagining where she would leave her flowers when she wanted both hands free. She had Nina's two photographs in her bag. She didn't take them out.
Adam crouched beside her.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I'm adding it up.”
“Tell me.”
“The money. How small we can keep it. Whether I want this date or just want a date.”
“And?”
She looked at him. “I like this one.”
It was ridiculous that a Saturday five weeks away could already look different from every other Saturday. She had work booked into the following week. The world would go on. She could get married at two, and at some point afterwards sit here beside this man and eat dinner as his wife.
When the woman returned, Mary asked about the deposit first.
“Nine hundred pounds. Nonrefundable.”
Mary could pay that from her savings. She wouldn't enjoy losing it. She wrote the figure down.
The hotel supplied the room and meal together. Under its terms, a cancellation on the twelfth of June would allow unused advance balances to be returned, but the nine hundred pounds would remain lost. Mary asked for that in the written information. The woman showed her the clause and left a copy with them.
Adam asked about the menu. Mary listened while he discussed whether people would get enough to eat. She liked that he was thinking about the actual people, rather than a photograph of the day.
Then he wanted the more formal meal, and she wanted something less elaborate. They went back and forth until the woman suggested an option between them. It wasn't quite what either had chosen. They both liked it.
Outside the hotel, Mary carried the folder against her chest.
“We've only put it on hold,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I can say no.”
“You can.”
She opened the folder again to look at the date. He waited while she did it.
They walked to a café for lunch. Mary put the folder on the table and moved it away from the wet edge of his glass. He watched her protecting it and began to smile.
“Don't,” she said. “I know.”
“I didn't say anything.”
She ordered something she barely tasted. She was thinking about a dress she hadn't tried on and a room she hadn't filled, and about calling June, who would certainly remind her that they had seen only one place.
Mary took Nina's card out of her bag and set it beside the folder.
When Adam went to order another coffee, she took out her phone and sent Nina a message asking if they could talk after work next week.
Nina replied that Tuesday would be possible, near closing time.
Mary put the phone away. When Adam came back, she showed him where she'd written the hold deadline. Then she touched his arm and asked whether he could really picture them here.
He said he could.
So could she. That was what made the week ahead matter.