by Sharon Booth
'And having to look after three little children like that, all alone.' The vicar was shaking his head. 'So sad, so sad.'
Mrs Edwards mopped her eyes with a handkerchief. 'Terrible. Terrible.'
'I had a lot of help,' Eliot protested, clearly unable to bear all this praise. 'People are very kind.'
'Ah now, there's a lot of truth in that.' Mr Edwards nodded. 'When darkness falls, there's always a light to help us see. The Lord works through his flock, guiding them towards the path of kindness and compassion.'
'Aye, well ...' Eliot shrugged, clearly not knowing how he was supposed to respond.
'The good shepherd leads his sheep to safety through the wildest of storms.'
'Hmm.'
'And if anyone knows about leading sheep to safety, it's Eliot,' Eden said, beaming at the vicar.
'What? Oh yes!' He smiled back. 'Another good shepherd, eh?'
'Dunno about that.' Eliot obviously wished he could change the subject.
Eden decided to do it for him. 'So, there's no impediment to us getting married in church?' she queried.
Mr Edwards peered at her over his glasses. 'Impediment? Should there be?'
'I mean, with us not being regular church goers.'
He smiled. 'Oh, I see. No, you're not, are you? I've never seen you at any of our services, Eden, and it's such a pity. I think you'll be delighted by our beautiful church. And, Eliot, I haven't seen you for — hmm, when was the last time?' He considered the matter. 'Oh! It must have been at your wife's funeral. Goodness, that's four years ago or so, isn't it?'
Eden turned to Eliot, shocked. 'Jemima's buried here?'
'In our little churchyard. Didn't you know?' Mr Edwards glanced from her to Eliot, looking a little nervous.
Eliot had his head down. 'Does it matter? This is our local church so —' He broke off and shrugged.
Eden supposed, in the scheme of things, it didn't matter, and it was quite true that this was their local church, so of course Jemima was likely to be buried here. It hadn't occurred to her, and she couldn't help but wonder why Eliot would want to be married at St Mary's, given that his ex-wife would be lying just feet away from where they said their vows.
'I'm not one for Sunday services,' Eliot burst out, 'but it matters, doesn't it? Having a church wedding. Somehow, it makes it more real.'
'Oh, I quite agree,' Mrs Edwards said, pushing another slice of cake towards him. 'Do you know, I've actually heard of people getting married underwater. Now, I ask you! What sort of a wedding is that, for goodness' sake? It makes a mockery of the whole thing. Who would get married underwater?'
'The Little Mermaid?' Eden suggested, nibbling at her chocolate cake. Hmm. It was rather good. Maybe Mrs Edwards did deserve her many awards and rosettes after all?
'And the amount of bookings the hotels in the area get,' Mr Edwards added. 'I have a friend who's a registrar and he travels all over the Dales marrying couples in different locations.' He sighed and shook his head. 'There's no problem with you getting married in church, my dear. Let's face it, if I refused to marry parishioners who didn't attend on a Sunday morning, there'd be no weddings held here at all. Most of my congregation are over seventy and, with the best will in the world, I can't see many of them wanting to walk down the aisle any time soon.'
He flicked through another few pages of his diary. 'You said July?'
'Early to mid-July, if possible,' Eden said. 'I know it's quite short notice, but we want to get it done before harvesting.'
'Not at all. How about the second Saturday of the month?'
Eden looked over at Eliot. He nodded. 'Sounds grand.'
'Excellent. Now, morning or afternoon?'
'Afternoon,' Eden said as Eliot proclaimed, 'Morning.'
Mrs Edwards tittered. 'Ooh, dear. We seem to have some marital discord here and you're not even married yet.' She gave Eliot a beaming smile. 'Bride's prerogative, my dear.'
'Best to learn to give in from the off,' Mr Edwards assured him.
As Eliot raised an eyebrow, Eden said, 'Do you have any idea how long it's going to take to get myself and the children ready? You weren't in Honey's suite when we were getting made up and having our hair styled. It's a big deal, you know.'
Eliot tutted. 'Happen Honey needed more help than you will. You always look grand, makeup or no.'
Mrs Edwards tittered. 'Ooh, what a romantic man you have there, Eden.'
Eden grinned as Eliot glowered. 'Don't I just. I'm such a lucky girl. Even so, why morning?'
'Well,' Eliot sounded uncomfortable, 'we're up at the crack of dawn, aren't we? We'll only be hanging around waiting.'
She could see the tension in his face. He was already nervous, and it would be a nightmare for him on the actual day. He was sacrificing enough to give her this wedding. She turned to Mr Edwards, smiling. 'Is there anything around half ten? That's a good compromise.'
'Is it?' Mrs Edwards sounded doubtful.
'Oh yes. Eliot's quite right. We're up so early that what's morning to most people feels like mid-afternoon to us, anyway.'
'Ten-thirty it is then,' Mr Edwards said, pencilling it into his diary.
'Great.' Eliot placed his cup and saucer on the nearby coffee table and got to his feet.
'Not so fast, young man,' Mrs Edwards admonished. 'We're not finished yet.'
'Eh?' Eliot looked at them all, clearly baffled. 'Thought we were done.'
'We need to go over certain things. We've only just begun.'
'I know a song about that,' Eden said, trying to lighten the mood. Poor Eliot, he was itching to leave. If only he'd agreed to a quick registry office do he wouldn't have had to endure any of this. This big, fancy wedding was obviously more important to him than even she'd realised. It must be, because why else would he want to be married in the very place where he'd said goodbye to Jemima?
APRIL
Chapter Fourteen
Emerald wasn't impressed with The Wedding Dress Shop, the only bridal shop in Kirkby Skimmer. The name had warned her that its owner wasn't blessed with much imagination, but when she beheld the selection of white meringues that were on sale, her nerve nearly deserted her. She wanted to run, but a little voice told her to stay put and be sensible. As much as she fancied Eliot, as much as she loathed Eden, she had every intention of making this wedding a success. Her future depended on showing Cain that she had a business head on her shoulders. Maybe, just maybe, if she could win his respect, she would also win his love.
Having said that, she'd wondered briefly if the wedding would go ahead at all a week ago, when the happy couple had returned from seeing the vicar.
She'd been searching for her tote bag, which she'd left hanging over one of the kitchen chairs. Libby had informed her that Eden had moved it into the boot room, which seriously annoyed her. She'd stormed into the little room off the hallway and grabbed her bag, which was on a hook next to the children's coats and had been about to leave when she heard some murmuring coming from the garden, outside the window. Moving closer, she'd strained her ears to hear what was being said, realising that Eliot and Eden had returned and wondering why they were in the garden instead of coming into the house. Her heart had leapt when she realised that, unbelievably, they were arguing!
'You put me in an embarrassing position,' Eden was saying. 'How could you let me walk in there without knowing it's the same church?'
'I never thought,' Eliot replied, sounding tense.
'Never thought? About something as weird as that?'
'Nowt weird about it.'
'But there is! Doesn't it bother you, really?'
'Look, it's a new beginning, that's all. It feels right to me somehow.'
'What do you mean?'
There was a long silence and Emerald began to wonder if they'd moved away. She was about to risk opening the window a little wider to look out for them, when Eliot replied.
'Last time I were in that church, it felt like the end of the world. I couldn't see a way forward for m
e or my bairns. Look where I am four years on. I suppose —' He hesitated a moment then ploughed on, 'I suppose I want to turn a page. Turn something with bad memories into something good. It's like — I dunno — like showing the world I've done it. That I've put it behind me and I'm happy again.'
Emerald pulled a face. Yuk! How soppy was that. She knew Eden wouldn't be able to stay angry at him now.
Sure enough, there was a bit of mumbling and then Eden said, 'It's okay, sweetheart. I do understand, and if you're happy with this then I'm happy, too.'
'You're sure? I don't want to force you. We can look for another church if you really don't feel comfortable.'
'No, no, honestly. Besides, it's a beautiful church and it will be a lovely day. It will be our day.'
'Completely,' he replied.
Then there was the unmistakable sound of kissing and Emerald couldn't stand it any longer. She'd left the boot room, thinking they were the most nauseating couple she'd ever come across.
Now here she was, acting the part of wedding planner for a woman she couldn't stand. Her father had her over a barrel. She so wasn't in the mood for this.
As a smartly-dressed brunette headed over to her, Emerald forced a smile which wavered somewhat as the assistant peered at her with evident disdain, and far more haughtiness than her poxy little business gave her any right to. Big mistake. 'May I help you? What exactly are you looking for?'
'Take a wild guess,' Emerald replied, waving her hands in the general direction of the racks of wedding dresses. 'It's not a new telly, is it?'
The woman gave Emerald a withering stare. At least, she attempted to. It seemed to occur to her, however, that she was wasting her time. Emerald could not be withered so easily. Instead, she seemed to decide to resort to insults. 'Hmm. Let's see. Around a size eighteen or twenty perhaps?'
Emerald wouldn't give her the satisfaction of a denial. 'It's not for me.'
'Oh?' The woman sniffed. 'Then for whom?'
'My client.' Emerald saw the woman's expression alter immediately.
'Your client?'
'Yes. I'm a wedding planner and I was hoping that this shop would be one I could recommend to several of my clients. However, now ...' She let her voice trail off, leaving the implication hanging in the air for the stuck-up bitch to chew on.
'Doesn't your client wish to choose her own dress?'
'This is a reconnaissance mission. I'm scouting the area for suitable suppliers. I must say, we're not exactly spoilt for choice, are we?'
'We are the only bridal dress shop in Skimmerdale,' Miss Hoity-Toity admitted. 'However, I can assure you, we have a wide selection of some of the finest gowns. We're also able to order in dresses that our ladies may have seen in a magazine, for example, and taken a fancy to.'
'Really?'
'Oh, yes. And we also employ a wonderful dressmaker, who is more than capable of customising any gown to suit our ladies' requirements.'
'Hmm.'
'Perhaps your client would like to attend the wedding fayre at The Paradise Hotel?'
Emerald pulled a face. 'Frankly, I'm not overkeen on The Paradise. Whoever named it has been a bit ambitious if you ask me. When is this fayre?'
'Two weeks' time in The Gainsborough Room. There are going to be lots of exhibitors there, and we'll have a selection of our finest gowns on display for your client to peruse.'
Emerald considered the matter. 'I suppose there'll be a men's outfitters there, too?'
'Several.'
The thought of Eliot in a morning suit and cravat was making Emerald feel quite hot.
'Perhaps,' the woman continued, 'you'd like to take a flyer?' She handed her a glossy leaflet which bore the image of The Paradise Hotel on the front. It looked quite grand and not at all as shabby as it appeared in real life.
'If the photographer who took this picture is at the fayre I'll hire him on the spot,' Emerald said. 'Anyone who can make that dump look so classy might even be able to make my client presentable.'
The woman raised a well-plucked eyebrow and Emerald cleared her throat. 'I'll take this to show my client and, hopefully, we'll see you there.'
The woman nodded and showed her to the door.
'You're not going to be the only wedding dress company at the fayre?' Emerald queried, holding the door open.
Miss Hoity-Toity gave her a half-defrosted smile. 'I understand there will be several others, although from further afield, obviously. This shop would be much more convenient for you.'
'Yeah, well.' Emerald beamed at her. 'You have to wade through a lot of shit to find a nugget of gold, but it's always worth it.'
She marched out of the shop, slamming the door shut behind her.
****
Emerald decided not to go straight home. It felt good to be walking on actual pavements again and made a pleasant change to look at shop window displays rather than grass, stone walls, and the odd black-faced sheep. It was also rather a relief to be breathing in fresh air. At Fleetsthorpe she daren't even open her bedroom window because the pungent smell from the farmyard quite took her breath away. She couldn't imagine why no one else noticed it.
It wasn't as if she could escape downstairs, either. The Harlands' retired sheepdog, Tuppence, suffered frequently from wind. Libby and Ophelia thought it hilarious to see Emerald gasping for breath, while Tuppence lay watching her, not in the slightest bit perturbed that she'd just turned the air putrid. That dog definitely had something wrong with it and Emerald didn't think any amount of chakra balancing or crystal therapy would help. In her opinion, the animal needed exorcising.
She caught sight of her reflection in a shop window and tutted. Size eighteen to twenty! She was a fourteen to sixteen, tops, and she could carry it well. That woman was a complete cow. Emerald had barely scrounged any of the children's Easter eggs at all, but she was beginning to think she may as well have eaten the lot for all the good it did her.
'Watch out!'
The shout hardly registered as Emerald collided with someone. Embarrassed, she stared up at a smartly-dressed man who, unfortunately for him, had been carrying a cup of coffee in his hands. He was no longer carrying it. He was wearing it.
'Oops,' she said. 'Sorry about that.'
The man dropped the empty cup and frantically wafted his shirt away from his skin. 'Bloody hell. Why didn't you look where you were going?'
Emerald didn't like to admit that she was too distracted by her own reflection. Instead, she switched on a dazzling smile and handed him some tissue paper from her bag. 'It's like that film, isn't it? You know, Notting Hill.'
He gaped at her, clearly astonished, as he blotted the liquid from his shirt. 'Are you for real?'
'Though, of course, you're not Hugh Grant,' she said.
'And you're no Julia Roberts,' he pointed out, rather rudely she thought. 'Anyway, didn't he spill orange juice? This is coffee. Bloody hot coffee.' He looked down at the stains on his shirt and pulled a face. 'As if I haven't got enough to worry about.'
'I said I'm sorry,' Emerald reminded him. 'There's no need to go on about it.'
The man looked as if he was about to launch into a verbal attack, but then his eyes skimmed over her and she saw his whole stance alter. To her surprise, he grinned and held out a hand. 'You're quite right. No need at all. James. James Fuller.'
Cautiously, Emerald shook his hand. 'Pleased to meet you, James Fuller.'
He waited then, when she added nothing else, he said, 'I suppose you have a name?'
'You're quite right,' she said. 'I do.'
He looked taken aback, but seemed to decide to let it go, unlike her hand, which he held onto. 'May I buy you coffee? To apologise for my overreaction, and my rather rude comment about you not being Julia Roberts.'
Emerald considered. She was in no hurry to return to Fleetsthorpe, and it was rather flattering to be asked out for coffee by an attractive man. He was a bit too smooth for her liking, but even so. Besides, she was starving. 'Make it lunch and you have a d
eal,' she said, extricating her hand from his grasp.
'Fair enough. Have you tried The Daffodil Café? It's quite decent.'
'If you say so,' Emerald said. 'Although, I'm learning that the Skimmerdale meaning of decent is usually absolute shite.' She stooped down and picked up the empty coffee cup. 'I hate litter. Put this in that bin, please.'
James Fuller looked astounded but obeyed. 'Of course. Well, this way.'
Grinning to herself, Emerald followed him down a little side street, where he ushered her into a cosy little teashop. The place was every bit as twee and cramped as she'd expected, but it didn't stop her ordering The Daffodil Café's upmarket version of a fishfinger sandwich, with a side order of chips — served in a wire basket — and a gingerbread latte.
James, who had restricted himself to a black coffee and a toasted teacake, looked quite astounded as she tucked in with gusto. Evidently, he wasn't used to seeing women eat.
She noticed he was wearing a wedding ring. No doubt his wife lived off liquidised lettuce fed through a tube in her veins. She knew so many women like that, not least her own sisters. It was the only possible explanation for their pencil-like figures which, in her opinion, were hideously unattractive.
As her own father had so charmingly put it at the wedding, as he watched one of Freya's bony cousins rattling towards them to give fake greetings, 'I've seen more fat on a greasy chip.' Even so, it was a bigger compliment than being called meaty. That still rankled, but she was determined he wasn't going to get to her any more. Stuff him.
'Well,' she said, pushing away her empty plate with some regret, 'that was rather nice, considering.'
'Considering what?'
'Considering we're in a backstreet café in a small town at the arse end of England.'
He looked a bit annoyed. 'Kirkby Skimmer has everything you could possibly need, and the Yorkshire Dales are incredibly beautiful and very popular. This area has a lot to offer.'
'I'll take your word for it,' she said, 'although, as soon as my business here is concluded, I'm hoping to get as far away as possible.'