by Fern Britton
‘Bed,’ he said. ‘Now.’
37
The Wedding Day, White Water
The drill of rain on her bedroom window woke Sennen, like the sound of gravel being thrown onto to the glass.
She got up and looked out at the lowering clouds, blossoming dense and grey. A strong wind was bending the palm trees in the garden below and beyond the wet rooftops she saw the plumes of spray crash onto the harbour wall. Poor Ella. What a terrible day for a wedding.
She thought about sending her an uplifting text on the lines of ‘It never rains on the bride, trust me’. But she thought better of it.
There was a knock on the door. It was Amy, the landlady, carrying an unordered tray of coffee and unwanted concern. ‘Morning. What a terrible day. I thought you’d like an early coffee, what with getting ready for the wedding and everything.’ She went to the window and looked out. ‘Terrible, isn’t it. Your poor daughter.’
Sennen couldn’t help but think the woman was revelling in the awfulness and was unstoppable. ‘The photographs will look terrible. Everyone under umbrellas. The bride’s dress will be ruined with the mud. And her hair. Shame.’ She turned from the window and shone a pitying smile over Sennen. ‘Have you got a raincoat?’
Sennen refused to be martyred. ‘It’s going to clear up in an hour or two.’
‘Is it?’ asked Amy, frowning. ‘I checked my App and it said it was set for the day.’
‘It’s an Indian thing. We can smell weather changes,’ lied Sennen.
‘Really?’
Sennen nodded and drank some coffee. ‘Thank you so much for this. Just what I needed. Now, I must get ready.’
Once Amy had gone, Sennen turned her television on in time to catch the weather forecast. ‘This belt of rain, coming in from the Atlantic, is producing heavy downpours across the south west and will continue throughout the day …’ Sennen switched it off and then turned on the main bedroom light.
She opened her wardrobe door and took out her wedding outfit. She had known exactly what she would wear. She had packed very little when she had left India, but she had brought something that had been lying in a drawer for many years. Something she had bought for her mother. Always she had expected to meet her mother again and give her this one thing that she knew the bohemian in Adela would love. Now it was too late but she would wear it for her daughter’s wedding. She would wear it so Adela could be there on the day.
It was carefully wrapped in two tissue packets. She opened the smaller one first and shook it onto the bed. The navy-blue silk bodice gleamed under the overhead light. The second packet was heavier. She ran her fingers around the taped edges of the tissue and gently revealed the rich claret and gold silk of the skirt. She rubbed the finely woven fabric between her thumb and forefinger.
She was anxious not to embarrass Ella on her wedding day, but, if by a miracle Kafir did come, she, Sennen Tallon-Kaur would be seen as her true self: an Indian wife in a traditional sari.
Marguerite Cottage
Henry barged into Ella’s room and farted. Ella stuck her head under her duvet. ‘You’re disgusting. Go away.’
‘I have tea for you. And Jammie Dodgers. Oh, and it’s raining.’
Ella’s head popped up, her hair tousled, freckles scattered perfectly across her lovely face. ‘What?’
‘You look really very pretty. I can almost see why Kit wants to marry you. Budge up.’ He settled himself on Kit’s side of the bed.
‘Is it really raining?’ she asked.
‘Yep.’
‘Have you seen the forecast?’
‘Yep.’
‘Stop being so irritating. Is it going to stop?’
‘Doesn’t look good, I’m afraid.’
Ella ran her hand through her hair in despair. ‘My shoes.’
‘I’ll carry you.’
‘You’ll drop me.’
‘If you want.’
‘Oh, shut up.’
‘Eat a Jammie Dodger – you’ll feel better.’
The Vicarage
In the vicarage, Penny was boiling an egg with toast soldiers for Jenna. ‘Put fower dress on, Mummy?’
‘After breakfast, and then we’ll have a bath and then you can put your dress on.’
‘Want put it on now!’
‘I know, but you don’t want tappy egg all down it, do you?’
‘Ella put her dress on now?’
‘No. She’ll be having her tappy egg, then she’ll get ready.’
‘She like tappy eggs?’
‘They are her favourites, and it’s lucky for the bride and her flower girl to have the same breakfast as each other, so eat up.’ Penny popped the egg into an egg cup and the toast next to it. ‘There you are.’
Simon came in, fresh from the shower. He kissed the top of Jenna’s head and then smooched Penny. ‘Good morning to my favourite girls. I hear that there’s a flower girl in the house today.’
Jenna bounced up and down. ‘Me is!’
‘You? And what do you have to do?’
‘Walk front of Ella, not stop till get to Daddy.’
‘And what else mustn’t you do?’
‘Be naughty.’
‘Good girl. And what will you do with the petals in your basket?’
‘Frow on floor for Jenna walk on.’
‘Perfect.’ Simon kissed his daughter again.
Penny got up to rinse her cup and looked over the sink into the garden. ‘Do you think it’ll stop raining?’
‘I have faith,’ smiled Simon.
‘Well, have a word with The Boss.’
‘I already have.’
White Water
After a quick breakfast downstairs, Sennen escaped Amy and retreated back to her room. She checked her phone. Kafir had not responded to her voicemail or bothered to text. She sat on the edge of her bed, feeling lonelier than she had ever felt. The want for him was vast and tormenting. She took a deep breath and told herself that today was not about her or her unhappiness, it was about Ella and her happiness.
Her phone buzzed with a text. Her heart bounced. But it wasn’t Kafir, it was Ella.
Morning Mum, are you as excited as I am? Can’t wait to see you. I’m back from the hairdressers at about 11.30 if you want to come over. I need help getting my dress on. What would I do without you? Love you, Ella xx
Sennen reread the message and her sorry heart soared again.
She typed back,
See you at 11.30. So excited and happy for you. Can’t wait. I love you too, Mum xx
She checked it to make sure it wasn’t too much too soon, then pressed send.
Three seconds later a line of heart emojis were her answer.
The Vicarage
Kit wrapped a bath towel round his waist and crossed the vicarage landing to Adam’s room. ‘Morning, best man. Sleep well?’
‘Very.’ Adam stretched and sat up. ‘How’s the groom?’
‘Worryingly fine and looking forward to getting married to the future Mrs Beauchamp.’
‘I thought I had to give you the obligatory speech about it not being too late to back out and to only do this if you were absolutely certain?’
‘I am absolutely certain.’
‘Well, that’s that done. Is it raining?’
Ocean View Hotel
Kafir had no idea if he was doing the right thing or not, but instinct told him that he had to get on a flight to Heathrow and be with Sennen. He was her husband still and a husband supports his wife where family is involved. And curiosity had got the better of him. He needed to see what she had left behind, had denied and lied about, to truly be able to make the right choice about his marriage. That, and Aali and Sabu who were missing their mother and begging everyday to know why they couldn’t see her or speak to her. When he told them that they were coming to England to see her they started packing their little bags straight away.
They had arrived at Heathrow on Thursday. Standing in the long immigration queue, Kafir pulled out his phone and swi
tched it on. Sabu snatched it from him and started playing with it. ‘Give it back Sabu, please,’ he said impatiently.
Sabu was jumping up and down just out of his father’s reach. ‘I want it.’
‘Give it to me, I need it back now, Sabu.’
‘No.’
The phone began to ring and Sabu dropped it in surprise. Aali rescued it and dutifully handed it to her father.
‘Who is it, Daddy?’
‘A message. Shh.’ He dialled into his voicemail and listened to Sennen’s voice.
‘WHO IS IT,’ shouted Sabu, spinning around in a circle.
‘Shh, it’s Mummy.’
Aali caught hold of Sabu and held his hand. ‘Shh, Sabu, Daddy is talking to Mummy.’
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m going to see her.’
‘We all are,’ she whispered.
Kafir put the phone back in his pocket. ‘That was Mummy. We are going to give her a big surprise because she really is missing us.’
The journey from the airport to Cornwall was long but the train was comfortable with enough space for Kafir to lie the children across the seats to sleep.
He couldn’t sleep. What was he doing coming over on the spur of the moment? Arriving in time for an English family wedding had not been on his agenda at all. He had hoped that he would be able to assess his wife’s situation and be able to decide what he needed to do. But now he was on the back foot. What on earth was he walking into?
At last the train pulled into Truro station and the weary three caught a cab to their hotel, the Ocean View, just two miles down the coast from Trevay.
It was evening, and after a simple supper, Kafir got them washed and ready for bed, but blighted with over excitement and jetlag, they barely slept until it was morning when they fell into deep sleeps.
Letting them rest, Kafir made some tea from the array of hot drink choices set out on a little tray. He didn’t like the taste of the milk from the tiny plastic tubs much, but he enjoyed the biscuits and munched steadily through the two tiny packets. He could have done with some proper breakfast but was too afraid to leave Aali and Sabu on their own. Instead, he lay on his bed and watched the television news until he too fell asleep.
At lunchtime, Aali and Sabu woke up grizzly, thirsty and hungry. Kafir had the solution. ‘Who wants to see the sea?’
‘Me me me,’ sang Aali. ‘I’ve never seen the sea.’
‘Have I seen the sea?’ Sabu asked. ‘What does it look like?’
‘Look out of the window.’ Kafir pulled the curtains open.
‘Are there fishes in it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can we see them?’
‘I don’t know, but we can eat fish and chips. Mummy told me all about them. They are her favourite.’
The day became a very jolly one: fish and chips sitting in a shelter on the beach, a little paddling but not for too long as none of them had experienced water as cold, and then an ice cream.
‘When will we see Mummy?’ asked Aali later, yawning as she cleaned her teeth.
‘Tomorrow,’ said Kafir, helping Sabu with his pyjamas.
‘Good,’ shouted Sabu, jumping up onto his bed. ‘I have missed her.’
Kafir tucked them both in. ‘We all have.’
White Water
Sennen looked at herself in the wardrobe mirror. Tanvi had taught her how to wear a sari years ago and Sennen hoped she had done a good enough job. She had kohled her eyes heavily and added a red bindi between her brows. On her wrists she wore many rows of golden sparkly bracelets and on her feet she wore her favourite Indian sandals. Outside, the rain was still coming down so she put the only warm jacket she had on, and her scarf over her head. She would do.
Ella
The hairdresser had dressed Ella’s hair simply and beautifully. She had allowed her natural curls to do their own thing while adding shine and extra bounce.
‘You scrub up all right,’ said Henry, who had waited at the salon to drive her back to Marguerite Cottage.
‘You’re so funny, not.’ Ella watched the windscreen wipers as they valiantly cleared the persistent rain. ‘How much time do we have before we need to leave the house?’
Henry looked at his watch and calculated. ‘I reckon about an hour and a half?’
‘That’s perfect. Mum’s coming over to help me into my dress.’ She saw, out of the corner of her eye, Henry’s lips tighten. ‘Don’t be like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘You know like what.’
He changed the subject. ‘Do you mind that the painting is her and not you?’
‘No. Would you?’
‘Probably.’
‘Oh, Henry. Get over yourself. We thought we were the last of the Tallons but it turns out we’re not and that’s exciting, isn’t it?’ She closed her hand on Henry’s knee.
‘I suppose.’
‘That’s a start.’
The Vicarage
‘Jenna, would you please put your crayons down and come and get dressed,’ said Penny impatiently.
‘Not want to.’
‘Yes, you do.’ Penny was gritting her teeth. ‘Come along.’
‘Daddy do. Mummy nails scratchy.’
Penny looked at her freshly gelled nails and could only agree with her. ‘I think it’s the glitter,’ she said.
‘Did I hear my name?’ asked Simon coming in to Jenna’s bedroom wearing his full clerical garb.
‘Daddy dess me?’
Penny flashed him a look that screamed help me.
‘Okay. Righto. Now, shall we put the felt-tips away and find your tights and then we’ll put your lovely new dress on …’ Penny slunk out of the room and took sanctuary in her bathroom. She touched up her powder and lipstick and gave herself a last squirt of Tom Ford’s perfume Mandorino Di Amalfi. Hellishly expensive, she knew, but so worth it.
Adam, dressed and ready in the hall, called up the vicarage stairs, ‘Penny? Simon? Kit and I are going over to the church. See you there?’
‘Yes …’ Simon sounded a little distracted. ‘I won’t be long. See you there. Jenna, I think we’ve got this on back to front.’
Ocean View
Kafir had been watching for the taxi through the rain-streaked windows of the hotel reception, tapping the tip of his borrowed umbrella nervously on the floor. As it drew up he called to the children who were swinging on the impressive banister of the wide Victorian staircase. ‘Aali, Sabu, Mummy is waiting. Come on.’
He had been thinking a lot about how he would greet Sennen. She had turned their marriage upside down with the revelation of her true story, and he had been angry. Which he now regretted. He had missed her. They had a long road ahead of them, and much to discuss, but he missed her. Could he trust her again, though?
He shepherded the children into the back of the cab and settled himself in the front.
The taxi driver was a chatty one.
‘Fancy-dress party, is it?’
‘We are going to a wedding,’ said Kafir with dignity.
‘Is that what you lot wear to weddings?’
‘No, in India I would normally wear something more elaborate.’
‘Must be hot over there.’
‘It can be.’
‘I love a curry, me.’
‘As do I.’
The driver looked in his mirror at Aali and Sabu on the back seat. ‘Do the little’uns eat curry an’ all?’
‘They do.’
‘Not the really hot ones? The vindaloos?’
‘If they like it, yes.’
‘God love ’em. Have your nippers tried a pasty yet?’
‘Yes, my wife has made them before.’
‘Not proper Cornish, though.’
‘My wife is Cornish.’
‘Is she? Where did you meet?’
Kafir told him the story briefly.
‘I met my wife in Magaluf. She’s Spanish. Lovely girl,’ the taxi driver chipped in.
‘And do you eat paella?’
‘No. Can’t stand fish.’
‘But you are a Cornish man?’
‘Funny, isn’t it? By the way, have you got any confetti? For the nippers? All kids like confetti to throw over the bride.’ He thought for a minute. ‘Or do you throw rice?’
Kafir’s good manners prevented him from saying anything unpleasant. ‘Perhaps you would stop at a shop that sells confetti?’
‘There’s a shop in the village where I’m taking you. She sells everything in there. Not too far now.’
The taxi drove them to Queenie’s shop and the driver pointed out the church just a couple of hundred yards away. Kafir thanked him and handed him the fare with a generous tip.
As the children hopped out of the car, Kafir steered them around the puddles and then realised the rain had stopped.
Queenie’s Village Store
Queenie was behind her counter applying dark purple lipstick to her spidery mouth. When the bell on the door jangled she looked up, expecting it to be the postman for parcel collection. But it wasn’t. The person who walked in was dressed as a Bollywood film star and twice as handsome.
Tall, strong and wearing a pink turban, he smiled at her. ‘Good morning. My children would like to buy some confetti.’
Queenie looked down at the two adorable faces looking up at her in happy anticipation.
‘Oh my good Gawd. You’re the bloke what’s married to Ella’s mum.’
‘I am Kafir Singh. Pleased to meet you.’
‘I’m Queenie. Pleased to meet you too. Oh, you do look a treat. I love your jacket. Is it what you’d call brocade?’
‘I believe so.’
‘And the kiddies! Pretty as a picture.’
‘Thank you. I hope their mother will agree.’
‘Oh yes, Sennen Tallon. I remember when she went missing you know. Poor girl. What with having her babies so young, and all them tongues wagging, it was no wonder she ran away. It was hard on her mum and dad but they were always a bit hippyish, if you know what I mean. They never talked about her after she went. I felt sorry for Ella and Henry. Not that I knew them then, only what I read in the paper, but they’re lovely now. And Ella’s marrying a smashing young man, Kit. They’re both artists. But I expect you know all about it.’
Kafir was absorbing all this fresh information. ‘Not all of it. Now, the confetti?’