‘Sometimes people are worth it,’ Fred said, with a faraway look on his face, and I realised he must be thinking about his mum. ‘Anyway, she has a boyfriend, doesn’t she?’ he asked, his focus back on the here and now.
‘She did have, but he was a complete knob. She’s just dumped him, fortunately, and I think she’s going to get together with the rector!’
‘What’s a rector?’ Fred asked, looking bemused.
‘Oh, a vicar; a priest – you know.’
Fred smiled. ‘Ah, okay! I love it, this island life! The surf looks pretty epic, too,’ he said, glancing out of the window again. ‘If I can find myself a surfboard and a wetsuit that’d be magic . . . And I can’t wait to meet everyone. Or, you know, the people you’re comfortable with, anyway.’
‘You will,’ I told him. ‘But for now, let’s make the most of having some time just the two of us.’
I passed Fred a cup of coffee, but he put it down on the island and grabbed hold of my hand. We stood together, holding hands, and looking out of the window at the enormous expanse of undulating sea. I rested my head on his shoulder and thought to myself that, if I were religious, I’d be thanking God for uniting us at last.
‘We did it,’ said Fred, as if reading my thoughts. He squeezed my hand then turned to kiss my forehead. ‘Finally, we’re together.’
Chapter Thirty-four
Thursday 21 December 2017
Bess
They’re heartbreakingly adorable, Fred and Enid. Seeing them together has made me realise how appalling my own relationship with Nigel has been all these years. I know I deserve better next time round. I was having a cup of tea with the lovebirds this afternoon when Harry tracked me down. Enid answered the door and came through to the sitting room with Harry following behind her, looking school-frazzled.
‘Harry!’ I said. ‘Shall we go next door?’
‘You don’t need to,’ Enid said. ‘Just go through to the kitchen if you want to chat. Have a drink. I’m going to light the fire in here. It’s freezing!’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ said Harry, reaching out to shake Fred’s hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Fred. Have you heard the latest? It’s due tomorrow – the snow.’
‘Oh, not too early in the day, I hope. It’d be a shame if the school play couldn’t go ahead,’ said Enid.
‘It’s due in the evening!’ Harry called back, as he headed into the kitchen with me.
‘Did you manage to speak to Nigel?’ I asked, offering him a beer.
‘Please,’ he said, perching himself on a stall at the island. ‘I did,’ he said, taking the bottle.
‘And?’
Harry grimaced. ‘I think I got the truth, Bess, but it’s not exactly pretty. He and Rowena have been together since they met at a wedding. You couldn’t make it, apparently – it was when Enid wasn’t too well.’
I nodded. ‘I remember. It was during one of her dark patches. It was his cousin’s wedding – a high society do in London. She’s called Fleur; her husband’s from the Montgomery family.’
‘That’s it, he said that. So that’s when they met. Rowena sounds ghastly. Knew about you from the start and was quite prepared to be “the other woman”. The only good thing is that the pregnancy was unexpected. He said it had come as a rather big shock. Made him take stock. Hence his decision, which happened to coincide with your own.’
I was horrified to think that this woman had known about me the whole time, but pleased at least to know that Nigel had no more intended to have children with Rowena than he had with me.
‘Wow!’ I said, trying to take it all in. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking about why the whole thing upset me so much. I don’t think it’s much to do with Nigel at all. I think I’ve just been grieving. Rowena is having the baby I thought I’d have and that’s really bloody hard to take.’
‘It’s not necessarily the end of that dream,’ Harry said comfortingly. ‘Women are having kids older and older these days. In fact, my mum was forty-one when she had me and that was back in the day! And you never know what’s around the corner. I think the papers are doing a horrible job of scaremongering about the whole subject anyway. All this stuff about biological clocks.’
Harry is so nice, but I don’t believe for a moment that I’ll have time to find another man and start a family with him at my age.
I sighed and had just decided to help myself to a glass of wine when I heard the doorbell ring again. We went through to see who’d arrived.
‘I think it’ll be Morag and Dan,’ Harry explained. ‘They said they’d meet me here.’
Harry was right. Enid opened the door and there stood Morag and Dan, and George too.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ George said to Enid. ‘But I just wanted to see if I could borrow some milk. I’ve run out.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Stay for a drink, too.’
‘And I’m just picking up your painting,’ said Morag. ‘Can we see it, Enid?’
‘Yes, but first let me introduce you to Fred.’ I felt so proud of Enid, knowing how alien such social niceties are for her. Introductions were made and I could see Fred trying to work out all the connections. Enid scurried off to bring the painting through and we all began exclaiming over it, though Enid couldn’t bear the attention so she sloped off to get some bubble wrap, with Dan by her side, so she could wrap the picture and keep it safe on its travels. While they were gone the attention turned to Fred.
‘How are you finding wee Jersey so far?’ asked Morag, taking a glass of wine from Harry.
‘Not seen a lot yet, I’ve got to admit. But my first impressions are awesome scenery, great surf, beautiful people, and pretty bloody cold!’
‘It’s unusually cold, though,’ George said as I offered him a drink and a mince pie. ‘Going to snow, have you heard?’
Fred laughed. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard. The cab driver was talking about it, it’s on the radio and TV, everyone’s chatting about it. I’d heard that you Poms were obsessed with the weather, but I hadn’t realised there was any truth in it!’
Morag shrieked with laughter. ‘It’s so true! And we’ll probably only get a few inches of snow in the end. Not like where I’m from in Scotland. They’ve already been hit with it over there and yet it’s par for the course, so we’re a wee bit better prepared. But, you know, the anticipation of snow is all part of the excitement. You’ll get the hang of it!’
Enid returned at that moment and we all enjoyed a drink together while she wrapped the picture, then Harry, Morag and Dan disappeared, and George, now clutching a pint of milk, invited me back to the rectory for supper. We left Fred and Enid to it.
‘This is your chance,’ Enid whispered to me as I left.
But, as I followed the handsome George out of the door, I knew that any old single, attractive man wouldn’t do. There has to be that feeling. And charming though he is, George isn’t the man for me.
Chapter Thirty-five
Friday 22 December 2017
Fred
Through his sleepy fug Fred could hear Enid whispering. ‘Fred, sorry to wake you . . . I don’t know if you want to come? Only the play starts in half an hour. I understand completely if you’d rather carry on sleeping.’
‘Beautiful,’ he murmured sleepily, pulling Enid towards him.
She giggled. ‘Fred!’
‘How did I fall asleep, anyway?’ he asked, sitting up on the bed and rubbing his eyes.
‘You were listening to this,’ said Enid, retrieving his portable radio and earphones from under the duvet. ‘Must be the jet lag! Listen, we need to leave in five minutes to get a seat. I didn’t want to leave without telling you where we’re going, but why don’t you carry on napping while I go with Bess?’
‘And miss the production of the year! There’s no way I’m missing it. I want to see little Dan as an owl, for one thing.’
‘He’s adorable. Very monotonous and wise-looking.’
‘Who’s in charge of it all?’ Fred asked, pulling
an extra sweater over his head. He’d had no idea it would be quite so cold even inside heated houses.
‘Harry Harrison. He’s teaching Year 2 and they’re the ones putting on the play, but George has been a great help too. He virtually wrote it.’
‘The rector who was here yesterday? How did Bess’s evening with him go?’
‘She’s not telling me anything, but I’ve got high hopes.’
Fred started following Enid down the rickety staircase, ducking his head to avoid another lethal beam.
‘I’m not sure you’ve got it right, Enid, about Bess and George.’
Enid looked back at Fred, shocked. ‘What do you mean? They’re perfect for each other!’
Fred eyed the clock above the picture window. ‘Look, we’d better go. Just watch them at the play and you might see what I mean.’
The Christmas Forest was cute. Fred didn’t know any of the characters, but Dan was just as brilliant at playing Owl as he’d expected after meeting him the day before. Fox was full of life, with a terrible memory, and the toy hedgehog found towards the end had been provided by Enid (quite rightly she didn’t think it would be right for her hibernating hedgehogs to be disturbed).
When the uproarious applause had finished and the children’s ebullient voices could be heard behind the curtain, George and Morag came across to where Enid and Fred had found seats.
‘It was very good,’ Enid said to George.
‘He’s so clever, isn’t he?’ said Morag, looking at George admiringly. She smiled, wrinkling her nose. ‘It was brilliant!’
‘I’ve just got to go and retrieve my toy hedgehog,’ Enid said. ‘I’ll be back in a tick.’ She began to run off towards the stage, then looked back at Fred, who raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
On the walk home, Enid turned to him.
‘You mean you think George is in love with Morag, not Bess?’ she asked.
‘Uh-huh – can’t you feel the electricity between them? I noticed it as soon as Morag turned up at the door yesterday to collect the picture. Poor Harry.’
‘Poor Bess, more like! Why poor Harry Harrison?’
‘Well, he’s with Morag, isn’t he? Dan’s their son?’
‘Oh no!’ she said. ‘I can see why you’d think that, but Dan is from Harry Harrison’s last relationship – he’s divorced now. And he and Morag aren’t together. They just live together. She needed somewhere to live when she moved over here from Scotland and a mutual friend suggested she see if Harry Harrison might like a lodger as he’d just broken up with his wife. She’s brilliant with Dan, so it works perfectly.’
‘Oh, I see! Well, that makes sense then. I didn’t think it was very likely the rector was trying to steal someone else’s wife! And, actually, it’s good news for Bess.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Enid said a little snappily. ‘What other little nuance have I missed?’
‘She’s mad on Harry. She might not have admitted it, even to herself yet, but – if you ask me – that’s the truth.’
‘Bess and Harry Harrison . . .’ Enid repeated. ‘And Harry Harrison? Seeing as you’re so clever at picking up vibes: is he mad on Bess?’
‘I don’t know. When I was observing all this yesterday I had Harry down as the guy whose wife fancied the rector, so although I spotted Bess’s warmth towards him, I didn’t really take much notice of how he responded.’
‘Well, we’d better find out!’ Enid stopped suddenly as she reached her door. ‘Oh, look,’ she said, pointing at a massive pine tree plonked on her doorstep. ‘A tree!’
‘Did you order it?’ Fred asked.
‘No, I never bother usually.’
‘Nor me,’ Fred admitted.
‘It must have been Bess. She probably thought I should make more of an effort this year.’
‘Well, let me heave it in for you.’ Fred grabbed hold of the tree. ‘Ouch!’ he yelped a moment later. ‘It’s prickly!’
‘They usually are.’ Enid laughed. ‘Here, let’s put it over by the fire,’ she said, leading the way.
By the time it was in a position Enid was happy with, it was nearly dark outside.
‘Just one problem,’ she said, admiring the tree. ‘No decorations!’
‘We can buy some,’ Fred said. ‘Hey,’ he remarked then, looking out of the sitting room window. ‘Is that snow?’ He pressed his face against the panes like a kid.
‘Certainly is,’ Enid told him. Fred tore himself away from the window and hurried through to the porch, opening the front door, Enid following behind. She watched him running about in the front garden, sticking out his tongue and feeling the snowflakes settle on it.
‘It’s so beautiful! And so damned cold!’ he shouted.
‘Come on!’ Enid shouted back. ‘It’s freezing! Come inside to the kitchen and we can watch it settle.’
Fred followed her inside and pulled the armchair right up to the picture window, while Enid made hot chocolate and then turned off the lights so they could see the snow more clearly.
‘You know, every single snowflake is a different shape and size. Each one is unique, just like us humans – isn’t that amazing?’ Enid said as Fred watched, mesmerised. ‘The smallest ones are called diamond-dust crystals.’
‘I love all your facts.’ Fred smiled. ‘I love this snow, too! Actually, I love it all: this island, your cottage, your animals, your mates . . . But most of all – you.’
Enid put down her hot chocolate and reached out to take Fred’s face in her hands. ‘Even my strange quirks?’ she murmured, kissing his lips, the snow falling softly in the background.
‘Especially your strange quirks,’ Fred replied. ‘They’re what make you unique. My quirky snowflake.’
Chapter Thirty-six
Saturday 23 December 2017
Enid
‘What’s your worst fault?’ Fred asked me as we lazed in bed this morning, our fingers linked together like teenagers on a first date.
‘Is that a serious question?’ I replied.
‘Kind of.’ Fred smiled.
I gave it some thought. There were quite a few competing for first place in my mind, but I settled on the one I’d come to recognise only recently.
‘I’m selfish,’ I said. ‘I only think about how I feel; that’s always my priority. And I really obsess about things without thinking about the effect my obsession has on others – mainly Bess.’
‘Hey, you’re being too tough on yourself! Selfish isn’t always a bad thing.’
‘I think my kind of selfish is. And I’m just being honest. You need to know this – if we have a future, which I hope we do. You need to know what I can be like.’
‘But it’s part of your condition, isn’t it?’
‘It might not be; it might be who I am regardless. Either way, it’s what I’m like. I’m not easy to live with, or even just to go out with, as I’ve been told before.’
‘I’ve got no complaints so far. Anyway, perhaps one of the side effects of fixating on how you feel is that you’re also oblivious to the many faults others have. You think you’re the only one who’s imperfect, but we all are.’
‘So what’s your biggest fault then?’ I asked.
‘I’ve a list as long as my arm, but one thing I can say is that the time looking after my mum changed me for the better. If you’d known me in my twenties, you’d have hated me!’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Seriously. Cricketing was my career – a dream come true – and I let it go to my head. I was so full of myself. So full of confidence – actually, make that arrogance. I was a womaniser, I drank too much, I partied too hard. I was rash too,’ he said, pointing to his forearm. ‘This, for example, was the result of a very pissed-up evening.’
‘I’ve been wanting to ask you about the tattoo. I imagined it was really meaningful, but obviously not.’
‘Well, in a sense it does have meaning. Everyone has tats in Aus, and I always thought I’d end up getting one at some point, but it was rash of me to ju
st wander into a tattoo place half-cut and get it done then and there.’
‘So what’s the meaning?’ I asked, intrigued.
‘It’s an imitation of “The Great Wave off Kanagawa” – this ancient Japanese art. My mum and I used to have a joke about how I was always on the lookout for The Great Wave whenever I surfed. She used to say, “How was your surf?” and I’d say, “Good, but not The Great Wave.” So, although it was rash, I’ve never regretted it, and now it’s a nice reminder of Mum.’
I traced the tattoo with my finger thoughtfully, as Fred yawned. Then, suddenly, he sat upright in bed.
‘I nearly forgot about the snow! Do you think it’ll still be there?’
‘Only one way to find out,’ I said, nodding towards the window. Fred jumped out of bed, pulled on some ‘jocks’, as he calls them, and drew back the curtains. I could see it from the bed – thick, deep snow covering the back garden, the roof of the shed and even the beach. The sea glistened green and silver next to the white of the snow.
‘It’s awesome!’ Fred smiled, beginning to pull his clothes on. ‘We’ve got to get out in it! Come on! Have you got a sledge?’ he asked, throwing my clothes at me.
‘Fred, I can’t just go and muck around in the snow! I’ve got other stuff to do . . . I need to check Clifford and the hedgehogs are okay, and I always have my breakfast before I go anywhere!’
Fred paused. ‘No worries,’ he said. ‘Of course, your routines . . . But you can’t stop me!’ he laughed, and I heard him running down the stairs.
‘Watch the beam!’ I called out, but he’d clearly safely ducked out of the way of it. I slowly dressed and then headed to the window, where I saw Fred mucking about in the deep snow like a kid. Seeing him out there, I felt myself being drawn to join him. I took a deep breath, promised myself I’d limit the fun to ten minutes, and ran outside with my snow boots on.
‘Enid!’ Fred shouted, hurling a snowball in my direction. I ducked, then quickly patted a ball together myself and threw it at him. It landed squarely on his jaw.
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