Nina
Monday, 24 December
Christmas Tree Farm finishes the year with a half-day closing, giving staff time to refresh and change for the wedding. I planned to spend my free time at the log cabin. Instead, I position myself behind a cluster of Fraser firs a safe distance from the wedding pergola swathed in garlands, and watch. The scene is beautiful. I can’t imagine any bride being disappointed by the winter wonderland amongst our Christmas trees. I imagine she’ll be dumbstruck as she arrives on her father’s arm. I would be. The plush red carpet of the aisle cuts a distinct pathway through the pristine snow. The neat rows of decorated chairs are filled with dark suits interspersed with beautiful feathers and fur-like adornment. Several guests are still finding their seats despite the 1 p.m. ceremony. The string quartet is playing Bach and the soft sounds gently fill the air. The registrar lady keeps rearranging her documents and books upon the cloth-covered side table.
All morning, I kept myself busy on the sales yard, but very few people buy a spruce on Christmas Eve. I clock-watched all morning, my stomach churning while my head questioned why the universe would do this to me. I’ve had twenty-five years to experience a stomach flip and instead of the fairy tale being played out as Cupid clearly intended… the guy’s getting married to someone else. Life isn’t fair. And sadly, I’ve no other option than to accept fate’s cruel ways.
I crane my neck to gain a better view of the front row to the right of the aisle. Two dark-haired men in tailored suits sit facing forward. I assume the best man is his brother; they look so alike from the back. I can’t imagine what Luca’s feeling right now. Nerves? Excitement? They don’t turn about to view the settling guests. I suppose they’ve plenty of time to meet and greet after the ceremony.
The front row to the left of the aisle remains empty, presumably awaiting a row of colourful bridesmaids, clutching fresh bouquets.
My gaze returns to the groom. What should I do if part way through the ceremony, just as he begins his vows, he denounces his love for Isabella and confesses his undying love for the sales girl who sells Christmas trees? Oh, my God! I would die with embarrassment should he call me from my hiding place, take my hand and… I look down at my jeans and jumper combo – what a bloody sight! I really must start taking more pride in my appearance.
‘Turn around. Turn around,’ I mutter, whilst staring at the nape of his neck. How come his sixth sense isn’t so hot today? Does it only work when I don’t want to be caught staring at him? Bloody typical. Obviously, wedding nerves have a direct effect upon telepathy.
What would I do if he did turn around? Wave? Smile? Or hide? Or lock eyes and hope that everything I feel is conveyed in a final look?
‘What are you doing?’
I jump out of my skin as Kitty peers over my shoulder and whispers in my ear.
‘Oh, nothing.’
‘Nothing? Come on.’
‘Don’t tease,’ I mutter, my eyes returning to the front row.
‘Looks beautiful, doesn’t it?’
I simply nod.
I don’t want to be unkind – Kitty’s always been good to me – but I’d much prefer to stand here alone and have my heart broken rather than have a witness endure my woeful tears once he utters, ‘I do.’
‘I just glimpsed the wedding party lining up to begin their procession. The bride looks amazing.’
Great! As if the blonde didn’t look utterly amazing every day of her life, she’ll look fabulously breathtaking on her big day. I check myself. I’m being so unfair. It isn’t her fault that I met him after her, after an engagement, after two babies and after a wedding had been booked. That’s the bottom line: simply bad timing, on my behalf. It’s simple: you meet who you meet, when you meet them. And now, he has to forsake all others for her.
My heart grows heavy. I want to cry.
‘Here they come,’ whispers Kitty, pointing along the plush carpet to our right. Simultaneously, the string quartet switches from Bach to Pachelbel’s ‘Canon’. I don’t wish to look at the bride, as beautiful as I’m sure she is. My eyes are fixed on her groom, who stands but doesn’t stir to turn about. The guests stand and turn around to view the bridal procession.
Kitty’s face is beaming at the approaching sight. I daren’t look straight at the bride; my guilt will show on my face and she’ll know, I’m sure. From the corner of my eye, I can see that she’s dressed in a straight-fitting gown of white, carrying a huge bouquet in deep reds and emeralds, with a gathering of bridesmaids and pageboys sauntering behind. I’ll recognise the two young boys from their grotto visit. Young Holly will surely look fabulous with her hair pinned up; her beaming teenage smile will say it all. I don’t want to waste a moment looking at the bridal procession. My eyes are fixed on him. He must know she’s nearing. In less than ten minutes, they’ll be man and wife.
My stomach begins to flip. I want to be sick.
The bridal procession approaches us, turns and pauses to face the length of the aisle and… He’s standing right before me! Luca literally walks into my line of vision from the right, walking at the bride’s side, arms linked, dressed beautifully in a tailored suit.
His dark gaze catches mine, just for the briefest of exchanges, before he smiles, and turns to face the ceremony archway. That was risky. I blush.
Why break with tradition? I thought this wedding was planned to the minutest detail and yet the bride and groom walk the aisle together? Maybe fitting given the commitment of two children. They slowly walk towards the registrar, the elegant peacock-shaped train of her gown fanning out upon the red carpet. I stare at the front row – so, I’d been staring at the groom’s men patiently waiting to support their buddy. No wonder they hadn’t bothered to turn around and view the arriving guests.
‘Doesn’t she look amazing?’ swoons Kitty, her hands clutched before her mouth in wonder. ‘I love her flowing train.’
‘Mmmm.’ A gulp snags at my throat.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing – the spicy smell of these firs has gone to the back of my throat,’ I lie, unable to share my secret, not even with Kitty.
It takes him twenty-seven steps to reach the wedding pergola. The registrar greets them with a warm smile and a nod. The bridesmaids and pageboys file into the front row and take their places.
This will be an awkward manoeuvre as he now needs to be on her other side. Who messed up on planning this little detail? Will he step across her flowing train or walk around it to position himself on her right?
I can’t take my eyes from his broad back. I know he shouldn’t turn around, the entire wedding is watching, but if he could manage one last lingering moment between us… one last stomach flip… I promise, I’ll let him go.
I watch as he releases her arm, takes her hand and raises it to his mouth, kisses it and gently releases.
He steps aside to the left and takes a seat. From the right the nearest groom’s man offers a beaming smile as he takes a step nearer to the bride.
‘What the hell?’
Kitty looks at me and then back at the couple standing before the decorated archway.
‘What’s he doing?’
‘Who?’
‘Luca!’
‘Duh, he’s getting married.’
I stare at Kitty.
Confusion is bubbling behind her eyes.
‘Yeah, Isabella and Luca… so what’s he doing sitting down?’ I babble.
‘Nina, Luca’s standing up… Luca’s the groom.’
‘Luca’s the groom…’ I repeat her words slowly as she watches me stare from the front row to the groom and back again. ‘So, who’s the guy that just sat down?’
‘Her brother, I think.’
Her brother?
I want to be sick as my stomach begins to spin.
*
Holly
From the top table, I gaze across the marquee at the fabulous view before me, bedecked with candelabra and crystal droplet centrepieces. Seventy or more guests are seated at white linen tables, all here to celebrate one couple. This is the bee’s knees. I thought the best part about being a bridesmaid would be having a posh frock and carrying fresh flowers but this, this is amazing. I keep glancing over to Isabella, but she’s busy chatting with Luca or fussing over their sons. Once I’m shown to my seat, I quickly locate Alfie’s table, number seven, which isn’t too far from my position on the end of the top table, but far enough that we can’t actually speak. Which might be a good thing, given how gorgeous he looks in his new suit. I watch as his tugs at his collar; he looks uncomfortable, like a trussed-up turkey. I know he didn’t want to wear it, but his dad insisted that it was the right thing to do given the formality of the event. Their table of eight has an empty place setting; I assume that was for Angie – though Alfie said she wasn’t attending. I feigned any knowledge of their tiff when Isabella asked me earlier. I’m not getting involved. Alfie and his dad seem fine just as they are.
Everywhere I look the garlands we made yesterday loop in soft curves; the deep red ribbons glint and shimmer in the light. I didn’t imagine the marquee would look as beautiful as it does; maybe we could have this one day? One day…
My stomach flutters. Is this what Isabella feels for Luca? Or am I just feeling the beginnings of puppy love, as my mum calls it? Either way, it’s not what I’ve felt before.
I look along the table, unsure of what I should be doing; everyone else is nibbling on bread and so I copy. My family are seated away from Alfie’s on table three – we fill the table with eight bodies, some in chairs, others in high chairs.
Alfie catches my eye. I give a little wave. Am I supposed to be paying attention to others or just the bride? I’m under strict instruction from my mum to ignore Alfie until Isabella says I am free to enjoy myself, then I can dance with Alfie as much as I wish, as long as the wedding guest book is taken around on the hour, every hour to capture good luck messages.
I lean to the side as the young waiter collects my empty plate. It feels strange to have someone remove your empty plate from the dinner table. Within seconds another waiter appears and delivers a large oval plate, muttering, ‘It’s hot,’ before walking off back to the mobile kitchens; on the plate sits a mound of beef and gravy. Is that it? I start to eat but notice no one else has picked up their cutlery. I stop. Do I continue or wait for someone else to join me? A large platter of potatoes appears at my ear, and a waitress offers me roast potatoes captured between a fork and large spoon. I ask for loads. Then loads of vegetables from the next waitress and, finally, more gravy.
I tuck in. What a feast!
That’s when I see her.
*
Angie
‘Excuse me, excuse me,’ I whisper, sidestepping through the tables towards table number seven. I squeeze past each chair as the occupant pretends to move it forward an inch in a shuffle style, but they don’t actually move. My stomach and thighs feel the edge of each chair as I make my way through the seated crowd. I dodge a waiter or two, and we do-si-do around each other before continuing.
I know where I’m heading. I studied the beautifully decorated calligraphy-written seating chart in the foyer of the marquee before making my entrance to the dining area. I don’t want to cause a scene and avert anyone’s attention to my late arrival.
I can see the rear of Nick’s head as I near their table, Alfie is pulling at his collar and tie, just as I expected he would. Though his suit jacket fits perfectly. Fancy not taking it off as he sat down to eat, ensuring he is comfortable. Nick never gives the lad guidance, when it’s necessary.
‘I’m so sorry for my late arrival. I do believe this is my seat,’ I say, calmly and casually, on finally arriving at table seven. A sea of startled faces look up from their roast beef and horseradish. Nick’s mouth gapes. Alfie sighs deeply. The lady and three children simply stare and then she instantly produces a warm welcoming smile and the remaining male… My eyes lock onto his. Oh, my God! Never in a million years would I have imagined that face staring back at me.
‘Angie!’ says Nick.
‘Mum!’
‘Angie!’ says Fabio.
‘Angie?’ asks the lady with the warm smile, which is rapidly dissolving into a quizzical stare. Her three little boys stare absently on hearing her startled tone.
‘Hi, sorry I’m a little late,’ is all I can muster as I quickly take my seat between Nick and the now scornful glare of the mother of three. I quickly attract the attention of the young waitress and explain my late arrival, trying to stall the three adults who are waiting to interrogate me, while my son ignores me. The three children sit nibbling at their fish-finger dinners.
‘I didn’t think you were coming?’
‘Do you think this is fitting, Mum?’
‘Are you friends of the groom’s side or the bride’s?’
I don’t answer any of them. Instead, I busy myself tearing open my wholemeal batch, locate the dish of perfect butter curls and slowly spread the thick creamy delight. If this is to be my afternoon from hell, I’ll make sure I’m well fed and inebriated. Mid-mouthful, as they continue to stare, I reach for the white wine and pour myself a large glass. It would be rude not to under the circumstances.
‘Eat up, now… your main courses are getting cold,’ I say, as my heart rate continues to soar, while I calmly sip my wine. I hadn’t bargained on this!
One by one they each collect their cutlery and resume eating.
This will be OK. I will be polite to each guest, rise above any accusations made by the wife and ignore any come-on from Fabio. In fact, Nick owes me an apology for his lack of support, before we continue our little tête-à-tête, so there’ll be none too many pleasantries in his direction.
‘Are you married?’ asks Marcia, as her place-setting card informs me, as she leans around me to speak to Nick, who is struggling to communicate to Alfie to ‘leave it’.
‘No. Not now, but, yes, we were… once,’ he replies, politely.
‘Why… is that important?’ I say, as the waitress delivers my hot plate. ‘Thank you.’
Marcia stares, open-mouthed.
‘You’re Angie… the one that…’ Marcia continues in Nick’s direction. ‘You know they had an affair, don’t you?’
Alfie chokes on his dinner, grabs his napkin and blushes profusely.
Nick looks from me, to Fabio, and back to Marcia, whose warm and welcoming features are pinched and instantly pained.
‘Angie?’
I give a nod.
‘This is Fabio… the one I mentioned.’
Alfie is open-mouthed and staring, his fork suspended in his hand.
Wow, what a life lesson for a sixteen-year-old.
‘Marcia?’ interjects Fabio, trying to hush his wife’s tones.
‘Seriously, it’s taken us five months to hold our marriage together and then, as brazen as you like, she pops up at your niece’s wedding… Is this for real?’
I don’t answer. I don’t know who the question is aimed at but assume it isn’t me.
‘I can only apologise for—’
‘Don’t you dare, Nick. I was single, with no attachments, and as far as I was aware Fabio was single also, or that’s what it said on his dating profile… so where did I mislead anyone? I didn’t.’ I turn to Marcia to continue. ‘And the moment I knew he was married with a wife and three children I called it off… so please save your annoyance for him, not me. I was tricked as much as you were.’ I feign an overly friendly tone, as not to upset the little ones as they munch their ketchup covered chips.
‘Now, hang on a minute… I never said—’ interrupts Fabio, his harsh whisper being killed with a death stare from Marcia.
‘Would you like me to upload your current profile and show her?’ I ask, bravely pulling my mobile from my handbag. ‘Would you?’
Fabio sits back, his shoulders sag and his olive skin pales as his wife’s pinched features turn into a venomous stare.
‘Seriously, you can check out his current profile on SinglesFun.com,’ I add, tucking my mobile back inside my clutch bag. ‘Alfie, darling, could you pass me the gravy boat, please?’
I sit tall as Alfie looks to his father for instruction, before slowly offering the gravy boat across the table.
I keep my eyes glued to my plate and, for the first time ever at a wedding, pray that the speeches are lengthy with numerous hecklings from attending guests.
*
Nina
I stand alone in the darkness, staring out across the lake. The reflection of the night sky is picture perfect on the water: moonlight cascades upon the surface and a beautiful arc of untouched snow nestles in the distant backdrop.
The only disturbance is the muted tones of the wedding party a distance behind me, separated by a bank of spruce. I imagine the dance floor filled with elderly relatives, and little boys doing knee slides to ruin their trousers, having a great time amongst the celebration.
What would my dad say if he were here, now?
I watch the ripples skitter across the water and know that somewhere high above my head he is there, beyond the smoky clouds, watching me stand and stare across the lake. I’d prefer him to stand beside me, but I can accept a lengthier distance just knowing he is there.
Within seconds, my fat robin lands upon a nearby rock.
‘I wondered where you were,’ I whisper, as his tiny head bobs and twitches in my direction.
This is probably the closest he has ever landed to me. I’m tempted to reach out my hand. Inquisitive to see if he’d let me touch his deep red breast, but the fear of losing him restrains me.
I linger at the water’s edge. Tonight, I’m not planning to skim stones but to honour dad’s memory by doing the final job I need to do. As heartbreaking as it seems, alone in the dark, I know his anniversary is the right day.
I clasp the wooden box into my frame, my arms tightly wrapped around its polished edges. On Saturday, I’d spilt silent tears retrieving it from under the staircase at home, carefully packed it within my suitcase, and brought it along to the cabin. But now, I must say goodbye. Forever.
I gently remove the lid from the wooden box; the lip needs forcing before it gives and releases. A gentle billow of ash lifts, thanks to my heavy-handed jolt. Here, he’ll be in heaven, surrounded by nature’s beauty.
I haven’t practised any lines. I don’t know many prayers. I’m unsure of what I should say… only one memorised poem fills my mind.
Slowly, I recite the words.
‘Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there… I did not die.’
I kiss the lip of the box before I kneel and gently upend the wooden casket, allowing the soft grey ash to slide onto the surface of the rippling water.
‘You’ll always be my diamond glints on snow,’ I whisper.
Instantly, the tiny waves lift and separate the mass, slowly fanning the ripples of ash across the surface of the lake. I stand, replace the lid and watch as the watery cloud spreads further and further away from me.
*
‘Nina!’
His voice brings me to, standing alone in the darkness at the edge of the lake, clasping the empty box. The grey watery cloud has disappeared, and so has my robin.
‘I hope you’re not contemplating a skinny dip at this time of year,’ jokes the voice through the darkness. ‘I won’t be joining you if you do.’
I turn to see the silhouette of broad shoulders framed by the spruce trees as the moonlight illuminates his rhythmical stride.
Mr Stomach-flip?
He nears the water’s edge, stands and stares out across the lake to the distant backdrop of firs. His presence portrays a significance and warmth that crackles in the air.
‘Hi,’ I mutter, unsure how long I’ve been standing here.
‘I didn’t mean to intrude but…’ He peers at my features. ‘Have you been crying?’
I don’t answer; instead I clasp the wooden casket a little tighter to my body.
‘Nina?’ His voice is mellow yet firm. I can’t ignore him.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Bruno.’
Bruno? My mind repeats.
‘Bruno Ferraro,’ he adds, when I don’t speak.
‘I thought your surname was Romano,’ I say, looking up into his surprised face.
‘No, my brother-in-law is called Luca Romano… and today my sister became—’
‘I get it,’ I say, looking away across the water. What a fool. Luca Romano – wrong name, right bloke.
‘Are you all right? I saw you earlier behind the spruce at the ceremony but haven’t laid eyes on you since and—’
‘I’ve had a free afternoon. I wasn’t needed to staff your wedding... their wedding.’
‘Theirs, not mine!’
‘I saw the clipboard papers. I read the wedding details – you came on the visits with her and I thought… I thought you were the groom!’ I blurt.
‘Me, the groom? No way! Of course, I attended. He works away for weeks on end, she’s my sister – I couldn’t let her struggle with the two lads and plan a wedding alone, could I?’
‘But I thought…’
‘Well, you’re quite mistaken,’ he says, gently clasping my forearm and turning me towards him. ‘Do you think I’d have returned several times to the farm… if I’d been about to get… if it wasn’t to see you?’
‘I thought you were just being kind, being a loyal son buying a Christmas tree or taking your lads to visit Santa.’
‘My nephews, actually,’ he corrects. ‘And I was being kind to everyone, but mainly myself.’
‘Nephews?’
He slowly nods. His body is close, almost touching but for the box clasped in my grasp.
‘What’s this?’ He points to my hands.
‘It’s a long story… one I’d rather not explain, not tonight anyway.’
*
Angie
‘What the hell did you expect me to do, stand up and walk out like a scarlet woman?’ I ask, as my heels sink and snag upon the soft snowy ground. Darkness surrounds us, so I’m unware where I am heading.
‘No, but have some bloody respect for the poor woman – she’s pregnant, if you haven’t noticed,’ says Nick, hastily following me along the uneven pathway that leads from the marquee. I survived the formal reception by staying schtum but before long Nick requested a quiet word.
How the hell am I supposed to notice such details when Marcia is seated with a cloth napkin draped across her lap?
‘To hell with the lot of you, I say. I try my best to rebuild what we had, you string me along thinking that we were on the mend, on the same page rekindling this relationship, and then bam! You let me down big time.’ I gulp down the lump in my throat. ‘Don’t cry, don’t cry’ is the mantra circling my head.
‘Angie, wait!’
I quicken my pace. If he wants to talk to me he’ll have to catch me first. I kick it up a gear and stride quickly along the path, stumbling as I go, and come upon a large lake secluded from the marquee by mature spruce.
There’s nowhere to run; the shoreline literally halts my stride. I have no idea if I’m standing on shale or mud, but stand I do, staring out across the water and taking a keen interest in the embankment on the far side – in which I have no real interest, but I know if I don’t, I’ll need to look at Nick. And looking at Nick right now is not an option. I am mad. I am sad and I am slightly drunk from two too many white wines, but even so I am not going to cry!
‘Angie…’ His voice is soft, tender and beside my ear. ‘Please, just stop.’
I intensify my stare across the lake.
‘We need to talk. I was as surprised about that fella as Alfie was… and the poor wife, well, what did you expect her to do, stand up and shake you warmly by the hand? She’s five months pregnant, for crying out loud.’
I quickly calculate dates. Bastard!
We stand in silence. Nick staring at my profile, me studying the distant embankment, wondering how old the spruce might be.
‘Are you not going to talk to me?’ he finally asks.
I shrug. I know it’s childish, but I want him to feel some of the frustration that I felt the other night. I spot a couple in the distance cuddling by the water’s edge. Obviously happy, in love, sharing a moment together beneath the moonlight. When did we stop looking like them?
‘OK, if that’s what you want… there’s nothing more to say. I asked for months if we could try again but you insisted it was no, we were over. I’d accepted that, Angie, honestly I had. I focused my attentions on Alfie and had accepted your decision. But when you phoned… ah, you don’t know how happy that made me. These last few weeks have been great… as if we’d returned to the old us of our uni days when we actually—’
‘So that’s it, you’re quitting?’
‘Quitting? I have no choice if you’re not going to communicate with me. I’ve left my teenage son sitting at a table watching over our drinks in order to follow you.’
I can hear the exasperation in his voice. Is this what I want? To call it quits and return to what I had a few weeks ago? No Nick? Very little contact with Alfie?
My stomach lurches. Is that hunger, my nerves or the alcohol?
‘Angie… talk to me, please.’
I turn to face him. He looks tired beneath the gentle moonlight. His sad gaze searches my face, as if our answers are written upon my skin.
‘Look, you chose to come back to me, Angie. You’ll never know how happy that made me but now, this… this isn’t what either of us want, is it?’
I shake my head.
My stomach lurches again.
That’s it. He needs to know what I tried to explain to Alfie.
‘Nick… do you remember the first time we met?’
He laughs.
‘Of course, you were sitting on the grass enjoying the sunshine and I spotted you settled a few feet away and—’
‘My stomach flipped,’ I say, interrupting his memory. ‘Not just a flutter or an excitement, but an almighty somersault reaction, which I’d never experienced before, and that moment, looking at you for the very first time, staring at me in the sunlight, I knew. I didn’t know your name, where you came from… nothing, and yet instinctively I knew everything I needed to know.’
Nick smiles.
‘It’s that moment that brought me back to you, Nick. Remembering that one moment and knowing that no other man has ever stirred such a reaction in me… that’s what brought me back to you.’
His hand reaches for my forearm and gently pulls me near.
‘I can’t pretend to have experienced that exact feeling, but I remember that moment as if it were yesterday.’
I need to be honest.
I lower my chin. I can’t look at him as I deliver my next line.
‘I lost track of that moment for many years, Nick. Somewhere between the school run and the grocery shops I forgot… until a few months ago when I realised I’d lost the love of the only man that made my stomach flip.’
Tears spill over my lashes; my mantra hasn’t worked.
‘Oh, Angie.’
‘I’m sorry… I took us for granted, and questioned what I was doing with my life and where I should be and what I was missing out on. When the reality was, I was always where I was meant to be, Nick, sharing my life with you.’
He pulls me close, so my forehead rests upon his chest; his arms wrap around my shoulders in a comforting hug as we stand in the moonlight.
As the tears flow I wonder if we look more like the couple in the distance.
*
Holly
‘Holly, come on,’ says Alfie, grabbing my hand and dragging me along as he runs ahead through the snow.
‘What about your dad’s drinks?’
‘Forget that. He’s been gone for thirty minutes – they are probably having a humdinger of a row somewhere in the car park. Now, hurry up.’
His fingers are tightly wrapped around mine. I can feel the urgency and excitement spilling from him into me like an electrical current.
‘Where are we going?’ I say, as he leads me away from the noisy marquee and its blaring DJ.
‘I’ve got a key.’
‘A key to what?’
‘A cabin.’
‘No!’ I draw to a sudden halt, pulling him backwards, shocked that Alfie would be in possession of a key, but also that he’d masterminded such a plan, today of all days.
‘How?’
Alfie taps the side of his nose.
‘Secret.’
‘Have you stolen it?’
He shakes his head.
‘Bram lent it to me.’
‘Bram?’
‘Honestly he did… I didn’t pinch it, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘No, I’m just a little shocked, that’s all.’
He pulls at my hand.
‘So, are we standing here all night or do you want some privacy?’
We continue along the lake pathway towards the six log cabins.
‘Be careful. I know Nina is staying in one of them. We’ll be in trouble if she spots us.’
‘I’ve got the key for number one. She’s in the smallest one. Quick now.’
It feels wrong. Deceitful. Almost offensive, as we should be throwing some shapes on the dance floor at Isabella’s wedding. But how fantastic to have a cabin to ourselves for a time. I haven’t seen Alfie all day, given my role as bridesmaid. I thought we’d have had the opportunity to talk and have a laugh, but now as the night grows late, this is the first chance we’ve had to be together.
‘This way.’ Alfie leads the way up the wooden steps, fumbles at the lock and quickly pulls me through the large doorway. We don’t wait to find the light switch; as soon as the door is closed we lean against it and make out. We can’t get enough of each other, kissing, holding, touching, feeling. Our hands roam wildly over each other in a frantic manner, which would look quite comical if we could see each other’s reaction.
‘Do you want to move to the bed?’ I ask, unsure if I should make the suggestion or not.
‘Do you?’ he replies. I can hear a quiver in his voice.
Yep, I really do.
‘Did you bring…?’ I whisper.
‘Yeah.’
‘Come on, then.’ I begin to move into the room.
‘Holly, are you sure…? You know you can say if—’
‘Alfie. I’m sure.’
Fumbling in the dark, for fear of being caught, we tumble onto the double bed. His hands reach for the zip of my bridesmaid’s dress as I tentatively loosen his belt buckle.
*
Nina
‘Nina?’
I turn about from the wood burner, having stoked and fed the flames. Bruno stands in the doorway of the log cabin clasping two champagne glasses and a bottle.
‘Hi.’ My voice sounds weak.
‘I found this going begging.’ He indicates the bottle. ‘I doubt anyone will miss it. Here.’ He shuts the door with his foot and offers me the two glasses, while he uncorks the bottle.
I know what’s happening. I can almost predict the conversation once we’ve drunk a glass or two.
‘To us…’ says Bruno, holding his glass aloft.
I repeat. I daren’t not in case this warm fuzzy feeling that is gambolling around my stomach disappears for good and I am forced to return to reality.
The gentle glow of the fire radiates to light the cabin. I’m conscious that the single sofa is tiny, the other seats are hard-backed and the double bed, some ten feet away, would be a heavenly slumber if we’d known each other longer.
Bruno removes his suit jacket and settles upon the sofa, his long limbs spilling over the seat cushion.
‘Come, sit,’ he says, patting the sofa cushion beside him. ‘I know it’s the world’s smallest sofa but there’s room for two.’
I want to hold back, be coy until we get to know each other a little better, but why when being in his presence feels like the most natural thing in the world? In fact, do I trust myself, let alone him?
I sit down; twist around to face him, my glass resting on the back of the upholstery.
‘How did you find me?’ I ask, sipping my drink.
‘I wondered where you’d escaped to… but a blonde waitress pointed me along the path towards the lake, when I asked after you.’
Good old Kitty, she was never far away from a good deed in helping others.
‘A close friend?’
‘Oh, yeah! She knows I go to the lake. It’s my place…’
‘To think?’
I nod, unsure how much I should say.
‘I get that you’re wary,’ he says, his head lolling back and turning to face me. ‘I don’t blame you, especially if you thought that I was Luca and the whole bridal procession thing spooked you.’
I inhale. I will probably regret this moment forever but here goes.
‘Have you ever met someone, a total stranger, and without them saying a word, you react as if by instinct…?’
‘Like a stomach flip?’ he asks.
‘Oh, for a moment there I thought you were going to say something entirely different.’
His hand reaches to stroke my cheek.
‘Nina, if you’re feeling what I’m feeling, and I seriously hope you are… we’ve nothing to fear.’
I exhale. His words are like magic. Gone are the fears, the vulnerability, the scared child, the fearful woman. All that remains are two adults, with a mutual respect and, maybe, a future.
I stare up at him.
‘Seriously, I came back to the farm on numerous occasions, purely to see you. My innards were jumping through hoops.’
‘And my elf outfit… was it worth it?’
‘The outfit maybe not… but the red underwear, well.’
‘I had no choice. The boss sprang the job on me!’
‘And now, do I get to talk to you about other things rather than Christmas trees?’
‘Perhaps.’
I have nothing to be embarrassed about in admitting his effect upon me. I know he knows.
What if he rejects what I’m feeling? I don’t know what I will do with myself. I don’t know how to return to the woman of a few weeks ago, before I knew he existed in this world.
Bruno stares around the cabin; his eyes linger in the direction of the bed before his gaze returns to mine.
‘Why are you staying here?’
It feels as if I’ve known him for a lifetime, like the twins, so I’m honest.
It takes me the next twenty minutes, another glass of champagne and some tissues to explain the last year. Throughout my explanation he nods, his eyes not leaving my features.
‘And, the wooden box?’
‘My dad’s ashes.’
‘Wow, what a task to undertake alone.’
I shrug.
His hand rises to gently stroke my cheek, as an eruption of tears cascades.
‘I was mad at him for dying and leaving me on my own. I couldn’t bring myself to scatter his ashes… I’ve kept them hoping we could continue to live how we’d always lived but…’
‘Shhh now. Come here.’
His arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling me closer to his chest. Minutes pass as I listen to his heartbeat and wait for my tears to subside.
A lengthy silence follows.
‘Given that it’s Christmas, this cabin could do with some festive decoration,’ says Bruno, resting his chin on my temple. ‘Do you know anywhere near that we could buy a spruce from?’
With my head on his chest, I listen to his laugh from the inside – a deep rapturous sound full of life and vigour.
I jump up.
‘Come on,’ I say, pulling my coat back on. ‘I have a plan.’
‘Intriguing, but I forbid you to use a chainsaw having consumed two glasses of bubbly.’
*
Angie
‘Where have you two been?’ I ask angrily as the pair casually enter the marquee, holding hands. ‘We’ve been looking everywhere for you.’
Alfie and Holly smirk before he answers, ‘Walking by the lake, why?’
‘Holly, your parents are ready to leave, so you need to say goodnight,’ interrupts Nick, glancing from one to the other. All around us families are collecting their belongings and saying goodbyes to family and friends, promising to see them soon and to visit. The band are packing up and the DJ is dismantling his speaker set.
I watch as she quickly delivers Alfie a kiss, a hesitant glance occurs and she dashes off towards her family.
‘Alfie?’ I say as he tries to contain a smirk.
‘Angie, leave it,’ interrupts Nick, leading our son away from me.
‘See you, Mum,’ whispers Alfie, his smirk not masked.
‘Alfie, your mum’s coming home with us…’ Nick’s words linger as Alfie slowly turns to view my expression before turning away and sidestepping his father’s arm. I hastily catch them up and link arms with Nick. It might not be the perfect day of memories I’d been hoping for, but my honesty beside the lake has paid off. Nick wants what I want… so tonight, we’ll leave as a family and hope that with each new day, we’ll attempt to unravel from the mess I began last January.
*
Nina
‘Are you sure? It’s hardly the largest Christmas tree I’ve ever seen,’ says Bruno, standing back to inspect my choice.
‘Three foot is a perfect size for the cabin,’ I say. ‘A Norway spruce with a beautiful traditional smell. Yes, in my opinion… it’s perfect.’ Despite my previous protests, this is what I want.
‘Come on, then.’ Bruno picks up the tiny tree, digs a tenner from his pocket before handing me the cash. ‘As payment. I won’t be accused of stealing.’
‘We’re not stealing. My boss always gifts each staff member a tree on Christmas Eve – I just didn’t take him up on the offer earlier.’
‘Even so,’ says Bruno, marching from the sale yard back towards my cabin. ‘Come on, slowcoach, we’ve got champagne to drink, which I borrowed from my sister’s wedding.’
I trot after him, grabbing a bunch of mistletoe as I near the pallet.
*
‘She looks a bit bare,’ he says, viewing the tree positioned in the corner of the cabin as I pin mistletoe above the door.
‘You won’t find decorations at this time of night. The wreaths have sold out and…’
Bruno is up and out of the door, stomping down the wooden steps before I can finish my sentence.
He returns ten minutes later carrying his suit jacket in a bundle.
‘Look what I’ve found,’ he says, emptying his stash onto the floor before the wood burner.
I crouch down to watch him unbutton his jacket, revealing a pile of decorative robins.
‘I unhooked them from the wedding garlands,’ he explains, gently pinning the first fat robin onto a branch as I struggle to take in the effect his kindness has on me.
We pull the bedding from the mattress and make a comfortable nest upon the floor before the wood burner. From our position on the floor, a host of robins look down from their perches and offer comfort and calm. I wonder where my fat robin is, and hope he is settled in a warm nest amongst the Christmas trees.
‘Come closer,’ he whispers, raising his arm around my shoulder to draw me near. ‘I really can’t explain, but the minute I laid eyes on you I knew this was somewhere in our future.’
I don’t interrupt him. Despite my original misunderstanding, I hoped that such an opportunity could occur and signal our beginning. There is a heartbeat between his words being said and his lips lowering towards mine. I simply raise my face to his, wrapping my arms around his back, and return his kiss.
*
‘Nina.’
I jump as his voice awakens me. It takes just a second to recognise and remember where I am and in whose arms I’m lying. The wood burner has died, and our duvet nest upon the floor hasn’t softened the wooden boards beneath my back, but I don’t care because Bruno’s face is before me.
‘Hi,’ I whisper as my mind floods with the memories of yesterday. ‘Merry Christmas.’
His lips touch my forehead before he softly repeats the greeting.
‘It’s nearly morning… come on.’ He pulls back our covers, allowing me to sit up before he can rise to his feet, pulling me up from the floor. Our clothes are creased; we put on shoes and smile inanely at each other. ‘Quickly,’ he says, reaching for my hand. His free hand grabs a woollen blanket as we dash from the cabin.
The glistening snow shines all around us. My feet can hardly keep up as his outstretched hand pulls me along, between the snow-sprinkled spruce and towards the lake. The woollen blanket billows and flies from his free hand, snagging and catching on nearby branches.
We arrive at the lake, where the blackened water is still and silent, a gentle mist gathering above the surface.
Today I feel different; for the first time I experience a true sense of calm.
Life seems to mimic a Christmas tree. It is nurtured, loved as it steadily grows, to be cut down when it’s reached a most beautiful stage before it fades to brown, to be discarded and forgotten.
Bruno scours the area and walks a short distance away from the water’s edge to the mature trees, beneath which sits little snow but a thick carpet of dried needles. He spreads the blanket upon the dry ground and settles his shoulders against the spruce’s mature trunk, his legs outstretched and wide.
‘Nina…’ His hand beckons me, to sit between his thighs, my back resting against his torso, my head against his chest. I can hear his heart rate, steady and strong.
‘What are we doing?’ I ask as he pulls the edges of the blanket over our frame to cover our clothed bodies.
‘Shhhhh, watch.’
I don’t say another word, I simply watch. Before me a low spruce branch hangs in my line of vision, behind which the lake stretches wide, and beyond the far embankment the horizon slowly changes. Bruno’s arms tighten about my body as a slither of light steadily grows with each minute. A gentle glow of orange colours the sunrise and a new day is born.