Friday 8th December
On the way to Port Giles: Tidemarks and burst bubbles
‘Are you wearing your pyjamas, Gracie?’ As I finally clamber up into the beer-mobile, a few drops of rain are spotting the windscreen. Which is a shame, seeing I was hoping for some sun. But as I turn and grin at the backseat passengers, I can’t help recognising the spangly star top from the other evening.
Rory shrugs. ‘That’s what happens when people refuse to put their clothes on. Unfortunately your helpful serving suggestion blew up into an almighty showdown. It turns out Gracie goes ape-plops if her cucumber arrives in sticks instead of circles.’
I’m screwing up my face. ‘Jeez, I didn’t mean you to give them veggie sticks for breakfast.’ What kind of numbskull would get that so wrong?
‘No worries, we’re here now.’ He stares across as I do up my seatbelt. ‘Holly, have you got white stuff on your face?’
Damn. ‘Probably Poppy’s icing sugar.’ It’s the first thing I think of. I sniff and make a big play of wiping my cheek. ‘All those cupcakes, it gets everywhere. Or toothpaste maybe?’ So long as it hides the red, I don’t give a damn what it looks like.
For some reason he seems to find that funny. Then he drags in a breath and goes all serious again. ‘You need to understand about Gracie. She’s a three-year-old who travels with her own iPad and a whole heap of attitude. She’s like one of those pets that think they have staff not owners. Although I reckon a cat would be more friendly.’
I turn to look at her. ‘If we sing along to some Frozen songs, we’ll soon get you smiling, Gracie.’ However much we’d both rather not be here, I’m not letting the children see that.
As Rory eases the monster truck out of the mews, he’s straight in there. ‘Absolutely not.’ He throws his phone across to me. ‘Find some festive tunes on there and stick them on.’
If he can veto, so can I. ‘Sorry, I’m not doing Christmas this year.’
‘Fine. So what else do you suggest? And don’t even think about girlie love songs.’
I’m wishing I’d taken Poppy up on her offer of Five Tracks to Fight the Fear (It’s only a wedding! Dammit). That was the Spotify list she had to boost her courage, when she was new to the business and bricking it as much as I am. Although flicking through Rory’s playlist is like looking into a teenager’s head. ‘Green Day?’ It slips out because I’m gobsmacked to see it.
Rory grins. ‘Good choice, that’ll do.’
‘It was an exclamation of horror at your taste, not a suggestion.’ I let out a groan. Then put it on anyway in the hope that it’ll shut him up.
As the first few bars fill the car, he’s tapping on the steering wheel. ‘High energy, loud guitars, what’s not to like? Although I can see you might want something more wedding-y, given you’re such a novice. There’s a lot to learn in two days, which is why it’s a great move on Immie’s part to send me along to advise.’
As we roar out of town and take the road to the north, if the twangy rock and the whirr of the wipers wasn’t bad enough, now I’m drowning under the latest rush of Sanderson bullshit. ‘And when exactly did you become the expert on weddings?’
He laughs. ‘Definitely not by getting married, that’s for sure. But I must have been to forty or more in the last few years. When you’re a perennial wedding guest you get to know how the days roll out. Don’t knock it, I could be useful.’
‘You have that many friends?’ Somehow I’ve managed to miss most of the weddings I’ve been invited to. And Nate and Becky are the first of Luc’s friend group to take the plunge since I’ve been around. Which is why I’m clueless.
‘A lot of my friends are in the marrying demographic. And a wine merchant with a brewery is a natural choice for a guest. Who wouldn’t want a crate of personalised Mr and Mrs beer and ten per cent off and sale-or-return on vintage Champagne?’ He pushes back the sleeve of his tartan shirt. ‘When I checked in my diary, I actually went to a wedding at this venue a couple of years back. So if you’re looking for information, I’m your man.’
‘Brilliant.’ Mr Know-it-all strikes again. As I glance into the back for some light relief, Gracie is already busy tapping her iPad and Teddie is kicking his bare foot in time to the music. ‘What are you playing, Gracie?’ I make a mental note to find the baby a pair of socks before we get out of the car.
She looks up for a second. ‘Popping balloons.’
‘Is it fun?’
‘Yep.’ Then as she cuts me off and looks back down straight afterwards, I’m kind of getting how she might be hard to get through to.
Rory clears his throat. ‘So, no Christmas for you, then?’
‘Nope.’ I swallow hard and decide to deal with this before trying Gracie again. More fool me for thinking I’d got away with that one.
He sends me a sideways glance. ‘I can still see you staggering onto the bus at Christmas with your schoolbag covered in battery-operated fairy lights. Wasn’t that your way of remembering Freya?’
Alongside the surprise that his memory’s that clear, it’s lovely to hear someone call Freya by her name when most people seem to have forgotten she was ever here. ‘We always try to make Christmas a special time to celebrate her life. She’d understand why I’m toning it down this time around, though.’
He rubs the steering wheel for a few seconds before he carries on. ‘I heard all about you legging it when you got proposed to last year. Bit insensitive with the timing there, wasn’t he?’
I sigh and decide it’s easier to deal with the second bit than the first. ‘He probably missed the significance.’ Although Luc knew about Freya, it was more that I’d lost my sister a long time ago than something he ever asked me about in depth.
Rory’s frowning as if he can’t believe my last answer. ‘So what was so bad you had to run?’
I suppose the question had to crop up sooner or later. And me breaking out into a sticky sweat isn’t half so bad when I know my cheeks are going to stay one colour. I can’t believe this is what it’s like permanently for most of the rest of the population. As I rub the perspiration off the inside of my shirt collar, I’m praying there isn’t a tidemark on my neck where the concealer runs out and the flushing skin begins. And if it comes as a shock that Rory knows every last detail of my embarrassing romantic past, it’s only a sign of how healthy the damned St Aidan community grapevine is.
Sometimes it’s easier to reply than to resist. ‘Getting proposed to took me by surprise, that’s all.’
He shoots a glance at me. ‘Still a scaredy cat, then? Although I don’t blame you for taking fright. The idea of committing to someone for the rest of my life would make me want to run too. Especially someone who had no idea a Christmas proposal should have been off limits for you.’ This is just how he is. He needles and digs, and pretends he understands when he doesn’t have the first clue.
‘Running was a gut reaction. By the time I warmed to the idea, it was too late.’
He’s chuckling to himself. ‘Poor Holly Pink Cheeks. It sounds like he barely knew you, but it must have been serious if he got around to proposing. So what was he like?’
I stick out my chin. ‘If I wasn’t stuck in the passenger seat, I wouldn’t be doing this.’ And my answer wasn’t meant to bring out the sympathy violins either. I try to think of a way to describe Luc. ‘Good looking, amazing job, fabulous flat, great taste in rings.’ Actually, I have a feeling the ring might have been his dead grandmother’s because, despite the sparkle, it looked ancient rather than new. But the diamonds were very chunky, even if it wasn’t really my first choice of style.
‘Which makes your break for freedom even more astonishing.’ His eyes narrow. ‘Although I’m not hearing anything there about how much he loved you.’
My voice is high because he’s so damned presumptuous. ‘What is this, marriage guidance?’ And if I’m extra jumpy it’s probably because we weren’t ever one of those lovey dovey couples. Luc was more of a matter-of-fact kind of guy. It definitely suited him to have me around to come back to those times he wasn’t away with work, but he wasn’t the sort to go on about it.
His eyebrows close into a frown. ‘It is over, isn’t it? Please tell me you aren’t still aching for the chance to say yes a second time around?’
‘Jeez, Rory, I’d go back to him in a heartbeat, if he asked me, okay? But he’s not going to, and a year down the line I’m completely fine with that.’
There’s more tapping of fingers on the steering wheel, and luckily for all of us, more staring at the road. ‘So fine, you still can’t face anything to do with Christmas? That sounds like you’re definitely over him, then.’ His tone is strangely serious when he might have been jokey. ‘Personally I reckon you should always trust your first instincts. If you ask me, you were probably right to run.’ Except no one did ask him.
‘To be honest, I’d rather the kids were screaming than listen to this.’
He shrugs. ‘Sorry, but sometimes it hurts to face the truth. If he’d been the right guy for you, you wouldn’t have run and you’d still be together. I reckon you had a lucky escape. That was why you stood out at school all those years ago. You were quiet, but you could always cut through the crap and see the bigger picture. That’s why I liked talking to you.’
Bugging me, more like. I’d wondered when we’d get onto this. If we’re talking crap, there’s a shitload there. ‘You talked to me on the bus so I’d go red. End of.’ Obviously I’m only free to say this today because I’ve got my face armour on. And you’ve no idea how bloody liberating it feels.
‘Maybe at the start. After a while I kind of forgot about that.’ He sounds wistful. ‘The other girls had been warned off. Whereas you were mature enough to see past my mishaps and treat me as a person.’
‘Mishaps’ is a mild way of describing his disaster catalogue. But I suppose my mum and dad had more on their mind. Boys who sent cars into ravines and over cliffs were a small threat to daughters compared to fast growing brain tumours that strike you down in a couple of months. The only thing in his favour was he was never usually in the cars he totalled. I have to push this. ‘But asking me out every morning?’ The frequency didn’t make it any less mortifying. Worse still, I was always rigid in case my inner voice accidentally got out of control and accepted, and made me the laughing stock of the entire school.
His laugh is low enough to hear under the driving drum beats. ‘Back then I wouldn’t have minded if you’d said yes.’
I somehow gulp down my appalled gasp. Years later and he still talks bollocks. ‘As if that would have happened.’ Incredulous doesn’t begin to cover it. I was years younger than him. Still am, come to that. And still sensible enough to know to keep as far away as I can. Today being an unfortunate blip that I’ll avoid at all costs in future. I sense that I need to move this on while I’m ahead, so I turn to look behind me. ‘Hey, Gracie, shall I tell you a story about snowmen?’
Before she looks up, Rory’s cut in. ‘No point disturbing her if she’s quiet. Leave that stuff to her mum. She’ll be home soon enough.’
‘How’s Erin doing?’ Seeing the latest signpost, showing that Port Giles is still miles away, I need a surefire way to steer the subject away from me.
Rory gives a disgruntled snort. ‘She might be doing better if Gracie didn’t catalogue the disasters every time they talk on the phone. Anyone can put hand cream in the bath instead of bubbles. And who knew you could get the right number of legs and arms into sleeves and legs on a babygrow, and it would still end up upside down and back to front? And fine, Gracie hated the lamb pasanda, but I’d gone to a lot of trouble with that saffron rice.’ He’s set off on a rant now. ‘As for having a hissy fit about four marshmallows in the hot chocolate instead of five – how can a three-year-old tell the difference when they can’t even count?’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘Sounds like Gracie’s on your case.’
He shakes his head. ‘Don’t I know it. Her and her mum. Erin’s been having some heart procedure in London, but she’s due home tomorrow.’ He takes his hands off the wheel to do a silent cheer. ‘It was a minor defect she was born with, but having the kids made it worse. By the time they investigated it was urgent.’ Luckily the road is straight and he takes hold again.
‘And her partner’s working?’ Another space-filler question to counteract the desolate winter landscape beyond the car windows.
He gives me an incredulous glance. ‘What rock have you been hiding under, HB? No way these poor proverbial babes would be stuck with an incompetent like me if their dad was around. Everyone knows, at thirty-eight Erin decided to go it alone using the sperm-donor route.’ He pulls a face. ‘She’s strong and very independent. Getting ill really wasn’t in her life plan. Or mine.’
I can’t resist reminding him. ‘Gracie and Teddie are actually real, not proverbial.’ And right on cue, Teddie begins to whinge.
There are better ways to spend an hour than waggling a snowman over the back of the seat to keep a six-month-old’s howls at bay, while Green Day pulsates on your eardrums. But on balance it’s better than talking to Rory. And by the time we arrive at Port Giles it means I’ve spent an entire sixty minutes without worrying about dying batteries or backing up data. As the road veers closer to the coast, the hedges open up to give a view of the sea being lashed by the rain. And then we’re winding between the neat white and grey cottages of the village, coming into Port Giles, and making our way along the stretch of road that leads to where the Old Lifeboat Station stands stark against the washed-out sky.
But as the neatly raked gravel of the car park scrunches under the tyres and we pull in further along next to two picturesque upturned boats, there’s a hand-painted blue and white sign. And the words Wedding Venue jerk me back into the room with a bang.