THIRTY DAYS
BOOK THREE
Bibi Paterson
Copyright Bronwyn Paterson 2015
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APRIL
'Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.'
William Shakespeare
The Merchant of Venice, Act 4, Scene 1
Prologue
I open my eyes and am immediately assaulted by a rogue swarm of butterflies in my stomach. A lazy grin stretches across my face and I can’t help but let out a sigh of contentment. Despite the crazy circus in my belly, I have never been happier. The day I have been working towards all month has finally arrived; my wedding day.
I throw back the covers and make my way across to the window, pulling back the heavy damask curtains before letting out a gasp. The scene outside the window is that of a world blanketed in a thick cover of snow. Where there once were cars parked alongside the green that leads down towards the Promenade, now there are just indiscernible lumps. The forecast had predicted snow, but I can’t remember the last time we had more than a few flakes down here in Brighton and the British weathermen are infamous for the inaccuracies of their forecasts. Yet, here we are, December thirty-first and I have woken up to a land of ice.
A knock on the door startles me but before I even have a chance to respond, my mother is poking her head through the doorway and holding out a steaming cup of tea towards me.
“Mum, it snowed!” I squeal with the excitement of a kid anticipating a day off school as I bounce across to her. “I can’t believe it actually snowed on my wedding day.”
“It looks so beautiful out there sweetheart,” Mum agrees with a smile on her face. “But we better make sure everything is still on for this evening. I am going to start making some phone calls and then we can have some breakfast, okay?”
“Okey dokes. I’ll be down in a bit, Mum,” I respond. With that, she gives me another soft smile and heads out of the room, her royal blue robe wrapped around her tall, willowy frame.
I take my cup of tea and climb back under my warm duvet, savouring the thought that, by the end of the day, I will be Mrs Taylor Hudson. I let out a small chuckle of delight as I glance across at the garment bag hanging over the wardrobe door. My wedding dress. I can’t wait to put it on and see the look on Taylor’s face when he sees me in it. I can’t imagine that Taylor has given much thought to what I will be wearing, but I know that dress I have picked out will be entirely unexpected.
In a month, Mum and I have somehow turned around the impossible. I know that I would have been a complete mess without her help, yet in the space of a couple of days we managed to pin down a venue, no mean feat for a wedding on New Year’s Eve, as well as a dress. And with Bea’s help, the rest just seemed to fall into place. So now we just need to get the show on the road.
.........................
I adjust my dress for what feels like the hundredth time as I glance nervously at the closed doors. The butterflies continue their crazy dance in my stomach as I force myself to take a calming breath.
“You look beautiful, darling. Stop fussing,” my dad insists. Taking a moment, he stands back, assessing me. After a couple of seconds, he gives me a nod of approval and a warm smile and I finally feel myself starting to relax. I trust my father’s judgement completely, especially when it comes to fashion, so if I have his seal of approval, then I know I must look okay.
My dress flows to the floor with a sweetheart neckline, the dusky pink sheer lace overlay giving peeks of the blush-pink lining underneath. Initially, I tried on dress after dress in every shade of white, oyster and ivory you can imagine but never felt the connection everyone talks about until I tried on this dress. It was a whim, after all wearing pink for a wedding dress is hardly conventional, but when that zip came up, I just knew that this was the dress for me. Okay, so it is not your typical white meringue, but hey, when do I ever seem to follow the rules?
A quick adjustment of the satin bow that is sitting just above my tiny little bump and then my dad is signalling that we are ready to go. I hear the opening chords of Clair de Lune and my heart starts to pound. When I first suggested that that was the music I wanted to walk down the aisle to everyone thought that I was crazy. We had played it at Nonna’s funeral and Mum thought it would be too depressing to have it at my wedding. But once I explained my rationale, that it had been Nonna’s favourite tune and just having it playing would make me feel like she was there with me, everyone gave in graciously. I close my eyes briefly and feel my dad slip his arm through mine as the doors open and everyone turns to stare at me. For the briefest moment, my feet are frozen to the floor, but then my eyes open and meet Taylor’s and all my nerves just disappear.
I feel like I am gliding as I make my way down the aisle of the Royal Grand Pavilion’s Music Room. I barely notice its impressive features, like the beautiful lotus-shaped chandeliers and the domed ceiling featuring the hundreds of gilded plaster cockleshells that initially sold me on the venue. Instead, all I can focus on is the man standing at the front, staring at me like I am the only person in the room.
“You look stunning,” Taylor murmurs into my ear as he takes my arm from my father, and I find myself blushing under his scrutiny. As the registrar begins talking, my mind starts to drift, the reality of the situation settling over me like a warm blanket. Any nerves that I might have had about marrying Taylor have completely vanished and instead I just wish she would hurry up so that I can say my vows and kiss my husband, damn it.
The ceremony seems to fly by and I barely seem to register the words we utter before I am finally saying “I do”. When the registrar announces that Taylor can now kiss his bride, it seems like the earth stands still for a moment and everyone else in the room fades away, leaving only Taylor and I standing there. My breath hitches as we stare into each other’s eyes, until finally he lowers his mouth onto mine for the sweetest, most gentle kiss I could have ever imagined. Taylor’s large hands cup my face and I feel his thumbs caressing my jaw before moving down my back to bring my body flush against his torso. There is passion in the kiss but underneath I sense a kind of newness, an acceptance that this is the beginning of something different, something amazing.
“Oomph,” I grunt out as a fierce kick in my belly interrupts the moment.
“Was that what I think it was?” Taylor whispers as his hand moves down on to my bump, his eyes shining with excitement.
“Yup, that was Bean. First time I have felt her kick properly though. I guess she wanted to make s
ure to include her.” I let out a light laugh and Taylor reaches up to cup my face again, his thumb stroking my chin gently.
“I love you so much, Mrs Hudson. More than you will ever know,” Taylor says softly and I respond by stretching up and planting a kiss on his soft lips.
“Back atcha, Mr Hudson,” I reply, offering up a sweet smile. Finally, we turn around to look out at our guests. Smiles and shining eyes greet us along with a spontaneous round of applause that has me blushing and giggling with embarrassment at our public display of affection.
The next hour flies by as we pose for photographs around the venue. Our evening wedding has meant that we couldn’t have our pictures taken outside in the dark gardens but instead we have used the inside of the venue to provide a stunning backdrop. Finally, my mother rescues us letting Taylor and me know that dinner is about to be served. I breathe a sigh of relief, wondering for the millionth time how my parents can stand doing this thing for days on end during their modelling shoots.
Grabbing my hand, Taylor leads us into the King William IV Room where we are subjected to another round of applause. I can’t help but grin as we take a seat at our table, my eyes wandering around the room enjoying the sight of family and friends, both old and new, all coming together to celebrate with us. The only notable absence is Taylor’s parents who refused to attend once he made it clear that Richard would not be welcome. The argument that had erupted had been fierce, but Taylor had stood his ground, asserting that he would allow nothing would spoil our day. I give a small wave across to Genevieve, Taylor’s grandmother, who looks very regal in her midnight-blue hat and is smiling at us proudly with tears glistening in her eyes. She dabs at the corner of her eye with a small lace handkerchief before wrapping her arm around Nicola, Taylor’s sister, and giving her a squeeze.
A clink of silverware on glass grabs my attention and I turn to see my father standing up, looking very official and proud of himself. I have been dreading the ‘Father of the Bride’ speech, but my mum has promised me that she has vetted it and that I will love it. I hold my breath as my dad welcomes everyone and then starts with a couple of amusing stories from my childhood. My eyes fill with tears as he talks about how proud he is of my accomplishments and I feel the love radiating from him. Despite the difficulties I have had with my mother over the years, my father has always been my champion, always ready to smooth the waters between us.
“And lastly,” he continues, “this is where we dads are supposed to dish out the advice. I tried for ages to come up with the perfect words of wisdom but instead would like to share this poem with you which has been written in a way that I think Abby will understand.” A wave of gentle laughter erupts around the room.
As he begins reciting the words off by heart, I realise that it is not actually a poem in the traditional sense but rather a recipe. A recipe for everlasting love. I let out a chuckle as he talks about adding a cup of loyalty and a pinch of forgiveness, and then stirring in a generous dollop of laughter. Taylor squeezes my hand gently under the table and when I look at him, I can see from the creases in his eyes he is as amused by my father’s words as I am.
By the end of the poem though I am wiping my eyes, thinking about how lucky I am to have such a fantastic father. I reach up to squeeze his hand and when he looks down into my watery eyes, I know he understands how emotional his speech has made me. “Love you, baby girl,” he finishes, so softly that only I can hear.
“I…I love you too, Dad,” I respond, the lump that has formed in my throat making it almost impossible to get the words out.
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As the clock counts down to midnight, I stand wrapped in Taylor’s arms savouring the feel of him. I rest my head on his shoulder as we sway gently to the final strains of Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years. The countdown begins in earnest as the crowd chants, “Ten, Nine…” I turn my face up to look at Taylor and he gives me a soft smile.
“Happy?” he asks, an eyebrow raised questioningly.
“Unbelievably so,” I respond. “Here’s to a thousand years…” I trail off, my heart bursting with the love I feel for the man holding me. “So are you finally going to tell me where we are headed off on honeymoon?” I ask.
“Nope,” Taylor grins at me and I have to resist the urge to kick his shin over the best-kept secret in the world. Suddenly the sky outside the windows explodes with fireworks and I hear everyone around us cheering. Yet for the two of us it feels like we are wrapped up in our own little bubble where nothing can touch us.
“Happy New Year,” Taylor whispers, before bringing his soft lips down on mine.
The First
My mind is drifting as I sit in Bloomsbury waiting for Michelle to arrive at a gorgeous little place I found called Bea’s. We are having afternoon tea and my mouth is watering already at the sight of the ginormous meringues that are loaded onto an equally enormous plate. I am thinking about the ten perfect days we spent in Mexico on the Yucatan Peninsula and I let out a sigh as I remember the aquamarine waters and the pristine white beaches. If I think hard enough, I can almost feel the sun on my pale skin. A fierce kick in my ribs brings me back to the present and I wince, rubbing the spot to ease the pain.
Come on Bean, I think to myself, give me a break. She has been kicking me black and blue the last month and I have started to wonder if maybe the scans were wrong and we are having a boy instead. My latte arrives at the table just as Michelle arrives in a flurry of apologies for being late.
“So what were you thinking of, lovely? You had the dreamiest look on your face…” Michelle asks with a grin as she sits down on the chair opposite me.
“Just remembering Mexico and dreaming about golden sands and crystal clear waters,” I say with a sigh.
“I am so jealous, you cow. Ten days in the sunny Mayan Riviera while I was stuck here in rainy old England. I swear this is the first bit of proper sun we have seen all year,” Michelle retorts, gesturing to the pavement swathed in bright sunlight. “I was thinking about getting one of those bloody sad lamps for the office because, at this rate, I am going to end up like a vampire and never set foot outside in actual daylight.”
“Things still crazy in the office then?” I ask, tilting my head as I take in the dark shadows under my best friend’s eyes.
“Crazy busy. Your man seems to never leave these days…always in before us and is still there long after we leave. The workload at the moment just never seems to ease up.” Michelle grimaces, stopping the conversation to order herself a drink. “Seriously, though hunny, is everything okay between you two?”
And that is the million dollar question. I let out a sigh and rub the bridge of my nose, my eyes closed as I try to form a reply. “I don’t know. Things are…strained at the moment. It’s not that anything has happened between us, per se, but this trial is really pushing both our buttons and, I guess, we are taking the stress out on each other.” I let out another sigh, grateful for the break in the conversation as our cream tea is laid out in between us.
For a few minutes we dig into the delicious goodies, exclaiming how good everything is but eventually Michelle steers the conversation back to the dreaded topic; Hannah’s trial. “So remind me when the trial is due to start?”
“They have finished up with jury selection, so everything is due to get going on the tenth, just after the Easter bank holiday,” I say, and I can already hear the dread in my voice.
“So do you know when you are going to get called to testify?” Michelle asks, her voice filled with concern. She knows just how scared I am about facing Hannah and having to give evidence about how she betrayed me and tried to kill me.
I shake my head. “She is still pleading temporary insanity, so they have some witnesses to go before me. Plus they want Taylor to testify before me as well, to go over everything that happened when they met. So I guess it will probably be a week or so before they get to me. I just have to try and be patient, which has never been something I am particularl
y good at.” I let out a chuckle, but even to my ears it sounds fake and hollow.
Michelle leans forward and takes my hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Abs, you are going to be fine. And I will be there for you in the courtroom the whole time. I have already cleared it with Taylor, so they know I will have to duck out when you are called.”
“Thanks, Chelle. I really don’t know what I would have done without you these last few months.” I say, choking on the emotion that has suddenly formed as a lump in my throat. “You are the best friend a girl could ever have.”
“That’s what friends are for, silly!” she exclaims as if there were no other option in the world.
“So enough about me…tell me how things are going with the gorgeous Marc.” Michelle lets me change the subject, knowing that I am close to breaking down.
“Hmm, he’s such a gentleman. Last night Marc took me out to this gorgeous Italian in Primrose Hill and we had such a blast. And then we took a walk up Parliament Hill and watched the sun go down over the city. It was so cool because you could hear the lions roaring in the zoo so all in all it made it quite a surreal experience.” I grin at the dopey look that has stretched across Michelle’s face.
We carry on chatting about Michelle’s budding relationship with Marc and it makes me unbelievably happy to feel the joy radiating off her. It has been too long since she was serious about anyone and it seems like finally she can let go of Jeremy, the guy who was Michelle’s first love and died tragically in a car accident when some stupid fool decided it was okay to drink-drive. I listen as she tells me about all the sweet things he does for her and how she thinks she might be ready to see if he wants to move in into her apartment with her. I know that this is a massive step for Michelle and I can’t help but jump up and squeal with delight over the news, grabbing her and giving her a giant hug.
Book Three: Thirty Days, Book 3 Page 1