Happy Ever After

by Kitty Wilson

  ‘Oh, I know. I’d make you behave better if you were a child. Stay there.’

  ‘Will I see you later to talk?’ Richard asked, talking over the top of Hector, undermining himself next with, ‘You’ll probably be tired.’

  Marion looked in at the orangery where Angelina was knocking back champagne like she was Oliver Reed, clocked Annie and Ethel, who were standing on one edge of the buffet table shrieking, ‘R.E.S.P.E.C.T.’ as the song played and then looked back at Hector, who was beginning to snore now, snore and dribble.

  ‘Yes, Richard. I probably will be.’ And she went to deal with the less glamourous side of being a successful businesswoman.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Marion was supposed to have had the most restful few days of her life. Richard had arranged to take the boys camping down west on The Lizard to surf. He wanted to give her time to recover from the wedding and time to prepare for the party. Marion had thought he was being daft when he suggested it. She didn’t need time to relax; she had always subscribed to the sleep-when-you’re-dead school of thought but actually it was pretty amazing. It would have been better however had she been able to relax properly. Angelina had refused to talk about her engagement party at her brother’s wedding and had been resolutely ignoring all her calls ever since.

  Marion had made the decision to just carry on getting the final touches in place, chasing up the caterers, the florists, the musicians to confirm just as she would have done if she hadn’t found out the truth of Angelina’s dastardly plan. But she wasn’t finding it easy. Every step of the way was plagued by self-doubt, by that what-have-I-got-myself-into feeling that she had never really experienced before.

  It had been such an exciting moment when Angelina agreed to let her host a party, had promised her a star-studded event to organize that would shriek glamour and shine. A real springboard for her business and an event she used to advertise herself and encourage other bookings. As the months had progressed Marion had become increasingly unnerved; every interaction she had with her supposed close friend added anxiety rather than resolving issues. And now there was this nonsense about it being a renewal of vows ceremony for herself and her ex-husband clouding the mix.

  She was so conflicted; of course she had to do the very best she could. She wanted photos for her portfolio and her Instagram and she knew that regardless of motive behind the party it was going to look spectacular. She had just confirmed the fire-eaters and acrobats; there was no way it couldn’t.

  It was the social embarrassment though that had kept her awake over the past few nights. Now Rosy’s wedding was done, and a roaring success, there was space in her mind for the panic to build about what next weekend would bring.

  Everyone had been promised the party of the decade and up-close and personal access to Chase and Angelina. The fact that everyone present would think she had lied just so she could be the centre of attention as she made vows to Richard was mortifying.

  She knew that people had thought badly of her before, but this was completely different.

  She checked the lamb in the oven and dipped her finger into the hummus she had just whizzed up, but instead of excitement that her boys were due home in half an hour she was a whirling maelstrom of emotion, a lack of sleep amplifying her anxiety. It wasn’t solely the impending embarrassment looming over the upcoming event that was causing distress; it was also the knowledge that waiting to deal with Richard until Rosy’s wedding was out of the way meant that now things needed to come to a head.

  She should never have slept with him on her birthday. They needed to sit down and talk and she suspected that today was going to be that day. She was a strong believer in facing things as they arose but the thought of talking to Richard was terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. She didn’t know which way her mind was going and that in itself was bad enough; she had always been a woman who knew her own mind. Add in the thought of how she was responsible for making a decision that would grant Richard his every wish or break his heart, it was all too much. Just too much.

  As she shut the oven door, her phone rang out. Glancing at it she saw it was Angelina. Aha, at last!

  Best professional voice on – she didn’t want her client to sense quite how anxious she was about next Saturday – she answered the call.

  ‘Darling!’

  ‘Darling! Just checking in to see how things are going?’ Angelina squawked down the phone.

  A whole lot better if I knew what the blazes was going on, Marion wanted to say but she restricted herself to a ‘Fine, wonderful actually, everything is in place. It is going to be the most spectacular evening but I do want to talk to you, again’ – she couldn’t help but slip that in – ‘about what the central purpose is?’

  ‘You’re throwing a party, Marion. A great big party,’ Angelina said, with more than a hint of impatience.

  ‘Yes, but what I’m s—’

  ‘I do hope you’re not going to disappoint me.’ The darling-darling nature of Angelina’s tone changed to pure steel. Honestly, it was impossible trying to have a grown-up conversation with this woman. ‘I have invited my friends and you had better make it worthy of their time and energy. I rang to make sure everything was going well for you. This is a kind thing I’m doing and you just try to make everything difficult. People who make things difficult for others never get far in life, you know?’

  Marion knew her face was a picture of taken aback confusion. Eh?

  ‘I don’t want to talk to you any more. Just get everything in place, turn up in your best dress. Oh God, please don’t wear that leopard-print monstrosity. Animal prints were so last season; you’re lucky I can guide you like this. I’ll see you then. I’m trusting you, Marion, trusting you.’ And with that she performed what Marion was beginning to think was her most perfectly honed skill and hung up on the call.

  Oh, well that was alright then. None of Marion’s perfectly reasonable questions answered but her professionalism and wardrobe harshly judged. Great, just great.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Marion was standing staring at her phone in disbelief when she heard the slamming of car doors. She moved over to the window to peek out and see if it was her boys returned home.

  And it was; there they were leaping around the pavement as if they hadn’t just had four days of Cornish beach life tiring them out. Rafe wasn’t leaping quite so much, on the phone and no doubt talking to Sophie the minute he got back to Penmenna. Rupert was helping his dad unload their surfboards and Rufus was doing God knows what to the drain cover in the road. But for the moment Marion couldn’t help it as her breath caught in her throat and she looked at all four of her boys together, all of them with their limbs lightly golden from the summer sun, their arms peeking out from the short sleeves of their wetsuits. Their hair was blonder after a few days spent on the beach and freckles on all four had developed, sprinkled across their noses and in Richard’s case all over his face.

  What was she thinking? Why was she creating problems where there should be none? This was what she wanted, this playing out in front of her right now. This family was hers; why would she endanger it? It was all she had ever wanted and now insecurities were making her push it away. With Rafe about to hit his teens she was aware that time was racing by and she needed to grapple back her family, make a decision that took them out of the limbo everyone had been in for the past months.

  Woah! Before she carried on beating herself up, she stopped. Be kind to yourself. You did this because you caught Richard cheating, you were right to do so, this is your heart talking, listen to your head.

  And what does my head say? she asked herself as she walked towards the front door, ready to greet the boys as they flew through it. My head says talk to my husband, work out a plan and stick to it. This silly shilly-shallying doesn’t fit with who you are. He is him, not his dad and you are you, not your mother. Be brave, be bold. Make your bloody mind up!

  ‘Mum! Mum! Mum! I did it, I stood up, not for long but I did
it! I kept getting knocked over again and again. At one point I thought I was drowning, no two points, twice!’ Marion smiled as she reached out to hug her youngest son to her.

  ‘You almost drowned, twice?!’ she said in a tone that echoed his excitement.

  ‘I did! I did! But Dad says sometimes when everything is battering you down you have to dig deep, take a breath and try again, so that’s what I did. I did it until I did it and I did it!’

  Marion exchanged a quick look with Richard, who was trailing in behind, carrying some surfboards as the boys dragged in their camping trolley rammed full with all the heavy stuff.

  ‘Did you have a good time as well?’ She turned to Rafe and Rupert.

  ‘Yeah, actually it was pretty cool,’ Rafe acknowledged.

  ‘Dad let us stay up until after midnight and the guy who ran the campsite lit a big fire and had a guitar and after our barbecue we went and joined him and sang. It was ace. And then the next night Dad let us go swimming at midnight, with torches in the sea. Although when the sun woke us up at dawn the next day I was tired so we had a lazy morning and do you know bacon tastes so much better on a barbecue and did you know that there is nothing, nothing in the world as sweaty as a tent?’ Rufus was jumping up and down on the spot with excitement as he told of their adventures.

  ‘Rafe’s armpits come a pretty good second,’ Rupert snuck in, but instead of being instantly punched on the arm, Rafe just smiled at him and raised his middle finger to stroke up and down on his face.

  Why children thought their parents couldn’t see that was beyond Marion, but for now she was happy that he had made his protest a non-violent one so she let it slide.

  ‘I’m so glad you all had a good time. Lunch is almost ready so go get out of your wetsuits, rinse them and hang them up. Rafe you can use mine and your dad’s bathroom and then come and grab some lunch.’

  All the boys stopped to look at her, as if she had said something strange and Richard, on his fourth trip in from the car, flashed her a smile.

  ‘Oh, before that go help your father. He wasn’t put on this earth to be your packhorse. And clear up any sand you drop. And hang your shorties up to dry properly!’

  ‘Neigh!’ was Richard’s contribution.

  ‘Twit.’

  ‘I know, but a happy one.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. Are you a happy one?’

  ‘Yes, it’s been a fab week; it was much more fun teaching them to surf rather than just booting them out of a car for lessons. Rupert is really good, you know.’

  ‘Rupert is really good at everything.’

  ‘True. But it was so nice to see them. I wish I had done this years ago.’

  Marion sniffed when Richard said that. She must stop doing that; she didn’t know why it happened. It was as if her nose wasn’t prepared to let her not pass judgement on irritating stuff even though her brain was trying hard to let things go. But honestly the only things that had ever stopped him from doing it were his own choices.

  ‘We need to talk, though, M.’

  ‘I know, I know.’

  ‘I think things have got so caught up, and misunderstandings have snowballed and… well, we just need to talk it out.’

  ‘I know, I agree. Let’s sort this out, have lunch, get the boys busy and then make time.’

  ‘This afternoon?’

  ‘This afternoon.’ This was going to be fine. She had made it so much worse in her mind. It had to be done; it was like the dentist’s, or giving birth – you kind of just had to accept it was coming and do it.

  The boys soon came back downstairs in fresh clothes, and Marion pulled the lamb to bits, sprinkled some crispy onions and pomegranate on the hummus and grabbed the salads she had prepared earlier out of the fridge. As she looked down she realized she had made a feast. This was not a light lunch; this was an offering to the gods of domestic bliss. Maybe that was more telling than the runaway thoughts that had been dominating her brain. If she were to look at her actions not her thoughts, then her body was still playing out her desires to have everyone back together as one domestic unit.

  So that was her heart and her body in agreement. If she could just convince her mind to slow down, to stop coursing around at 150 miles per hour, then maybe, maybe she could convince her head that this was the right path.

  Richard had, wordlessly as was often his wont, set the table in the garden, and now the boys were ferrying out the huge bowls of food, Rufus pinching bits of cheese off the top of the whipped goat’s cheese and tomato salad. She’d whipped goat’s cheese, for goodness’ sake; what more evidence did she need?

  They all sat outside in the early August sunshine, the smells of Cornwall in the summertime wafting over them. There was a tang in the air of salt and sea, the aroma of pasties freshly baked in the butcher’s jostling for space in the air, the ever-present noise of seagulls circling and the babble of families walking along Fore Street heading to the beach. She loved Penmenna and as she sat with her family in their garden, Darcy causing chaos as he ran around with a half-mauled stuffed toy in his mouth, pleased to have everyone together and outside, her heart felt as full and happy as was possible, her concerns about the coming weekend firmly pushed out as she revelled in this perfect summer day.

  The boys chattered for ages about their time away, wanting to share every last bit of their adventures and making her heart swell – as well as surfing they had been crabbing, although Rafe made everyone put the crabs back as soon as they caught one. They had entered The Lizards’ biggest sandcastle competition and been beaten into second place by a local team but had an honourable mention – ‘Honourable, Mum, you’ve always said that’s all you wanted for us and we got it!’ Rufus exclaimed – and set up their own boules tournament back on the campsite that had enticed all the other campers in and to play.

  Finally sated by storytelling, the majority of the food demolished, they drifted off, leaving her and Richard to pick over the remnants of lunch and exchange shy smiles.

  ‘Lunch was delicious.’

  ‘The sea gives everyone a good appetite. I’m so glad you had such a lovely few days; it’s done the boys good – they’ve come back glowing.’

  ‘And you? How are you? Did it help to have a few days on your own?’

  ‘Kind of. But I’ve been having a hard time getting out of my head. And Angelina is being difficult – I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘Well, that you knew. It’ll be over by this time next week and you’ll have the most phenomenal photos for your social media to help with future bookings. But talk to me, tell me why you’re trying to get out of your head? What’s going on?’ He reached for her hand and instead of snaking her arm back she extended her fingers and entwined them in his.

  ‘I never really understood it before. You hear people say “stop overthinking and get out of your head and just trust” and it’s never made much sense to me. How can you possibly overthink? Isn’t thinking a good thing? But this week I’ve realized that my constant tearing everything apart and examining it in minute detail is hindering me, not helping me, and I guess that’s what people mean.’

  ‘I guess it is.’ He squeezed her hand in a Richard way. An I’m-here-and-I’ve got-you way. She had missed this so much when he had been working away. And had been fighting it ever since he moved back. ‘So, what are you overthinking?’ His tone was curious and she believed he was interested.

  ‘Are you fishing, Mr Marksharp?’

  ‘Fishing?’

  ‘Are you hoping I’ll say it’s you that’s in my head?’

  ‘Would it be so bad?’

  ‘Yes, if it stops me getting on with my work.’

  ‘And is it?’

  ‘It’s certainly playing a part. But if it makes you happy, yes you are taking up an awful lot of space in my brain. I miss having you here, miss having you in my bed.’

  Wow! Where had that come from? She wanted to talk about next weekend, clear up the misunderstandings over their relationship,
not make clumsy passes at him over the garden table!

  ‘So, let’s talk about that. And if I know you, this upcoming thing of Angelina’s is eating you up. You can’t help but be a bit worried. It’s a big thing.’

  ‘Yes. Yes it is. It was bad enough having her as a client, knowing that she will find fault on a whim but then you said that it was a surprise renewal of our vows and now I’m all of a dither.’ Richard smiled; that was one of his phrases that had wormed its way into her everyday vocabulary. ‘No! Don’t smile. How dare you?’ Ooh, she could feel righteous Marion kicking in, her crossness building. ‘How could you? Our relationship is our business, no one else’s. I would never have thought that you would have made such a leap, pushed me so publicly into making a decision…’

  ‘Whoa! Stop. I have nothing to do with Angelina’s party or her plans. I heard about her intention and tried to warn you. At no point would I ever, I hope, force anyone into anything. I think her intentions changed as time went on and this seemed to her to be a good plan once she realized that getting married in a hurry wasn’t going to work for her and Chase. The way I see it, you and I need to talk things through; what Angelina is up to in the background does have an impact but it’s not the key thing. We need to discuss the Claudia situation, we need to discuss what we both want for our future and see if it aligns but at no point have I, would I, force you into a vow renewal thing without telling you. Like the whole cheating mess, I’m put out that you think that I would.’

  Marion sat and listened as he spoke, his voice calm, his words practical. She tried to process. ‘So, hang on, what you’re saying is that you didn’t set this up with Chase and Angelina?’

  ‘Of course not. And as soon as I found out what they were planning, and I believe they had the best intentions, as soon as I found out I told you.’

  ‘Why? Why would they do it?’

  ‘Honestly, I think it is misguided niceness on Angelina’s behalf.’

  ‘Angelina is never nice. She doesn’t know how to be. How she and Matt are related is a mystery.’