‘If I didn’t know you better, Ed, I’d say you’d planned this.’
‘Well, I did see a poster for some sort of charity motorcycle gathering further along the prom. I wasn’t expecting British bikes though.’
‘So you think we ought to go and check?’
‘I do.’
‘Only if you hold my hand all the way.’
‘Consider it done,’ Ed said.
Blimey, they’d got out of the habit of holding hands years ago, but the sea air and a wedding to plan and a few early nights and they were back to how they’d been back then. Almost.
The holiday was turning into more of a honeymoon than Margy ever could have hoped it would. She and Ed made love most nights, and on the nights they didn’t they spooned together like they’d done when they were younger and thinner. But it felt just as good now as it had back then. And every day they walked along the beach when the tide was low or along the promenade when it wasn’t.
They became on nodding terms with the young couple who ran the kayak business.
‘Lovely day for it,’ Ed had quipped one morning. ‘Shame I haven’t brought my sea legs on holiday with me.’
The ponytailed man running the business had looked up.
‘The wife then?’ he’d said laughing.
‘What wife?’ Ed said. He patted the back of Margy’s hand with his free one. ‘I’ve yet to make an honest woman of her.’
‘Ed!’
‘Same here,’ the young man had said, looking lovingly at the woman beside him.
Margy thought she looked surprised at his remark, and yet pleased too. Hmm, Margy thought, I wonder what’s going on there?
‘Ed?’ Margy said now, coming back to the present as they sat in a shelter looking out to sea. The kayak business was just setting up for the day, and Ed was texting again. Oh yes, he had to be planning something, didn’t he? ‘Ed?’ she said again when he didn’t respond.
‘That’s me. What can I do for you?’ Ed shuffled along the glossed seat nearer to Margy. ‘That was a very loaded “Ed”. You’re not thinking of backing out at this late hour, are you?’
‘Of course not. I’ve been thinking. I’d like to ask the couple running the kayak business to be our witnesses. I know we don’t know their names but they always nod and say hello and give us a friendly wave if they see us passing, don’t they?’
‘Yes, but…’ Ed began. He checked his phone again but nothing had pinged in – nothing Margy had heard anyway. ‘There’ll be loads of people around at Cockington Court. Cleaners and the like, and other holidaymakers. There’s bound to be someone we can ask.’
‘No, Ed. I’ve got nothing against cleaners or holidaymakers but I’d like our witnesses to be faces I’ve seen before. I’m going to ask them.’
Margy got up and crossed the promenade, and Ed followed as she’d known he would.
‘Morning,’ Margy said when she reached the rack of wetsuits where the young woman was arranging them in size order. She waved to the young man setting the kayaks out on the sand and he waved back.
‘Morning,’ the young woman said.
‘I’ve got something to ask you. You and your man,’ Margy said. Ed had caught up with her now and she reached for his hand. ‘We both have.’
‘Ask away.’
‘Well, it’s like this. Ed and I are here so we can get married. On Saturday. We need witnesses. Could you…’
Now she’d said the words Margy was filled with emotion. Marriage was a momentous step whenever you took it.
‘Married? Goodness. How wonderfully romantic. I’d be delighted to. I’ll just go and ask Ross if he minds though. I’m Lucy.’
‘Thanks, Lucy,’ Ed said, speaking for them both. ‘Ed and Margy. Margy and Ed. Depends who’s wearing the trousers.’
Lucy laughed and went off to ask her partner. They came back hand in hand.
‘Ross is up for it,’ Lucy said.
‘Yeah,’ Ross said. ‘Saturday’s changeover day and it’s always a bit quiet for business. My lad, Toby, can manage on his own.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Margy said. ‘It’s just that, well, we’re doing this secretly without our daughters and their families knowing and… well, I wanted our witnesses to be people whose faces I sort of know.’
‘Gosh, that’s romantic, big time!’ Lucy said, and then she gulped as though swallowing back something. Ross put an arm around her shoulder and she leaned into him.
‘Lucy and I haven’t been together long,’ he said. ‘Poor girl should have been on her honeymoon in Bali but the groom pulled out. His loss.’ He pulled Lucy to him and kissed the top of her head. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t be saying all this…’ He looked worryingly at Lucy.
‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘It’s like we’re friends now if we’re going to Ed and Margy’s wedding. Where are you stopping? Shall we meet you there or at the wedding venue? I stopped in one of the chalets along the end of the prom,’ Lucy said. ‘Drowning my sorrows at first and then I decided to do things you don’t need another person for. I met Ross and—’
‘What number?’ Ed interrupted. ‘We’re stopping at Number 23.’
‘No!’ Lucy said. ‘That’s where I stayed! It’s meant to be, isn’t it, us witnessing your wedding? Ooooh, I’m getting excited now. I’ll need to find something to wear.’
‘I thought she might,’ Ed said, laughing. He put an arm on Ross’s shoulder. ‘It’s what women do for weddings. Sorry about that, mate.’
‘No worries,’ Ross said. ‘I’ll need to find a pair of trousers that have knees in them myself.’ He ran his ponytail through a hand the way people did with a cat’s tail. ‘And maybe a new shoelace to tie back my hair.’
Margy went into town the day before her wedding and went in and out of all the hair salons until she felt comfortable with the place and a stylist who would cut her hair and put lowlights in. Ed pretended not to recognise her when he came to fetch her.
‘Blimey, I thought you were someone off the telly for a moment.’
‘Fibs,’ Margy said. ‘Flowers next.’
In a florist’s shop called Panache, Margy explained to the young man who was running it – Gary, it said on a name brooch pinned to his shirt – about wanting just the one deep-pink rose to carry at her wedding.
‘It’ll be just Ed and me,’ she said. ‘And our witnesses, Ross and Lucy. Our daughters don’t know we’re getting married or even that we’re not married yet.’
Gary smiled warmly at her.
‘How many daughters have you got?’
‘Three. Libby, Louise and Laura.’
‘Lovely names but I can’t help thinking that must have got confusing on Valentine’s Day! But then I would say that because I always insist on a forename when a man orders flowers for the big day. Imagine the problems if the wrong girl got the right flowers, if you follow my thinking.’
‘Oh yes,’ Margy said. She’d never forgotten the 14th February when Laura had opened a card, only to recognise her boyfriend’s – at the time – writing saying, ‘Darling Libby, you’re the sister I really want. How about it?’
‘It’s only a suggestion,’ Gary said, looking thoughtful, ‘but have you considered carrying three roses – one for each daughter? I can do different shades of rose if that takes your fancy.’
‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ Margy said.
And it was. But there was a part of her that felt sad the girls wouldn’t be part of her big day. God, but she wished they could be there, although she knew they couldn’t be. Ed had said only that morning that Libby and Louise had gone camping somewhere with their families, although Laura hadn’t joined them because it would have been too much for Marco.
Well, there was nothing for it now. The wedding was booked, Margy had a dress and shoes and she’d had her hair done. She’d sorted witnesses and now Gary was choosing three roses for her and tying them with raffia.
‘Wedding next stop,’ she said.
Dear next occupant,
/> I’ve thought long and hard about what to leave as my welcome gift because it seems it’s a tradition at 23 The Strand to leave some little thing for the next occupant. It’s not obligatory, apparently, but I like the idea so I’m carrying it on. I got married from here. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. I used the ring I’ve been wearing for nearly fifty years as my something old. My dress and all the bits that go with a wedding were the something new. My witness, Lucy, loaned me a necklace when I realised the one I’d brought with me didn’t suit my dress. And the something blue? Well, I didn’t have anything so I rushed into the glass workshop beside the registry office and bought this little blue glass bird which I carried with my flowers. I thought it was a good omen because bluebirds in Hollywood films always mean happiness, don’t they? It’s yours if you’d like it. I’ve had a really lovely time here but I’m so looking forward to going back to my family and seeing the looks of surprise on their faces at our news.
Happy holiday
Margy Ford – and Ed too.
Chapter Ten
LATE SEPTEMBER
Hugh
Well, that was a nice thing to find – a welcome present from the previous occupant. And a nod to Hollywood, because that was the place that had brought Martha, who had run back to the UK from Hollywood, into his life. Hugh turned the little blue glass bird over and over in his hand. Martha would love it because it had been she who had started the tradition of leaving something for the next occupant of the chalet back in May, and Hugh knew she would be pleased to see it was still being carried on. Not any longer though, not now he’d bought 23 The Strand. A bolthole for him and Martha, or Serena Ross as the world of acting knew her. Since bailing out of a Hollywood film back in May, Martha had taken a handful of stage roles to rave reviews. She’d also been approached by a small British film company and was seriously considering one of their suggestions. And she was toying with the idea of taking a degree that would enable her to teach drama. So many options, she’d told Hugh, now she was in control of her life and wasn’t being pushed into things because her agent thought she should do them.
Hugh had been to every play Martha had been in, taking an aisle seat so he had room to stretch his leg – still not healed properly although it was much better than it had been back in May – during the performance. He had plenty of time now for going to plays, seeing as he too was rethinking his life – a life he hoped with all his heart would have Martha in it. He’d pitched an idea to three different television companies about making a series about runs along beaches in far-flung countries, taking a different celebrity with him each time, with whom he would discuss various topics as they ran. All three companies had liked the idea and now – happily for Hugh – there was a bidding war going on. He hoped, when he’d come to a decision about which company to go with, that Martha would be the first celebrity, although he’d quite understand if she didn’t want to be.
Hugh had no intention of renting out 23 The Strand, and he felt a bit mean about that. Obviously it had been a happy stay here for Margy and Ed with their secret wedding. Margy sounded so upbeat in the note she’d left. And he had a feeling the other occupants in between Martha’s first visit and Margy’s last had found their own versions of happiness too for the tradition to have carried on.
‘Okay, little bird,’ he said to the little glass bird. ‘I could have used Mum and Dad’s chalet but I wanted my own. We wanted our own. Martha and me. And you are going to join us.’
Hugh’s parents rented out their chalet when they wouldn’t be using it, but such was Hugh and Martha’s busy, and often unpredictable, lifestyle that they needed somewhere they could go at a moment’s notice.
‘And now I’m going to tell Martha about you.’ He put down the bird and reached in his shirt pocket for his phone.
Martha answered on the second ring.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hi, yourself. All done and dusted. Number 23 The Strand is mine. Well, ours. Just my name on the deeds at the moment, but…’
‘Hugh, stop it. You know we agreed to just go with the flow for the moment. It’s all been so perfect – the stage plays I’ve done and the beach runs we’ve got in, in between those – I don’t want anything to scupper it. Okay.’
‘Okay,’ Hugh said, although he didn’t know how marriage could scupper what they had, him and Martha. Any more than whatever life threw at his parents – and there’d been a fair bit of bad stuff in there with the good for them – had scuppered their marriage. ‘Oh yes, we’ve got a squatter already.’
‘A squatter?’
‘Indeterminate sex. Blue. A bird. No idea what variety.’
‘Well, let it out again,’ Martha said, sounding alarmed. ‘It could die of shock being trapped.’
‘I will so not. And it’s not going to die. It’s made of glass. Left by the last occupant. Margy something, and her new husband, Ed – although I don’t think either was new to the other if you get my drift.’
‘Are we back to weddings?’ Martha laughed.
‘Could be,’ Hugh said. ‘It’s nice the tradition you started lasted the whole summer, don’t you think?’
‘Lovely,’ Martha said. ‘Really lovely.’
‘When do you think you can get here?’ Hugh asked, ‘Only it’s really lonely without you.’
‘About five minutes. Step out onto the deck and you can probably see me.’
‘Eh?’ That couldn’t be right. Martha had said it would be a few days before she could join him because she had a casting to go to, and a photoshoot, and a few other things Hugh had forgotten in the excitement of now owning 23 The Strand and still having Martha in his life. ‘But you said…’
‘I know. I lied. But I needed thinking time and now I’ve had it I realise how lonely life would be without you.’
There was a choke in Martha’s voice, and just for a second Hugh didn’t trust his own to reply either.
‘The deck, Hugh,’ Martha laughed.
Hugh did as he was told. And yes, there was Martha, her phone rammed against her ear and her arms full of bags as they had been the first time he’d seen her. His heart flipped, did bunny hops, and his insides seemed to have turned to the consistency of a well-made panna cotta.
‘I’ve brought supper,’ Martha said.
Supper? Supper could wait!
Hugh switched off his phone. He ran down the steps of the chalet to the promenade, relieved to find he was without pain for the first time since breaking his leg. He ran towards Martha who was increasing her pace now too. They met somewhere in the middle in a mish-mash of bags and bumping noses and laughter and not a few tears.
‘Supper, my darling,’ Hugh said as he released Martha from at least their fifth kiss, ‘can definitely wait.’ And then he scooped her up, parcels and all, and carried her back to Number 23 The Strand, and over the threshold.
Epilogue
ONE YEAR ON…
Martha and Hugh are still an item. Currently they’re both in Italy – Martha has gone back to her first love – film – and is the female lead in a low-budget British movie being made on the Amalfi coast. She’s also looking into taking a university course in teaching drama. Hugh is investigating beaches and subjects to talk about for his new TV series. They are yet to visit Rome but Hugh is confident they’ll find it as romantic as Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn did when they were there making Roman Holiday. Hugh has plans to hire a scooter and ride around Rome with Martha clinging tightly to him. They get back to 23 The Strand as often as they can.
Cally had her breast removed and a reconstruction. She did not need chemo or radiotherapy and is making a good recovery. Her prognosis is good. Jack has turned the chalet in their garden into a hairdressing studio and once both of their boys are at school Cally will work from home. Life couldn’t be sweeter at the moment.
Arthur did indeed take Hannah and Archie to Lapland to see the reindeer. Archie, bless him, worked out that Arthur wasn’t the real Father C
hristmas because he was in Lapland, wasn’t he? They all keep in touch, and Hannah invites Arthur to Sunday lunch once every six weeks. In between lunches Arthur helps out at the local primary school, listening to the children read and telling them stories he makes up in his head as he goes along. One of the teachers has said he should write them all down and get them published. He’s considering that option.
Lucy counts her blessings every day that she was left at the altar – well, almost at the altar. She moved in with Ross, whose son, Toby, said thank goodness for that because he could now go travelling for a year and then on to uni – he’d just not wanted to go before because he hadn’t wanted to leave his dad on his own. Lucy has helped Ross expand the business by running overnight kayak stops, camping on secluded beaches, which have proved very popular. She and Ross are both thrilled that they are soon to be parents together.
Ana still works for Fred at The Port Light. She persuaded him to sell soup and home-made bread during the winter, which proved very popular and boosted trade no end. Her English is much improved and she can even read a novel written in English now. She gets on well with all Fred’s daughters but it’s Saffron she likes best. Saffron has recently introduced Ana to a friend of hers – Alex – who is nothing like Vasile. She is now happier than she has ever been.
Stella gave birth to a daughter she named Summer. Her children all fight over who’s going to feed Summer, bathe her and push her in the stroller, and they’ve begged Stella and James to have another baby. It’s a big ‘No!’ to that one though. Stella took Summer to see Ana and now, on Ana’s day off from The Port Light, she looks after Summer so Stella can get on with writing her first novel.
Belle, Chloe and Emily muddle along much as they always have, although the future is now looking brighter from a financial point of view. Belle discovered she could get a grant to put towards buying a computer for her start-up business and has begun to design jewellery with a view to having her own online business, as Fiona suggested. Aaron has been helping and Belle has, at last, agreed to go on a date with him. Anne Maynard nearly broke her neck offering to babysit Chloe and Emily so she could go. Belle is still in touch with Fiona – who honoured her promise to design and have clothes made up for Chloe and Emily – and Sam. Belle has been watching rather more documentaries on TV now she knows Sam has been making them and is considering doing a GCSE in history at night school when the new term starts. If nothing else, having that should increase her job options should her jewellery business not take off. Blimey.
Summer at 23 the Strand Page 29