I’m in a hotel in Melton Mowbray.  It’s really nice, Melton Mowbray.  It’s rural.  I haven’t told you where I live, have I?  I live in a small city in Hertfordshire.  It’s okay, but it’s not Melton Mowbray.  It has rural bits.  I mean, if you’d come from London you might think you were in the countryside.  But I can tell you, it’s not the countryside.  Melton Mowbray is the countryside.

So we’re in this hotel, Harry and me.  He’s in the en-suite bathroom having a shower, and I’m standing in front of a full-length mirror pulling my t-shirt taut around my stomach.  I can’t believe this.  I am showing, as the expression goes.  But surely it’s too soon.  I’m only four months pregnant.  Well… four and a half.  I was already four months when I finally got that damn pregnancy test right, and since then… all right, maybe I’m five months pregnant.  And I am carrying twins.  Yes, all right, I take it back - I should be showing about now.

The running water stops and Harry comes dripping out of the bathroom, rubbing himself dry with a nice big white hotel towel.  It’s huge - the towel, I mean - I actually don’t think we could nick that without someone noticing.

‘Harry,’ I say.  ‘Look, I’m showing.’

He looks at me for a moment, and it’s obvious he doesn’t know what I mean.  So I point at my stomach, and he squints at it and says, ‘Are you?’

‘Yes,’ I say.  ‘Look,’ and I take my t-shirt off and turn sideways, just to help him.

‘Oh, so you are!’ he says.  ‘Oh, wow.  Pippa, that’s marvellous.’

He comes over and kneels on the floor and starts feeling my little bump.  It is only little still.  His hands are wet, and they’re all cold and slippery against my skin.  He’s grinning all over his face; but then suddenly he goes all serious, and he looks up at me and says, ‘Pips, I think you should phone your mother before we go.’

It’s an interesting moment to pick to say that.  He’s kneeling on the floor in front of me, and he’s naked.  That’s what occurs to me first of all.  Then it occurs to me that I’m really, really scared to call my mother.

‘Oh, but Harry,’ I say.  ‘I’m scared to call her.’

We didn’t part well, me and Mum.  But you don’t know that bit yet, do you?  I’ll tell you.  We went round there, Harry and me.  Mum lives on her own now.  She and Dad have been divorced since I was little, and she didn’t have any other children, and obviously I’ve moved out - you knew that.  Normally I go round there loads, but I stopped when I realised the whole wedding thing was getting out of hand.  If you recall, she was planning a wedding for Harry and me and I didn’t know how to tell her not to.  So I stopped seeing her and hoped the problem would just go away.

Yeah, I know, that’s stupid.

So the other day, Harry took me round there to talk to her about everything.  She already knew I was pregnant, but she didn’t know it was twins.  Harry and I had known for a week, but I hadn’t told Mum yet because I was saving it up.

‘Guess what, Mum,’ I said.

‘What, darling?’

‘It’s twins!’

She was quiet for a moment, but I think she was just surprised.  I mean, there was no reason for her not to be happy about getting two grandchildren all at once.  It’s not like we’re struggling - she knows Harry’s stinking rich.  Then she said, ‘Good Lord, Pippa, that’s going to be a challenge.’

‘Twice as many baby clothes, Jean,’ said Harry.  ‘I’d get knitting if I were you.’

‘I better had, hadn’t I?’ said Mum.  She was ecstatic - I could just tell.  ‘Ah, kettle’s boiled.’

I was very, very glad the kettle had boiled just then.  I didn’t want to bring up the next thing on the list.  The Conversation With Mum List, that is.  It wasn’t written down - it was just in my head.  Except I’d forgotten it.

‘Harry,’ I whispered, while Mum was in the kitchen.  ‘What do I say next?’

‘You ask her about the murder charges.’

‘Oh, I can’t!’

‘Darling, he was your grandfather,’ said Harry.  ‘It’s your business.’

I knew he was right, but I couldn’t ask.  I mean I literally couldn’t ask.  I kept trying all the time we were having tea, but the words in my head just weren’t coming out of my mouth.  I kept talking about really stupid things like, I don’t know, how the price of bread in Sainsbury’s kept going up - until eventually Harry said, ‘Jean, Pippa tells me you were thinking of pressing charges against the hospice nurse who looked after your father.’

‘Did she?’ said Mum.

‘Yes,’ said Harry.  ‘And now she’s wondering how it’s going, but she’s a bit afraid to ask you.’

‘Yes, I imagine she would be,’ said Mum.  ‘She didn’t seem to like the idea when I first mentioned it to her.’

I opened my mouth, about to explain why I didn’t think that poor nurse should be charged, but Harry nudged me before I could even draw breath.  It was really weird - he must have known what I was going to say.

‘I don’t think the ins and outs of it are important,’ said Harry.  ‘She only wondered.’

‘Well,’ said Mum.  ‘The police have been investigating.’

‘And what have they found?’ asked Harry.

‘They won’t tell me.’

‘That’s stupid,’ I said.  ‘Surely they have to tell you.’  Then I said, ‘I don’t think they’ve found anything.’

‘The investigation is still open,’ said Mum.

‘Are they going to dig him up?’

Harry gave me that idea.  He said he thought they could dig Granddad up and do a post mortem, but he doesn’t really know about these things.  He knows about property, politics, books, world history, basic biology and what I like in bed.  But he doesn’t know much about euthanasia.

Actually, that bothers me.  If she did kill him, it was euthanasia, but apparently the law - or maybe it’s Mum - is calling it murder.  That is not the same thing.  I’ve heard Americans on TV talking about ‘assisted suicide’.  That would be a better name for it.  I mean, murder!  But anyway…

‘I don’t know,’ said Mum.

‘But can they?’ I asked.  ‘Can they do that?’

‘I certainly hope so.’

‘You’re not going to let them!’

‘Well they won’t do it unless I ask,’ said Mum.  ‘Pippa, I hardly think this is the time to - ’

‘But that’s horrible!’ I yelled.  ‘I can’t believe you’re even thinking about it!’

And then I lost it.  I can’t even remember what I said.  I’m sorry, but I can’t.  I just remember storming out and Harry driving me home, and me going, ‘Oh, oh, oh - what’s going to happen about that bloody wedding?’

When he’d got me home and calmed me down with tea - I’m sure he puts something in his tea, you know, because it’s much more calming than other tea - Harry said, ‘Let’s not bother her again before we go to Melton Mowbray.  Then maybe you should call her from the hotel.  You can tell her we’re getting married.’

‘You said to wait until after we got back,’ I said.

‘I know I did, darling,’ said Harry, ‘but that was before I knew how drastic it was.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Pips, didn’t you see the state of the house?  She’s got wedding magazines open on every surface.  I had to clear those ones for us to sit on the sofa - didn’t you notice?’

‘No.’

‘And she had things underlined in red.  Phone numbers, website addresses - things we don’t want her using.  There was even a tick list.’

I bit my lip and said, as best I could with my bottom lip between my teeth, ‘A tick list?’

‘According to this list, she’s ordered the flowers.’

‘Oh no!’

‘It’s only flowers,’ Harry said soothingly.  ‘And I don’t think she’ll do anything else today or tomorrow because we left her rather… frazzled.  But you really do need to call her from Melton Mowbray and let her know it’s got to stop.’

So here we are in Melton Mowbray, and we’re about to get married, and I haven’t called her yet.  Oh, God.

‘Harry,’ I say.  ‘What do I say to her?’

‘It’ll come to you,’ he says.

‘No it won’t.’

‘Phillippa, really, you’re such a pessimist these days,’ says Harry.  ‘Would you like me to call her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, Pippa - really?’

‘You’ll be able to think of something to say.  You can always think of something to say.’

So Harry stands up and goes over to the phone.  He’s about to dial when I say, ‘Harry.’

‘Yes, my love?’

‘Please put some clothes on.’

‘Pips,’ he says, ‘it’s a telephone.  She won’t be able to see me.’

‘I don’t want you talking to my mother naked,’ I say.

‘Oh,’ says Harry.  ‘All right then.  Is that what you’re going to wear?’

‘Yes,’ I say.  ‘Well, I thought I’d put the t-shirt back on.’

I’m wearing jeans and - in a second - a t-shirt.  This will be my wedding attire.  Harry pulls on some jeans and a nice black shirt, and then he dials my mum’s house.  He stands there for a bit.  He’s still standing.  He looks at me, and gives me this smile like you might give to a moody child.  He’s right - I’ve gone all negative and stupid lately.  It’s the pregnancy.  It’s annoying when men always blame women being weird on hormones, but this time it really is the pregnancy.

‘Jean, hi, it’s Harry,’ says Harry.  ‘Listen, I’ve got a bit of news for you.  Pippa and I are in Melton Mowbray and we’re about to get married.’

I can hear her blowing up on the other end of the phone.  He jerks his head away, pulls a face and then starts saying, ‘Jean… Jean… Jean… Jean… Jean, listen…  Yes I know, I know you have…  Jean, it’s very kind of you, I’m so grateful… well yes she probably is, but she doesn’t like me speaking for her… mmm, yes, I know, and I must apologise to you.  It’s me.’

It’s him?  Oh, that makes me feel bad!  Because it’s not him at all.  Harry doesn’t care what kind of wedding we have, and he would have gone ahead with Mum’s if I didn’t hate the entire thing.

‘It’s my parents.  Very old-fashioned people, and I’m afraid I’ve been too cowardly to tell them that Pippa’s pregnant, and now she’s beginning to show, you see, so I insisted…  Yes, well, I’m not going to try to convince them the babies are five months premature.  Twins are sometimes premature, aren’t they, but… yes, I’ll have to tell them it was a shotgun wedding…  Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be all right…’

He’s lying through his teeth.  His parents know I’m pregnant, and they know it’s twins.  When we told them, his mum was shrieking with delight and his dad practically snogged me, he was so happy.

‘Out of interest, Jean, when would the wedding have been?  …Yes, so right in the middle of the birth, practically…  Yes, just as well, really.  I mean, I think it’s best that we do it now - we won’t find the time when we’ve got two babies…’

Y’know, that would have been a pretty good reason all on its own, and even Harry didn’t think of it in time.  Oh well, he’s got me out of it, anyway.  His mum and dad will have to be briefed on the excuse, but that was all right - they’ll gladly play along.

‘Now Jean,’ Harry’s saying.  ‘Pippa’s very sorry she overreacted about the whole exhumation business…  Yes, she will, in a minute.  But do please tell me if you’re going to have it done, because I’d like to warn her…  Oh, right, I see.  Hold on a minute…  Yes, all right - just hold on a moment, and then you can talk to her.  Pippa.’  He puts the receiver against his chest.  ‘They dug him up this morning.’

‘They what?’  I can’t believe it!

‘Your mother wants to talk to you.’

‘Right,’ I say, and I take the phone from him.  ‘Hi, Mum.’

‘They dug him up this morning, darling.’

‘Yes, right.’  Well, what else does one say to that?

‘Oh, Pippa…’

‘What?’

And now suddenly she’s crying, and she’s bawling down the phone at me, ‘Oh, Pippa, you were right!  This isn’t what I want!  I was just having such trouble coming to terms with it, and I, I, I - ’

‘Mum,’ I say.  ‘Mum, can’t you just drop the charges?’

‘But what if they find out he didn’t die naturally?’

‘What?’

‘Well they’re going to do a post mortem, aren’t they!  They might find out that he’s been pumped full of drugs!’

‘Oh,’ I said.  ‘Well, yes, they might.’

‘And then it’s a murder investigation no matter what!’  God, she’s really hysterical.  ‘And they’ll have to charge someone!’

‘Well Mum, Mum, don’t panic,’ I say.  ‘Listen… no, listen…’ - shit, what do I say? - ‘there’s no proof that he didn’t do it all by himself, is there?’

‘Oh…’  She calms down a bit, sniffs and then says in a little voice, ‘I suppose not.’

‘You could still drop the charges against her.’

‘Y-yes.’

‘You could probably even tell them not to go ahead with the post mortem.  Harry.’  I turn round, and Harry’s spread out all over the bed smiling at my bump.  ‘Can Mum ask them not to do the post mortem?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ says Harry.  ‘They might not like it.’

‘What would they do about it?  Would they charge her with wasting police time or something?’

‘I honestly don’t know, Pippa.  She could just ask - she doesn’t have to go ahead and stop it if there’s a penalty.’

‘Harry says to just ask,’ I say.  ‘I mean, it can’t hurt to just ask, can it?’

‘No.’

‘So you do that, and let me know how it goes, and I’ll go and get married.  Okay?’

‘But what about all the stuff I ordered for your wedding?  I have to cancel it.’

‘Mum,’ I say.  ‘I think Granddad’s body should take priority.’

‘They’ll charge me if I cancel too late!’ she wails.

‘Oh God, all right, look,’ I say.  ‘Give me the phone numbers and all your customer ID numbers and stuff and we’ll cancel it all, okay?’

‘O-okay,’ sniffs Mum.

Wow, that was mad.  I think it was her big explosion of emotion about Granddad dying.  I wish I was there, really.  Poor Mum.

So now she’s reeling off all these instructions.  It’s not much stuff.  I mean there’s the flowers already ordered, but apart from that it’s just an appointment with a dressmaker (oh my God, how could she think I wanted that?), another appointment tasting samples from a caterer (now that sounds all right) and a church booking.  A church.  I mean… I just… why would she… never mind.

‘This little lot’s going to take some time,’ says Harry, when he’s looking at the list I’ve made.  ‘I think we need to get married first, Pips - we’re on in half an hour.’

‘Right, yes, okay,’ I say.  ‘Let’s go and get Frank and Emma, shall we?’

Frank and Emma are in the next room, and they’re going to be our witnesses.  It’s funny really, because we can have up to fifty-eight guests at that registry - excuse me - register office, and we’re having two.  Well, yes, okay, it doesn’t sound funny, but I’m imagining this big empty room and two people sitting there and it looks funny in my head.

I don’t even really know Frank and Emma.  Frank’s a builder Harry sometimes uses for his developments, and for some reason he’s asked him and his girlfriend to witness our marriage.  I mean, why the hell not?

‘Pips,’ says Harry, and he’s suddenly looking at me all sort of pityingly.  ‘Are you all right?’

Well, no, I’m not all right.  I’m worried about Mum now.  She’s got them (I don’t know who) to dig up Granddad’s body, so I can’t see how she can not do something about it, and now she’s decided she doesn’t even want to.  That’s completely her fault, but she was grieving so it doesn’t count.  I just wish I could help her - it’s all got so out of hand.

‘It’s just all got so out of hand,’ I say.

‘Darling, I know,’ says Harry, and he puts his arm around me.  ‘But we really do need to go and get married now.  If you still want to.’

‘Of course I still want to.’

‘And when we get back we’ll cancel all this wedding stuff.’

‘Yes.’

‘And I don’t want you to worry about that hospice nurse, because you really have done everything you possibly can.  All we can do now is just wait and see what your mother tells us next.’

‘What if it goes to trial?’ I ask.  ‘I might be called as a witness, and then I’ll have to tell them he asked me to euthanise him, and that’ll be evidence against her.’

‘Sweetheart,’ says Harry.  ‘Don’t worry.  Maybe she didn’t do it.’

‘But what if she did?  I mean, she’s all over his will, and if they find he died of overdosing on his medication…’

‘Pippa,’ says Harry.  ‘We’ll find out.’