Probably the Best Kiss in the World. Pernille Hughes

       Chapter 6

      Jen’s front door swung open before she got the key in the lock. Lydia stood with one pot of Ben & Jerry’s and two spoons and Jen knew an olive branch when she saw one. She plucked one of the spoons out of Lydia’s hand and followed her into the lounge where they performed a perfectly synchronised slump onto the sofa.

      Jen dug into the ice cream and savoured her spoonful with her eyes shut. “I hate it when we argue,” she said, quietly.

      “Me too.” She had no doubt Lydia was sitting in exactly the same pose. Ice cream had been used to process many things; grief, phantom pains, exam stress and now … well Jen couldn’t quite name this, other than simply disagreement. “I just want you to be happy, Jen.”

      “Me too, Lyds. We simply disagree about what that looks like, currently. But that’s okay. I appreciate your concern, and I’ll just have to show you over time that it’s unfounded.”

      Lydia didn’t reply to that, but the sisters continued taking it in turns to snaffle a spoonful of the ice cream until the pot was forensically scraped.

      “Can’t beat an ice cream dinner,” Lydia said, holding up her spoon which Jen clinked in agreement. Cooking was the last thing Jen felt like facing this evening. An evening curled up, watching TV-tat with Lydia sounded divine.

      “Beer?” Lydia asked. Her mood appeared to require one. Jen doubted beer on ice cream was a particularly balanced diet, but it had never stopped them before. Jen moved to go, but Lydia hauled herself up and went to the kitchen, returning with two glasses of Barley Wine. It was a rich pudding of a beer, a perfect fruity toffee-ish chaser to their main course.

      “Brewtiful,” Lydia stated after the first sip, and an appreciative groan.

      “Kegcellent,” Jen countered with an equally bad pun. Beer puns were another thing their Dad had nurtured and neither sister ever tired of them, no matter how bad they got.

      “Hope you’ve got the next batches planned,” Lydia said nodding towards the County Show-bound boxes which flanked the telly like some bizarre mantel. “When that lot sells, there’s hardly any left. The odds and ends shelf is fairly depleted.” Jen had made Lydia responsible for stock auditing as soon as she was old enough to drink, with weekly reporting.

      “Mmm,” Jen managed, non-committal. She had a Mild and a Stout going, but after those, well …

      “What’s it to be next? My vote goes for a session beer and Charlie said he’d buy a crate next time you did that one.” Charlie, her dad’s old business partner was consistently happy to buy a crate of everything she made next. While she’d waved to him as she left Re:Love earlier, she knew Lydia often stopped in at the Arches to chat to the sixty-year-old.

      “How is he?” Jen asked as Lydia started to surf through the channels, bypassing anything involving hospitals, blood, gore or death, finally settling on a wedding-disaster-themed candid camera show. What a comedian. Jen wasn’t rising to that, so ignored it. She was keen to maintain the current truce and besides, the beer in her hand had her ruminating.

      “His back’s playing up again, and he’s on about retiring. As if we haven’t heard that before.” Jen mmmm’ed in agreement. “So which beer shall I promise him?” Lydia prompted.

      “I um … I haven’t exactly got the next ones planned.”

      “Really?” Lydia looked at her in surprise. Jen normally had the next beers chalked up as soon as one was fermenting, both for shopping purposes and to evolve the recipes in her head. In fairness, she had the beginnings of a Golden Ale formulating, but since her discussion with Robert, the impetus had rather lapsed. It dampened her mood and she took another swig of the beer for comfort.

      She stared at the TV screen, as the grainy home video showed a reader in a church reciting bible verses, just before fainting and landing face first on the stone floor, with a sickening slap and copious canned laughter. She’d heard the same passages at every wedding she’d ever been to and always wondered who these Corinthians St Paul was writing to were. Each time she determined to investigate when she got home, but then promptly forgot during the reception drinking. But here it was again, and she found she almost knew it; the “love is patient, love is kind” bit and then the next bit about putting away “childish things” when growing up. A creeping recognition drew over her; she was about to be a married woman and the brewing, much as she loved it, was a childish thing.

      “Jen? Hey Space Cadet, you’ve zoned out.”

      “What? Sorry. Yes. The beer. Right,” she said with a shake. “I’m going to start trapping it down, Lyds. Bring it to an end.” Jen kept her eyes fixed on the telly, but saw Lydia’s jaw drop from the corner of her eye.

      “You’re doing what?”

      “It’s time. Time to move on. I’ll have a wedding to plan and a new life to build.”

      “But it’s what you do, Jen.” Lydia’s voice, rather than the explosion Jen had been expecting, was raspy and confused.

      “There’s all sorts of things I can do. There’s other creative outlets out there. I could bake for example.”

      “Pff,” Lydia scoffed. “Cupcakes? Do me a favour. You’re more badass than that. You love your beer, Jen.” Now Lydia was getting het up, but so was Jen.

      “And I’ll find something else to love instead.”

      Lydia drew a sharp breath to blast her, but suddenly, remarkably, let it go. The silence between them was both hostile and awkward. Jen, not wanting another fight, took the initiative and diverted the subject back away from the beer.

      “Look, you might not be up for this, knowing how you feel about the entire wedding thing, but I’d hoped you’d be my Best-woman and maybe give me away. Alice and Max could be lady-ushers, because there’s no way Max will wear a frock, but Alice and her sewing machine will make them match somehow …” Jen saw she was beginning to ramble in her panic about Lydia’s response. What if she said no? “… so anyways that is what I was hoping.”

      “You want me to give you away?” Lydia’s expression wasn’t giving anything away itself, but when she said it like that, Jen instantly knew it sounded bad.

      “Yeah, so no, not dispense with me. What I meant was, I was hoping you’ll walk me up the aisle as part of Team Jen, and head of my girl squad. You won’t ever be able to give me away, we’re like this.” Jen twisted her index and middle fingers together in front of Lydia’s face, and then poked them up Lydia’s nose to punctuate her point.

      “Girl squad?”

      “Head.