Husband Material (London Calling, #2)

by Alexis Hall

THE NEXT DAY WE WERE standing in Pucklethroop-in-the-Wold waiting for my mum to let us in, and I still hadn’t worked out what to do about the fact that I’d lied to Oliver. The door opened. “‘Allô, Luc, mon—” was as far as Mum managed to get before I threw my arms around her. “Mum!” I cried, then whispered, “Oliver and I are getting married, and he thinks I’ve already told you,” desperately into her ear. She made an ah, I understand noise and, letting go of me, immediately embraced Oliver with a loud, “Congratulations on the wedding. I was so pleased to hear about it when Luc told me that it was happening, which he did several days ago.” “Thank you, Odile,” said Oliver. “Oh, you will have to stop calling me that now you are getting married. You will have to call me Maman.” This was going to be a long evening. “Mum, I don’t even call you Maman.” “That,” she glowered at me Gallically, “is because you have no respect for your heritage.”