There was a second-hand bookshop in one corner, a plant shop in another with produce spread across the yard to great display, making it all very appealing and tempting to a serial buyer of things I don’t need.
Further round the courtyard was a place I had to avoid at all cost, containing fudge and cakes. The smell wafted out and hit our nostrils. We quickly turned to our right and made our way into the shop.
Perusing the shelves I was tempted by so much, but none within budget and nothing I actually needed, so I desisted and removed myself from temptation and we returned to the courtyard.
There was one more corner we had yet to venture into, as that was the location of the cafe. As we made our way over we were greeted with a chalkboard that informed us ‘Cafe Closed’.
“Oh dear,” I said, looking to Ed for guidance.
We agreed to go back to the car park and wait for Dan and Emma and give them the bad news.
When we saw them draw up and park next to us we went over and greeted them. Emma gave me a loving hug and a heartfelt, “Hello. It’s wonderful to see you,” and I genuinely thought she meant it.
We told them about the cafe and decided to drive back to the garden centre in convoy although, in truth, it was an easy journey, right, right, right and then it would be on the left.
The garden centre was of medium size and typical format: a small gift shop, large indoor plant and furniture area and a long cafe that ran across the back. The lights were on in the garden area but the cafe was in darkness except for a few lights in the chiller cabinets.
The manager informed us that there was a power cut. We tried to reason that if there were lights on elsewhere then it was not a power cut, but she insisted and we didn’t want to appear rude.
They couldn’t make any hot food or coffee, but cold food, drinks and strangely tea were available if we wanted.
We took a moment and decided as we were all hungry and time was marching on to order four quiches with salad. Two goat’s cheese and leek, two mushroom and stilton, and four cups of tea. We were surprised the salad cost more than the quiches, but we wanted to talk about the wedding so took some comfy chairs near a window to provide light.
We laughed as Ed remarked that the cafe was becoming more and more like Fawlty Towers, especially when the two mushroom and stilton quiches turned out to be bacon and caramelised onion.
There was a slightly awkward moment, as we were not sure how to proceed. I decided to break the silence. “I’m so sorry that I took so long to reply to your very kind wedding invitation. I really am thrilled that you invited me and I can’t wait. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Ed reached over and held my hand, a silent thank you.
“Me too,” Ed said. “What can I do, what do you need?”
Everyone smiled, and there was a visible relaxation around the small table.
Before we could get into the details our £3.50 quiches and £5 pile of lettuce, tomato and beetroot salad drizzled with French dressing were placed in front of us.
We talked and ate, making conversation stilted at times as questions were posed just after mouths were filled with food. With the wedding so close most arrangements were in place. In truth, I don’t think Dan and Emma needed us to do anything, they just wanted to reconnect with me.
I sat back in my chair and smiled at each of them, with my large cup of coffee nestled in my hands, made possible by the power finally being reconnected, we had taken the opportunity to get more drinks.
The conversation was relaxed. The best man and bridesmaids had been picked and outfits bought. As the wedding was close to Christmas they were going with a warm feel with a mix of whites and deep red.
The venue had been booked whilst I was with them earlier in the year, but now the details had been finalised, the food and drink selected, the wedding dress – no details were given with regard to its look in keeping with tradition – was being adjusted to fit Emma perfectly, the table decorations and seating arrangements all in place.
“It sounds like it’s going to be a fabulous day. I can’t wait. Is there anything I can do?” I asked again, wanting to be a part of the wedding and make myself useful. In a way I wanted to be needed.
“Well,” Emma said a little hesitantly, “we are hoping…” Emma glanced over at Dan for reassurance. “Would you be kind enough to do a reading?” she asked.
“I’d love to,” I gushed my response. “Do you have a specific reading you would like me to do or would you like me to find one?”
Dan looked at his dad. “Dad, we were hoping you might be kind enough to do a reading as well.” Ed nodded his agreement, slightly choked to have been asked.
Emma continued, “Chloe, would you be kind enough to do a religious reading and Ed would you do a non-religious reading? We’re not particularly religious so we don’t have any specific pieces in mind, but the vicar has given us a list of popular ones at weddings or you can pick something you like if you have something in mind.”
Ed and I must have looked like very proud parents, honoured to be given a role at such a wonderful, happy occasion. We both spoke at once. “Yes, yes, I’d love to.” We looked at each other and laughed.
After that the conversation turned to the more mundane: ‘How’s work?’, ‘Have you seen this person or that?’ The only sticky moment was when Ed asked after Clare. It was an innocent question, one asked a million times during get-togethers, but now it felt awkward. We all stiffened a little and Dan gave me a furtive glance. I smiled to reassure him. I had held my breath as Ed uttered the words, but now I realised I was the one that had to make this a natural enquiry again. If I didn’t, none of us would move on, none of us would get back to the happy place we were in the last time we met. And that was something we all needed and wanted.
“She’s good,” Dan said slowly, deliberately. “Mum and Steve have a week away booked before the wedding. Steve is going to be in charge of the ushers at the wedding.” Now the furtive glances were directed at Ed.
“That’s great news.” Ed sounded more jovial than any of us really felt.
“And Clare, does she have a role at the wedding?” I asked, trying to sound interested but hoping I was not going to find myself locked in a room with her preparing flowers or creating table gifts.
Emma and Dan glanced at each other. “Yes, she’s in charge of the bridesmaids. Some are rather young and can be a bit of a handful, so she’ll be keeping them in check and making sure they are in the right place, at the right time, in the right clothes.”
The conversation rumbled on, more relaxed now that the ‘Clare’ situation had been covered without incident.
After we finished the second round of drinks we returned to the National Trust property, purchased tickets for the park and went for a hearty walk to work off lunch.
We were all wrapped in our raincoats, hats and scarves, our feet adorned with sturdy walking boots against the wet and mud hidden beneath the fallen leaves. Dan and Emma held hands and Ed picked up my hand. Despite the age gap we felt very much like we were at the same stage of our relationship. I hoped.
It was a delightful walk through the autumnal parkland: the spider webs suspended between the branches glistening with the raindrops still clinging to the magically strong threads of the web; the deer off in the distance gently grazing on the wet grass, yet alert to movement and potential danger.
Dan, it turned out, was a keen photographer like me and we both stopped on many occasions to snap nature in all its glory.
“Autumn and spring are definitely my favourite seasons,” I said to Ed later as we were driving home.
“Why?” he asked.
“Well, spring is full of hope, of the warm days to come, flowers starting to poke through the soil proving life goes on, that soon the land will be emblazoned in colour. The joy of the tiny, delicate snowdrops, followed by the riotous daffodils
, leading to the pink and white blossom as the months roll on.
“Then of course autumn, could be seen as sad, as everything starts to die back, but there are still warm days and the colours are just stunning. All around are greens, yellows, reds, the vibrant purple of the Michaelmas daisies, grapes fat on the vine, the stove being lit on cold evenings and the promise of Christmas. What’s not to love?”
Ed chuckled next to me as we neared home. “I’ve never really thought about it,” he said. “So why not summer or winter?”
“Well, I love the sun, as you know, but often it can be too hot and it’s miserable being stuck in the office when the sun is blazing outside. The office is stifling. And the winter is the opposite, it’s cold and wet and there is the fear of snow. I loved snow when I was little, as it meant no school and we’d go tobogganing down a nearby hill hoping to be stopped by the scrub and bumps at the bottom of the hill, otherwise you’d bump across the path and over the edge of the bank, landing with a splash in the icy river below. But it’s not the same as an adult, you’re still expected to turn up at work, and driving in the snow scares the heebie-jeebies out of me,” I confessed. “Besides, spring and autumn can’t be my favourites if I like summer and winter as much.”
He couldn’t argue with that logic. “True. And I can help with the driving in snow, we have a test centre where we can simulate all weather conditions. I’ll take you down there if you like?”
I turned in my seat, well, as far as my seatbelt would allow, and smiled at Ed. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have him in my life.
I reached out and touched his arm. “Thank you,” I said. “I’d love that, it would certainly help my confidence.”
We arrived home half an hour later and slumped into the sofa. We chatted about the day, about how well Dan and Emma were, how excited we were about the wedding. We even went online to start looking for appropriate readings for the two of us. We had a light supper and climbed the stairs, falling into deep sleeps just a short while after flopping into bed in each other’s arms.
seventeen.
Time to face my demons
Over the next few weeks we got used to living together. We got used to shift working and seeking out time together to go for dinner, to go for walks, to do the mundane shopping and chores, and to do the extracurricular activities we loved so much.
We also spent time selecting and then practising our readings, either alone or taking it in turn to practise in front of each other.
As time went on I became more and more nervous. Luckily I only knew three people at the wedding, but they were the most important: the bride, the groom, and the most important person – well, to me – Ed. At that point I had not even met the groom’s mother, the infamous Clare, or her husband, Steve.
I doubt Ed was nervous. He was so confident, he projected his voice, speaking slowly and clearly, and he certainly never said anything about how he was feeling. But then neither did I.
We spoke to Dan regularly, confirming our readings so they could be printed in the order of service.
It was such a happy time in my life. We had a wedding and Christmas, our first Christmas together, to look forward to.
We went to work, we did what we had to do and we came home to be with each other.
The next weekend that Ed had off work we popped into our nearest city to shop for outfits for the wedding.
I had the foresight and respect to check with the bride’s mother, Ruth, as well as Clare, what designer and colour they were wearing to ensure we didn’t wear the same clothes. Not that it was likely, they were both tall, slim and elegant. I was not, but it was the courteous thing to do.
I already knew Emma’s colour scheme. She was going down the traditional route and wearing white, and her bridesmaids were wearing a mix of white and a deep velvet red.
Ed was easy to attire. We hired a traditional morning suit. He looked so handsome, I physically swooned when he stepped out of the dressing room all dolled up. I could feel myself getting hot. I had to fan myself with a handy brochure I found on the small table next to where I was sitting.
On the other hand finding something for me took a lot longer. I wanted to look nice, but it’s very bad form to outshine the wedding party. Not that I could. Right then all I wanted to do was find something pretty, to make Ed proud to have me on his arm and introduce me as his girlfriend.
We trawled the shops, trying lots of dresses, separates, jackets, but nothing was right and Ed was clearly getting bored. Who could blame him, so was I, so we called it a day and I decided to return the next weekend while Ed was at work, and shop until I had an outfit in hand.
On Thursday, while I was at work, Ed moved in officially. He loaded his furniture into a van and took it to a storage unit, continuing to my little home with clothes, personal items and knick-knacks. It was not much, but when I arrived home I was both excited that he had finally moved in, but a little surprised to be met by a wall of boxes in my cosy front room and a hot and sweaty Ed.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said as he saw me come in and no doubt read my slightly perplexed expression. “It’s taken me longer than I had thought. I’d been hoping to get it all put away before you got home.”
“That’s okay,” I reassured him, walking across the room and planting a big kiss on his lips. His arms wrapped around me and I could feel him physically relax.
“How was your day?” he asked, genuinely interested. It was so, so wonderful to have someone to greet me when I got home, but more than that it was so amazing to have someone who cared enough to ask. It sounds like a triviality, but I had had men in my life that seemed to take no interest in me, my work, my health – mental or physical. They only cared about their own problems, expecting me to be there for them at all times, always offering them help and support. It always surprised me how divorced they could be from me and from having the same care for me.
I looked longingly into Ed’s eyes and replied, “It was okay, I’ve managed to set up a meeting with a national journalist who I’ve been chasing for some time, which is great. But the best part of today has been coming home to you.”
I smiled and continued, “This can wait.” I nodded my head towards the pile of boxes, picked up his hand and led him to the stairs.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and trotted up the stairs behind me. For a second it occurred to me that the bedroom could be in disarray with clothes everywhere as part of the unpacking process, but luckily as I led Ed through the door the bed was clear and pristine. Not for long though.
We had a light supper and curled up on the sofa to watch TV. I was always sensible on a work night and although Ed was not working on Friday I had to go to work. It was going to be hard to leave him in bed in the morning, but I was starting to get used to that.
On Saturday I drove back into the city, fighting the traffic, queuing into the central car park and regretting the decision to drive past the park and ride and not take up the opportunity – both faster and cheaper. But I sat in the traffic and eventually got myself parked.
Another day of pounding the streets, I had resigned myself to a day lost in dressing, undressing, redressing as I tried on one outfit after another.
In each shop I piled up the clothes on my arm and marched into the changing room to try all manner of combinations, only to be disappointed and increasingly dejected.
As I was beginning to give up hope I chanced upon an independent shop whilst making my way from one high street name to another. Not designer, I couldn’t afford designer and would never spend that much on an outfit for one day, however important that day was.
The shop window was a riot of autumnal colours and it made me stop in my tracks and gaze in wonderment at the display.
I could see some gorgeous clothes inside and looked up at the name of the shop. It didn’t give anything away. I had no idea if they had clothes in my size or if I could
afford them even if they did.
This could be very uncomfortable, I thought as I opened the door with trepidation. I feared I might be confronted by a plethora of beautifully turned out shop staff, with perfect makeup masking flawless skin, looking a little bewildered as to why I would think this shop would have anything that would fit me.
I shook the idea from my mind and mustered all the courage I could. Head held high I entered the clothes emporium.
Inside there was a lovely, sweet smell of perfume. I drew in a sharp breath of air as the inside of the shop assaulted my senses. As well as the glorious, heady smell, there was colour everywhere. The walls and racks were filled with every colour imaginable. Large ornate silver-gilt-framed mirrors broke up the racks but reflected back more colour. Large chandeliers hung overhead, throwing twinkling light around the shop, picking up the silver mirrors and sparkling sequinned tops.
It was the most magical shop I had ever been in. How have I never seen this shop before? I thought as I slowly progressed further into the shop, my hand trailing through the clothes picking up velvets, silks and cottons as I passed, mesmerised.
I was a little taken aback when the shop manager suddenly appeared in front of me. She had an unassuming face lightly touched by subtle makeup. She carried herself with an air of confidence that was infectious. She had plump cheeks and an engaging smile. Her long hair was pulled back from her face by an intricate silver band. A few strands had been allowed to fall free, both softening the look and veering her away from looking austere. She was wearing a fitted, floral dress that was incredibly flattering and gave me the confidence that this was the woman who could help me find the perfect outfit.
“Can I help you, my dear?” she asked.
“Oh, I do hope so,” I said with relief. “I’m going to my boyfriend’s son’s wedding and I need an outfit. I know the colours that the bridesmaids, the bride’s mother and the groom’s mother are wearing. I need something that looks good, but not be showy, I need something that works well both day and night, and…” The words had gushed forth and I found myself just staring at this kindly looking lady, pleading with my eyes for help.
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