“Exactly. Celebrate my life. So why wait to do that until I’m gone? Why not do it while I’m still around to enjoy it and make a bit of a party out of it at the same time?”

“OK,” Kate says. “So what you’re saying is that you want a wedding instead of a funeral?”

“Yes.” I click my fingers at her, excited that she’s got it. “I want to have my big day, celebrate my life, and say my goodbyes myself.”

“You know,” Amanda says thoughtfully, “that kind of makes sense, in a weird, twisted way.”

“I knew if anyone would understand it’d be you two.” I smile gratefully. “And the first job I’m going to need you both to do is to help me convince my mother.”

Chapter Ten

Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

“No. Uh-uh. No way. Not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Because”—my mother shakes her head firmly—“no daughter of mine is getting married in the local surf club community hall.”

“Ah.” I hold up a finger. “But I’m not actually getting married, am I?”

“Whatever you want to call it—and you’re the one insisting on calling it a wedding, by the way—we can do better than a few streamers and balloons and trestle tables.” She shudders at the thought.

“It was good enough for Bill and Barbara’s golden wedding anniversary last year,” Dad comments. “Remember? We had a lovely time.”

“Yes, it was a perfectly adequate venue for that. But not for this.”

“Since when did you become a snob?”

“It’s not snobbery to want the best for your daughter’s…” She pauses to swallow. “…big day.”

Even though she smiles brightly I can see how much of an effort she is making not to cry. How much she is struggling with this. Planning a funeral for your only child is a big ask of any parent. But this is not an ordinary funeral. My mother is having difficulty pretending it is easy for her to celebrate when I am dying, but she’s doing a decent job of trying to hide it.

“Where, then? It’s not exactly as if we have metropolitan venues on every corner,” Dad says. “It’s the surf club or the Chinese restaurant. They’re the only places in town that might be big enough.”

“I don’t know yet,” Mum admits. “But we’ll find somewhere more appropriate.”

“I really don’t mind the surf club,” I venture cautiously.

“I said no. And that’s my final word on the matter.”

Dad and I exchange a knowing look. When my mother has made her mind up about something there’s no way of swaying her.

“I forgot how scary you can be, Mrs. G.,” Amanda says.

“Pfft,” Dad laughs. “She’s not scary.”

Mum swivels to give him “a look.”

“I’ll just put the jug on, shall I?” He backs out of the room.

We are camped out around my parents’ round dining-room table, with magazines and brochures spread out in front of us. In the end, my mother took little persuading to get on board with the wedding idea. She could see how much I wanted it, and there was no way she’d deny me anything, not anymore.