Dreams of a Little Cornish Cottage

by Nancy Barone

  He raked his hand through his hair and nodded. ‘Okay, I understand. I deserve this. I should’ve never lied to you. Some way to start a relationship, huh?’

  I said nothing.

  He sighed, biting his lip. ‘I understand this is a bit overwhelming. Do you need time to think about it?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. No. I don’t know…’

  He took my hands in his. ‘It’s okay to be confused, Nat.’ Then he brought my fingers to his lips and kissed them, one by one.

  ‘Th-that’s not helping,’ I stammered.

  He closed his eyes. ‘Perhaps, you could give me another chance to start all over again?’

  ‘How?’

  He stepped back and held out his hand, a huge smile on his face.

  ‘Hi, my name is Shane Wright. I’m from Dublin where I live on a huge farm with my huge family. I’m an IT lawyer. I have two lovely daughters and I am looking for the love of my life. She has to be half-Italian, kind and generous and sexy as hell. She has to be a columnist and must also have a potty-mouthed but adorable mother. Do you by any chance know where I could meet someone like that?’

  ‘Can we just skip to the good part?’ I asked, and he smiled, so I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him smack on the mouth, his five o’clock beard soft against my face. I inhaled his fresh scent, wanting to bury myself inside him, or the other way around, it didn’t matter. I wanted to be as close to him as I possibly could. I wanted to take him home and bolt the door and finally have my wicked way with this beautiful, kind man.

  ‘I’ve wanted this from the minute I met you,’ he murmured as he continued to kiss me and nibble at my throat.

  ‘And you drank that entire cup of salty coffee,’ I reminded him.

  He shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to embarrass you. You were so nervous that day.’

  ‘But from now on, promise you’ll always be honest with me?’

  ‘Entirely,’ he promised before taking my lips again in a knicker-melting kiss.

  ‘Well, then, if we’re going down this road, I have my own confession to make,’ I finally said, drawing for breath.

  He gently pushed my fringe off my face in a loving caress. ‘Oh, yeah?’ he whispered against my lips. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’m not thirty-six. I’m thirty-nine.’

  ‘Oh, I knew that.’

  I pulled away. ‘You knew?’

  ‘It’s on the contract, silly.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  ‘But as long as we’re doing confessions,’ he said. ‘Do you remember me disappearing every Tuesday and Thursday?’

  ‘Uh, ye-es?’

  ‘Well, this is why,’ he said, going to the drinks bar in the corner and ducking under it. He emerged with a huge object covered by a sheet.

  ‘Come closer,’ he beckoned me. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I made two. One for the girls, and a special, specific one for you.’ And with that, he whipped off the cover and… there it was. My doll’s house, with its white picket fence and the purple door and shutters and tiny furniture.

  ‘Oh, my God! How did you…?’

  ‘I copied it from that picture you showed me. Not bad, is it?’

  ‘Not bad? It’s exactly the same! Thank you, Shane, for caring enough to do that.’

  He took me into his arms. ‘I care much more than that, Nat.’

  ‘Nat?’

  We turned to the door where the girls stood with Yolanda. ‘Are you ready for that family chat now?’ she asked us and I nodded, detaching myself from Shane.

  Zoe and Amy glanced at each other. ‘Oh-oh. Is somebody sick?’ Amy asked.

  Yolanda laughed. ‘No, darling, everyone is fine! But we have some news regarding our family.’

  ‘Oh God, you’re not marrying Bill, are you?’ Amy asked.

  Yola glanced at me. ‘Maybe. One day.’

  ‘But do you like him?’ Zoe wanted to know.

  ‘Of course I do. And he likes me, too. But I have some news about another man in our lives.’

  ‘Is our real daddy coming back?’ Zoe asked.

  Yolanda exchanged glances with us. This was not going to be easy.

  ‘What Mummy is trying to say is that… well, Mummy and Uncle Connor are very, very old friends. Many years ago they met and made you. We didn’t see each other for a very long time. But now we’ve agreed that he should stay in Wyllow Cove.’

  I watched their little faces as they tried to understand. And then a twin set of eyes nearly popped out of their lovely faces. ‘You mean Connor is our father?’

  Yolanda caressed their shoulders. ‘Yes, my darlings. Connor is your real father. Only his real name is Shane. And you like him, right?’

  Their faces swung to his as they reached out to grab each other’s hands, something I had never seen in the eight years of their lives.

  ‘And he is going to move in with us?’ Amy asked.

  ‘No, my darlings. Your father is going to live down in the village.’

  ‘But we can see him whenever we want?’ Zoe wanted to know.

  Yolanda nodded. ‘The only thing that will change is that you get to finally live with Mummy all year, but you can have lots and lots of sleepovers with Daddy whenever you want!’

  Shane stepped forward and knelt before them. ‘We’ll take you to your football, your ballet, your sports club, parties, parks and we can all go away together on holidays,’ he promised. ‘Nothing has changed. We all love you very much.’

  Shane, Yolanda and I exchanged glances as it dawned on the girls that they were no ordinary family.

  And then suddenly, as if released from a catapult, they bolted through the sliding glass doors and shot down the garden, running and screaming, long locks trailing behind them. ‘Yayyyyy!’ they cried in unison, hugging each other in absolute glee, running around in circles, arm in arm, first this way and then that, singing and whooping.

  ‘Well, that’s settled, then,’ Shane said with a happy sigh, his dark eyes glistening. ‘Yolanda, I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘Please. You’ve given them what I couldn’t. A father. And Shane?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hurt my sister and I’ll break your legs. Are we clear?’

  ‘I promise,’ he said, putting his arm around me. ‘I love Nat with all my heart, and I’m going to make her very happy.’

  I blushed as Yolanda came forward and placed her hand on my forearm. ‘You’d better. And thank you, Nat. For everything you’ve done. For making me see the importance of family.’

  I shrugged, blushing. All these years that I’d waited for a simple thank you and now I didn’t know what to say. ‘So when are you going to marry Bill?’ I asked.

  Yolanda shrugged. ‘I want the girls to get to know him better and see that he really is a great bloke.’

  ‘We’ll make sure that it all goes smoothly,’ Shane promised.

  Yolanda smiled at him. ‘You know, Shane, when Nat told me she had a male lodger, I was worried about all sorts of stuff.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I’m sorry again for never telling you. I just thought you wouldn’t want to know. My own ex-husband didn’t.’

  The girls shot back in through the French doors, finally jumping all over Shane, covering him with kisses as, overwhelmed, he swiped his red eyes before they met mine. ‘We’re such a huge family now!’ Zoe cried. ‘I can’t wait to meet our Irish nana and all of our aunts and uncles and cousins!’

  ‘Oh my God, imagine all the presents!’ Amy echoed.

  I laughed, swiping a tear.

  ‘Okay, girls, time to wash up for dinner. The soufflé is a total disaster, but who cares?’ Yolanda said.

  I laughed as she led the girls out of the room. Shane took my hand. ‘You okay?’ he whispered.

  ‘I’m fine. Enjoy this, it’s a one in a million event.’

  ‘Not anymore. I plan on keeping everyone as close as possible.’ Shane smiled. And then gripped my elbows, his eyes suddenly wide. ‘Oh my bloody
God!’

  ‘What?’ I said, instinctively clutching his arms in return.

  ‘Me mam! I forgot all about her!’

  ‘You mean you didn’t tell her any of this?’ I gasped.

  ‘I was going to keep it to myself until I had a happy ending!’

  ‘And did you get your happy ending?’ I teased him.

  He pretended not to understand. ‘Are you kidding me? When I tell her I’ve met both Natalia and Yolanda Amore, she’s going to freak.’

  ‘Ha-ha. But seriously, how is she going to react?’

  ‘She’ll be over the moon. She’s always badgering me about finding the one. And now I’ve found my three!’

  *

  The next Friday night, at the annual Media Ball, held at our old haunt, The Langham Hotel in London, in the presence of hundreds of colleagues – columnists, travel writers, bloggers – the works, and Shane was at my side, as my real date this time.

  Octavia, of course, was there, wearing her customary white, and eating him with her eyes as usual.

  ‘Hello, Octavia,’ Shane said pleasantly.

  ‘Hi, Connor, looking good as usual,’ she said with her flirty mouth. She still called him Connor because we had decided to not make our business known to anyone until we felt that the right moment had come.

  ‘So are you, Octavia.’

  ‘And what are you up to these days, Natalia?’ she asked as she took a sip of champagne.

  ‘Oh, uh, nothing much. I’m currently working on a new article.’

  ‘Freelancing, I imagine,’ she said. ‘Maybe that is what you need. I find that uncertainty always adds that certain edge. Good for creativity, and you certainly need it. And may I suggest you keep away from writing stuff like that last article of yours – The Clark Kents of the Noughties? Ugh.’

  ‘Actually, Octavia, I am writing a very specific article.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s my first note as editor-in-chief for La Mode.’

  Octavia spluttered her drink, coughing until coughing turned to wheezing and Shane had to whack her on the back.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yuh,’ she croaked, her mascara running like she’d been crying for hours.

  ‘Don’t worry, Octavia,’ I said. ‘I will put in a good word for you – if I care to.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Oh. Didn’t you know? We’re acquiring Lady magazine and, well, a few people have to go, so…’

  And then Octavia’s knees bent and only her plus-one, who was returning from the bar with more drinks, stopped her from hitting the floor. His champagne glasses toppled and spilled all over her couture while someone else threw a glass of ice-cold water in her face. Which brought her to, but she had to be escorted out of the ballroom.

  ‘Poor Octavia,’ I said. ‘I hope she’ll be okay.’

  Shane threw back his head and laughed while his arm circled my shoulder. ‘Remind me to never piss you off.’

  I turned to him. ‘I love you, Shane. I’ve loved you since the moment you stepped over my threshold in your Zenyatta Mondatta T-shirt. I fantasised you had come to make wild love to me.’

  ‘Ah, well, we needn’t fantasise any longer. Let’s go upstairs to our room, sweetheart,’ he whispered as he gently nipped the side of my throat and I shivered with pleasure.

  ‘Let’s,’ I murmured.

  In the lift, Shane patted his pocket. ‘I think I’ve lost the key.’

  ‘Shall I give you mine?’ I said as the doors pinged open.

  He exhaled in relief as he held out his hand. ‘Saved the day again, you have, my love.’

  I reached into my clutch and pulled out a heavy, iron key.

  Shane chuckled. ‘What’s that, the key to your heart?’

  I shook my head. ‘It’s the key to Lavender Cottage. Mr Wright, will you come and live with me?’

  Shane stared at me, his dark eyes solemn, as I produced the real key to the room I had previously relieved him of. So far my plans were ticking along perfectly.

  He took the room key off me and took me by my waist, his mouth taking mine as we backed through the door.

  ‘You beat me by a minute,’ he whispered into my mouth and then he got down on one knee, a small velvet box in his hand. ‘Natalia Amore, will you do a man a miracle and marry me?’

  My hand shot to my heart. ‘Shane…?’

  ‘I love you, Nat, with all my Irish heart, and I swear to you that no one will ever love you more.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ I whispered. ‘Yes, Shane, yes!’

  He pulled me to him, lifting me off my feet, kissing me deeply. And then he pulled back and grinned. ‘Recognise the room?’ he whispered.

  ‘Is it… the one from… the last time? Was it number thirteen? That explains a lot.’

  ‘Uh-huh. I believe that you and I have some unfinished business to tend to,’ he murmured as he gently nipped at my throat.

  I knew thirteen had to be my lucky number after all.

  Epilogue

  One rainy afternoon in December, the entire Wright clan flew to Newquay airport in Cornwall to watch Shane officially become a father during an official ceremony.

  The girls were over the moon and Yolanda looked like a dream in a gold dress. But I was the one who was dreaming.

  We had all finally obtained our happily ever after and couldn’t wait for the ten-minute official meeting to be over to go down the road where we’d booked a reception hall to celebrate.

  It was barely big enough to house the whole of Shane’s family – his brothers and sisters and nephews and nieces were all there, surrounding Amy and Zoe with hugs and kisses and presents, along with stories of Shane’s adventures. It was true that his youngest nieces Emilia and Marian were the spitting image of Amy and Zoe. And they were such a close-knit family, just as he had said.

  And Old Mary, Shane’s Mam, was not old in the least. She was a sprightly, warm-hearted, cake-baking matriarch, widowed at a young age, who’d raised her children with love and dignity.

  ‘I’ve been following your career for years and you are every inch the lovely girl I imagined you were,’ she said to me above the din as I sat down opposite her at the table.

  ‘Oh, that’s so kind of you, Mary, thank you!’

  ‘And your work – love it! That article you wrote a few months back, “The new, twenty-something Clark Kents of the Twenty-twenties”? Pure genius!’

  I grinned as I reached out for a devilled egg. ‘My old boss thought it was drivel.’

  Mary dismissed the thought with her hand. ‘What does she know. I am so happy my son has bagged such a smart, funny, kind and beautiful woman! What else could a man want?’

  I laughed and Mary reached across the table to squeeze my hand and I basked in the warmth of her genuine affection.

  Afterwards, Mary sat with Mum at the end of the table and read my articles to her from her tablet. Mum tittered at my humour, slapping her hand against her armrest. There certainly was a first time for everything. ‘She gets her sense of humour from me, my girl.’

  ‘Well, she is one talented girl,’ Mary said.

  ‘So is your son,’ Beryl replied.

  Mary nodded and turned to smile at me. ‘Looks like we have a lot to talk about. I want to know everything about Nat when she was little.’

  And to my surprise, Mum began to fill her in from the early days of her pregnancy, not missing a detail of my first few years of life.

  ‘You remember all that, Mum?’ I asked, my throat constricting.

  She tapped her temple. ‘It’s all in here, love,’ she said. ‘And in here,’ she added, indicating her heart. ‘I only regret that I suffered from post-partum depression for many years after that, and could not be the mother that I wanted to be.’

  My hand stole to my heart. Depression? If I’d only known. That explained all the times I needed her and she wasn’t there.

  Mary grinned and took her hand. ‘You and I have a lot to talk about, Beryl.’<
br />
  Of course, there would be days when Mum was out of it. But today, she was present – and that was what mattered the most.

  And it got even better: Yolanda took a year off to write the cookbook of her life and to spend quality time with her daughters and Bill. Shane and I saw the girls on a daily basis, picking them up from school and helping them with their homework and ferrying them around and we all spent our weekends together. Lizzie and Liam came down from Truro for Sunday lunches with Sarah, who had finally obtained that promotion, and had just started seeing a lovely man named Jeremy.

  ‘How are my girls?’ Shane whispered into my ear, making me shiver with delight as usual.

  I giggled. ‘We’re fine – all three of us.’

  ‘What? Are you pregnant?’ Lizzie gasped, and there sounded a biblical silence in the reception room.

  I eyed Shane uncertainly. Because, at eight weeks, I wasn’t even showing yet. We hadn’t actually mentioned it because we wanted it to be all about Amy and Zoe for as long as possible, and especially today, when the paternal acknowledgement became official and we celebrated the birth of a new and improved family.

  ‘Dibs on the first one out!’ Amy called. ‘The oldest ones are always smarter!’

  The tension was released and we were hugged and kissed from every direction as Zoe whispered to us, ‘Don’t tell Amy, but she doesn’t know that the first one born is actually the youngest.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Shane said.

  ‘Yes, because the first one to be con— Uhm, conceived, comes out last. So much about being smarter!’

  Shane caressed her cheek and winked at her as we crossed our hearts to keep her secret.

  ‘Listen to her. Are you sure she’s only eight?’ Shane said with a chuckle.

  ‘And we were worried about them,’ I replied. ‘They’re going to be just fine.’

  Shane pulled me to him. ‘I’m so happy I think I might just bawl, Nat,’ he said, his eyes moist.

  ‘No crying.’ I laughed. ‘From now on, only happiness and love.’

  ‘And that’s a promise,’ he whispered as he kissed my lips.

  I knew I had finally made it in life now that I’d gone from living in a big house with very little love, to a big love, much more than enough to fill one little Cornish cottage.