When Rohan’s reluctantly left Puffin with a few parting ear rubs and a promise to come and see him again soon, we walk out of the churchyard hand in hand as Paul waves from the doorway.
As soon as we’re out of the tunnel of trees and no one’s around, Rohan lets go of my hand.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Rohan says like he can’t say it quickly enough. ‘I shouldn’t have kissed you. I just wasn’t quick enough to think of a reason not to. That was a line I didn’t mean to cross.’
‘Oh, that. Don’t worry, I’ve forgotten all about it.’ I wave my hand nonchalantly, despite the fact that years from now when I’m lying on my deathbed, that kiss will be what’s replaying in my mind.
‘Oh great, that makes me feel better. Such a good kisser that I’m forgotten within the hour.’ A slow, seductive smile spreads across his face. ‘Don’t make me have to kiss you again to make it memorable.’
Nervous laughter threatens to escape my throat because I should be opposed to that idea. ‘It’s not a kiss I’ll be forgetting any time soon. I just meant don’t worry about it. We’re both single. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong, and we have to sell the part, don’t we? We’re supposed to be engaged – if we have to kiss then we have to kiss.’
He gives me that smile again, the one that’s so sexy it probably makes bras start undoing themselves of their own accord. ‘Oh, I think we’re going to have to kiss again. Probably a lot. Just to sell the act though, right?’
‘Definitely. Couldn’t have anyone suspecting us now we’ve got this far.’
‘Right? The Man Land are going to get my therapy bill for emotional trauma at this rate.’
‘Oi!’ I whack his arm. ‘I have to kiss R.C. Art. Never mind winning the battle of the mags, Two Gold Rings will deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for this article.’
He grins. ‘To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if Clara came into our room tonight and told us she records all couples having sex for posterity.’
‘You can forget about that one, mister. Kissing’s as far as I go.’ For some reason, my brain tacks unfortunately onto the end of that sentence.
‘Hopefully that voyeuristic vicar and his wall of kissing couples is as far as anyone goes on this island.’
‘You really didn’t like him, did you?’
‘No. There’s something about him. The question avoidance yesterday, the invasive wall of photos, the money situation. He makes that creepy vicar from Broadchurch look good and that’s saying something.’
‘He seemed okay to me. You see some vicars who are real fuddy-duddy sticks in the mud. He seemed quite normal and easy-going.’
‘He went from vicar to used car salesman when he started talking about the wedding packages.’ Rohan rolls his eyes. ‘I tell you what, he’s got a good thing going there, hasn’t he? Taking all the money himself and then sharing it out later. I bet he’s embezzling that money left, right, and centre.’
‘Oh, come on, Ro. He’s a vicar!’
‘Exactly. No wonder he doesn’t want anybody in his church, he’d hate for anyone to catch a glimpse of his accounting.’
‘Oh, you are so cynical,’ I say. ‘Do you trust anyone in the entire world?’
‘No.’
‘Wow.’ I’m taken aback by how open and straightforward that answer is and how sad it makes me feel. ‘You don’t trust anyone at all? Family? Friends?’
He gives an acidic laugh. ‘Definitely not. People are only out for themselves, Bon. No matter what they say, when it comes down to it, no one cares about anyone else more than they care about themselves. You can’t trust people because they’ll always do what’s best for them and screw everyone else.’
He sounds like he’s speaking from experience, and I’m increasingly desperate to know what his story is. He can be so abrasive and cutting with his words, and his sarcasm knows no bounds, but there’s a much softer, sweet side under there too, and there’s definitely a part of him that’s been put through the shredder and spat back out again.
Our fingers brush together as we walk along, and he smiles when I look at him, but it’s a sad smile, like he knows how harsh that sounded. I’m half-tempted to reach out and take his hand, but there’s no need to when we’re still in the privacy of the trees hiding the church.
‘But the price is not extortionate,’ I say, deciding it’s safer to go back to talking weddings. ‘It’s actually very reasonable compared to the rest of the industry. Big weddings can stretch anywhere from twenty to thirty thousand, easily.’
‘Yeah, in all fairness, I was expecting a lot more. It’s been a while since I had anything to do with weddings but that’s actually quite reasonable. I expected to have to remortgage my house and sell a few vital organs.’
‘It’s good that they’re not overpriced though. They’re really popular – most places would’ve put their prices sky high by now.’
‘Okay, riddle me this,’ he says. ‘They’re selling the no-divorce story to make money, but they can’t be making that much profit, certainly not enough to make it worthwhile. And while I’m sure the vicar’s skimming a bit off the top for himself, as long as he spends it on his dog, I don’t care. They want tourism but they don’t put themselves on any of the big travel websites. I’d be tempted to say they’re all elderly and not big internet users but Clara managed to google us well enough. So what are they doing here?’
‘Well, Mr Cynic, here’s a wacky idea, maybe they’re genuine. Maybe they believe in true love and genuinely want to help people commit to spending a lifetime together.’
‘So they’re sadists? They genuinely want to help people spend a lifetime tearing each other apart?’
I glare at him and he laughs and shakes his head. ‘If he’s for real that he’s got a wedding a day booked until next year, maybe there’s enough money in the quantity rather than the quality.’
‘Maybe it’s not about the money.’
‘No, I’m sure it’s all about making people happy. That’s what all people go to work for. Not to pay the bills but to be rewarded in soft, squishy feelings.’
I narrow my eyes at him and he laughs. ‘You’re so trusting. There’ll be a reason they’re so keen to sell those wedding packages, and I’m going to find out what it is. You mark my words.’
‘Or maybe I’m going to prove to you that these people are genuine. You mark my words.’
‘Well, I’ve always admired people not afraid of taking on an impossible challenge.’
He smiles when I glare at him, which only makes him more annoying. ‘I can tell you one thing – we’re going to make the vicar’s day when we cancel our wedding. That’ll ruin his perfect record.’
‘I can see how happy that makes you,’ I snap.
‘And I can see how guilty it makes you feel. Don’t tell me you actually believe it?’
‘What, that no wedding has ever been cancelled?’ I glance up at him as we walk. ‘Yeah, why would he lie?’
‘Because he wants us to believe it’s the most romantic fairy-tale church on the planet? It’s part of the story they’re trying to sell.’
I sigh, although I can kind of see his point. It is a little bit too perfect, but isn’t that part of the charm? ‘Talking of selling stories, I don’t think he distrusted us for a minute. I thought he might, especially after yesterday morning, but I don’t think he even considered doubting we were a couple.’
‘Probably that kiss,’ Rohan says. ‘It was good enough to make anyone believe it.’
Even me. Just for a nanosecond of a moment until common sense returned, anyway. I’ve never had a kiss that made me feel quite so tingly before or left me quite so discombobulated. I don’t know what’s worse – the fact it was fake or the fact it was with someone who doesn’t believe in love.
‘So, that’s it really, isn’t it?’ I say as we emerge from the forested hill and back onto the main part of the island. I’m trying to ignore how disappointed I feel. ‘We’ve seen the church and heard the stories. We’ve got some pictures. We can call this whole thing off and go home any time now.’
‘Are you kidding? We’re nowhere near done yet, Bon. We’ve got nothing but the word of a vicar who’s obviously running some kind of scam. We still need access to the shops and this whole business of selling packages. There’s got to be something dodgy going on there. I don’t know what yet, but there’ll be something. They’re probably charging an extra grand for the dress, another grand for the cake, and it all probably costs fifty pence to make or something. Being reasonably priced by comparison doesn’t mean there’s no money fiddling going on. And there’s a wedding next week. I definitely want to see that, and my boss would love it if I could actually talk to the couple and find out why they chose here to get married and what they think of the place. You cover real weddings, just ask them if you can chat to them for that section of your magazine.’
‘I …’ I go to protest but it’s not a bad idea actually. It would be great to meet a couple who are really getting married here, and I know Oliver will love it, especially if I can prove the church of no-divorces record is as flawless as the vicar says it is. And honestly, the idea of staying here a few more days, until next week at least, even as Rohan’s fiancée … it’s far from the worst idea I’ve ever heard.
‘We’ve also not got a look at any records,’ he continues. ‘“We keep in touch with every couple who gets married here” is just not good enough. Maybe some of them haven’t answered their phones because they’ve moved out after their divorce. The vicar wouldn’t know. I need more than that. I need names and addresses. If I could uncover just one divorce, I could blow this whole thing out of the water. Never mind The Man Land versus Two Gold Rings, I’m talking international headlines. If this is a scam, the public deserve to know about it.’
‘I thought you weren’t writing anything bad about this place,’ I say as that familiar seed of dread resettles in my stomach. The same seed of dread that I felt when I saw R.C. Art’s column last week, when Oliver called me into his office the other day, and when I found out who Rohan was over dinner the other night.
‘I’m not. I’m writing the truth.’
‘And if the truth is that there genuinely haven’t been any divorces?’
He shrugs. ‘It won’t be.’
‘But if it is?’
‘It won’t be, Bon. No building has that kind of power. You think some bloke is going to snog another woman behind his wife’s back and then suddenly think, “Oh wait, I got married in the church of no-divorces – better not.”?’
‘Not everyone cheats.’
‘Hah.’ He gives a bitter laugh that’s not a laugh at all. ‘Oh look, is that a herd of unicorns emerging from the sea? Have they got mermaids with them? Is that a flying pig circling overhead?’
‘So you’ve been cheated on?’ I say, reading between the lines of his sarcasm.
‘We’ll sneak into the wedding next week and see what kind of satanic rituals they’re performing.’ He continues like he hasn’t even heard the question. Which is fine. It isn’t any of my business, but maybe it starts to answer a lot about him and why he’s so against everything to do with love.
‘My money’s on some kind of eternal youth elixir made with the blood of newly married couples,’ he says. ‘That or devil worship.’
‘Are you being sarcastic or do you genuinely believe that no marriage can end happily unless a deal with the devil is involved?’
‘A bit of both,’ he says with a sardonic laugh that doesn’t quite manage to cover the sadness in it.
He’s the kind of person I would usually keep a safe distance from, the kind of guy you avoid at weddings because you don’t want to be cornered with a rant about divorce for three hours, the guy who gets belligerent and angry after one cider too many at the reception, but Ro doesn’t seem like that underneath the hard surface. He seems sad and hurting, like his cynical humour is just a façade, and now getting to the bottom of the church of no-divorces seems just as important as getting to the bottom of the enigma that is my fiancé.
***
Amabel is coming towards us as we walk back down the coastal road.
‘Quick, hand,’ Ro hisses, reaching out to grab my hand.
‘Hello, you lovely pair!’ she calls, greeting us with a wide smile, her long hair flapping in the wind.
She drags us both into a three-way hug when she gets close enough. ‘Been up to book your wedding?’ she asks, although it doesn’t sound much like a question and I get the feeling that she knows full well where we’ve been. ‘Our church is a beaut, isn’t it?’
‘There’s definitely something special about it,’ I say.
‘And when’s the big day?’
‘Quite a wait yet. A year and a half away, in September.’
‘Oooh, an autumn wedding,’ she squeaks. ‘How lovely. There are so many options at that time of year. So many things we can do with the flowers and centrepieces and decorations. It’s the perfect time between late summer and autumn when things will look their absolute best. You’ll both have to come by my cottage and we’ll make some plans for what you want.’
‘It’s a bit early for that,’ Rohan says.
‘It’s never too early. I grow as many of the flowers as I can, so the more advance warning I have of what you want for your big day, the better.’ She winks at us. ‘And I make a mean cup of tea and I’m never short of chocolate biscuits. If that won’t tempt you then I don’t know what will.’
Rohan grins. ‘Well, I never could say no to a chocolate biscuit.’
‘I just love spending time with young people so in love. Seeing young couples like you two really takes me back. I got married here myself, you know.’
‘Paul told us,’ I say.
‘Yeah.’ Rohan clears his throat. ‘I’m really sorry about your husband, Amabel. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been.’
His voice breaks on the last words and he turns away. He sounds so genuine, and despite the initial sarcasm about the stone, he seems really touched by it.
‘Bless you, Mr Carter.’ She leans over and pats his hand. ‘It’s been almost twenty years now. I still go and sit by him every day. I’m sure everyone thinks I’m a daft old cow, but I feel close to him here. Paul was kind enough to put my memorial stone in the place with the best view on the island, and when it’s sunny I take my lunch up there and tell him about what flowers have bloomed and what couples I’ve met. I think he hears me. It probably makes young folk like you laugh.’
‘Not at all,’ I say quickly, and Rohan shakes his head too.
‘I met him eating lunch, you know,’ she says. ‘I was forty-five. I’d been married before but it hadn’t worked out, and I honestly thought that was it for me. I was older than other single people, the marriage had ended badly, and I was left with a multitude of trust issues. I worked in an office in London, the accounting department of an insurance company, and each lunchtime I would go out to one of the parks and sit by some flowers to eat my lunch. And this man would do the same every day. We didn’t speak, we didn’t even sit near each other, but we would smile and give each other a nod. I’d been alone for years after my marriage break-up, and that was honestly the closest, most unguarded interaction I’d had with a man in years. I didn’t think it meant anything – he was just a stranger in the park after all – but I found myself going outside to eat my lunch there even when it was raining. We sat in the bandstand in the snow once on a December afternoon. We still didn’t speak, but it was far too cold to sit outside, and yet neither of us would give up. A few months later, he wasn’t there one day, and it tore me apart. I spent the whole afternoon in an absolute tizzy, wondering if he was all right, if he was off sick, if he’d changed jobs and wasn’t near enough the park now and I’d never see him again. I kicked myself for not even knowing his name or where he worked, and all the while I asked myself how this man – someone I had never exchanged a single word with – could mean so much to me. The next day he was back, and I was so relieved to see him that I told him I had missed him yesterday and asked if he was okay, and he broke down and told me his mum had had a heart attack the day before and he’d been at the hospital all day and no one knew if she was going to pull through or not. We were inseparable from that moment on.’
‘That is such a lovely story,’ I say, struggling to stop my eyes welling up.
‘He was a good man,’ she says with a faraway smile. ‘I never even considered that I would marry again until I met him. We spent six wonderful years together before he proposed.’
‘And you ended up here?’ I don’t know if I should push her to talk about it, but I love hearing stories of how couples met and I can’t help myself.
‘We hadn’t really started planning the wedding. We’d been engaged for a few months and had talked about venue ideas and possible honeymoon destinations, but nothing more. We were off to the Isle of Wight for a little weekend break, and when we got to the dock, the boat to Edelweiss Island was boarding, and we looked at each other and said, “That sounds pretty – shall we go there instead?” So we did. We found the church and it was just so majestic, so beautiful, and the vicar was free. We got married the next day.’
I put my hand on my heart, almost certain I can hear it breaking because Paul’s already told us what happened next. ‘You got married just like that?’
‘Those were the days before the church was booked solidly, of course, and even then it was starting to fill up. Clara had plenty of room at the guesthouse and we were just lucky that we’d arrived on a weekend with no bookings for the church. Our ceremony was simple – the only people who attended were other islanders we’d just met that morning – but it was perfect. It felt like fate had led us here, like it was subconsciously the reason we hadn’t made any plans yet. We both called in sick to work and stayed here for the following week as our honeymoon. And then he went and died, the old fool. Three weeks later, we were in a car accident. He took the full force of the impact. I had nothing but a few scratches.’
‘I’m so sorry, Amabel. That’s so awful.’
‘Life is pretty awful,’ she says. ‘You just have to enjoy the things that make it less awful while you still have them. Losing my husband broke my heart, but he also gave me six years of pure happiness, and he gave me a love that I didn’t think I was capable of finding within myself again. I believe everything happens for a reason, even the bad things, no matter how much it hurts sometimes.’
‘And you moved back here afterwards?’
‘I couldn’t stay after that. All I’d had in London was my job and him, and my job was suddenly meaningless to me. We’d fallen in love with Edelweiss Island while we were here, we’d even joked that we’d live here when we retired. I couldn’t get back in a car after the accident, and on one particularly bad day when I was missing him terribly, I was on the train to work and I couldn’t face it. I got off at the next stop and took another train down to the coast, and as I arrived, the boat to Edelweiss was boarding. I felt it was a sign.’ Her voice wobbles and her eyes fill up with tears.
Rohan steps forward and pulls her into a hug, rubbing her back gently up and down. He doesn’t say anything, just comforts her, and I find my own eyes brimming with tears again. He’s attentive and sensitive in a way I never imagined he could be, and I wonder what Amabel would think if she saw the columns he writes.
She pulls away and pats him on the shoulder. ‘It’s not me you should be hugging, Mr Carter, it’s your fiancée. Take it from an old woman who knows these things – don’t ever take each other for granted, and don’t ever shy away from an opportunity to show the one you love how much they mean to you.’
Rohan’s eyes flick to mine and I smile involuntarily at him, like we’re the only ones in on a secret, a secret that sends a little shiver down my spine when he smiles like that.
I breathe in and catch a waft of scent. ‘Amabel, what are these white flowers?’ I point my toe towards the patch of them growing at the side of the path. ‘I’ve never seen them before. They’re so unusual.’
‘They’re what give the island its name – Edelweiss.’
‘Like from The Sound of Music?’
She nods.
‘Because escaping the Nazis was so romantic,’ Rohan says.
I ignore him and gasp in delight. ‘Oh, I love that film.’
‘I hate that film.’
‘How can anyone hate The Sound of Music? It’s a classic.’
‘Oh, come on,’ he says. ‘Just when you think it can’t get any worse than singing nuns, they add singing children. And it goes on for hours. I think someone pressed play in 1989 and it’s still going.’
‘You don’t have to try so hard to be cynical and grumpy, Mr Carter. You have kind eyes that completely give you away.’ Amabel gives him a caring smile. ‘And yes, the Edelweiss flowers were made famous by The Sound of Music, but they’ve existed for many centuries. They grow in the Alps of Austria and Switzerland, and also for some unknown reason, here. This is the only place in Britain that you’ll find them growing wild, hence the name.’
‘They’re so beautiful,’ I say. ‘And they’re such a perfect fit for this island.’
‘They were nearly picked to extinction after the film came out,’ she says. ‘They’re still a protected species in some areas of Europe and you can be fined for picking one. We’re not quite so strict here because visitors love to pick some to take home with them. Most people press them so they become a permanent reminder of their wedding day.’
‘That’s so lovely,’ I say, already knowing that I want to do that. I’ve never pressed a flower before but I definitely want to take one of these flowers home to remember the island by.
‘There’s such a lovely story behind them too,’ Amabel continues. ‘It dates back long before The Sound of Music. They grow high up in the mountains, in harsh and dangerous conditions, and it’s said that potential suitors would climb to these treacherous places to pick an Edelweiss flower and bring it home to the girl they loved. They would risk their own lives to prove their dedication before they were married. Many died trying to reach them.’
‘Oh yeah, that’s romantic,’ Rohan says, his voice deadpan. ‘Let’s get married, unless I die first picking a flower. The man could have just gone to the Tesco garage on the way home and got a whole bunch of carnations for three quid. Much safer.’
‘You’re missing the point. While I’m sure no woman actually wanted a man to die for the sake of a flower, it was proof that someone was willing to take great risks for the sake of love. Edelweiss are a symbol of bravery and courage. They signify strength because they can weather any storm. Even when the Alps are covered in snow, the Edelweiss still blossom. No matter the weather, no matter how bad things get in the winter, they’re still standing every spring. They are a perfect fit for this island, because we think that no matter what a person goes through, they can still bloom again, like the Edelweiss.’
I bite my lip to stop myself crying. It’s such a lovely story, and it seems so important to Amabel, that it makes my eyes fill up again.
‘When I came here, they were a higgledy-piggledy mess, growing everywhere, some dying off and new ones sprouting up all over the place. I learned how to propagate them and we multiplied the numbers, and I got them all planted in their neat little areas, all the while singing the song from the film to myself. It was the distraction I needed after my husband’s death.’
‘Can I pick one?’ Ro asks.
‘Of course, we have plenty.’
I glance around the island. There are patches of the ‘blossom of snow’ between almost every path and narrow walkway. The long green leaves sprout up and spray over like a fountain, and the white flowers stand proudly above them on tall stems, with plenty of tightly closed buds still waiting to open.
Rohan bends over and chooses a tall stem with a newly unfurled flower at the top. He steps towards me and holds it out. ‘For you, my dear.’
Our fingers brush as I go to take the stem from him but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he keeps hold of it, our fingers touching as he bends down and presses a kiss to my cheek. It’s just a peck, part of the act because Amabel’s watching, but his spicy aftershave combined with the exotic scent of the flower make a heady mixture.
When he pulls back, he lets go of the stem and does an exaggerated bow. ‘To prove my love. Even though I didn’t risk my life to get it.’
‘You risked seasickness, that’s proof enough,’ I say, trying to ignore how jellylike my knees feel. His overacting is laughable, but Amabel’s falling for it easily, looking on with her hands clasped together and a proud smile.
I look at him again and smile at the soft expression on his face. ‘And thank you. I’ll press this when I get home and keep it for ever as a reminder of the day we booked our wedding.’
‘Oh, how lovely,’ Amabel says. ‘You just lay it between two pieces of kitchen roll and put it in the pages of a heavy book. In a few weeks’ time, you’ll be able to take it out and frame it. Some people use resin to make jewellery pieces or fridge magnets with them too. Pop it in water when you get back to Clara’s and it’ll be good to go. The flowers last for weeks.’
‘Thanks, I’ll do that.’
I look down at the gorgeous flower in my hand. The long, furry petals that open out like a white lion’s paw, florets of yellow with hints of purple edging, velvety stems, and such a gorgeous smell. I hold it to my nose and inhale the musky, chocolatey scent. ‘It’s beautiful.’
Rohan bends down to take a sniff too, and I jolt it upwards so it hits him on the nose. He jumps back, snorting with laughter. ‘I’ll get you for that!’
He goes to tickle me but I yelp and jump out of his way.
‘Later,’ he clarifies. ‘I’ll get you for that later. When you’re least expecting it.’ He steeples his hands and drums his fingers together like an evil overlord plotting to take over the universe. The look of intensity in his eyes makes me go hot all over and the butterflies in my stomach are not just fluttering, they’re doing an airshow.
‘You two are so adorable together,’ Amabel says, making me jump because I’d forgotten she was still there.
Rohan stiffens up instantly and drops his arm from around me, shuffling away. ‘Oh, I’m sure we’re not – we’re just trying to make it work.’
‘I know these things.’ She taps the side of her nose.
‘I thought flowers were your speciality,’ he says, clearly trying to change the subject. ‘We’re told you’re the flower girl?’
‘Ooh!’ Amabel lets out a squeak to rival Clara and fans a hand in front of her face. ‘It’s been a long time since I was a girl, Mr Carter, but I am probably known as the old flower bat. I found my calling when I moved here. My husband was Welsh and he loved daffodils. They reminded him of his home country, and we always had a vase or two around the house in the spring. I decided to grow them to honour him when I came here, and my lovely conservatory at the cottage and my greenhouse made it easy. I soon moved on to all types of flowers, and the florist asked me if I could spare a few for wedding bouquets, and the rest is history. The florist still has to ship in some for the décor as I don’t have much space, but I feel a bride’s bouquet should be truly special, full of one-of-a-kind flowers that were grown especially for them. It means something that way.’
I can’t help smiling. That kind of personal touch is what makes weddings special. I’ve written about bouquets that brides have made themselves or ones that their mums have made, and they always mean so much more than just a random selection of flowers thrown together.
This is such a beautiful island, and I don’t for one second think Amabel does that because she gets money from it. She grows flowers because she loves them – it’s plain to see – and I’m hit with another wave of guilt that we’re going to betray them. She’s shared her personal story with us, and invited us over to discuss the flowers for our wedding. She’s going to hate us when she finds out there’s not going to be a wedding, and she won’t be the only one.
‘Well, I’d best get on,’ Amabel says. ‘I’m just off up to see my husband. I’ve got a flask of tea in my bag to enjoy while I sit and watch the boats passing in the distance and the seagulls diving for fish. Never a day goes by that I don’t wish he was joining me. Don’t you two forget how easy it is to lose each other.’
We stand and watch as she totters along the coastal road and disappears into the trees on the wide hill.
‘Jeez,’ Rohan mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose again. ‘That’s tough.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, watching him. He’s obviously upset by Amabel’s story. I don’t think anyone with a heart could not be affected by it. ‘Underneath the stony exterior, you’re just a soppy old sap, aren’t you?’
‘No, I’m not.’ He pulls himself up to his full height and shakes himself. ‘I just feel sorry for her. How pathetic that her life got so entwined with someone else’s that she has to go and sit by a stone every day.’
There’s as much heat behind his words as an ice lolly on a frosty December morning, and I reach out to give his arm a quick squeeze. ‘It’s all right. I won’t tell anyone.’
He mutters something unintelligible as we start wandering vaguely back towards the B&B.
‘It’s nice, in a way,’ I say after a long silence. ‘From her need to grow daffodils to remember him by, she’s made a career, a life, that revolves around something she loves, and now she grows flowers that make other people’s weddings special. It’s an odd circle of life, isn’t it? From her grief, she brings joy to hundreds of people, and she obviously loves doing it.’
‘Do you see the good in absolutely everything or just ninety-nine point nine-nine percent of all things?’
I hit him and he laughs. ‘Okay, it is kind of a nice way to make the best out of a horrible situation.’
‘There, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?’
He shudders. ‘Well, it’s got my weekly positive comment out of the way, I suppose.’
‘And I know how much trouble that causes you.’
He looks at me with a raised eyebrow and I find myself smiling at how insulted he manages to look.
‘We should practise for next week’s positive comment, just in case the islanders expect you to reach levels of happy joyfulness that you’ve only previously heard of in fairy tales. You are meant to be a newly engaged man, after all.’
‘Well, let’s just turn me into a Teletubby and be done with it.’ He smiles with gritted teeth. ‘Think that’ll be joyful enough for them?’
I smile too. ‘Go on, say something positive about the island. That’ll be twice in one day. We’re going for a record here.’
He looks at me like he’s not sure whether to laugh or take offence, but his mouth eventually twitches into a genuine smile and he sighs in resignation. ‘All right, I’m glad Amabel found something she loved after her husband’s death. It’s nice that she tends the Edelweiss that gave this island its name. Without her, the plants the island was named after would’ve died out. How’s that?’
‘Pretty good.’ I have to bite my lip to stop the smile spreading right across my face. ‘I know you’ve overexerted yourself with niceness now so if you need to spend the rest of the day just frowning and grunting, I’ll understand.’
He laughs so hard that his shoulders shake. ‘And tomorrow we’ll work on getting you to say something negative.’
‘Hah. Good luck with that one, mate. Especially here, with all this greenery and the empty stretches of beach, pretty cottages, and gorgeous flowers.’
‘You know, I’ve heard that song many times, but I had no idea what Edelweiss looked like.’
‘Me neither.’ I twiddle the flower he gave me between my fingers. ‘Speaking of … How can you hate The Sound of Music? I bet you’ve never even watched it right through. You probably watched the first ten minutes and then went off to play some violent video game where you get to shoot people or something.’
He laughs. ‘How can you like it? Singing nuns and bratty children, Bonnie. These things do not a good film make.’
‘Aw, I love it. I used to watch it with my parents every Christmas.’
‘It’s not a Christmas movie, is it?’
‘No, but you know that time between Christmas and New Year when everyone’s still off work, still stuffed full of food, and you don’t want to watch actual Christmas movies any more because Christmas is over? That’s when The Sound of Music is always on, and it’s like a family tradition to sit and watch it. I go and stay with my parents over Christmas and we still do it now.’
‘Oh. When I was young, that was the time my dad was down the pub and my mum was cleaning up smashed plates after a huge row and crying because he’d ruined Christmas. When I was a bit older, it was time spent in the car travelling between my mum’s house and my dad’s house while whichever one lumbered with the journey spent the entire drive listing all the wrongs the other one had ever done.’
‘So you had an—’
‘Don’t say unhappy childhood,’ he interrupts. ‘I can practically see your ears pricking up. Oh, poor Rohan. His parents’ marriage made his life miserable. That’s why he’s like he is. Well, it’s not. I hate marriage because it’s a farce and love because it’s a con. It’s nothing to do with watching my parents split up.’
There are so many things I could say, so many things I could ask him, but mainly I just don’t want him to stop talking. ‘How old were you?’ I ask gently, hoping it might be the most neutral thing I can say.
He looks at me with a raised eyebrow, and I’m certain he isn’t going to answer.
‘Twelve,’ he says quietly. ‘They had stayed together until then “for my sake”, then they tried to have an amicable divorce “for my sake”, then they tried to pretend everything was fine “for my sake”, and then they gave up and stopped trying to hide how much they despised each other and used me as a bargaining chip. They ripped each other to shreds in the courts, to the point where the judge decided neither of them should have custody and made me go and stay with my nan until they learned how not to behave like unhinged chimpanzees. That’s what marriage does to two people who were once perfectly reasonable.’
‘What was the outcome?’
‘Are you always this nosy?’
I knock my arm against his. ‘Only with people I’m engaged to.’
It makes him smile. ‘Fine. My dad gave up and let Mum keep me. She got a new job and promptly moved us a hundred miles across the country, which made him resent her even more for making him have to drive so far for visits and made me dread every visit because it would always result in a screaming match on the front doorstep because she wouldn’t let him in the new house, and then he’d rage about her for the whole of the visit and she’d rage about him for days after he’d left.’
I stop him walking and reach up to slide my arms around his neck, pulling him down into a hug.
‘What are you doing?’ he says, even though his arms tighten around me.
‘If I have to explain a hug, there’s less hope for you than I thought.’
I feel him smile against my hair. ‘It was a long time ago. There’s nothing to hug me for now.’
‘If you say so.’ I squeeze him a bit tighter. ‘But I’m your fiancée, I don’t need a reason.’
‘Ah, selling the part – I get it.’ His voice is muffled in my hair but it sounds strained and tight.
I swallow hard. ‘No. Just trying to say I’m sorry, Ro. No kid should be subjected to that.’
‘That’s marriage for you.’ He shrugs and pulls away. I really wouldn’t have minded hugging him for a bit longer. Maybe this sea breeze is getting to me more than I thought.
I shake myself. ‘No, it isn’t. Not all marriages are going to end like that.’
‘Fifty percent of marriages end in div—’
‘Don’t start spouting divorce statistics,’ I say as we start walking again. ‘I’m sorry your parents weren’t capable of keeping their issues between themselves, but plenty of people have long and happy marriages. My parents have been together for nearly fifty years. They got engaged within a week of meeting. They spent a few years travelling together and working abroad, then they came back to Britain and settled down and had me. They’re head-over-heels in love and always have been. Even now, their faces light up when they talk about each other. They look at each other across a room and you can feel the love between them. It gives me hope every time I see them.’
‘Bleurgh, sounds awful.’ He makes a gagging noise. ‘What do you need hope for anyway? You’re gorgeous and funny. You must have guys lining up to date you … well, those who don’t throw up on sight, that is.’
I whack his arm despite the fact there’s the heat of an active volcano racing through my veins at the compliment. I’m average-looking from my blonde hair that I regret getting cut above my shoulders, to my make-up free face today, my skinny arms, and judging by the amount of editing Oliver has to do on my articles, I’m definitely not that funny or capable of coming up with the right word at the right time.
‘Nah,’ I stutter. ‘I’ve been on a few dates but nothing that’s ever … stuck. I think I’m destined to be the opposite of my parents and die alone with only the women in a bridal shop near Marble Arch to mourn me.’
‘Well, if we do the opposite of our parents, I’d be happily married by now and that ain’t gonna happen.’ He nudges my arm. ‘And don’t worry, now we’ve got to know each other, I’d mourn you.’
I let out a splutter of laughter. ‘Gee, thanks, Rohan. No one could wish for a nicer compliment than that.’
He laughs too. ‘Is that not what happy couples say to spice up the romance in their lives? What could be more romantic than knowing someone will miss you when you pop your clogs?’
Now, he is good with words, utterly hilarious, and he doesn’t get annoyed with his hair blowing around all over the place in this wind, whereas I’m constantly trying to hold mine down and wishing it was long enough not to be blown out of a ponytail. ‘When people say romance, I think they generally mean, you know, flowers, chocolates, candles, maybe some sexy lingerie …’
‘Well, I could go for some chocolate. I’d look rubbish in a red satin bra though.’
He winks at me when our eyes meet and I’m laughing so much at the mental image that I keep stumbling into him as we walk, and I feel like just a little bit of the hardened wall he hides behind has crumbled. I might still be a way from completing the jigsaw but it’s definitely one piece of the puzzle behind his antagonistic persona.