by Juliet Bell
She tossed her head. ‘That’s not the point. I asked what you’re doing here, Mick. And why did you bring…?’ She waved a hand in the general direction of Harry, who was half hiding behind his father’s legs and peering up at her with wide brown eyes.
Mick tugged at his jacket. ‘Dad would be so proud of you, Cathy. You look like a princess, and, well, Dad’s not here to walk you down the aisle. Edward came and saw me yesterday. He isn’t a bad bloke. He thought, well, I thought that I could walk you down the aisle. So you aren’t all alone.’
‘Are you joking?’ The idea of Mick at her perfect wedding, in among the Lintons’ quiet, polite friends was almost laughable. ‘Why should I want you…’ She put every ounce of her hatred and contempt into that one word. ‘…To walk me down the aisle?’
‘I’m your brother. Me and Harry, we’re your family. We should share this day with you.’
Cathy froze. ‘Heathcliff was my real family. And he deserted me, so I’m going to be a Linton now. I don’t want you. I’ve found what I wanted. It’s mine now. I’ll never have to go up to that stinking estate ever again. I’ll never have to see you again. I’ll never have to be ashamed ever again. I can walk myself down the aisle.’
And with that she strode past him and out through the hotel doors, not even caring if Isabelle was behind her. The white limo was waiting, parked in the circular driveway. The driver was leaning against the door, a fag in his mouth. He ground it into the dirt as Cathy approached and opened the door. Cathy threw herself into the back seat. Her hands were shaking as she grabbed her train and pulled it into the car.
She had worked so hard to leave the Heights and everything about it behind her. She didn’t look like Gimmerton any more, or talk like it. She wasn’t the girl from the Heights. She was Catherine Earnshaw, and she was going to be Catherine Linton, and then she would finally be made anew. The dirt and the hunger and the coldness and the horror, that gnawing feeling she’d grown up with, knowing that tomorrow could only be worse than today, that would be gone for ever.
She’d convince Edward to move away and she’d never come back. And she would never tell anyone anything about her past. She couldn’t have Mick and the kid in her wedding photos. Then she’d have to explain who he was to the new people in her new life. She’d have to keep remembering this place, and the people who were here.
And the person who wasn’t here.
‘Are you all right?’ Isabelle whispered as she slid onto the seat beside her.
‘How dare he come here and try to wreck my wedding day?’ She clung tightly to her anger.
‘I’m sure he meant well.’
‘And what was Edward doing? Inviting him to walk me down the aisle. I said I didn’t want him here.’
‘I’m sure Edward meant well too.’ Isabelle reached out and put her hand over Cathy’s. ‘But it’s up to you. And you’re right. We’re your family now.’
Cathy refrained from saying anything, but she pulled her hand away. Right now, she didn’t want Isabelle and her whining. She didn’t want comforting. As the limo turned the corner towards the church, she looked across the valley, past the decaying pithead to the blue hills beyond. For a few seconds, she felt as if she couldn’t breathe, stuffed into this tiny enclosed space with Isabelle and all the trappings of a wedding. All she wanted was to be back running wild over those hills, her hair loose, the wind in her face and the other half of her soul running by her side.
The limo pulled up in front of the church. The photographer was waiting outside. He turned towards the limo and lifted his camera.
Heathcliff was gone. He had left her. This was her life now. It was a better life than any she could have had living in the Heights. Better than Heathcliff could ever have offered. A life she need not be ashamed of. This was right. She had worked and planned for years for this moment. It was hers. The day was going to be exactly like she’d planned. She’d walk down the aisle, alone. She’d marry Edward. They’d eat fancy food and cut their perfect cake. And the DJ would play ‘Especially for You’, just like she’d told him. She’d come so far from where she’d started. She pulled her gaze away from the blue hills and forced her mouth into a smile as the limo driver opened the door and the photographer’s camera began to whir.
Edward kept his hands firmly clasped behind his back. It wouldn’t do to look at his watch. Cathy was late, but brides were always late, weren’t they? It was traditional.
‘It’s all right, Edward. I’m sure she’ll be here any moment.’ His old London schoolmate Peter Lacey was standing beside him. Edward hadn’t really wanted a best man. He had no close friends. But Cathy had insisted. Apparently it wasn’t right to be married without a best man. Isabelle had insisted on a best man too. She needed someone to be her partner, she said. So he’d chosen Peter partly for Isabelle’s sake.
He glanced at the back of the church again, where the doors remained resolutely closed. The church wasn’t exactly full, but it was fuller than he’d imagined. Cathy had been determined to dig out every distant relative of his, every old boarding-school chum, every friend of his parents. And they’d come – out of affection or curiosity he wasn’t sure – but they’d come. Cathy’s side of the church was sparser. There were a couple of girls who were schoolfriends – more Isabelle’s than Cathy’s, he suspected – and three or four older couples who were probably there out of respect for Cathy’s late father. Edward wasn’t even certain they had been officially invited. In a town the size of Gimmerton, nothing so unimportant as lack of an invitation was going to stop people turning up to watch Ray Earnshaw’s daughter marry into the family that had closed the mine.
If she showed up. He shuffled his feet nervously.
At last there was movement at the back of the church. The doors swung open and Isabelle appeared. She walked slowly down the aisle, clutching a posy of white and red flowers that seemed to have feathers in them. Edward smiled at her then looked past her to his bride.
Cathy was standing alone at the top of the aisle. The bright light streaming through the church door behind her made it impossible to see her face. He saw only that white expanse of her gown, and the empty place beside her. So Mick hadn’t seen fit to accept his suggestion. Edward’s heart went out to Cathy, who suddenly looked very alone and vulnerable. He would never tell her he’d asked Mick to come. Edward would spare her the knowledge that her brother had rejected her.
After what seemed a very long time, Cathy began to walk down the aisle. The congregation turned to watch her. Her veil did not cover her face, and as she stepped out of the shadow of the doorway, he could at last see her. She looked… angry. No, that couldn’t be right. She was just tense. Nervous. All brides were nervous on their wedding day. Once the wedding was over, she’d be fine. He waited for her to look at him. He was sure the tears in his eyes would make it clear to Cathy how very much he loved her. She had nothing to be afraid of. He would always love her and look after her.
Cathy paused at the bottom of the steps. He held out one hand to her, but perhaps she didn’t see it. She handed her flowers to Isabelle, and used both hands to slightly raise the front of her skirt as she ascended the steps to the altar. Only then did she turn to face him, and actually look at him.
He smiled, his heart full to overflowing at how beautiful she was. It was the proudest moment of his life to know she had chosen him.
‘Dearly beloved…’ The priest began the ceremony
Chapter Twenty-Three
July, 1990
Isabelle fanned herself with the postcard then looked down at the picture of blue water washing up on brilliant white sand. She flipped it over and read Edward’s words again. He and Cathy were having a wonderful honeymoon on the Costa del Sol. She tossed the card on the table beside her and reached for her cider. As far as she was concerned, Cathy could stay on the Costa del Sol. Isabelle had never been happier than these past two weeks, having the house to herself. She had lain around in the sun. Read magazines and not had to do anything. Not even the dis
hes. The cleaning lady only came two days a week, but there were more than enough plates to last Isabelle between visits. And the cleaning lady never gave her a hard time for not washing up, or for lying around doing nothing. The cleaning lady never asked her what she planned to do with her life. And when, if ever, she was planning to move away from home.
There was a small whimpering sound from the general direction of her feet. Isabelle pulled her headphones from her ears and tossed them on the table next to the Discman Edward had bought her. She leaned forward and picked up a small bundle of white fluff.
‘Oh, sweetie. Come here.’ She hugged the small, wriggling thing to her chest and was rewarded when the dog’s pink tongue flashed out to lick her face.
‘You love your mommy, don’t you? What a good dog.’
The puppy in her arms wiggled even more ecstatically.
‘Here you go then.’ She leaned forward to take a sweet from the packet lying on the table. ‘Is this nice? Is it?’ The sweetie disappeared in a trice and Isabelle buried her face in the white fur.
This was the other best thing about Cathy and Edward being away. She had found Trixie the day after the wedding. She had been wandering down the road, wet and muddy. It looked like she had been abandoned. Knowing exactly how the poor animal felt, Isabelle had swept her up in her arms and brought her home. A bath and brisk towelling had revealed a small and extremely fluffy dog. Isabelle had instantly fallen in love, and so it seemed had Trixie.
Two weeks later, Isabelle could not imagine her life without the tiny dog. Trixie loved her, and only her. Trixie would never be taken away from her. Not by anyone.
‘Come on, sweetie,’ she said. ‘Let’s go down into the orchard. The apples might be ripe by now.’
She got to her feet and, still carrying the wriggling ball of fur, set off towards the gate in the side fence. She pushed the gate open, and as she did, saw someone moving among the trees. Trixie squirmed in her arms and jumped down. Then, yapping loudly, she darted off between the trees.
‘Trixie! Come back! Trixie!’
Isabelle darted after her, only to slam to a sudden halt when a man appeared between the trees. His face was hidden in shadow.
‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’
The man didn’t answer. He took another step towards her. At his feet, Trixie was still yapping wildly, darting in as if to nip his heels, but dancing away again before actually making contact.
The man ignored the animal at his feet. Isabelle still couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his eyes on her. She began to blush.
‘Who are you?’ she asked again.
The man stepped forward, out from under the shadow of the tree. He looked to be about the same age as Isabelle or perhaps a few years older. His hair was dark with a slight wave and it shone where the sunlight hit it. His face was tanned, but he was very handsome, with his hooded dark eyes and cheekbones to die for. There was something about him, something familiar in his gaze.
‘It’s you.’
‘Hello, Isabelle.’ Heathcliff said nothing more. He just stood looking at her.
‘I… well… I mean. This is a surprise. I didn’t expect…’ Isabelle’s words trailed off. Unconsciously she found herself tugging at her clothes as if to tidy herself, and wishing she was wearing something other than shorts and an old T-shirt. Still, the shorts should show her legs off well. And she had spent so much time outdoors this summer, she was tanned and…
Isabelle dragged her thoughts under control. What was she thinking? This was Heathcliff. Cathy’s brat of a brother. She wasn’t interested in him. In her memory, he was still that moody, aggressive kid.
But now he was back. And he was very different from what she remembered. He didn’t look like that Heathcliff any more. He wasn’t angry and scowling and hunched over. He was tall. And his shoulders were broad. He was dressed like a male model in a fashion magazine. He was clean and he looked, well, he looked good.
Isabelle straightened her shoulders a fraction, because that made her small chest look a little bit better.
‘I didn’t know you were back in Gimmerton,’ she said, trying hard not to sound breathless. ‘Are you here to stay now, or are you just passing through?’
‘That depends.’
His voice was deep and rich. Now Isabelle knew what the romance novels meant when they talked about a velvety voice.
‘Depends on what?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice slow. Maybe if she lowered her tone a bit, it would sound seductive.
‘Are they here?’ His voice had changed too. There was the hint of an accent. Irish maybe. Had that been there before? She found she couldn’t remember. The man in front of her was wiping out any traces of the child she’d met before.
Isabelle’s mouth tightened. ‘Who?’ she asked, feigning innocence,
He didn’t answer. He just stared at her as if at an idiot. Her palms began to sweat,
‘You mean Edward and his wife?’ She placed a little bit of extra emphasis on the last word. ‘No. They’re still on honeymoon.’
If anything, his face darkened even more. His body was rock-still. Isabelle wondered if it would feel like stone if she ran her hands over him
‘You knew they got married, didn’t you?’ His stillness was starting to unnerve her. ‘Edward and Cathy.’
He twitched as she said Cathy’s name.
‘When do they come back?’
‘Not for a few days yet.’
He turned to go. Isabelle didn’t want him to go. She wanted him to stay and keep looking at her with those dark eyes. She wanted him to stay and not talk about Cathy. Without thinking, she put a hand on his arm to stop him. He froze and looked down at the small, pale hand lying on the dark fabric of his shirt as if it was some alien creature that had crawled out from under a rock. Isabelle let her hand drop.
‘It’s hot out,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you come in and have a drink? I’d love to hear what you’ve been doing for all these years.’
He hesitated and Isabelle felt her heart pounding. Cathy wasn’t coming back for more than a week. If she had Heathcliff all to herself for those days, maybe she could make him look at her the way her brother looked at Cathy. Cathy was a married woman now. She couldn’t have Heathcliff any more. But maybe Isabelle could.
She watched his face as he considered her proposal. Suddenly he bent down and, with a swift swipe of one arm, picked up Trixie, who whined in fear. Isabelle fell silent, not knowing, for a second, what was going on in Heathcliff’s head.
Then he smiled. ‘Cute dog,’ he said as he held her high to examine her.
‘I rescued her,’ Isabelle said. ‘Here, let me take her. Come on through to the house. There’s beer in the fridge.’
Heathcliff dropped Trixie into her outstretched arms. ‘All right.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
July, 1990
Edward pulled the car into the driveway. ‘It’s nice to be home, isn’t it? I mean, not that the honeymoon wasn’t wonderful… But it’s still nice to be home.’
Cathy wasn’t so sure. The honeymoon had taken her to places she’d only seen in brochures before. The beach had been acres of soft white sand, lapped by brilliant blue sea. The hotel room had fresh fruit in a bowl that was refilled every day, and on the first night a tall Spanish man had brought champagne ‘for the newlyweds’ right to their door. But there was always something more. One day they’d walked along the beach until they came to a section that was fenced off, only for the use of guests at a more exclusive hotel. However far she came, it was always the same. There was always something else above her, just out of reach. She looked at Thrushcross Grange. This had been her dream. Now it looked smaller than she remembered. Small and cold and drab, like the rest of Gimmerton.
Edward parked the car and raced around to open her door. Taking her hand, he led her to the front steps, then suddenly picked her up.
‘What are you doing?’ She struggled for a second. ‘Put me down.’
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br /> ‘No way, Mrs Linton. I’m carrying you across the threshold as tradition dictates.’
Cathy wrapped her hands around Edward’s neck and looked at his smiling face. He was very sweet sometimes. She pushed down her discontent, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Thrushcross might not be a mansion on the Med, but it was a start. Edward was a good man. Her future now was the brightest it had ever been. One day soon they would leave Gimmerton behind and she would move up into a whole other world.
Edward struggled for a few seconds, but finally opened the door. He stepped through the arch, taking care not to bang Cathy’s feet against the wall. He carried her a few steps into the hallway then slowly lowered her to the ground. And he froze – his eyes fixed on something behind her. The back of Cathy’s neck began to prickle. Something about Edward’s face made her afraid to look. Slowly, as if pulled by a giant magnet, she finally began to turn.
The black-clad figure seemed to fill the hallway. The dim light streaming in through the open doorway didn’t touch his face. But Cathy didn’t need it to. In a heartbeat, she felt her other self. Ignoring Edward’s gasp, Cathy took two swift steps to close the distance between herself and Heathcliff. She took his hand and without a word dragged him through an opened doorway into the living room and over to the big glass windows, where the light was strongest.
‘Let me look at you,’ she commanded.
Heathcliff obeyed, as he always had. He stood like a stone as she looked him up and down. He was much taller now than he had been. The man was not as lean as the boy. His body was well muscled and he was dressed in clean, fashionable clothes. He had obviously done all right for himself during his absence. But his face… oh, that face. It was older and firmer and different… but it was still as familiar to Cathy as her own. His hair was a little longer than was absolutely fashionable, but it framed his high cheekbones in a way a movie star would envy. He needed a shave, but the shadows on his chin highlighted the darkness of his eyes. There was strength about those eyes she had never seen before. There were shadows in their depths that made him seem dangerous. Some people, she knew instinctively, would be afraid of those eyes. But not her. This was Heathcliff. She could never be afraid of him.