A Winter's Wedding

by Sharon Owens

  ‘Just tell me when you’re ready,’ Dylan said, exploring every inch of her with his fingertips and his kisses.

  ‘I’m ready, I’m ready,’ she gasped.

  ‘Emily, I do love you.’

  ‘Yes, yes, same here,’ she whispered. ‘Oh yes … oh yes … oh yes!’

  Afterwards they tidied up the crumpled bedclothes, plumped up the pillows and lay comfortably together in each other’s arms. The flat was indeed quite cold and they were happy to relax in a warm bed and just talk for a while before going to sleep.

  They both had a lovely, light feeling – as if they had found something that had been missing for a long time.

  ‘That was amazing,’ Dylan said.

  ‘Yes, it was rather special,’ she replied, kissing his shoulder.

  ‘I love you, Emily.’

  ‘I think you do.’

  ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘Yes, I definitely do.’

  ‘Say it, then?’

  ‘Okay, I love you,’ she said.

  They kissed again.

  ‘I hope you don’t think I’m putting any pressure on you?’ he said.

  ‘Not at all,’ she laughed.

  ‘Because I just want to be sure; I just want you to know I’m serious about us.’

  ‘I understand. It’s all or nothing with me too,’ she said as he kissed her hand softly. ‘I think you know that by now. I’ve never been the ditsy type.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’

  ‘Yes, very funny … I know I’m a little on the serious side. But I can’t help it, and I’m probably too set in my ways to change now.’

  ‘I don’t want you to change. I knew you were special the day I met you,’ he said. ‘I could feel something crackling in the air between us, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but I thought it was all the polyester blouses in the shop,’ she teased him.

  ‘Ha! I asked for that one.’

  ‘No, I did feel something,’ she admitted.

  ‘I’m so glad, because if it doesn’t feel exactly right, well, there’s no point, is there?’

  ‘Not really, no. I didn’t think I’d mind if this turned out to be just a passing thing. I remember giving myself a little pep talk the night you rang to ask me out. I remember telling myself that I should go along to the shop for a cup of tea and a chat, and see what happened, and keep it all very simple and casual. And if we didn’t click, then that was that and no harm done. I mean, I’m not the sort of girl who hankers after an engagement ring after only two weeks. But I’m also not the sort of girl who can just have one-night stands without getting emotionally involved, if you know what I mean? But we shouldn’t say it’s something more if it really isn’t, Dylan. I mean, it’s okay if you need more time. Maybe we shouldn’t use the L word just yet?’

  ‘Wow, you’re certainly a cautious one. We’ve both said the L word now, haven’t we? So there’s no going back! And I meant what I said earlier. I am in love with you, Emily. This isn’t going to be like Sex And The City, so I’m sorry if you like the melodrama of an on-off thing. This relationship is not going to be terribly complicated. At least, I won’t be making it complicated. There won’t be endless break-ups and make-ups and tripping around Paris with you in a vintage prom dress, and us missing each other by seconds.’

  ‘I’m not a big one for melodrama,’ Emily said. ‘I imagine that sort of personality could become quite tiring to live with, for me and you both. Hey, you sound pretty familiar with the storylines in Sex and the City,’ she added.

  ‘We might have caught a few episodes over the years, me and the lads. You know, when we were all too plastered to find the remote control?’

  ‘Or maybe you just fancied one of the girls and were hoping to see her naked?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re very good,’ he said. ‘You could make a living at this.’

  He turned to face Emily then and they kissed again.

  ‘I’ll let you go to sleep now,’ Emily said dreamily. ‘I think you’ve earned it.’

  ‘Okay. Goodnight, Emily. Love you.’

  Emily closed her eyes and drifted off into the most relaxing sleep she’d had for years. Dylan lay awake for a long time, just looking at Emily’s face in the moonlight. Wondering what happy twist of fate had brought them together and also hoping she wouldn’t change her mind about him in the cold light of day. English girls were complicated enough, he thought. He hoped that Irish girls weren’t even more complicated. Life was a series of simple choices to Dylan Shawcross: he didn’t want to be a banker and he did want to be with Emily. He was happy to help Sylvia at the shop until his savings ran out. Then he might set up a small business of his own. He wanted to live with Emily and wondered if it was too soon to bring the subject up with her. Would Emily be pleased if he suggested they live together? Or would she think he was a bit too intense?

  He liked the navy walls in this bedroom, he thought to himself as Emily slept peacefully beside him. That antique wardrobe was a bit on the big side, but it was nice enough too, and the white carpet was pretty – he’d have to be careful not to walk dirt into it. He would be happy living here, he thought. Though he’d be more than willing to go house-hunting, if that’s what Emily wanted. They could look for something really unusual and fix it up – an old warehouse in Shoreditch or an airy loft in Soho would be lovely. It would depend on what they could afford, obviously. Or maybe Emily would like a more traditional house? Perhaps a Georgian terrace or a modern semi way out in the suburbs? He’d like to have a go at fitting his own kitchen, or at least a home office. Eventually, his head full of half-formed plans, he snuggled down under the duvet, kissed Emily on the cheek and fell asleep.

  Several miles away, ten exhausted firefighters stood looking at the charred and mangled ruins of a serious house fire. The open-plan design of the modern building had made it impossible for them to contain the flames. The entire property was gutted, and all the contents within had been destroyed. Luckily there were no occupants in the building that night. They’d found the blackened remains of two pink cots in one of the bedrooms, but a neighbour had confirmed that the couple currently living there had gone away on holiday to Cornwall.

  There was nothing left to do now but wait for a carpenter to come and start boarding the place up.

  Arabella was putting the finishing touches to her make-up as the sun came up over London. She hadn’t slept all night, but she wasn’t remotely tired. She poured herself another cup of tea and switched on the television to see if there was anything about the fire on the breakfast news. There wasn’t. Luckily the main story that day was yet another MP’s expenses scandal. With an election due the TV companies didn’t want to miss a single snippet of gossip. Both of the main parties were running scared. Some people were even betting on a victory for the Liberal Democrats.

  ‘That was quite a night,’ Arabella told her reflection in the sitting-room mirror as she savoured a cup of PG Tips. Her hair and clothes were immaculate, as was the entire house. Arabella had been very busy in the last few hours. However, her eyes were glassy and cold-looking, and her mouth was set in a hard, determined line. She looked guilty. She reminded herself of a police photofit. Arabella’s heart began to race uncontrollably; she didn’t think she’d like being in prison. But they’d never be able to prove it was her, would they? David would suspect her, but he’d never be able to prove anything. She stared at herself until her heartbeat slowed right down and she felt in control of her emotions once more.

  ‘That’s it; get a grip. I may have gone a bit over the top, but I think it was worth it,’ Arabella said softly.

  She felt purged and free, as if her heart had escaped from a locked metal box. She no longer wanted the traitorous David in her bed or in her life. She would erase all memory of his existence from her life, and she would go on to become a living legend in the magazine publishing world. People would look at her as she wafted around the room at trade events, and admire her for her dedication to the job and for her myst
eriously single status. For one thing was certain now: Arabella never wanted a man to be close to her, ever again. Liars and cheats the lot of them. She would never get her heart broken again. She would revert to her maiden name as soon as it could be arranged. She would redecorate this house entirely to her own taste; all in shades of silver and beige with zebra-print armchairs and fresh orchids. She might sleep with some handsome young man the next time she was on a foreign holiday, just to conceive her much-wanted baby. Or she might do it the official, safe way at a private clinic – just as long as there was no chance of the father turning up and wanting to be a part of her child’s life. She would commit murder if that happened – some idiot man on the doorstep with a bag of toys in his hand. Men! They always played the Daddy card when they were bored with womanizing, or when they wanted somebody to cook and clean for them. Selfish creeps! She wanted no commitments now.

  No, she was over all that silly, sentimental rubbish.

  ‘It’s just me, myself and I,’ she said in a strangely hollow voice.

  Arabella picked up the phone. She confirmed her reservation at the small but luxurious hotel in Scotland that she had spotted in a rival magazine. She had already booked a seat on an early flight. She called a taxi to take her to the airport. They said they would be there in ten minutes. Arabella always kept a small suitcase packed in case she had to go away for work at short notice. She went upstairs, took the case out of her wardrobe and laid it on the bed to check she had left nothing out: dressing gown, pyjamas, slippers, underwear, novels, chocolates, tea bags, bottle of red wine (hotel prices were extortionate), packet of Digestive biscuits. She’d stay in her hotel room, read a novel and have some early nights. She’d order meals from room service to avoid any unwanted approaches in the dining room. Just a few days would see her right, and then she would get on with her life. Emily would be fine on her own at the magazine. Arabella was justifiably proud of her little protégée from Belfast. Emily had a good head on her shoulders when it came to the magazine.

  ‘And she still has most of her slates on when it comes to relationships, hopefully. That new man of hers is super-hot, that’s for sure,’ Arabella said to nobody in particular.

  She added some dresses and shoes, snapped the case shut and carried it to the front door. She checked that everything was switched off and returned to the sitting room to finish her tea.

  ‘Yes, Emily is a wise one,’ she said to her reflection. ‘Not like some of us,’ she added.

  And then, in spite of herself, Arabella managed a watery sort of giggle. She went to light a cigarette as she waited for the taxi to come and then she realized she’d lost her cigarette lighter. Could she possibly have dropped it in David’s house? Arabella’s heart convulsed with fright; her initials were engraved on that lighter. And, even worse, David had given it to her for their wedding anniversary just a couple of years earlier. He’d recognize it straight away.

  Arabella felt like fainting with fear.

  The taxi arrived, so she grabbed her bag and case instead, and went running down the front steps, slamming the door behind her.

  At that exact moment David Harrington was answering a phone call from his local police station, telling him that his rented home in London had been virtually destroyed in an apparent arson attack. They’d found a cigarette lighter in the debris, they said. It bore the initials A. H. Did that mean anything to him?

  David was too stunned to reply at first.

  ‘Arson?’ he stuttered.

  They thought it was arson because the back door had been quite badly damaged, so clearly someone had gone to great trouble to gain access to the house. But they could find no real signs of ransacking. Was there a safe in the house?

  ‘No, there wasn’t.’

  Did anyone know he’d be away from home for a month?

  ‘Only the landlord, our neighbour and my team at work.’

  When asked if he had any idea who might target him in such a way, David didn’t have to think for very long. He wouldn’t have believed it possible that Arabella could turn arsonist like this, but the lighter was proof of it; there could be no doubt whatsoever.

  The policeman noted his hesitation and urged him again to name names, but David couldn’t bear to put Arabella through any more pain and anguish. He had simply stopped loving her, and they hadn’t been able to have a baby together – and that was punishment enough. He didn’t want to have to come back to London from Italy every few weeks for some long-drawn-out court case. He’d much rather leave all the financial and rebuilding headaches for his landlord’s insurer.

  Well, David did have the soul of a stockbroker when all was said and done.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry I’m no help to you. But I really have no idea what could have happened; it must have been a burglary gone terribly wrong,’ David said eventually, kissing Mary’s hand tenderly and thanking his lucky star their beloved daughters were safe and sound. They’d go to Italy early now – just as soon as he could make the arrangements. They could stay in a hotel until their new home was ready.

  ‘You can’t think of anything, sir?’

  ‘Nothing. The burglars must have got angry when they found there was nothing worth stealing, and just vandalized the place instead. You know what these hoodies are like; they think every nice house in London must be chock-full of Picasso paintings and diamond rings. The idiots don’t realize how much it costs just to rent a decent place these days. That’s the comprehensive system for you. I don’t know; they were probably high on drugs,’ David added.

  ‘Could be something like that, yes. There are lots of drugs about.’

  ‘There you are, then – drugs and boredom. We ought to bring back National Service, I expect,’ David said, hoping he wasn’t laying it on too thick.

  ‘National Service – you’re kidding, mate. These young lads never get out of bed before four o’clock in the afternoon. A week in the army would finish off the lot of them.’

  ‘Well, I’m just thankful we weren’t all asleep in our beds when the fire started.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true enough.’

  ‘And you definitely don’t know who A. H. is?’

  ‘No. Must be one of the burglars, I expect.’

  The police mustn’t have known that his wife was called Arabella. And David decided they wouldn’t find out from him. If it ever came to light, he could say he was in shock at the time, and had forgotten all about Arabella. They couldn’t prove a thing.

  David didn’t care about the fire. He just wanted to hold Mary in his arms and fall asleep with the fresh scent of her grapefruit shampoo in his nostrils. He wanted to kiss his daughters’ tiny little starfish hands now, and then go back to sleep. He hoped this awful turn of events could be reduced and compacted into nothing more than a mild irritation. Arabella had always been too complicated for him. She was such a restless person – forever rushing about the place, never sitting down to have a chat with him over a bit of supper. Never wanting to go for a simple, aimless walk …

  He was glad he wouldn’t be seeing her any more.

  ‘Thank you for telling us about the fire, anyway,’ he said.

  ‘The property is being boarded up as we speak.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll keep my phone switched on just in case there’s any more news. And we’ll come back to London first thing tomorrow morning, of course. Thanks again, and good morning to you.’

  ‘Good morning to you, sir.’

  9. Wedding Dress, Never Worn

  When Emily opened her eyes she saw Dylan standing by her wardrobe with one hand on the open door and the other hand scratching his head. He was topless and barefoot but had managed to put his jeans back on. The sun shone through Emily’s tapestry curtains and made a mottled pattern on Dylan’s bare back. She thought she’d like a photograph of him standing like that – to keep with her for ever.

  ‘Hi there,’ she said sleepily.

  He turned to look at her.

  ‘Hi there,’ he smiled.

&
nbsp; There was an endearingly confused expression on his face.

  Emily suddenly remembered her wedding dress.

  ‘Dylan, are you looking for something?’ she said nervously.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ he said, smiling at her again. ‘I just thought you might have an old T-shirt or something that I could borrow? My top has red wine spilt on it. I wonder how that happened! Anyway, I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed.’

  ‘Hang on, I’ll find you something to wear,’ she said, leaning out of bed and flicking open a large wicker trunk. ‘I keep my casual clothes in here. I never really use the wardrobe. It’s mainly full of old stuff.’

  She handed him the baggiest T-shirt she could find.

  ‘Emily?’ he said carefully.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Why have you got a wedding dress and other wedding things in the wardrobe?’

  ‘You saw them, then?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘I wasn’t snooping, honestly. They were right there on the top of this great pile of things. There’s an awful lot of wedding stuff. Is it all for a photo shoot or something?’

  Emily briefly thought of lying to him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  ‘The truth is, I was due to get married a while back,’ she said, slipping on her robe and a pair of socks. ‘But the wedding was cancelled. I should have told you about it – but, anyway, there it is now. Do you just want a cup of tea for breakfast, or would you like cereal and toast as well?’ she asked, leaving the room suddenly. Dylan followed her through to the tiny kitchen.

  ‘Yes, please. Anything that’s handy – I really don’t mind. But, Emily, you said you’d never been in love before, when I asked you last night.’

  Dylan looked at Emily patiently. He waited for her to fill the kettle, and then he folded her into his arms.

  ‘You look gorgeous in the morning,’ he said. ‘Your hair is all mussed up. But listen, you don’t have to tell me about it … if you don’t want to,’ he added.