‘To match her beautiful blue eyes,’ Sam had informed everybody in his speech.
So how had it all gone wrong?
I banged the toilet door shut. Rammed the bolt home. Ripping off a stream of toilet paper, I blew my nose noisily. Not now Cathy. Don’t get emotional. Not on their big day. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself. I wiped my eyes. Took some deep breaths.
It had been me who’d broken off the engagement and subsequently cancelled the wedding. Cold feet. That’s what my father had called it.
‘Everybody doubts at some point lass,’ he’d put an arm around me. ‘Pre-wedding nerves.’
‘I don’t know Dad,’ I’d stared at him miserably. ‘It’s just,’ I’d hesitated, ‘it doesn’t feel–’
‘Real?’ he’d gripped me to him in a bear hug and laughed. ‘That’s normal Cathy. All the feelings – confusion, doubt, fear – it’s all part and parcel of it. And these feelings come hot on the heels of the first lot of emotions. The euphoric ones. You temporarily plunge into a pool of doubt. I promise it will pass.’
‘No Dad. I don’t think it will. I was going to say,’ I hung my head, ‘that marrying Sam doesn’t feel right.’
‘Not right? How do you mean love?’
‘Exactly that,’ I’d looked back up at my father. ‘Not right.’
Dad had sucked in his breath, clearly shaken. He’d been looking forward to Sam being his son-in-law. He’d adored him. Both my parents had. ‘Don’t you love him Cathy?’
‘Yes! Yes I do love him. But not in the right way. I love him like–’
‘A brother,’ Dad had finished my sentence.
‘Like a brother,’ I’d nodded sadly.
And women don’t marry their brothers.
‘You’d best tell him love,’ Dad had said quietly. ‘And quickly.’
Sam had been devastated. Cried. And I’d cried with him. For lost hopes and broken dreams. For hurting him so badly. I couldn’t bear to see such distress. I’d slipped the engagement ring from my finger and held it out to him. Sam had looked horrified.
‘No Cathy. I don’t want it. I can’t bear to look at it.’
‘But it was expensive,’ I’d sniffed, ‘I don’t want you out of pocket.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he’d wiped a hand across his eyes, ‘keep it.’
I hadn’t seen him for a couple of weeks after that. I’d told Jules, between sobs and shrieks, all about it. She’d been aghast. And then I hadn’t seen her for a bit either. Around me life went on. Although mine had dimmed. Like a television with the sound turned down. And then I heard the gossip. How Jules had sought out Sam. Tentatively taken his hand. Squeezed it gently. Looked at him with hope. And love. Real love. And Sam had responded. So much so, they’d embarked on a whirlwind romance. Sam had whisked Jules off to Paris. At the top of the Eiffel Tower he’d gone down on one knee. Jules had said yes and Sam had been delighted. Lit up like a Christmas tree apparently. That was what had hurt the most. How quickly I’d been forgotten. A dented ego. Not something to be proud of really.
I scrunched up the tissue and tossed it down the toilet. Of one thing I was absolutely sure. I loved Jules and Sam. Loved them with all my heart. And I wanted them to be happy. I sighed. It would just be so nice to meet my own Mr Right. And not be seated at the singles table. Or dancing with Dynamite Derek. Or watching wine being chucked everywhere by Hairpiece Harold.
Unlocking the loo door, I went over to the washbasins and soaped my hands. Looking up at the mirror, I contemplated my reflection. More lipstick. I applied a shimmering layer of Passion – the only passion in my life at the moment. I tossed the lipstick back into my bag. Enough. Time to go home. I’d say my farewells, hug Jules and Sam and then slip away.
Exiting the powder room, I cannoned straight into a broad chest.
‘I do beg your pardon,’ said a deep voice. A pair of strong arms steadied me.
My stomach flipped as I gazed up into a pair of cool grey eyes.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I apologised. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
Disco music filtered down the corridor. Suddenly the record changed. The opening bars of Love Is All Around filled the air.
‘My name’s Luke.’
Luke. The name echoed around my brain. Lovely Luke. So much better than Dynamite Derek and Hairpiece Harold.
‘Cathy,’ I replied.
‘What a beautiful name. Very Wuthering Heights. Well Cathy. Would you like to dance?’
Like I said earlier, as weddings went this one had been perfect...
SHOCK
Sophie stared at the pregnancy test. She was holding her breath. Never in a million years had she envisaged she’d be holed up, on this glorious Sunday morning, in Aiden’s swanky bachelor bathroom peeing on a plastic stick. An involuntary tremor ran through her hand and the stick nearly jerked out of her fingers. Nerves. Had to be. She tried to calm the fluttering in her stomach. Outside the bathroom, a floorboard creaked.
‘Darling?’ Aiden tapped on the door. ‘Fancy a day out? I was thinking of picturesque parks.’
Sophie’s eyes widened as she took in the twin blue bars. She opened her mouth to speak but only a squawk came out.
‘What was that?’ Aiden called.
Sophie coughed. Her throat was as dry as the Gobi Desert. ‘Lovely,’ she croaked.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Just a minute.’
Pushing the stick roughly into its box, she shoved everything into the depths of her wash bag. Flushing the loo, she quickly rinsed her hands before unlocking the bathroom door.
‘Come here you gorgeous creature.’ Aiden’s arms encircled her waist. ‘It must be at least ten minutes since I last kissed you.’ He grinned disarmingly and Sophie’s knees almost gave way. In normal circumstances she would have told herself this swoon effect was simply Aiden’s devastating good looks playing havoc with her hormones. Now she suspected her rubber legs were due to the shocking realisation that very different things were going on with her hormones. ‘I love you Miss Gray.’ Aiden’s warm mouth came down on hers.
Sophie closed her eyes. For a moment she was lost in the kiss. And then a little voice spoke in her head. Exactly how much longer was Aiden going to love her when she told him she was pregnant? They’d only known each other five minutes. Well, ten weeks to be precise. Theirs had been a full on, passionate, mind blowingly intense romance. They didn’t live together – they hadn’t even met each other’s parents!
Aiden was the first to break apart. ‘What about a visit to Eltham Palace?’
‘There’s a palace in Eltham?’ Sophie asked. A part of her marvelled at making normal conversation when her world had just rocked on its axis. ‘You mean I’ve lived in Sensible Sidcup all my life not knowing a palace is on my doorstep?’
‘Yep. I used to go there regularly when I was a kid with my folks. We spent some very happy days there. I want to share it with you. Also,’ Aiden hesitated, ‘there’s something I need to tell you.’
Sophie swallowed. ‘There’s something I need to tell you too.’
An hour later, Sophie had almost forgotten her troubles as she strolled hand in hand with Aiden through spectacular gardens. One could be forgiven for thinking this was rolling countryside, not an area of South East London. Majestic trees soared around her, their leafy branches waving in the warm breeze. A squirrel frolicked on the grass, its tail moving in squiggly arches. Ahead was a magnificent building.
‘The palace was the childhood home of Henry VIII,’ said Aiden shielding his eyes against the sun. ‘But what you see straight ahead is pure 1930’s Art Deco indulgence.’
The couple strolled on, eventually crossing a moat smothered in water lilies and full of gold carp. For a moment Sophie was lost in her surroundings, a tranquil oasis where problems shrank to dots. She was aware that Aiden had stopped walking. Glancing up at him, she saw his face was a mask. Sophie’s stomach flipped. Oh God. He must have somehow found out!
�
��A-Aiden,’ she stammered, ‘I have something to tell you.’
‘Yes, you said earlier.’ Aiden’s face was grim. ‘And I have something to tell you too. Can I go first?’
Sophie gulped. This was it. A polite speech extricating himself. Offering to pay for an abortion. Her eyes brimmed. She was surprised to see Aiden welling up too.
‘Darling Sophie. I brought you here to tell you – well ask you actually – if you,’ he took her hands in his, ‘if you would do me the honour of being my wife. Will you marry me?’ Sophie gazed at Aiden, speechless. ‘I’ve loved you from the moment we first met,’ Aiden continued. ‘Please say something. Put me out of my misery.’
‘I’m pregnant,’ she blurted.
For a moment Aiden looked stunned. Then his face split into a broad grin. ‘But that’s fantastic!’
‘Really? You don’t feel cross? Trapped?’
‘Trapped? I’ve just asked you to be my wife! Which reminds me, you’ve not given me an answer.’
Sophie gave a shaky laugh. ‘Yes!’ she cried, ‘yes, yes, YES!’
‘Come on,’ Aiden put a hand on her flat tummy. ‘Let me show you and our baby the elegant interior. It’s the perfect place to get married....’
REBIRTH
Jade drove aimlessly. She’d been driving for a couple of hours now, but only around local towns and villages. Her mind was in turmoil. Six months ago she’d been devastated by the stillbirth of her baby boy, so much so that she’d spiralled into deep depression. Oh there were support groups out there, and GPs with happy pills, and family members who patted you on the shoulder and said well-meaning things like, ‘Make another baby. Do it quickly, it will be healing.’ But to make another baby, you needed a man. Preferably your husband. And Ryan – locked in his own world of grief and misery – simply wasn’t up for making love to her, never mind making another baby.
Their marriage had limped along, the husband and wife doing things on auto-pilot, living together but separately. It had been a shock to discover Ryan was seeking solace in another woman’s arms. This afternoon Jade had come home from work early and unexpectedly. A migraine had been threatening. All Jade had wanted to do was draw the bedroom curtains, fling back the duvet, and crawl into bed. But Ryan had beaten her to it. Except by his side had been a butt naked woman. Her sister no less! First loss, then betrayal. And of the worst kind. Jade gripped the steering wheel hard and smiled grimly. At least the shock had killed the migraine.
And now, here she was bouncing the car along a pot-holed track near the local river. Nobody appeared to be around. Good.
Jade pulled over. She killed the engine and for a moment just stared through the dirty windscreen. What had her life come to? A lost child, a shattered marriage and a treacherous sister. Was there anything left to live for?
Abandoning the car, Jade walked to the water’s edge. Kneeling on the grassy riverbank, she stared into the murky depths and seriously thought about ending it all. Suddenly a sound distracted her. The delicious gurgling laughter of a baby. Startled, Jade looked around. There was no child to see. But there was a man. He was standing on the opposite side of the river, looking at Jade with concern. Suddenly something shifted deep in Jade’s soul. A sense of...she couldn’t put her finger on the elusive feeling...but it was akin to déjà vu. And along with the strange sensation came a sense of despair being lifted from her shoulders.
A beam of sunlight cut through some overhead leafy branches, and somehow...just somehow...Jade experienced an awareness of light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. Relishing the feeling, she knelt down at the water’s edge. With a sweeping motion of her hand she sent a wave of water spraying upwards and outwards, and for the first time in months she smiled. The man, still watching, smiled back.
Two years later...
Jade was no longer married to Ryan. But she did have a very nice live-in lover - the man she'd met at the river. Together they had a beautiful baby daughter, whose laugh was exactly like that of the unseen child she'd heard at the water's edge.
SURPRISE
September 24th
Heather followed the estate agent along the overgrown pathway. She was viewing a tiny semi-detached cottage called Folly’s Retreat in the middle of nowhere. The name had grabbed her. More than anything she wanted – no needed – a retreat.
‘Are you all right?’ the estate agent asked. ‘Sorry about these nettles. Watch your legs.’
‘I’m fine,’ Heather lied. Several of the wretched things had caught her bare legs. She should have worn jeans. But the current Indian summer was blissful. And you had to grab a bit of bliss wherever you could, even if nettles made it short-lived.
‘There!’ said the estate agent as he shouldered open the door.
Heather stepped into the front room. It instantly captivated her. She imagined its wood stove burning away in winter, spreading warmth, thawing the frost in her heart. The room led into a typical country kitchen with quarry tiled floor and cooking range. Upstairs were two tiny bedrooms and a bathroom not much bigger than a cupboard. Heather regarded the bucket shaped bathtub with a mixture of delight and astonishment.
‘It’s enchanting.’
‘Full of character and charm,’ the estate agent nodded.
Heather’s husband wouldn’t have agreed. Correction. Ex-husband. But Mark’s opinion no longer mattered. He’d upped and left. Moved in with a woman he’d known all of six weeks.
‘I’d like to make an offer.’
‘Let’s go back to the office. I’ll telephone the solicitor handling the estate for the beneficiaries.’
When Heather emerged into the sunshine, an old boy was weeding next door’s front garden.
‘Hello,’ he looked up from his task. ‘Are you going to be my new neighbour?’
‘I certainly hope so. I’m Heather. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Wilfred,’ the old boy replied. He rocked back on his heels. ‘You look like a nice lass. Maud would be pleased to see young blood moving into her place.’
‘Were you neighbours for long?’
‘Ten years.’ Wilfred hauled himself upright. ‘I wanted to marry her. But Maud wouldn’t have me. Said we were too old for romance. Silly girl.’
Heather smiled at the reference to girl. She happened to know the deceased had been eighty-eight years old.
Wilfred looked at her. ‘I knew Maud was right for me. I felt it here,’ he touched his heart. ‘Sometimes you can wait your whole life for that one special love. But I’ll see her again. And then it will be a marriage made in heaven.’
For a moment Heather’s eyes misted and she was at a loss for words. She was twenty-nine years old but these days felt one hundred. ‘Take care,’ she finally said. ‘I’ll see you when I move in.’
December 24th
Heather unpacked the last box. There hadn’t been much. It had been a nightmare moving on Christmas Eve. Only one removal firm had been prepared to do it.
Unlike three months previously Folly’s Retreat was now cold, damp and bleak. Never had Heather felt so alone. And then she thought of Wilfred next door. Poor old boy missing his Maud. She wondered if he’d be on his own tomorrow. Like her. Heather heaved a sigh. She’d go and say hello. Ask him in for a cup of tea and a mince pie. In fact she’d do it right now.
But Wilfred didn’t open the door to Heather. Instead a guy about her own age greeted her.
‘I was going to pop round later,’ he said, ‘and say hello. Thought I’d let you get sorted out first. I’m Will.’
‘Hello Will,’ Heather shook his hand, ‘I’m Heather. I was going to ask Wilfred if he’d like to join me for a cup of tea and mince pie. I wasn’t sure if he was on his own,’ Heather said apologetically.
There was a pause. ‘I’m afraid Wilfred’s not here.’
‘Well, perhaps when he’s back. You’re very welcome too. Unless,’ she paused, ‘you have other arrangements?’
‘Um, Wilfred...my great-uncle...he died. Last month. I’ve inherited the cot
tage. I’ve not long since moved in myself.’
‘Oh,’ Heather was completely taken aback. ‘Oh God. I’m so sorry. He told me,’ she swallowed, ‘about the lady who used to live in my place...Maud and...gosh, how sad.’
Will smiled. ‘Uncle Wilfred was very old. It wasn’t totally unexpected. And yes, he was always talking about Maud. At least he’s with her now.’
‘Yes,’ Heather gave a watery smile. ‘Well, I won’t keep you.’ She made to turn away.
‘Heather?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m still up for that mince pie if you are.’
Heather stood for a moment and stared at Will. She had a strange feeling, but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Unexpectedly she had a memory of Wilfred touching his heart. And suddenly she knew Christmas at Folly’s Retreat wasn’t going to be lonely after all.
PREJUDICE
It started with a kiss. Not one of those chaste pecks on the cheek. No, I’m talking about real puckering up and lip locking. Which goes on and on. And then the pair of you pulling apart, eyes wide with surprise because – hang on – did that really just happen?
The year was 1940. Men and women didn’t make out unless married. And certainly not in public.
‘Disgusting!’ A shrill voice floated on the summer breeze. ‘I’ll be telling your father about you Jennifer Butters.’
I stared in dismay at Miss Bellamy, the local busybody. She had paused on her bicycle at the edge of the field where Benjamin and I were picnicking. To be caught kissing was bad. To be caught kissing a black man was outrageous. Miss Bellamy stuck her nose in the air and peddled off.
I first met Benjamin when he came to England from Trinidad as part of the American Forces. In the forties there were hardly any black people in England. We were at the same college – me having typing lessons and Benjamin being trained by the Air Force. We’d bumped into each other. Literally. He’d apologised, and then we’d started chatting. Friendship blossomed.
Mixed Emotions Page 4