Before we know what’s happening, Flick drops to her knee in front of him. That certainly gets everyone’s attention. Ella and I put down our jigsaw pieces. Harry, white-faced, lets the snakes and ladders counters fall to the floor again.
‘Noah Reeves,’ she says loudly. In her hand there’s a wire top, of the kind you’d get off a champagne bottle, that she’s twisted into a home-made ring. ‘Would you do me the very great honour of becoming my husband?’
Chapter Sixty-Seven
I don’t know who’s the most stunned out of all of us. We all stand up, open-mouthed, staring. Harry goes white. Noah flushes scarlet. He looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
Flick stays steadfastly in place while the seconds tick by. I want to intervene, say something, anything, to fill this yawning silence, but nothing will come.
There is only one person who can answer Flick’s question and, currently, he seems to have gone into a catatonic trance.
Flick, clearly tiring of being on one knee, says, ‘Well? Will you or won’t you?’
‘Are you serious?’ Noah asks.
‘Deadly,’ she says.
I don’t think any of us were really in any doubt about that.
He shakes himself, as if waking from a long slumber under a spell, and stands. Taking Flick’s hand, he helps her up until they’re standing face to face. His eyes are fixed solely on her, without even giving a cursory glance in my direction, when he says, ‘I’d be delighted to.’
Flick’s face breaks into a grin. ‘Really?’
‘You’re not planning to drive me up to Gretna Green tonight, are you?’
‘No. Of course not, silly.’ Then she pauses. ‘But we could if you wanted to.’
Bitterly, I wonder if she’s told him that she’s already had one runaway wedding.
Noah holds up a hand. ‘We should take our time.’ It’s only then that his eyes meet mine.
‘Congratulations,’ I manage.
The word feels strangled in my throat. I need to draw on all my best acting skills to step forward and embrace them both. My body feels rigid, robotic. I should be so happy for my friend, for both Flick and Noah. But I’m not.
She can’t be serious about this. They’re so unsuited. And what’s Noah thinking of? Has he been toying with my emotions all this time? Has he really been in love with Flick all along and is just having a great laugh at my expense? He’s been protesting all week that he and Flick are terminally unsuited, so why on earth did he say yes?
Flick hugs me and I might as well be concrete. Then Noah takes me into his arms. Warmth floods through me and it is the closest I think I will ever come to swooning. I keep a grip on myself and move away as quickly as I can. Next Harry steps forward and, he too, looks less than impressed by the turn of events. But then he doesn’t like Noah anyway. Although he might find Flick irritating, I’m sure he’ll be annoyed by the idea that Noah will now be permanently in our circle of close friends. He gives Noah a cursory clap on the back and, when he looks at Flick, I see with some surprise that his eyes are bleak. Clearly, he too thinks that she’s chosen the wrong life partner.
But who are we to advise Flick or to pass judgement on whether or not she’s making the right choice? Only Noah and Flick can decide that. Harry and I are hardly walking adverts for Mr & Mrs. Flick certainly seems keen to make this work. Come hell or high water.
Now it’s Ella’s turn to kiss them. ‘You make a lovely couple,’ she says as she holds them both tightly. Out of all of us, she’s the one who sounds the most sincere. But when she faces me again, I can see that her eyes too are troubled.
Flick jumps up and down on the spot. ‘I’m going to be married! I’m going to be married!’ She throws herself at Noah who, obligingly, lifts her into the air and twirls her round.
I feel numb. I’m watching it all, but I can’t believe that it’s happening to me. But then, how did I think this was going to end? Did I imagine that Noah and I were going to gallop off into the sunset together? That was never going to happen. I’m sensible, steady Grace Taylor. Whatever fantasies I might have secretly harboured, I’m going to go home with Harry and work on our marriage. I’ll be in it for the next twenty-five, thirty-five years. Never entirely happy, never entirely finding the courage to leave. A lot of people live like that, I think. Why not be one of them? Why buy into the fairy tale of fabulous love, of soulmates, of happy ever after? It will only disappoint you.
‘I have champagne!’ Flick says. ‘Let me go and get it!’
I want to say that the last thing any of us needs is more drink, but I’m always the one pouring cold water on her plans.
‘I’ll go,’ Noah says. Frankly, he looks as if he could do with some fresh air.
‘No, no,’ she insists. ‘I’ll go.’ And, without a backward glance, Flick trips outside.
There’s an awkwardness in the room that’s hard to disguise. Noah shuffles from foot to foot. So do I. Harry holds on to the mantelpiece, looking for all the world as if he will fall over if he lets go for even a second. Clearly this announcement has knocked everyone for six. I know Flick said that she wanted to propose to Noah, but I never really thought that she’d do it and certainly not now.
‘Wow,’ Ella says, when it’s clear that no one else can find words to fill the void. ‘That certainly livened the evening up.’
I try a laugh and it drops into the room like a pebble down a deep well.
‘That’s enough surprises for me for one night,’ Ella continues with a yawn. ‘Just a little thimbleful of fizz for me to be sociable and then I’m off to bed.’
The headlights of a car rove over the curtains and there’s the crunch of gravel from outside.
‘Is that Flick?’ Ella asks. ‘I hope she’s not driving with all she’s had to drink.’
Seconds later we hear footsteps across the kitchen. Flick puts her head round the living-room door. ‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ she says. ‘Ta-dah!’
With two champagne bottles in hand, she flings the door wide open and standing there, looking more than a little dazed, is Art.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Flick opens the first bottle of champagne. Clearly, it has been shaken up in the boot of the car or on its journey in my friend’s arms as, when she opens the bottle, it sprays everywhere. She decides to embrace the Grand Prix style of opening fizz and showers us all with it. I try to be joyous and laughing.
‘Noah,’ she instructs, ‘find glasses.’ Duly, he disappears into the kitchen.
Art and Ella stand facing each other. He looks like a lost soul. His clothes are crumpled and he’s clearly not shaved. The expression on his face is hangdog, worn. ‘I’ve been such a bloody idiot,’ Art says. ‘Can you possibly forgive me?’
‘You don’t even have to ask,’ Ella says. They step into each other’s arms and she buries her face in his neck.
‘I got all the way back to London,’ he says, voice thick with emotion. ‘I pulled up outside the house and just sat there and thought, What the hell am I doing? I turned round and drove straight back.’
Noah reappears with six champagne flutes. Flick splashes the drink into the glasses.
‘What are we celebrating?’ Art asks, having missed the bombshell of the last few minutes.
‘We’re toasting our engagement,’ Flick says. ‘Noah and I are to be married.’
Noah is smiling broadly but, I might be mistaken, I don’t think that it’s reaching his eyes. He’s steadfastly avoiding looking at me.
‘Wow. Congratulations,’ Art says and lifts the glass he’s given.
‘Just a tiny bit for me,’ Ella says. ‘Baby on board.’
Flick ignores Ella’s request and hands her a full flute.
‘And now we’re wetting the baby’s head too,’ Flick says as she pours one for herself. ‘Get it down your necks, folks. Harry and I have been at the lurid liqueurs, so you’ve got ground to make up.’
‘All right,’ Art says and his first glass slips down easi
ly. ‘To the baby,’ he proposes. He and Ella exchange a wary smile. The glasses are topped up again and downed.
‘To Flick and Noah,’ Flick proposes.
We duly raise our glasses again and echo, ‘To Flick and Noah.’
Even the hit of bubbles fails to lift my spirits. It’s obviously working well for some people as, moments later, the second bottle is being opened.
I’m concerned to note that Art has moved very quickly from penitent partner to party animal. Ed Sheeran is taken off the iPod and replaced with dance music. The Black Eyed Peas rock the quiet of the cottage. I’m sure that the ancient plaster on the walls is vibrating. Flick starts to dance and pulls Noah into the middle of the floor. She twines her body round him like a lap dancer and he does nothing to dissuade her. I notice that Harry is giving them both black looks, so I don’t suggest that we dance too – not that I particularly want to.
Art pulls Ella into his arms and twirls her round. She’s moving tentatively and I get a flash of irritation with him as I realise that he’s not in the least taking into account how she feels. Only this morning, she was in hospital having a scan. Only last night did we fear that she was losing the baby.
He might have returned sheepish and repentant, but with the music on loud and the booze flowing, he seems to have forgotten why he’s back here at all or why he even went in the first place.
Harry and I are onlookers, detached from the party. It’s like having an out-of-body experience. This is all going on around me, but none of it is touching my heart.
Two songs later and Ella is breathless, begging to sit down. She lowers herself into the sofa, looking really tired. I drop down beside her. ‘Don’t overdo it,’ I say. Already it’s getting late. ‘Why don’t you go up to bed now?’
‘I might do,’ she says. ‘Do you think I’ll be missed?’
Art is still dancing, glass in hand. He’s singing at the top of his voice.
‘Perhaps not,’ I acknowledge ruefully. ‘But you’re the important one here.’
‘This little one is,’ she counters as she cradles her bump.
‘No hospital runs in the early hours, please,’ I say. ‘I want you to have a good night’s sleep.’
‘Me too.’
‘I’m not going to be far behind you.’ I stifle a yawn, though I think I’m more emotionally exhausted than physically spent. ‘I still hope that we’re going to Skomer tomorrow.’ Though, with the turn of events, that may have been long forgotten.
Ella lowers her voice, so that only I can hear. ‘I guess Art and I will have a lot of talking to do. We’ll stay behind and, hopefully, sort things out while we have some time on our own. Wish me luck.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ I assure her.
‘Night, sweetie.’
‘Promise to wake me if you get so much as a twinge.’
‘I will.’ She kisses my cheek and then, unnoticed, slips away.
I glance over at Art. He seems oblivious to Ella, wrapped up in his own enjoyment. Harry is now dancing with Flick. She appears to be grinding her hips into his groin. I sigh to myself. I feel as if I’m completely superfluous to requirements.
Noah is leaning on the mantelpiece, draining his glass of champagne. I think it’s the first alcohol that I’ve seen him touch. Perhaps he feels in need of it. Perhaps the reality of a lifetime with Flick is just hitting home.
I can’t stand this any longer. It’s time for me to go to bed too. Taking my glass and Ella’s, I stand and cross the room. ‘Night, all,’ I say. ‘See you in the morning.’
‘You can’t go now!’ Flick tugs at my arm. ‘You can’t leave me with all these men! The party’s just getting started.’
‘I’m done. Really.’ I kiss her cheek. ‘Congratulations again.’
‘You and Ella must be my bridesmaids!’
‘Of course we will.’ A wave of my hand. ‘Night then.’
The only person who answers me is Noah. From his little island by the fireplace, he stares at me directly and says, ‘Goodnight, Grace.’
‘Goodnight, Noah.’ But in my head it sounds as if we are both saying, ‘Goodbye.’
Chapter Sixty-Nine
It was in the early hours of the morning when Harry finally staggered into the bedroom. He and Flick had giggled all the way up the stairs, tripping and crashing into the walls as they went. I lay still while he hopped around, cursing to himself and pulling off his clothes. When he eventually collapsed on the bed, he was wearing one sock and his shirt – the buttons having proved far too complicated for drunken fingers. His snores are still going strong.
I glance at the clock. Now it’s almost five and the sun is streaming through the windows. I’ve drifted in and out of sleep, listening to the quiet swish of the ocean occasionally punctuated by the sound of laughter from the living room, until the party finally broke up. Thankfully, there’s been no call from Ella. So I’m hoping that she had a good night. I’m quite awake and decide that I might as well get up as lie here, my mind in turmoil. At least I can have the bathroom and kitchen to myself before anyone else rouses.
Tea is in order before anything else, so I pull on my jeans and cardigan and pad downstairs in my bare feet. As I step into the kitchen, I’m surprised to see Noah sitting alone at the table, head in hands. He looks up when he hears me, so no chance to retreat to the safety of my room again.
‘Hey.’ He nods at the teapot on the table. ‘Want some?’
‘Please.’ I slide into the chair facing him.
Noah gets a mug and the milk and pours for me. We sit on opposite sides of the table, nursing our mugs.
He hasn’t shaved yet and his hair is still tangled from sleep. It makes him no less handsome.
‘What time did you get to bed?’
‘I left them to it not long after you went,’ he says. Which surprises me. I thought they were all in for the long haul. ‘Flick didn’t “retire” till about three.’ I knew it was late, but hadn’t realised quite how late. ‘I think we might be short on numbers for our Skomer trip.’
‘You’re still planning on going?’ That surprises me too.
He shrugs. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for anything.’
It’s doubtful that Harry will be coming to Skomer. If he’s true to form, nothing will rouse him from this bed until at least ten or later. The boat to the island will be long gone by the time he’s ready to face the world.
‘I don’t think Flick will make it,’ he adds. ‘From the way things were looking, she’s going to have the most monumental hangover today. I don’t think that bobbing about in a small boat will help.’
‘You’re not going to stay here with her?’ That sounds more judgemental than I mean it to.
‘No.’
‘I don’t think Harry will be up for it either. And Art and Ella need to spend some time together talking today so I can’t see them wanting to go.’
‘Then it’s just the two of us.’
My throat tightens. ‘Is that wise?’
Noah sighs. ‘Probably not, but I think we should go anyway.’ He lowers his voice. ‘It could be the last time we ever get to spend time together, Grace.’ There’ll be no cosy little outings together when he’s Flick’s husband. ‘I’m prepared to take the risk, if you are.’
I am quite possibly the most risk-averse person on the planet, but I still find myself saying, ‘OK.’
‘We have the perfect day for it.’ He glances out of the window at the flawless sky and the golden sun that’s just emerged. ‘There’s nothing on the island – other than birds. No café or anything. I’ll make us some sandwiches to take with us while you get yourself ready.’ The guide book on the table tells me that Noah is taking this very seriously.
‘What time should we leave?’
‘We’ll have to be down at the harbour to buy tickets first thing. We can set off as soon as you’re ready.’
There’s a lightness in my heart as I quickly grab some cereal and wolf it down. Is it entirely due to the fact that I’m k
een to get up close and personal with the Pembrokeshire puffin colony? Or is it more due to the fact that I will be able to escape the others, possibly for the last time, for a few precious hours with Noah?
Chapter Seventy
I take a last glance at Harry, still lying on his back in bed, his arm thrown above his head, snoring. To my shame, I’m glad that he hasn’t woken. I’m glad that I don’t have to speak to him or have to spend the day listening to him complain. This day is for Noah and me. For me and Noah alone.
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