Hard Choices

by Ashe Barker

  I take a deep breath, and at last my anger gives way to relief. “Surprise. A nice surprise.” I turn to Summer. “I’ve missed you. And I was so worried. I ought to punch you, but I’m not going to.”

  That last remark seems to satisfy Eva. “Excellent. How civilised. I’ll leave you to it then. There’s wine in the fridge. Don’t be too long—there’s a party going on in there and you’re both invited.”

  Ashley kindly retrieves the wine for us and opens the bottle of crisp, chilled chardonnay. She places it on the table then fetches two glasses and sets them next to the bottle. I daresay she’d have brought a third if she imagined for a moment that Eva was going to allow her to stay in here with us. And if she wasn’t off the booze for the next five months at least.

  Sure enough, she arches an imperious eyebrow before launching her own salvo, “Well, Summer. You are full of surprises. I’m so glad you could come, you’ve really livened things up. And here I was, thinking my side of the wedding would be a bit on the quiet side. But no, not a bit of it, not with you around. First you offer to deck Dan, and then we have to stop you brawling with our little Freya here. I will be wanting to hear the full story, you can be sure of that. Meanwhile, get drunk and giggly and love each other. Please.”

  “Will one bottle be enough?” Eva sounds doubtful.

  I can’t help wondering as well.

  Summer stands, and hugs Ashley. There are tears in her eyes, and she smiles nervously at me over Ashley’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble, I’d never have come if I thought…”

  “Don’t you dare!” Ashley’s having none of it and hugs her back, hard. “You’re welcome, both of you. Freya?”

  That’s it, the floodgates open and I just rush at Summer. Ashley manages to get out of the way in time, and suddenly we’re clasped hard against each other, sobbing, Summer apologising over and over, me just clinging onto her as though I imagine she’ll disappear again the moment I let go. I’m just vaguely aware of the soft click as the kitchen door closes, and Ashley and Eva leave us to it.

  “Something happened, didn’t it? Something between you and Dan? That night at the club when I met Nick?” I launch straight in, signing rapidly.

  I’d always suspected there had been more to that evening they spent together at the Collar than Dan was letting on, and Ashley’s remark about Summer threatening to deck him sealed it.

  “So, what is it with you and Dan then?”

  Summer just shakes her head. “It’s done with. Over. Now I’m on my way back to Kendal, just doing a detour here for Ashley’s wedding.” Clearly she intends to be no more forthcoming than Dan was when I asked him. “Can I stay with you again?”

  “The apartment’s yours for as long as you want it. I’ve been staying with Nick, in Cartmel. I like it there…”

  Summer hugs me again, tells me I’m the best friend she ever had, and it seems I’m going to have to settle for that.

  I will get to the bottom of all this, but apparently not today. Today, we have a party to go to. We rejoin the throng in the lounge, and soon I’ve been waltzed around the rest of the guests. Apart from the people I already know, I’m introduced to Eva’s mother, Victoria, and Tom’s mother too. Then there’s Ashley’s sisters, Ayla and Melisa, over here on a visit from Turkey. Ashley’s Turkish heritage explains the olive skin and jet-black hair. Both the sisters speak good English, but I’m surprised to hear Eva chatting to them in fluent Turkish too. It seems her linguistic prowess was not exaggerated. There’s also another friend, called Abbie, and her baby son called Nicholas. Although no one makes any specific mention of it, I get the impression that Abbie is a submissive too.

  It’s a wonderful evening, full of friendly chatter, warmth, genuine friendship. I enjoy meeting all the new people, but Summer and I still manage to snatch odd moments to catch up. I tell her a little of the recent weeks I’ve spent with Nick, although most of that is definitely in the strictly private pile. She finds my account of how I came to buy Queenie hilarious once she gets over her surprise at my apparently cavalier attitude to risk. She is less taken aback when I mention my interest in finding out more about the wind farm idea that Tom is developing.

  The highlight of the evening, though, is a poignant moment when Ayla asks if she can pass on a gift for Ashley, something her father, their shared father, wanted Ashley to have. The gift is contained in a shoebox that looks to have seen better days. Ashley opens it carefully, her curiosity obvious. I think we’re all intrigued, then Ashley just weeps as she realises what the box contains.

  Letters. Specifically, letters from Ashley’s mother to her father. I gather from Eva that Ashley’s mother died some time last year in a hit and run accident, and Ashley is still far from over it. She was feeling the loss particularly today, acutely aware that her mother wouldn’t be at her wedding. I expect that’s why both her father and her sister felt this might be a good time to share the letters with her. She pulls out the first one, reads it, then, tears streaming down her face, she folds it carefully and slips it back into its envelope. Then, with a muttered “Excuse me” she tucks the box under her arm and heads for the door. There’s a quick conversation in Turkish between Ayla and Eva, but neither goes after her. It appears that by mutual agreement they’re leaving her alone for now.

  A good call, apparently. About half an hour later Ashley re-emerges, minus the box. It’s obvious she’s been crying, but she looks happy in a waterlogged sort of way. She hugs Ayla, then Melisa, then Eva. I glance across the room at Summer, and I’m glad to have my soul sister back, too.

  Chapter Eleven

  The wedding is going to be wonderful, I just know it. I’m an absolute sucker for all that stuff so I suppose I’m an easy sell, but even so.

  I wake up on the morning of the Great Day to find Summer sharing my room, filling the space in the bed where Nick should be. I assume he spent the night at Greystones, and as far as I know neither Nathan nor Dan came back last night either. Which is just as well because Nathan would have had to turf Ashley out of their bed, and I think Dan’s usual room is full of the Turkish sisters. Life could have been very interesting, though I’m not at all sure what Summer might have made of Dan’s harem. Maybe I’ll ask her, though I’ll need to develop a death wish first. That is one subject that seems to be firmly closed.

  I prise my eyelids open and groan—a bottle and a half of wine will usually cause such an outcome for me—and try to focus on the clock. Nine fifty. Right, time to get shifting. Well, soon anyway.

  The next time I force my lids open it’s to find myself looking up at Nick sitting on the side of the bed. He’s grinning, clearly beyond amused.

  “Good night, was it? You look like shite, my love.” He turns to Summer, just regaining consciousness alongside me. “Morning, Miss Jones.” He glances at his watch. “Well, more or less morning. We’ve not been properly introduced. I’m Nick Hardisty. And you’ve been sleeping in my bed.”

  Summer’s not a morning person at the best of times, and her grumpy reply is muttered into her pillow as she rolls over to burrow down again. “Who do think you are? Daddy Bear?”

  Nick turns back to me, his expression deceptively mild. “Is she a sub? If so she needs to work on her manners. Or maybe she’s just some harpy you sleep with when I’m not around?”

  “My manners are fine. Fuck off.” No, not a morning person. Definitely.

  Nick’s eyes flash. He has no authority to punish Summer for her insolence, particularly outside the club scene, but I know he doesn’t take kindly to this sort of reaction from anyone. I start to sit up, anxious to smooth any ruffled feathers. I needn’t have bothered. Nick stands. Suddenly he grabs the duvet and whips it off the pair of us. We’re sleeping in just our underwear, and Nick’s seen me in a lot less so, well, I’m fine. Not Summer, though. She shrieks in outrage and tries to grab the quilt back, but she’s far too late. Nick dumps the bedding on the opposite side of the bed from he
r and strolls around to pick Summer up.

  “If there’s any fucking off to be done, darling, it’ll be down to you.” He marches out into the corridor with Summer squirming furiously in his arms, where he stops and yells for Dan. A few seconds later I see Dan appear outside the door, and Nick just dumps Summer into his arms.

  “Last time I looked, my friend, this one was yours. Could you find somewhere to put her, please?” And with that he comes back into our room and closes the door behind him. I’m perched on the edge of the bed, fully awake now and ready to apologise for my friend. Really, she could have been more civil. Nick glances at me, grins then heads for the en suite.

  “I know you’re fond of her, and you’re glad to see her again. And I daresay she’ll be more pleasant when she’s had a few litres of strong coffee and sobered up a bit. But I’m still buying you a nice teddy bear to sleep with when I’m not around. They don’t answer back. Have you seen my shirt?”

  * * * *

  Apart from Dan, Nathan has also arrived back at Black Combe, and so has Bajram, Ashley’s father. By soon after twelve they’ve managed to winkle all of us out of bed, and we’re assembled in the kitchen downing black coffee and buttered toast. Except for Ashley of course, serene and un-hung-over as she thanks her father for the wonderful gift. She asks if she can keep some of the letters.

  He answers her in his beautiful accented English, “They are all for you, my daughter. It is what Susan would have wanted. Your mother wrote to me very frequently when you were a little girl, but less often in recent years. She sent me emails in the last few years rather than letters in the post. Then I had letters just when she had photographs or cuttings or other things. She sent me many things over the years. Locks of your hair, sometimes a picture you drew. A baby tooth once. I have all of those still. You can have her words. I will forward you her emails too, if you would like those?”

  Ashley nods tearfully and hugs him. And the rest of us chew, sip and reach for the paracetamols. Never again.

  The men, in contrast, seem remarkably chipper. They spent a lot of the evening at the farm where they sank a considerable amount of beer before adjourning to the Rock and Heifer. Tom and Nathan are not normally welcomed in this particular hostelry, primarily because the landlord is chair of the local ‘Say No To Windfarms’ campaign and they have a plan to develop one on a site way up on the moors. However, he made an exception apparently when Seth Appleyard threatened to boycott the pub, and all his lads too. Well, conservation principles are important, of course, but business is business.

  So they spent the rest of the evening in his tap room where the bar billiards and dartboard are kept, and between fiercely contested tournaments relieved the landlord’s cellars of copious amounts of fine ale. This probably soothed the landlord’s conscience. Then, at closing time, which is a movable feast in these parts, it seems, they all piled into a trailer attached to Tom’s tractor and the youngest Appleyard drove them all back to Greystones.

  I had all this from Nick, who found the concept of closing time particularly interesting. Sometime after midnight it seems he asked the landlord when he’d be calling last orders. The landlord merely shrugged and asked when they were all thinking of leaving. Fearing he’d not made himself plain, Nick asked about the police, only to be told that they were drinking in the other bar and was there a problem?

  “No. No problem.” And Nick returned to the party.

  They must have stronger stomachs than we weak and feeble women because Seth and one of his sons managed to do the early rounds at about five o’clock, and Tom did the second shift at seven, apparently accompanied by Callum. I can tell Nick’s proud that his son seems to be finding his feet here, getting on with everyone, being accepted. That’s one less thing to worry about, I suppose.

  I’m interested in the wind farm, and after breakfast—or was it an early lunch?—and a long soak in the bath I ask Nick about that.

  “Nathan and Tom have a business partnership, it seems, called Darke Associates, and various commercial interests between them. The farm’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Nick’s more clued up than I’d expected, and very forthcoming. “Nathan runs an architectural practice and property development company based in Leeds, but Tom’s more into rural enterprise and renewable energy. Anyway, they’ve been working up plans for a wind farm for some time now. They’ve more or less got the planning issues sorted and it goes to the planning committee next month. They’ve come up against a stumbling block, though, in getting all the finance in place. I’m considering buying into it.”

  This surprises me—I had no idea Nick was interested in renewable energy. Much less that he would want to invest in it. I make that point to him as he thrusts his cufflinks at me to thread through the buttonholes in his dress shirt.

  “Maybe not, and it’s not an industry I know that much about. But I do believe in diversification. And I guess I’m as green as the next person, only one planet and all that. Basically, though, I reckon Tom and Nathan are a good bet.”

  I nod—this all sounds reasonable to me. In fact, my own mind is running along similar lines.

  “How much finance do they need to raise? How much are they short by?”

  Nick’s expression is one of surprise—evidently he had not anticipated such interest from me. His cufflinks secured to his satisfaction, he fiddles with his tie. His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “I don’t know the exact figures yet. Tom’s going to forward me the details. Why?”

  Why? Because I might like to invest in a wind farm too, that’s why.

  I don’t say that, though. Instead, I shrug and sign, “Just curious.” And I make a mental note to drop a line to Max Furrowes as soon as possible to ask him to check out Darke Associates generally and this project specifically, and let me know what level of risk it might represent.

  * * * *

  The barn at Greystones has been beautifully transformed into a magical wedding venue. The whole place is draped in oyster-coloured satin and light blue ribbon a foot wide. The floor is covered in a light blue carpet, sprinkled with some sort of petals, and about forty satin-covered seats have been brought in and arranged in rows. There are no animals in residence, except perhaps a few barn cats in the rafters, but any rustling from them is more than compensated for by the superb sound system playing something classical and suitable for the occasion. No doubt Eva’s influence at work, and she is to perform later herself so I’m looking forward to that. I gather she’s good.

  I know from talking to Ashley last night that the actual ceremony is going to be low key. When she arrives Ashley will look gorgeous in an ivory gown, her hair intricately arranged in a delight of ringlets and pearls, cascading down her back. Tom is already here, splendid in his morning suit, and Nathan is decked out to match, as befits the best man. Eva is maid of honour, and of course Rosie is a bridesmaid and will follow Ashley down the aisle in a beautiful lemon dress.

  We’re all quietly assembled, seated, waiting for Ashley’s entrance. Tom looks distinctly ill at ease, as if he somehow expects something to go wrong even at this late stage. I expect all bridegrooms look a bit like that.

  Apart from Nick and I, Ashley’s side of the barn is populated by her sisters, several assorted Appleyards, Summer, and a number of people I couldn’t name, probably business associates. By no means would I describe her side of the gathering as depleted. But by the time the ceremony actually starts the proudest individual in the barn is, without doubt, Bajram Balci, Father of the Bride. His smile is absolutely beaming as he walks his daughter slowly down the aisle between the rows of seats. And Tom’s smile is electric as the familiar strains of the Wedding March announce Ashley’s arrival, and he turns to watch her approach. He loves her, absolutely adores her, and the love is shining in his eyes. I wonder if Nick will ever look at me like that. I glance sideways as she passes, and see a similar expression on Ashley’s face. These two people were made for each other.

  The ceremony is surprisingly brief and delightfully
free of frills. The registrar leads us all through the necessary statements and promises, and in almost no time she’s leaning forward to inform Tom that he may now kiss his bride. He does, then thinks better of that and lifts her up for a huge hug before swirling her around. “I love you, Mrs Shore,” he murmurs, but the cunningly discreet microphones arranged around the space pick up every word and we all hear. And cheer.

  “My turn.” Nathan politely steps forward to claim his kiss, and there follows a flurry of handshaking, hugging, kissing and congratulations as we all leave our seats to join the melee. Then it’s time for the party.

  There’s a huge marquee set up in the yard where we first met Tom and Nathan last week, and this is where the reception is to take place. I’m very impressed—a lot of thought and work has gone into creating this perfect day. I say as much to Eva as we share a toast to the happy couple.

  “Yes. It’s a sort of dummy run, you might say. I know Tom and Ashley are thinking of adding a wedding venue business to the care farming and other enterprises they have going on here and they wanted to see how it worked. Ashley found it all a bit wearing, though. She did most of the arranging, but basically she’s an artist. She wants to spend her time taking pictures and creating her canvases, not booking florists and caterers and marquees. She’s done a good job, and this is a lovely wedding, but I don’t think her heart’s in this sort of work. She’ll need to hire a coordinator or administrator or something. Same goes for the festival. Neither Tom nor Nathan likes dealing with all the detail of putting on a massive public event like that.”

  I glance at her across our glasses. “Do they have anyone in mind?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Why? Do you?”

  I hesitate, not sure how much to interfere in the lives, and businesses, of others. Still, it’s up to them to decide whether to take my suggestions seriously. So I nod, and gesture towards Summer, on her way back to rejoin us after a visit to the loo. I know this would be right up her street—she’d dance all over this sort of work, just like she dances all over my chaotic apartment and any other part of my life she gets her hands on. If she were to work for Tom and Nathan it would mean she’d not be returning to Kendal after all, but this place is no more than two hours away. And at least I’d know where she was. And it’d give me a good reason to come back often. So I have my own reasons, I guess, for wanting to see her installed here.