Two Weddings and a Baby

by Scarlett Bailey

  ‘Was it the thunder?’

  ‘I don’t know, or at least, not only the thunder. You never know what it’s going to be, what’s going to trigger an attack. A smell, a sound. Something you can identify. They say it’s at times of stress and upheaval that you become more sensitive, but I … I thought I was stronger than this. It’s my job to be the strong one.’

  ‘Oh, Jed,’ Tamsyn gripped his hands a little tighter. ‘Were you injured too?’

  ‘Some shrapnel, in my legs and back, which meant a few weeks lying on my stomach while I healed, but on the whole I got off lightly, except … Post-traumatic stress disorder they call it, you’ve probably heard of it. I have been luckier than most; I had the support of the church and the army. I did the therapy, took every sort of help they offered, and of course I’ve had my faith, but …’

  ‘What?’ Tamsyn asked. ‘You can tell me anything.’

  ‘I looked into the bomber’s eyes, in the seconds before it happened,’ Jed said. ‘I don’t know why, what made me do it, but I did. Our eyes met. And he … all I saw was fear and confusion. And now, if I close my eyes, any time I close my eyes, it’s his face I see, and I don’t understand it, Tamsyn. Never before in my life have I had to question my faith in this way, and what it can do. If it can drive a frightened young man to the worst possible act, then … well, it’s made me question everything. Everything that I believe in. The church sent me to Poldore to recover; they found me a parish that they thought needed some fresh, young energy to shake it up a bit, but somewhere that would be a safe haven for me. They’ve never said so, but they don’t think I’ve got what it takes to go into inner-city parishes any more, or on mission in Africa. They told me to come to Poldore and liven up the congregation, but they knew before I did that the congregation here has always been really strong. It’s one of the few places in the country where that is true. It wasn’t me that saved the people of Poldore. It’s been the people of Poldore that have saved me.’

  ‘But no one here knows?’ Tamsyn said. ‘About the PTSD?’

  ‘No,’ Jed said with a look of horror on his face at the very thought, ‘no one except for you and Jeff Dangerfield. He came round for a cup of tea after he and his wife separated and he saw my photos, we got talking. He’s a good man; he’s kept my military past to himself.’

  ‘But why are you keeping it a secret? It’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ Tamsyn told him. ‘It doesn’t mean you’re weak, or any less good at being a vicar. If anything it makes you more qualified to do the job, because you’ve lived life. You really know about loss. I’m no expert, but I think that probably matters in your job.’

  Jed shook his head. ‘I am supposed to be certain, Tamsyn, and strong and steady. I don’t want anyone to know my weakness, how much I dread closing my eyes and seeing it all again. That I spend long, long nights trying to rectify what I feel in my heart with what I know about the world. I’m not the man I should be, the man I want to be. I’m weak. I don’t deserve this town, and the belief and generosity that its people have shown me. I’m broken.’

  ‘Jed,’ Tamsyn said quietly. ‘You are only a man.’

  They looked into each other’s eyes, two bright points of light in the darkness, for a long moment, and Tamsyn wondered what it was that was passing between them, flowing back and forth like a tidal wave of emotion, building in intensity and force with each breath that she took.

  Jed reached out to touch her face, and Tamsyn found herself holding completely still as he traced the contours of her jaw with his fingertips, her eyes roaming over the planes and valleys of his mouth, such a very kissable-looking mouth.

  Without really knowing what she was doing, she leant forward, pressing her lips to his, just because the longing to feel them under hers was impossible to resist, and because in that moment she felt so close to him that it seemed perfectly natural to want to feel closer still. Tamsyn waited for him to pull away, to resist, for the moment of heat to turn into one of awkward rejection, but her heat beat once, twice and a third time and the moment never came. Instead, Jed looped his fingers into her mass of hair and kissed her, pushing her lips open with his tongue. It was a kiss that Tamsyn realised she was dying to respond to, pressing her body closer against his, under the table. His hands left her hair and she felt the soft planes of his palms soar up her bare back, and her own hands tugged at his shirt to find his warm, golden skin beneath. She began unbuttoning his shirt, pausing only to allow him to lift the grey jumper over her head, and suddenly they were skin to skin, her breasts pressed against his chest, their kisses becoming hungrier and hungrier, and Tamsyn knew that there had never been an embrace like this before in the whole of history, she was certain; that this was a kiss that made sense of the world and everything in it, and that whatever was to follow next would be nothing short of a revelation.

  And then Mo’s wail pierced the silence, filling the room with noise, and all of the everyday life of Poldore and reality came crashing back in.

  It was Jed who broke the kiss, and at the same time the spell they had both been under, turning his eyes away from her nudity and handing her Cordelia’s jumper as he buttoned his shirt.

  ‘I need to go,’ he said, pushing the chair out from under the other side of the table and scrambling to his feet, presumably so that he didn’t have to slide past her.

  ‘Jed?’ Tamsyn called after him, caught in a complex vortex of horror and need. ‘There’s a slight problem. My leg has gone to sleep. I can’t actually move.’

  But Jed had gone, rushing off and leaving her stranded, her skin singing from his touch even as it dawned on her how horrified he had been by their encounter, which she guessed was about the same amount as she had been thrilled by it. Feeling deep discomfort in the pit of her stomach, Tamsyn dragged herself and her duff leg out from under the table, as there was some feeling coming back in her toes, and got to the carrycot. At the sight of her, Mo’s cries quietened a little.

  ‘Oh, Mo,’ Tamsyn said, as she vigorously rubbed at her feet. ‘I know how you feel, darling. I feel like crying too.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Screams, followed by peals of giggles from the children’s turret, echoed down the corridor. Weary as she was, Tamsyn suddenly felt that she didn’t want to be alone to think about what just had and hadn’t happened, so she climbed the cold stone stairs. She quickly realised that Meadow and the boys’ bedrooms were empty, and she pushed opened Cordelia’s door, which elicited another round of shrieks, through all of which, now full of milk, Mo slept soundly. ‘What’s going on in here?’ Tamsyn asked her. ‘It’s loud enough to wake the dead and it’s nearly four in the morning!’

  ‘The children were scared of the storm,’ Cordelia told her. ‘So I employed my age-old technique of taking their minds off things that scare them by telling them really, really frightening ghost stories.’

  ‘It’s brilliant!’ Joe said, his eyes wide and wired, and Tamsyn couldn’t imagine him sleeping at all for the rest of the night, if ever.

  ‘Not exactly whiskers on kittens, is it?’ Tamsyn said, amused, despite herself.

  ‘You wait and see,’ Cordelia said, catching Tamsyn’s sceptical look. ‘Fear is a very exhausting emotion. Once all that adrenaline has drained away they’ll sleep for hours.’

  ‘Well.’ Tamsyn looked at the room, wishing there was a corner free that would fit her and Mo. ‘I guess I’d better go and get some rest before the sew-a-thon in a few hours.’

  ‘Are you OK, sweetheart?’ Laura asked her, smothering a yawn. ‘Have you taken on too much, what with Mo and the dresses? You looked flushed; I do hope you haven’t picked up that lurgy that’s going round.’

  Well, Tamsyn thought to herself, she had come down with something, but it wasn’t anything as easy to get over as the flu. Was there a scientific name for the fever brought about by kissing a man who quite clearly felt the whole thing had been a terrible mistake – no, worse than that – possibly even a sin?

  ‘Are you missi
ng your Bernard?’ her mum said, insisting once again on pronouncing his name the English way, as if he were some Northern comic. So far, Tamsyn had escaped a thorough grilling from her mother on the subject of her French lover. Clearly her mum had just been biding her time.

  Tamsyn thought of Bernard: sexy, self-centred, unpredictable and yet so basically uncomplicated. Bernard, who always kissed her exactly when he meant to, and meant it whenever he did. He never wondered about the consequences of his actions, because the concept of self-doubt was entirely alien to him. Yes, actually, she thought that she did miss him and the easy feelings she enjoyed whenever she was with him, which were nothing at all like the muddle and mixed-up feelings that the embrace with Jed had stirred up in her.

  ‘I suppose I do,’ Tamsyn said. And ignoring the questioning, concerned look in her mother’s eyes, she pulled herself together long enough to say, ‘Well now, I need to sleep before this little one decides she wants a chat again, otherwise I might accidentally sew a massive bow onto the back of Cordelia’s dress.’

  ‘Sleep,’ Cordelia commanded, gesturing at five children who were now dozing off peacefully amongst the adults. ‘And if you are having any trouble, I’ll come down and tell this tale I know about the Blue Lady of Poldore, who once stayed in the very room you are staying in … until she jumped to her death! Mwah-ha-ha!’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Tamsyn said, ‘I don’t think she’d have had much worse than a very nasty broken ankle if she’d jumped from my window. But still, thanks for trying. Goodnight all.’

  As Tamsyn eased herself between the cool, clean sheets, her hand still on the carrycot, because Mo seemed to sense it at once if she dared remove it, she closed her eyes and thought of Bernard, and the playful way he would look at her when the urge to take her to bed would suddenly grab him; his dark eyes, the sensuous mouth, the expertise with which he despatched with her clothes, the polite passion that ensured she was always satisfied before he was, the friendly embrace afterwards, that Tamsyn was sure always lasted the exact same amount of minutes every time, before he was up making an espresso and smoking out of the window, whatever time of the day or night it was. Theirs was an affair with order and routine, albeit with some laughter and passion. She wanted the deep, yearning pain that seemed to have formed in the pit of her stomach to be about missing Bernard, she really did. And yet she had this strange, sneaking suspicion that she was longing for a man who was probably right this minute not sleeping on a sofa in the room that was almost directly below hers, a man who’d found what they had done tonight deeply troubling and difficult. A man who, when all was said and done, would probably never even consider a relationship with a woman – a heathen, even – like her. After all, what did she and Jed have in common, apart from Mo and the ability to create the best kissing that history has ever known?

  Chapter Twenty

  Of course it had been Sue Montaigne who had worked out the complicated sewing and embellishing rota for the dresses. In no time at all she had the volunteer seamstresses sitting around the great table, their sections of material carefully labelled and numbered, their instructions taped to the polished surface of the table, their faces looking expectantly at Tamsyn as the very early morning sunshine swept in through the gallery windows.

  Tamsyn realised they were waiting for her to say something, which was a shame because she didn’t think she had the power of speech any more. In fact, she was fairly sure that her brain had switched talking off as non-essential power drainage, because she was running almost on empty on energy.

  ‘Ladies,’ she said, testing her tongue on the word. ‘And gentleman …’

  She nodded at a man in his sixties who was sitting at the furthest corner of the long table, flirting outrageously with the woman sitting next to him. Sue had told her that Kenneth had joined the sewing circle after his wife left him for another woman and that he hadn’t looked back since.

  ‘Thank you so much for giving up your time to come together and make this happen for Alex and Ruan. I know that you all know them really well, and that they mean a lot to you – if they didn’t, you would be mopping out your own houses instead of being here. And I’m very grateful that you have all given your time – not to mention your independently verified expertise – to make their day special.’ She was rewarded by a little Mexican wave of smiles and nods. ‘Now, if you follow the design and the schedule as detailed in your personalised set of instructions produced by the logistical genius that is Sue here, then there will be no problems. As soon as you’ve finished your job on your piece of fabric, pass it to the next person on the list and by the end of today we will have four stunning bridesmaids’ dresses and one wonderful bridal gown fully assembled and waiting for a final fit. I will be constructing, boning and embellishing the bodice of the bridal gown myself, so I will be in the Solar.’ Tamsyn had learnt from Sue that this was a posh person’s name for the conservatory. ‘And that’s where you need to bring the skirt panels to me for assembling once they are complete. I trust you to finish the bridesmaids’ dresses yourselves. Thank you again for your help. Sue tells me there is unlimited tea, coffee and cake available, but no food or drink items in the workroom please. Um, so that’s it, thank you.’

  Tamsyn blushed as the force of volunteers applauded her, and hurried off before she did something silly like cry, or ask them what they would feel like if they’d done half-naked kissing with a vicar under the kitchen table.

  The Solar, an aged and dilapidated moss-covered construction off the courtyard, was pleasingly cool on this hot June day. It was shaded further by long-neglected rubber and cheese plants that seemed to be its only organic occupants and that had reached Triffid-like proportions. Best of all, she was able to open a door out on to a small walled area that had once been a kitchen garden, but that was now overrun with wild flowers and butterflies.

  Sadly, in amongst the rails and rails of clothes that Sue had locked away in the attic, there had been no tailor’s dummy, so Sue had had Rory bring in a neoclassical nude statue from the overgrown secret garden, and although her proportions bore no resemblance to Alex’s, at least the smooth white complexion gave Tamsyn a guide for her colour scheme.

  ‘Well, then.’ Tamsyn started as Kirsten walked into the Solar, looking very much like she wanted to leave it again.

  ‘Well then, what?’ Tamsyn asked her.

  ‘You said you wanted me to help you,’ Kirsten reminded her. ‘Sort out beads, or some shit.’

  ‘Oh,’ Tamsyn blinked. ‘It’s just that you weren’t overly enthusiastic when I mentioned it. But oh, good, good that you are here. Go up to the attic – here’s the key – there’s all these skeins of ribbon up there, can you bring some down? Here, take these swatches to colour-match, white, blue or ivory. And while you are there, have a look at the hats – you’ll see piles and piles of hatboxes in the corner. They are so cool. I have half an idea about little hats, but I haven’t seen what’s there yet, so you can find some good ones for me.’

  ‘Really?’ Kirsten took the key with a distinct look of mistrust in her eye. ‘You want me to go and pick out hats, like, choose hats? The ones I think are the best?’

  ‘Yes. Does that seem really lame?’ Tamsyn asked her.

  ‘Yeah,’ Kirsten said, but she was smiling as she rolled the key between her fingers. ‘Lamest thing ever.’

  Tamsyn was smiling to herself when Kirsten paused in the doorway.

  ‘Where’s the kid?’ she asked. ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘She’s fine, she’s with Jed,’ Tamsyn told her, adding carefully, ‘You seem very interested in her well-being.’

  ‘I just know what it feels like to be left by your mum, that’s all,’ Kirsten said. ‘I feel sorry for her.’

  ‘Well, maybe her mum will come forward,’ Tamsyn said, trying her best not to sound too pointed, but Kirsten had already gone.

  ‘Tamsyn, are you in there?’ Tamsyn had only been alone a few minutes when a voice called from the other side of the internal door. ‘Can
I come in?’

  ‘Er, no,’ Tamsyn said. ‘I’m making you a surprise wedding dress, remember?’ Tamsyn had already covered the glass windows nearest the courtyard in dust sheets to keep out prying eyes.

  ‘Yes, but I was thinking, I always thought the bride got to oversee the creation of her dress,’ Alex said. ‘And decide what she liked?’

  ‘Darling, this isn’t Debenhams,’ Tamsyn called back. ‘My job as your designer is to create the dream dress you didn’t even know that you dreamt of. Trust me.’

  ‘Well … can I send Buoy in to a have a look?’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Tamsyn laughed, supposing that knowing Alex’s bond with the dog, she probably was. ‘Hold on a minute, you nutter.’

  Selecting an offcut of thick black satin that she’d been toying with but discarded, she went out into the hallway and, seeing the look of concern on Alex’s face, smiled as she tied the makeshift blindfold around her.

  ‘This has all gone a bit Fifty Shades of Grey,’ Alex joked as Tamsyn guided her back into the conservatory.

  Tamsyn smiled down at Buoy, who seemed clean and dry, and at least – unlike his offspring, Skipper – was past the stage of wanting to chew everything that moved, and everything that didn’t, just to be on the safe side. Buoy, it seemed, was much more interested in the little garden, full of fascinating things to sniff at and apparently not claimed by any other alpha dogs in decades.

  ‘I’m not sure why you’re letting me in, if I can’t see it,’ Alex said.

  ‘Because you are the closest thing I have to a tailor’s dummy, dummy, and I need to do some fitting. Stretch your arms out. No – to the side.’