by Jane Linfoot
He laughs. ‘How could you not? Don’t worry, I won’t let you go back into St Aidan with a dirty face.’ His eyes narrow. ‘So remind me how you ended up here?’ For someone with a mighty muffin and a delectable hot chocolate in front of them, he’s paying way too much attention to other things.
‘I came to help out my gran and never left.’ That should cover it. ‘It was cosy. Like getting back the childhood I missed out on first time around.’ I’m not sure he knows about our too-busy parents, but whatever.
He still hasn’t attacked his muffin and his brow has wrinkled into a frown. ‘But what about the travelling? And working abroad? When we were at uni that was all you talked about.’
This is why you should never come face to face with people from the past, who can remind you what your dreams were at twenty-one, when they turned out to be bollocks.
‘I was the world’s worst traveller.’ I might as well come clean. ‘It was knackering, I was lonely, I got ill. Then my gran had a stroke, I was the only one not working, so I came back to help. Jess was starting the wedding shop and she took my designs, and that was that.’ If I say it fast enough I might skip the bit about my world tour only lasting a couple of months, rather than the year, or even the lifetime that I’d planned. And I’m definitely not going to pinpoint that the one and only time I came back was when I got in touch with him. The time he didn’t reply.
‘So where did you get to?’
Locations are better than dates. ‘Malaysia, Thailand, Indonesia. Those kind of places.’ When you say it in a list you can fudge that it was barely a couple of weeks in each country.
‘Australia? China? South America?’ He’s prompting from my bullshit list of destinations that I reeled off to him so often over tea.
I shake my head, get the better of my embarrassment at failing so spectacularly, and make my smile bright. ‘As it turned out, I’m a package tour kind of girl. An occasional all-inclusive burst on a beach is enough for me. If it wasn’t for the wedding, I’d be baking in Bali as we speak.’
‘Oh.’ He’s put down his knife and he’s staring at me in the weirdest kind of way. ‘Back then I was tied down, committed in every direction, and you were so free. I used to imagine you doing all the things I wanted to do, but couldn’t. And now I find you weren’t doing them at all.’
He was the one who got paid for his degree by signing on the dotted line for his job in advance. He was the one who came out debt free, when the rest of us are still paying it off, so there were compensations. As for the living-vicariously part, I had no idea. But he doesn’t need to sound this badly done to.
I let out a snort. ‘Well, I’m sorry for screwing up your fantasy of my life.’ Even as I’m apologising, I’m indignant for having to. ‘You’re the Mr Stay-home, who ended up all over the place, and I had the big plans that came to nothing. It’s like we got each other’s lives. But you got what you wanted in the end, so it’s all okay.’
He stirs his chocolate slowly. ‘Or maybe I didn’t.’
Something about that faraway look in his dark grey eyes makes my stomach clench. I can’t believe I’ve dropped my guard. I promised myself I’d never let that happen. Ever again. Unrequited love is a hell hole you only go down once. Been there. Done that. Got the ‘learned my lesson’ T-shirt. That’s why I’d rather have done this with Quinn. Even if he is a handful, and offers unwanted presents at every turn, I can just about handle him.
I shake my head. It’s too late at night to be enigmatic. ‘Shut up and eat your muffin, Johnny. We’re supposed to be looking for Dan.’ Not raking over the past.
34
Thursday, 22nd December
At Jaggers in St Aidan: Job descriptions and ice-cream cones
‘So this is Jaggers, the place where Happy Hour never stops.’ As we battle our way past a crowd of very young people, most of them holding at least two jam jars of cocktails, some more, it’s only fair that I give Johnny a taste of what’s in store. Even if it means I have to yell very loudly in his ear for him to hear. ‘It is also an advantage if you’re barely eighteen, like Strawberry Daiquiris, and have hollow legs.’
‘Okay for you, then. I meant to ask, how come you haven’t changed a bit, even after all this time?’
I take it he’s talking about my apparent age, not my empty legs. Although I’m not sure that’s actually a compliment. ‘Probably I stayed the same because I live in a seaside time warp and refuse to grow up. My gran used to joke she’d be eighteen ’til she died too.’
That makes him smile. He’s looking at the chalk board, rubbing his hands enthusiastically. ‘Great timing, anyway, we’ve hit White Christmas Special Offer Night.’
I’m not going to break it to him that every night is special-offer night at Jaggers. What’s more, I’m sending silent thanks to my fairy godmother that we haven’t hit that other Jaggers favourite, three for two Sex on the Beach night. Although I’m hoping he doesn’t think if we stopped for a drink at the Surf Shack that we’re getting stuck in here.
‘And there’s not so much full-blown costume love here either,’ I say. Most punters have made do with sparkly wings or variations of Santa hats. I can’t see Dan being here. Any sensible thirty-four-year-old would have run a mile at the door. ‘Saving their cash for cocktails, no doubt.’ Pulling in our stomachs, we wiggle our way through the crush by the door. I’m staring down the length of the bar, trying to work out a search strategy when a tap on my shoulder makes me whirl around.
‘Jess. What a surprise.’ Although, if I stopped to think about it, lately it would be more of a surprise for her to be anywhere else at midnight on a Thursday.
‘Ditto,’ she says, beaming as if she can’t believe her luck. I make my excuses and stay in the studio working every time rather than coming out to play. She leans closer, in a vain attempt to keep her yelling confidential. ‘You’ll never guess who I’m with?’
‘Jules? Immie? The ex-soldier turned sheep farmer who came to Grab Granny night?’ Although, by all accounts, Jess scared the corduroys off her guy by drinking him under the trendy purple tables last visit. I’m just remembering it might be Jules’ mum she’s with, when Jess cuts in again.
‘No, we did see all of them earlier, but I’m actually with…’ She pauses for dramatic effect and does a little ta-da hand waggle. ‘Your future brother-in-law…’
It takes a second to sink in. ‘Dan? What the hell are you doing with Dan?’ I want to scream ‘Holy effing crap, we’ve been all over effing town looking for him’ at the top of my voice, but somehow I hold it in. If my knees are sagging, I’m not sure if it’s with relief we’ve found him at last, or shock that he’s been abducted by aliens. ‘Since when?’ I mean, it’s not as though Jess exactly knows him is it?
‘I’m on my way to the bar, but do come and join us.’ She’s smiling like a cat who caught a pigeon. ‘He came into the shop looking for a post box when you took Alice home. We’ve been here ever since – having a quiet chat in the corner. ’
Between us, it’s hard to imagine anyone describing anything at Jaggers as quiet. As for her spiriting away my future bro-in-law… there are no words.
Johnny smiles at Jess. ‘Hi again, I’m Johnny, one of Dan’s best men.’ His one very ironic eyebrow raised at me says it all. ‘Let me go to the bar. What are you drinking?’
‘Lovely.’ Jess has already pushed the empty jug she’s carrying into Johnny’s hands. ‘Dan and I are moving on to the Ice Queen cocktails. But Wonderful White Christmas is good for starters, and the Snowballs and White Russians are fun too.’ No surprise they’ve worked their way down the whole damned board. She grabs my arm. ‘Come on, Sera, I’ll take you over to Dan.’
If you ever need to power your way through a crowd, Jess is your woman. She’d cut a swathe through a Sleeping Beauty forest faster than a Disney prince. By the time Johnny arrives to join us a few minutes later, complete with cocktails and bottles of Diet Pepsi – and how did he remember that? – I’m fully flopped in Jess�
�s VIP alcove. While everyone else in the bar is standing or wedged onto high stools, Jess has somehow blagged her own leather benches and a dedicated chill-out zone.
‘Guys…’ Dan’s eyes pull into focus as Johnny sits down and slides a cocktail pitcher the size of a bulk tanker onto the low table. ‘… You brought cocktails too…’ He beams, tilts forward, gropes for the jug and wobbles it towards the glasses.
If Dan hadn’t already failed his sobriety test with his slurred speech, the splashing overflow of Ice Queen flooding across the table top and dribbling onto Johnny’s leg is enough to tell us he’s hammered.
Johnny slides a coke to me and takes one himself. Overlooking the sticky mix of vodka and peppermint seeping onto his chinos, he flops an arm around Dan’s shoulder. ‘So, mate, how’re you doing?’
‘Pretty damned fine… considering…’ Dan takes a slurp from his glass and crashes it down again. ‘Photographer’s FUBAR… cake’s FUBAR…but o-on the u-upside, I f-found a post box.’
‘FUBAR?’ I squint at Johnny.
‘It’s an acronym,’ he says helpfully, shaking his head. ‘Fucked Up Beyond All Repair.’
‘Really?’ My heart just did a nose dive. I turn to Jess, hoping she knows enough to fill us in.
The fact she raises both her eyebrows at once says it all. ‘Apparently the wedding cake came out of the car with seismic cracks in it. And as if that wasn’t enough, the photographer’s been run over by a Range Rover while lying in a car park.’
Dan sits up. ‘Photographer’s got a femured fracture…’ He’s mumbling, but it’s close enough for us to get the idea.
Jess goes all dreamy. ‘The price of the perfect shot.’
‘You couldn’t make it up.’ I take a sip of Pepsi, in a desperate bid to pump up my caffeine levels. But all I can think of as I sigh is poor Alice.
‘When Alice went postal about the post box, obviously Dan couldn’t begin to tell her the rest.’ From the way Jess is closing her eyes, she’s thriving on the drama.
‘What a good thing Poppy’s back.’ I say, knowing we’ll be able to count on her for some kind of cake, even if it isn’t the same kind Alice planned. ‘I’ll see her at the farm first thing. How about Jules? Will he step in for the pictures?’
Jess nods. ‘I called him from the Ladies’, he’s on stand by for Saturday. But that might be the least of our problems.’ She gives me one of her extra-significant stares and lowers her voice. ‘A groom who can’t face the bride needs very careful handling. I was planning to take him back to mine when we finish here. It’s taken hours to talk him down from the edge.’
‘I can imagine,’ I say. Hours. And a few gallons of White Russian, no doubt. Then I suppose Jess planned on tucking him up like a stray puppy.
Johnny smiles at Jess. ‘We really appreciate you catching Dan, but we can’t impose any more. Sera and I will take it from here.’ He looks at his watch, as if to warn Jess her time’s up. ‘One groom not a million miles away looks like he’s in need of his beauty sleep. We really should be getting him home.’
Now it’s my turn to have my eyebrows on the ceiling. ‘We should?’
‘Come on, Dan…’ Johnny stands up.
Dan shakes his head and settles back against the cushions with a squawk of protest. ‘Can’t go before the ice cream.’
Johnny’s face crumples. ‘Who said anything about ice cream?’
The look Dan sends Johnny is pretty withering, considering. ‘You were the one who bought it…’
My lips twitch into a smile. ‘You mean the Ice Queen cocktail, Dan?’
‘My point… exactly.’ A beatific beam spreads across Dan’s features as he stabs the air with his forefinger.
Inebriated grooms are like horses – easier to coax than to force. Grabbing a jam jar, I pour in a huge slurp of Ice Queen and dangle it in front of Dan. ‘This one’s a carry-out. We’ll drink as we go.’
Dan staggers to his feet too. ‘Okay then… whadda we waiting for…’ For a second, he bobs back down to scrabble on the seat. When he wobbles into view again there’s an antler head, band clamped to his temples. ‘Ready when I am…’
‘Come on, Rudolf, come on Prancer.’ I send a bemused grin behind me as Johnny hauls Dan’s arm over his shoulder and yanks him after me. ‘Ice cream as soon as we’re outside.’
Was someone talking about job descriptions earlier? Because whatever else was in Alice’s wedding manual, I’m damned sure leading a reindeer with wonky antlers along the sea front wasn’t in mine.
35
Thursday, 22nd December
By the harbour in St Aidan: Stray tights and dead weights
‘You’d think the cold would wake him up.’
I’m shouting at Johnny over the roar of the wind, across the front of Dan’s sagging body, as we stagger across the cobbles of the harbourside. I say stagger, but actually our shuffle is so slow we’re almost stationary. As for Dan, if you overlook the antlers, he’s doing an excellent impression of a guy who’s been out drinking with Jess. After eight hours most of them go out like the fairy-light strings around the town are doing now.
‘Dan wasn’t anything like this bad on his stag weekend.’ Johnny’s panting with the exertion of keeping Dan upright.
‘He actually had a stag do?’ Even though I’m peering out from under the arm of Dan’s parka, talking as we lurch along is making this easier. Somehow I didn’t think Alice’s fiancé elastic would stretch further than sandwiches and a snooker game for the guys.
‘Three Eastern Bloc escape rooms… that was Quinn’s part.’ Johnny’s voice comes in bursts. ‘Then we flew to Iceland… saw the Northern Lights on the way home.’
I free my hand and scrape my hair away from my eyes. ‘That was your bit?’
Johnny pauses. ‘How did you guess?’ He laughs as he readjusts Dan, who lets out a snort. ‘Iceland’s big on vodka. They have this stuff called Black Death that makes your legs de-materialise. Made from potatoes and caraway seeds. Alice sent us last winter, so Dan had plenty of time to sober up.’
‘And still not as lethal as an evening with Jess.’ So much for Alice’s forward planning. I can’t help rolling my eyes at the irony. ‘Are you parked at the top?’ The road up to town is steep at the best of times. Dragging a six-foot-four dead weight all the way up there, it’s going to take forever. My leg muscles are already burning with the effort of holding him up.
‘Yep.’ Johnny heaves Dan up again. ‘At the rate we’re walking, I reckon the wedding will be happening round about when we get back to the car. In thirty-six hours’ time.’
‘Or…’ I can’t believe what I’m about to offer, given how determined I am to keep Johnny at a distance. ‘We could go to mine – it’s that cottage at the end of the row over there, with the blue front door and leaded windows. It’s less than a hundred metres.’ Blame the sheer desperation, but I’m pointing towards the harbour end. My sanctuary, which is how I wanted to keep it. But suddenly all I care about is getting us all into the warm. I’m hoping Johnny won’t get all judgemental.
‘Best news yet.’ Johnny drags in a breath. ‘Let’s go. One big last push and we’ll be there.’
So many times when we were at uni, my über-secret fantasy was to bring Johnny to my gran’s place by the sea. I mean, everyone has fantasies about walking on the beach, don’t they? Although what difference I thought that was going to make to anything, I’ve no idea. And now, ten years on, when we’re finally here, after all, and it’s the last thing I want. Whoever said ‘be careful what you wish for’ wasn’t wrong. But with our destination in sight, we speed up. There’s no going back, and next thing I know, I’m shouldering the cottage door open and flicking on the lights, and we’re bumping off the painted board walls, knocking Gran’s tiny pictures every which way, as we head down the hall. We pretty much fall into the living room. Then with a final heave, we roll Dan onto the sofa.
His stubbled cheek is pale against the blue-linen cushions. As he mumbles and scratches at
his hair, I reach in and untangle the antlers.
‘Bridesmaid to the rescue – again.’ Johnny blows as he stares down at Dan. ‘Thanks for this, Fi. I owe you. He’s sleeping like a proverbial baby now.’
‘Excuse the mess, I’ll grab him a duvet.’ Plucking a pair of abandoned lacy tights off the sofa arm, I set off to race upstairs, and stop halfway to the door. ‘What about you? There’s a spare room?’ Damn that sleeping arrangements always have to be so loaded. To be honest, though, unexpected guests landing rat-arsed at two in the morning can’t expect to be sniffy about a few empty mugs and a scattering of random shoes. Or underwear.
Johnny grins at the tights I’m bundling into my fist, but brushes the offer away. ‘I’m best here, to keep an eye on Dan. Make sure he doesn’t go AWOL a third time.’ His eye roll pretty much acknowledges what we’ve been through to get to this point.
When I get back down from raiding the spare room for covers, Johnny’s sitting on the floor, his long legs stretched in front of him.
‘Tea, coffee, beer, Wotsits, fish fingers, cornflakes?’ As a hostess I’m not only out of practice, I’m also bluffing wildly about my fridge contents. Since I’ve been dashing up and down to the farm and the manor, I can’t remember the last time I even bought milk.
‘Actually I’m fine, Fi.’ As he takes the duvet from me, he’s re-arranging magazines and shopping receipts to make a space on the rug. ‘Maybe I’ll get some water later.’
Right answer. ‘Help yourself, the kitchen’s at the back, bathroom’s at the top of the stairs.’ As I rattle off directions, I make a mental note to keep my bedroom door firmly shut so he doesn’t glimpse the devastation in there. Then, probably thanks to that last bottle of cola, my mind whirls ahead to morning. And making my escape. ‘I’ll be creeping out early to see Poppy about the cake.’ Great excuse there. ‘Dan can sleep for as long as he wants. Let yourselves out whenever you’re ready, and leave the key under the Christmas-tree pot by the door.’ That pretty much covers it.