Loves Lost and Found

by E V Radwinter

  When Mary returned to us she apologised and explained, “We have a wedding this afternoon and there has just been a delivery I need to take care of. My colleague Sarah,” she indicated the young lady next to her, “will give you the tour if that is okay with you? Obviously we’ll need to show you around before the wedding guests start to arrive. Sarah will arrange for some refreshments once you have finished and I can come and talk you through the packages available. But don’t worry, the packages are simply starting points from which we tailor the plans to exactly what you would like.” She took our smiles as agreement, turned on her polished, sturdy high-heeled shoes and was gone.

  Sarah did a great job in Mary’s absence, starting by leading us through a massive Victorian orangery, hot on a day like this and filled with aromatic plants and flowers, before she returned us to the airy, cool entrance hall, through the heavy oak doors which led into the former ballroom which is where the wedding would actually take place. It was a great opportunity to see the venue all set up ready for the wedding that afternoon. The chairs were lined up in perfect union, all expectant for the events soon to unfurl, the end of every other row adorned with sprays of white flowers. Sarah explained that whilst the guests had drinks and canapés in the adjoining room and the bride and groom had photos taken in the grounds, this room would be re-set for the wedding breakfast, the large circular tables set around the dance floor that would be revealed from under its carpeted hiding place after the meal. The DJ was already set up, discreetly hidden from the congregation behind an elegant screen that matched the decoration of the room.

  Through another set of heavy, wide oak doors set halfway down the interior wall we were shown where the refreshments would be served. From there Sarah took us to see a selection of the bedrooms and suites available, although not, obviously, the honeymoon suite, as the bride was already in occupation.

  As we took the tour, Emma and Dan hand in hand, mirrored by Ed and me, my mind wandered and a dark cloud crossed my mind as I remembered the only time in my life when I had been the bride-to-be, visiting different venues with my fiancé and family in tow. In our case we had decided on a marquee in my parents’ garden, having failed to find a suitable hotel or venue nearby. Most were too commercial with several weddings each day, which made us feel anything but special, despite their reassurance that each wedding was kept separate and had its own team. It felt like a profit-making production line, the opposite of how Astley Manor was making us feel, even though we were not the betrothed. If Astley Manor had been an option I’m sure we would have jumped at the chance to be married in this paradise. Not that that would have made a difference to the outcome.

  As it turned out all the arrangements – dresses, tiaras, church, catering, marquee, chairs, cars, luxury toilets, band, string quartet – all got cancelled, minus the cancellation fees, three months before the wedding when Fred 2 had changed his mind and decided he could not, or would not, go through with it.

  It was ironic really. He had been the first to say ‘I love you’, catching me by surprise while we were out one night. He was the one that started calling me a pet name – my initials but the first letter of his surname rather than my own. He was the one that called my father while my parents were away on holiday and asked for my hand in marriage. He was the one that took me away for a romantic break and got down on one knee to propose. But none of that mattered in the end. I had been in London with my bridesmaids picking out shoes and when I couldn’t get hold of Fred 2 on the phone, somehow, I just knew that something was wrong, very wrong, and headed home. He didn’t come back that night. He didn’t come back the next day. Finally, on the Monday morning he breezed in to shower and get ready for work, pausing only long enough to tell me it was over, and then he breezed back out as if he had just told me he didn’t have time for a cup of tea before work.

  Best diet I had ever been on. I lost a stone that first week. I fled back home to the bosom of my family. I didn’t eat. I did cry. At the end of the week I was strong enough to face my future alone.

  I called the flat and told Fred 2 to get out. I was on my way back and didn’t want to find him there when I arrived. He was shocked. “Where am I to go?” he asked in disbelief.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” I replied honestly. “You’ve made your bed, now deal with it.”

  I returned to an empty flat.

  The thought of Fred 2 was a stark reminder that love is a fickle and dangerous game and one that, suddenly, I was not sure I wanted to get entangled in again. The pain was too great.

  Back to the present

  I must have slowed down or tensed up. I stopped to find Ed looking at me, concerned. Sarah, Dan and Emma had walked on and stopped some way up the corridor, a discreet distance ahead and were quietly engaged in conversation.

  “Are you okay?” Ed asked quietly, putting his hand on my cheek. “You’ve gone very pale.”

  “Sorry, my thoughts were elsewhere. I’m good now, let’s catch up with the others.” Clearly I didn’t sound convincing. Ed moved his hand from my cheek to my arm to restrain me.

  “You looked scared for a moment, is there anything you want to tell me?” He sounded very much the cop. I really didn’t want to share my thoughts on what should be a happy day, and I was not up for being interrogated.

  “No, no, honestly I’m fine,” I said, mustering every ounce of happiness and confidence I could. “I’m sorry to have worried you. I really am okay.” I smiled and bumped his arm with my shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

  “Okay,” Ed responded, clearly not convinced, but he removed his hand and we caught up with the others.

  I’ll have to tell him sometime. But today is definitely not the day, I mused as we made our way back outside.

  The tour complete, Sarah returned us to our table on the sun-drenched terrace and went to arrange refreshments. Despite having only finished lunch less than an hour previously a waiter was soon unloading a large silver tray – a pot of tea, pot of coffee, milk, biscuits and petite cakes. We tucked into the drinks, and the boys popped a cake each, explaining it would be rude not to, and confirming they were delicious.

  We were enthusiastically discussing how perfect the location was when Mary reappeared at the table, her arms folded around her leather case and two glossy brochures. One she handed to Dan and Emma, the other to Ed and me.

  Ed and I politely flicked through the brochure and accompanying eye-watering price list. Luckily the bulk of the cost would be picked up by Emma’s parents. I didn’t know their financial situation, but given how relaxed Emma and Dan appeared to be as they were studying the details, I would say that it wouldn’t be a problem.

  Emma looked up. “Mary, this is all great. Dan and I have some ideas of what we are looking for but will need to discuss everything with my parents before we can confirm the details.”

  “Of course, of course,” Mary said. “Well, how about I leave these with you? Here’s my card, just give me a call when you’re ready to make plans and I can provide an initial estimate. The date is confirmed.” Mary handed over her card, thanked us for our time and returned to focus on that afternoon’s wedding.

  I looked at Dan and Emma. Watching this young couple so very much in love, I banished the ghosts that had haunted me earlier in the afternoon. I no longer had to pretend, I was back on cloud nine.

  The afternoon was whiled away in the glorious setting. No dark clouds bothered the horizon, either in reality or metaphorically, and finally we needed to drag ourselves away from this paradise.

  Originally the plan had been to go on and meet with Emma’s family and Ed’s ex, but Dan explained that Clare had had to cancel that morning so they were just going to take the brochures over to Emma’s parents and talk about budgets. He didn’t need to say it, we understood that would be a delicate conversation, one at which our presence was neither needed nor wanted.

  Before they heade
d off, Ed pulled Dan to one side. He told me on our journey home that he had offered to pick up the bill for any of the extras. As his only child he wanted to ensure they were able to have everything they wanted, but didn’t want to step on toes. He didn’t want to offend Emma’s parents so left it with Dan.

  Having waved off the happy couple from the now packed car park, Ed turned in and kissed me passionately. I smiled at him. “Thank you,” he said, much to my surprise.

  “What for?” I asked.

  “For today. They loved you, as I knew they would. I really appreciated having you by my side.” He looked at me hesitantly and then continued, slowly and measured, “At some point we should talk about where you were when we were on the tour but now, I think, is not the time. You know you can trust me, you can tell me anything.”

  I assured him I knew and that one day we would talk about it. We climbed into the car and made our way back to his home.

  eight.

  One step forward, two back

  “I have some good news and some bad news,” Ed confessed over a leisurely breakfast the next day.

  “Oh, I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” I teased. “Give me the bad news first.”

  “Well, as you know I’ve seen you every weekend since we met, or re-met, and I should have been on shift for some of them, so I’m going to have to work the next three weekends. I could come down during the week if you are okay with me hanging around yours while you’re at work?” he asked.

  “I’d love that,” I said eagerly, relieved I was not going to have to endure four weeks without seeing him, “if you’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “No,” he said. “I need to start thinking about where to live when I move down and it will give me a chance to set up appointments to view a few places.”

  I desperately wanted to shout, “No, no, live with me,” but hindsight has taught me well and moving in too quickly could sound the death knell of even the strongest relationship. If Ed had been hoping I might make the offer he didn’t let it show. Maybe relieved that I had not, he continued, “And would you like the good news?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I think it’s good news and I hope you do too,” he said coyly. “I’ve got a week off next month. I’d already booked to go to the Le Mans Classic 24-Hour race with a group of friends and I was wondering if you’d like to join us? I’d only need to sort out a ferry ticket, the rest is already sorted. It’s camping I’m afraid, I’m not sure how you feel about that, or if motor racing, or indeed classic cars, are your thing?”

  I paused, it was a lot to take in, and in truth there was little I hated more than camping, especially in July, in France, which would be super-hot, trudging to a toilet across a dark, badly lit campsite, queueing for the shower, having to keep food cold in order to cook it. Hmm, I weighed up the options. A holiday with Ed, yes. A holiday with a group of people I didn’t know, maybe. A camping holiday, preferably not. All that raced through my mind, but instead of saying any of this I heard myself say, “That sounds great, what are the dates? I’ll need to check with work but I’d love to go.”

  Arrrggghhh, I screamed in my head. What am I doing? The things we do for love. There, the ‘L’ word again. Focus on the conversation, I told myself as I realised Ed was now talking animatedly about his previous trips and how legendary they were. I tuned back in at the important bit.

  “I say camping, but it’s more like glamping. We tried the general camping once and it was carnage so we go private camping now. They pre-erect the tent so we only need to take bedding and it saves on the hassle of putting up a tent in ninety-degree heat. The site is fenced off from the rest of the campsites and has a security team checking everyone that tries to enter. There is a marquee with a bar and restaurant, private showers and toilets which are cleaned round the clock and the best thing is it’s right on the race track on the inside of the famous Porsche curves. Have you seen the race, the twenty-four-hour version?” Ed finally stopped to draw breath as I told him I knew of it and had caught parts of it from time to time, but was not that familiar with the race or the track.

  Ed motored on, “Well, the classic race is like the twenty-four-hour one, but that runs every year and is one race that lasts for twenty-four hours. The classic runs every other year and is a series of races that run over twenty-four hours – the classic cars just couldn’t last the distance, literally.”

  Ed clearly loved the race and I let him ramble on with his reminiscing, nodding at appropriate points, enjoying seeing him so excited, so animated and clearly thrilled that this year I would be joining him on the biennial pilgrimage to the classic.

  “You’ll love the guys,” he said, at which point it occurred to me that there had been a lot of references to ‘the guys’, but not so much about ‘the girls’.

  “So,” I asked, “how many wives, girlfriends, that is to say, women, are there in the group?”

  Ed paused for a second, looking a little sheepish. “Girls,” he repeated, “um, well, none, well, not usually, but the guys are all really up for you coming with us and are really looking forward to meeting you. I’ve told them all about you.”

  Whilst reassured and happy that Ed had told his friends of my existence I was still a little worried. “I’m not crashing a lads’ holiday, am I?”

  “No, not at all, we’re too old for those sorts of holidays. Most of the partners aren’t interested in cars, or racing, or camping, or any combination of the above, so we’ve just been lads on tour, but we’d all love you to join us. That won’t be a problem for you, will it?”

  “No, of course not, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t intruding.”

  “Of course not,” he reassured me. “I wouldn’t have invited you if I, well, all of us, didn’t want you there.”

  Ed gave me a little more background on the race and famous drivers taking part that I might know. I didn’t. However, I decided I had better do some homework ahead of the holiday. I really didn’t want to let Ed down.

  *

  The weather had been glorious for weeks – warm sunshine and cooling breezes making for perfect weather – but the last few days had been unbearable. The winds had died and the temperature had built and built. Now it was oppressive, breathing became harder, movement became slower. It was like walking through cotton wool. There was no let-up and no escape bar the air conditioning in the car or large shops. Every day the news reported, “Hottest day since…” The old and the young were suffering, wild fires were breaking out across Europe and lives were being lost.

  We all started praying for rain, blessed relieving, cooling rain, and that afternoon it came. It was like Armageddon. The clouds had been rolling in for hours making the air yet more dense and stifling; the hot winds and menacing dark grey clouds tinged with orange where you could see the edges. Then it came, in a flash of lightning and booming, reverberating thunder that you could feel tremble through your body.

  Ed and I were sitting in the garden. We had been watching it roll in, fascinated but terrified. We looked to the heavens as huge drops of water slowly, then with increasing fervour, fell hard onto the patio, the sound of the rain growing. It was exhilarating and awoke some carnal desire in us. We were holding each other huddled under the large umbrella, but our feet and legs were getting drenched. We were relieved that the storm would finally clear and clean the air.

  The smell of the water reawakening the parched earth was a smack to the senses, the taste of iron in our mouths. The water, unable to sink into the tightly packed soil, now ran down onto the patio and pooled around our feet.

  The rain became harder as the water was replaced by hail and at that point we decided we could no longer stay out, enjoying our childish reverie, and made the short dash to the protection of Ed’s home. We stopped just inside the wide-open door and stared out at the mesmerising storm. Unable to take our eyes off it, partly worried that the
garden would flood with the intensity of the deluge but excited by the very danger of it, we were fixed to the spot.

  Twenty minutes later the storm eased up and we ventured outside to survey the damage. Chairs had been turned over but there was nothing too dramatic. Parts of the crisp, yellow grass were even showing signs of life, not yet green but a step away from death’s door where they had been just half an hour earlier.

  Looking up, the clouds were still moving at a considerable pace, with more menacing clouds flowing in behind.

  “Well, it looks like it’ll be wet weather games this afternoon.” Ed gave me a cheeky smile and a wink, picked up my hand and led me back into the house.

  We didn’t emerge from the bedroom for some hours after that, having lain in bed listening to the storm rage around us, feeling cocooned and safe in the house, in each other’s arms.

  By early evening the storm had passed and the sun was out. Small, fluffy white clouds now dotted the sky and a blessed cooling breeze was keeping the temperature closer to the seasonal norm.

  Glad to be out in the glorious evening air we pottered down to Ed’s local pub. It would be a very early start for me on Monday morning to get down to work on time, but I was not ready to go home yet.

  Ed’s local was a small inn tucked between an optician and a dry cleaner and was more like someone’s home than a pub. On the walk there the previous evening the streets had been dry and dusty. These had now been washed clean by the storm. There were stones and twigs gathered around metal drain covers where they had been washed down the street in the deluge before becoming lodged at the entrance to the sewer. We noticed some branches had been blown or snapped by the storm and lay abandoned on the path. Twice we had to move them out of the way to make the pavement clear and safe.

  We found a table in the small courtyard garden at the back of the pub, surrounded by high walls which were adorned with hanging baskets overflowing with brightly coloured flowers. The scent was delicious and heady. We enjoyed a few glasses of wine and a light meal, then took the long way home to make the most of the breeze and the chance to be outside.