I wake to the sound of wedding bells. It makes me smile before I’ve even opened my eyes. I love the sound of wedding bells. They always make me tear up because they sound so hopeful. It’s the soundtrack to a couple starting a new life together.
From the floor at the end of the bed, Rohan groans. ‘I’ll love you for ever if you kill me now. Just suffocate me with a pillow or something. You’ll have a ghost on your side for ever. I’ll just float around invisibly behind you and throw banana skins into the path of anyone you don’t like. Anything just to make that racket stop.’
I throw a pillow at him instead. ‘Stop moaning and get up. Isn’t that a lovely sound to wake up to? I wonder if someone’s getting married today. How amazing would that be?’
I get out of bed and walk over to the window, pulling the blind up with a flourish to annoy him. Sunlight pours in and Rohan cries out and throws an arm across his eyes. ‘It’s the middle of the night,’ he mutters, turning over and burrowing his face into his pillow and pulling the tangled mess of the bedsheet over his head.
‘It’s gone nine a.m.’ I force myself to look out the window instead of at him. I was hoping for a view of the church to find out why they’re ringing the bells, but we’re on the other side of the B&B now, and this window looks out across the open ocean. The sun reflects off the water’s surface and makes it look like it’s sparkling across the horizon. A morning dip looks so tempting, but it’s only April. The sea is undoubtedly colder than it looks.
‘Come on, Ro. It’s a gorgeous day and we’ve got a church to go to.’
‘Can’t wait,’ he grunts from under the cover. ‘Sounds about as fun as a shark attack.’
‘The adorable pug will be there. He’ll probably want his belly tickled again.’
I expect him to ignore me, but with a few more grunts and groans, he pushes himself into a sitting position with the sheet still draped around him. He looks over at me and grins, the bedsheet halfway over his head, obscuring his smile. ‘He was an adorable dog.’
‘So you’ve told everyone who will listen thirty times. That vicar’s gonna have him protected by Mission Impossible-style alarms and security systems by the time we get there. He’ll probably have his own panic button.’
Rohan pushes his bottom lip out like he’s pouting. He’s got a pillow crease down his face, and his hair is flattened at the top and sticking out around his ears, but there’s a jovial tone behind the grumpiness in his voice.
‘Did you sleep okay on the floor?’ I ask.
‘Not bad. Apart from Prince Charles getting all up in my… well, places where you really don’t want to imagine a naked Prince Charles.’ He jokingly shudders and I crease up with laughter again.
‘Do you want first shower?’ he asks.
Obviously, there’s only one en-suite bathroom in the honeymoon room. Engaged couples don’t mind sharing bathrooms. Of course, Clara didn’t think we’d mind, being an engaged couple and all.
‘You know what, you let me have the bed last night, the least I can do is let you have first shower.’
‘Nah, ladies first. How about you have first shower and I make first cup of coffee?’ He looks over at the tray on a table in the corner. ‘Let me rephrase that, how about I make first cup of crappy instant coffee to tide us over until we can get a decent cup in the café later?’
When I get out of the bathroom, scrunching my hair dry with a towel, Rohan’s sitting cross-legged on the bed sipping a cup of coffee, and there’s one waiting for me on the bedside table. For someone who makes a living by being nasty, he can be surprisingly nice sometimes.
***
The musky smell of the white flowers is heavy in the air when we step out the door of the B&B. The sun is shining again and the breeze is minimal, a beautiful spring day. It’s a world away from London where you step outside every day to smog and traffic noise and the cries of homicidal pigeons.
After stopping in the café for a real cup of coffee and a slice of Kittie’s homemade apple pie with whipped cream, we wander up to the church hand in hand. Rohan’s right that people might suspect we’re not a real couple. I definitely felt eyes on me as we ate in the café, and we decided to pre-empt a repeat of Amabel’s speech yesterday and hold hands, even though it’s a little weird to be walking around holding an almost-stranger’s hand.
It’s been a long time since I was in a serious relationship, the kind where you want to walk along the road holding each other’s hands. Maybe it’s better like this. There are no expectations. If I was with someone I was actually dating, I’d spend the whole time wondering if I was being too forward, if I was making him uncomfortable, if my palms were sweaty. It doesn’t matter with Rohan. Well, maybe the sweaty palms bit.
‘Well, would you look at that,’ Rohan says as we reach the top of the winding forest-like hill. ‘Being engaged opens a lot of doors around this place.’
‘Technically gates,’ I say as we walk up to the church gate, wide open today, inviting us into the grounds. I can’t help the little shiver of excitement that goes through me as we walk into the tunnel of trees.
‘You really love this stuff, huh?’ Rohan says softly.
‘What, clever plant design?’
‘No, weddings, love, churches of no-divorces, that kind of thing.’
‘Nah. I write for a bridal magazine because I love funerals.’
He laughs. ‘All right, that was a stupid question. I already know you love it from spending time with you. And the slightly weird random photo of a wedding dress you use as a Twitter icon. It’s just… you’re smiling.’
‘You make that sound like it’s something rare. I smile all the time. Unlike you, Grump.’
He smiles to prove me wrong. ‘I meant your genuine smile. Not the sarcastic one you give me when you’re not sure whether to laugh or strangle me, and not the one when you think you shouldn’t give me the satisfaction of finding me funny. The real one. This makes you happy.’
I’m kind of lost for words at that. Has he really been paying that much attention to my face?
He swings his arm in the air and tries to touch one of the boughs that form the canopy as we walk up the little lane, but it’s taller than him. ‘It’s pretty, I’ll give you that. Whoever planted the trees and trained them that way certainly had a good vision. Even the fairy lights don’t look as gaudy as I’d imagined.’
Each tree branch is wrapped with strings of tiny lights. They’re not switched on at this time of day, but I can imagine how magical it must look in the dark. ‘There’s something special here,’ I say, but I wonder why I’m bothering even as I say it. Rohan isn’t the kind of person to appreciate beautiful churchyards or the magic that little bit of extra effort must create for blushing brides. What’s he going to say? The only thing special here is the amount of money changing hands?
I’m surprised when he doesn’t say anything, no sarcastic rebuttal, no jokes, no making fun of me for believing it.
As we emerge from the tunnel of trees, the spring sunshine is almost blinding, and I blink for a moment as a wide expanse of grass comes into view. From the forested roads and the lane of trees, the world opens up into a wide-open space. Flat, neatly mowed grass stretches across the land to a line of trees creating a perfect fence around the edge of the property. There’s a small graveyard around the side, and from where we stand, there’s a gravel path leading upwards to the peak of the hill, and at the top stands what we’ve been waiting to see.
‘Wow,’ I whisper in awe.
‘I’ll give you that one. That is not what I expected to be hiding behind those trees.’
I don’t know what I expected the church to be like, but after all we’ve heard about it and all we’ve had to do to get this far, I was kind of expecting an anticlimax. Maybe a dilapidated tiny church. The grey bricks would be crumbling, overgrown land, broken gravestones, and bits of roof tile missing.
This is not an anticlimax.
‘It’s like a tiny cathedral,’ Rohan says.
And it is. The sun-bleached stone building has got a tall bell tower at one end with a huge bell glistening in the sunshine, the impressive spire we could see from the boat, and stained glass windows that catch the light and send a rainbow of colours dancing across the grassy verges surrounding it. It’s the quintessential little village chapel, and far from looking out of place on such a small island, it looks like it’s always been here, almost like the whole island has been built around it.
Rohan might not like weddings, but his face doesn’t hide his amazement.
‘You’re the wedding venue expert,’ he says eventually. ‘How does this compare?’
‘Oh, it’s definitely one of the best.’ I’ve seen quite a few wedding venues in my time, from grand old churches to sweeping manor houses, but there’s something different about this one. There’s something special. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was magic in the air. The setting is just so perfect. The way the church is situated at the top of the hill, like it’s the island’s pride and joy, yet the trees surrounding it give an air of privacy. To our right, we can see the open ocean, and to the left is a row of trees, and I know that if we went over and peered through them, we’d be looking down on the little island cottages.
The door of the church is on the left side and there’s a click and a charming old creak as it opens, and a little black ball comes zooming out, racing towards us in a flurry of panting.
Rohan drops to his knees on the grass and opens his arms, and the dog launches himself at him. I’m not sure if he wants to play or if he’s going for the jugular, but Rohan’s squeak of delight doesn’t sound like he’s having his throat ripped out, so I leave the first aid kit in my bag for the time being. Rohan scritches the dog and cuddles him and tickles behind his ears, and the dog scrambles up his legs and throws himself against his chest, his whole body wagging with excitement.
‘This is definitely the best wedding venue,’ he says as the dog climbs up his chest and tries to eat his face. ‘Bet most of the weddings you’ve been to don’t have a gorgeous dog like this.’
I can’t help smiling as he lets the dog push him over, rolling onto his back to give him better access. ‘They don’t. But grown men rolling around on the ground with a pug trying to make breakfast of their nose is probably not what most brides want to find on their wedding day.’
He laughs and screws his nose up, wiggling it against the pug’s little black nose. ‘Well, most people don’t know what they’re missing. Who’d want to get married when you could just play with a dog?’
The pug turns around and sits down on his chest, watching as the vicar hurries down the path towards us.
‘Seriously,’ Rohan says, scratching its back. ‘If I had a dog, I’d take it out on dates and eat dinner with it every day and cuddle it to sleep every night, and I’d never want anything else in all my life.’
I’m about to ask him why he doesn’t when the vicar shouts, ‘Come here, Puffin!’
‘And your name is Puffin,’ Rohan says to the dog, who bounces back to his feet on Rohan’s chest. ‘Could you get any cuter?’
He giggles as the pug resumes trying to devour him, munching playfully at his chin.
Every part of me has melted at the sight of Rohan rolling around on the ground with the small, chunky dog on top of him. Especially when the dog is called Puffin. The pair of them are what the word adorable was invented for.
Ro leans his head back and exhales like he’s completely content and the dog makes huffing noises as he hops on and off his chest, although I’ve got to admit my attention is on something taller and blonder than the excitable little pug. How can someone who writes such acerbic, cutting columns also have such a painfully endearing side?
Puffin is snuffling into Ro’s ear and trying to chew his earlobe off by the time the vicar reaches us.
‘Puffin, leave him alone,’ he says, pointing at a spot near his feet for the dog to go and sit. ‘I’m sorry, he saw you coming up the lane and was so excited that I couldn’t keep him in.’
‘Oh, he’s fine,’ Rohan says. ‘To be honest, he’s made my day. No one’s ever been that happy to see me before.’
‘Even so, it’s no way to greet guests, is it, Puffin? We’ve been over this.’
Guests? We were trespassers yesterday.
When Puffin ignores the vicar’s request to leave Rohan alone, the vicar walks over and lifts him off his chest, and I’m not sure who makes the biggest noise of disappointment – Rohan or the dog.
When the dog is deposited safely at the vicar’s feet, Rohan sits up and starts brushing grass out of his hair. ‘Beautiful dog. I think I’ve fallen in love.’
‘It certainly seems like the feeling is mutual, Mr Carter,’ the vicar says.
I hold my hand out to Rohan and he uses it to haul himself to his feet. His eyes lock onto mine and I know exactly what he’s thinking – he never introduced himself. Even so, a soft look settles over his face, something that could almost be pride, and I’m surprised again. Puffin definitely brings out his gentle side.
‘I’m Paul.’ The vicar shakes our hands while Puffin sits quietly by his feet looking up at Ro. ‘I must apologise for my rudeness yesterday. I didn’t realise you were looking to get married here. We’ve been inundated with reporters lately and I assumed you were more of the same. Please accept my apology. Now we’re on the same page, I’d be delighted to show you around the church and answer any questions you may have.’
I should be concentrating on the vicar but Rohan’s brushing grass off his clothes now and I’m finding it surprisingly difficult to take my eyes off him. He’s only wearing navy jeans and a long-sleeved black top, but he looks ridiculously sexy, and each brush of his hands is making his clothing cling to muscles hidden underneath. I feel Paul’s eyes on me and I force myself to concentrate on the view instead. ‘It’s beautiful up here.’
‘Oh, we know,’ he says. ‘It’s known as “the little cathedral of Edelweiss”. Some parts of it date back over six hundred years. We believe its original purpose was a lighthouse of sorts, a guide to sailors returning home to Britain’s south coast.’
‘And now?’ Rohan asks.
‘Oh, technology has moved on now. Modern ships have no need of landmarks to guide them around islands these days. Now it’s just our own little church for Edelweiss Island. We hold weddings, the occasional funeral, and I do services for the important days of the calendar like Easter and Christmas, although they’re more a social event for the islanders than a religious ceremony.’
‘What’s with all the trees then?’ Rohan asks. ‘Makes it seem like you’re trying to hide something dodgy up here.’
‘My grandfather planted them. He was afraid of being a target for bombs during the war. He tried to hide us in plain sight.’
‘Your family has been here for a long time then?’
‘I’m the third generation to preside over this parish, and my own son will come back to take over from me one day.’
We follow the vicar up the path towards the church as his adorable pug walks beside his feet and keeps looking back to make sure Rohan’s following.
I nudge him and nod towards the dog. ‘You’ve made a friend there.’
He grins, a wide and easy smile lighting up his whole face. ‘Do you really think so?’
It strikes me as an odd question because the answer is so obvious. ‘He tried to eat your face. He’s either a really polite carnivore or he likes you,’ I say, although to be fair to Puffin, licking Rohan’s face doesn’t sound like the worst way to spend a morning.
‘I think I might’ve fallen in love with him.’
‘I thought you didn’t believe in love.’
‘I don’t when it comes to love-love. Human love. That doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart. I still love animals. Let’s face it, there aren’t many animals who aren’t better than humans. A dog is never going to hurt you. A dog is never going to use you. They’re loyal. All a dog wants is food and cuddles and the occasional walk.’
‘Food, cuddles, and the occasional walk sounds pretty good to me, and that’s as a human.’
‘Same,’ he says with a grin. ‘Seriously though, humans have too much other stuff going on, too much lying and self-obsession. A dog isn’t going to suddenly switch their affections to someone else because that person’s got a better selection of Bonios. Dogs are uncomplicated and their love is unconditional. If more humans were like that, life might be a bit nicer for all of us.’
I get the feeling this conversation has gone a bit off track, and my mind is racing again, thinking about Clara’s ‘he’s been hurt’ comment. He has been hurt, I’m sure of that now, from the way his words are harsh but his actions are soft and his eyes are kind. No one who looks that besotted with a dog could be as cold as Ro would have people believe he is.
‘Come in.’ Paul pushes the heavy oak door open and lets us into a wide foyer area with a stone floor and brick walls. There’s a large coat rack and umbrella stand on the far side of the room, along with some chairs, and I can imagine this is village gossip central when the locals come to services here. I can picture them nattering away as they put on their hats and coats before braving the rain, their husbands waiting outside.
Puffin paws at Rohan’s jeans and he bends down and picks him up, and I can’t help smiling at how much they adore each other.
I turn around to the door we’ve just come through and stop in my tracks. ‘Wow.’
‘Never mind cult, we’ve just walked onto the set of a horror film.’ Rohan steps close enough to whisper in my ear and Puffin climbs up and licks my face.
‘Are those… photographs?’ I ask.
‘Polaroids, yes. A reminder of all the happy couples who have got married here,’ Paul says. ‘I insist on a photo of all my couples every time I see them, before the wedding, after the wedding, and if they ever come back to visit. I think it’s nice to display them like this, like a memory board of all the love this church has shared.’
I go over for a closer look. One wall of the foyer is covered in photographs, stuck up like wallpaper, each one showing happy couples, smiling with their arms around each other, kissing, laughing together. Each Polaroid photo has their names and a date written in neat handwriting underneath it.
‘Couldn’t he just have borrowed some of those sinister ornaments from Clara? It would be much less disturbing,’ Ro says to me.
I reach over and rub the dog’s ears. ‘That’s kind of…’
‘Voyeuristic,’ Rohan whispers in my ear. ‘Creepy? Disconcerting? Welcome to our church. Free screaming heebie-jeebies with every visit.’
‘I think of it as a nice way to remember all the love that has gone before. This island thrives on love. We’d be nothing without it. All of these people have got married here and are now living happily ever after. It’s nice to share that.’
I can’t tear my eyes away from the photos. They’re mesmerising. So many people. So many wedding days and happy honeymoons. The photos completely cover one wall and have started to spread around a corner onto the next wall too. Some of the pictures have later photos tacked up below them where the same couple are older and now there are kids and a dog in the photos as well.
‘I’ll have to get one of you two later,’ Paul says. ‘Now, would you like a tour of our little church?’
‘Love one, thanks,’ Rohan says. Just from the tone of his voice, I can tell that he’s dying to snap something about how welcome we were for a tour yesterday but he’s holding back.
Rohan puts Puffin down and the waggy black dog trots up a set of carpeted stairs to our left with one last forlorn look at him before disappearing around the corner.
‘That’s my private living area,’ Paul says. ‘He’s got the prime spot on the sofa and an array of dog biscuits. I’ve even left David Attenborough on the TV for him, he seemed to be enjoying a documentary about birds.’
I can’t help smiling at the idea of the little dog sitting on the sofa, watching TV, and eating biscuits. What next, a cup of doggy tea?
The ancient-looking arched wooden door creaks open and Paul beckons us through. It’s so small that Rohan has to duck his head under the doorway, and the door itself looks like it’s home to a few centuries’ worth of woodworm. Even the handle is one of those old-fashioned knocker types.
‘Do hold hands if you want to. Don’t be put off by my presence. It’s why I didn’t realise you were a couple yesterday,’ Paul says as we step into a small round area at the foot of a staircase. ‘Everyone on Edelweiss Island knows what it’s like to lose someone they love. I’ve done a lot of marriage counselling over the years and one thing that comes up over and over again is spouses not feeling loved and important, even though they are, but their other half is just forgetting to show it. I try to share that with every couple I meet, and everyone who lives here shares that theory. So many relationships fail because people start taking each other for granted. We all believe that if you love someone, the most important thing you can do is show them. Words are easy, actions are not, and the smallest things, like holding hands or making your other half a cup of tea in the mornings… that’s where relationships strengthen or start to fall apart.’
He’s watching us expectantly so Rohan steps a bit closer and drops his arm around my shoulders, and I reach up and give his hand a squeeze for good measure, just to show Paul I’m paying attention.
‘Now, as you may have guessed, this is the bell tower.’ Seemingly satisfied with our display, Paul nods towards the heavy-looking ropes hanging down in the middle of the tiny room. Rohan lets his arm fall and moves away from me. I look up to see three large bells high above us. ‘We still ring the bells by hand even though I’m sure there’s some kind of technological upgrade we could get put in, but all the islanders agree that nothing sounds as good as the traditional, hand-rung wedding bells. Did you hear them this morning?’
Rohan lets out an audible groan.
‘Yes, they were lovely,’ I say quickly as we start following Paul up the wooden staircase that spirals around the edge of the tiny tower.
‘I rang them for you.’ Paul looks down at us from the steps above. ‘To celebrate your engagement. It’s not every day we have a proposal on Edelweiss Island.’
‘Oh, you really shouldn’t have,’ Rohan says.
‘It was my pleasure,’ Paul says, completely missing the sarcasm. ‘Like I said, I do apologise for my shortness yesterday. I didn’t realise you were together together and would be looking for a venue. I hope I didn’t put you off.’
‘Not at all,’ I say, feeling a bit guilty. He’s got every right not to want reporters in his church, and here he is apologising because we’re lying to him. How is he going to feel when he finds out that he was right the first time?
At the top of the staircase, we emerge onto a narrow landing area, no more than a platform around the edge of where the three bells are hanging. There are windows on all four sides of the tower but none of them have glass in, allowing the sound of the bells to ring out across the island. From the huge bell to the smallest, all of them are old, but they look well cared for, and there’s a real sense of nostalgia here, especially when I imagine them being rung by hand.
Rohan bends down and his stubble brushes the shell of my ear in the most delicious way as he whispers in my ear. ‘Think he’s got Quasimodo locked up in here somewhere?’
‘No,’ I whisper back, trying to sound annoyed that he’s never without a sarcastic comment, and even though I should, I don’t mind him standing so close because his aftershave overpowers the smell of old wood and polished metal in the tower.
There’s not much space on the landing, and while Paul goes over to one side to explain something about the mechanics in the tower, I sidle over to one of the glassless windows and peek out.
It’s the best view on the island by far, the highest point, and I’m glad when Rohan appears beside me and looks out too.
‘Wow.’
That’s all there is to say, really. Every time I think we’ve seen the best view from the island, it outdoes itself. Here, we’re above even the treetops, and the view back towards mainland Britain is so clear that it feels like we should be able to see it on the horizon even though I know we’re too far away for that. The clear spring sky is dotted with white puffs of clouds and the ocean is twinkling for miles in the sunlight.
Rohan sticks his phone out the window and snaps a picture. ‘You can use my photos for your article if you want,’ he whispers. ‘Seeing as you don’t seem to be taking any of your own.’
‘Thanks,’ I mumble, surprised that he offered. Why would he help me? This pretence is as far as us helping each other goes. I’m sure that as soon as we’ve got enough information to write a decent article about Edelweiss Island, it’ll be back to every man for themselves.
It’s nice to think that we’d both get a chance to keep our magazines from this, but the reality is that Hambridge Publishing have invested time and money into their battle of the mags campaign and they’re unlikely to back down that easily. It’ll still be me versus Rohan, and anything he can do to make his article better than mine will benefit him. There’s no way he’d really let me use his photos. He’s probably just trying to ensure that I don’t take any of my own so my article will be photo-less.
‘I didn’t want to break our cover,’ I say, even though Paul doesn’t seem to mind us taking pictures now we’re getting married here. It’s not really because of that. It’s because walking around this church with Rohan, I can believe for even the smallest of moments that I really am a bride-to-be, that I’m really engaged and going to get married in this beautiful place. It’s probably the closest I’ll ever come to actually getting married, and I don’t want to spoil the fantasy by reminding myself that I’m here in a professional capacity.
I shake my head at myself. I need to get a grip. I take my phone out of my pocket and snap a couple of pictures of the view from the tower window. No way am I relying on Rohan for anything to do with this article.
Well, other than the obvious.
‘No gargoyles?’ Rohan calls over to Paul.
‘Gargoyles don’t really fit with our fairy-tale happily ever after theme,’ the vicar says.
‘Yeah, and I suppose they’d be easy to confuse with mother-in-laws too,’ Rohan says. ‘Shame, I love a good gargoyle.’
A laugh takes me by surprise and I cover it by pretending to choke.
‘Fly,’ I rasp, pointing at my throat when I notice Paul is looking at me worriedly.
‘Still more appetising than some of the things Clara serves up,’ Rohan says, clearly unable to go more than three seconds without insulting something or someone.
‘I wouldn’t badmouth Clara’s cooking aloud if you want to leave this island with the same amount of body parts that you arrived with,’ Paul says, smiling in a way that suggests there’s some truth behind the joke.
My eyes lock onto Rohan’s and we both dissolve into a fit of giggles, and I have to force myself to straighten up and adopt a serious look.
He smirks and leans down to whisper in my ear again. ‘It’s all right to laugh, my endless humour and sparkling wit wins everyone over in the end.’
‘The only thing I can see it winning you is a first-class ticket over the edge of a cliff if you don’t behave yourself.’
‘I suppose my beautiful fiancée will just have to keep me in line then.’
I look up at him and grin. ‘Oh, there aren’t enough cattle prods in the world…’
He laughs, a sexy seductive laugh that reverberates through my ear. ‘Ooh, kinky.’
Paul looks round at that. Of course the vicar chooses that word to overhear. He probably thinks we’re talking about hot, dirty sex in church. Is it illegal to talk about hot, dirty sex in church? To talk about or have? Oh God, now I’m thinking about hot, dirty sex and Rohan, and I’m in a church. I’m going to get struck down. If there’s a sudden lightning strike in the middle of this balmy April day, we’ll all know why.
‘Between Prince Charles and cattle prods, I’m starting to wonder about the image of innocence you project to the readers of Two Gold Rings, Miss Haskett…’ Rohan whispers.
‘I’m starting to wonder what would count as mitigating circumstances in a murder trial.’
He laughs. ‘Aww, don’t be like that.’
We’re both grinning at each other and I’m sure he’s going to kiss me. Everything around us is suddenly still. His tongue wets his lips and there’s a fire burning inside me. One of his hands is on my arm and I feel dizzy at the thought, which is probably not a good thing to feel at the top of a tower this high. I feel my lips part in anticipation. He’s so close…
A floorboard creaks and I remember where we are. Being this close to Rohan is short-circuiting every sensible thought in my brain. He’s R.C. Art, for God’s sake. He wasn’t going to kiss me. The most likely thing he’d do at the top of a tower this high is push me out of the glassless window and play on the islanders’ sympathy over the death of his fiancée to get his story.
‘Shall we get on?’ Paul says, his face so red that I’m sure he can read my thoughts. He must think this place is having some sort of effect on me. This is an old tower, there’s probably some kind of hallucinogenic fungus growing here that makes people think about things that aren’t suitable for thinking about in church. That’ll be it. I’m sure it’s nothing to do with the tight squeeze and the man I’m meant to be engaged to standing so close that I can feel the warmth from his body, feel the muscles in his arms, feel the brush of his breath and the heat in his grin every time he looks at me.
Paul shoos us back onto the wooden staircase, where we stop and let him pass to lead the way.
‘As I said, this was built hundreds of years ago,’ he continues. ‘All the walls are the original stonework. The church itself has had some repairs but the bell tower is almost exactly as it was back then, which is impressive by anyone’s standards.’
‘You can tell.’ Rohan pokes his finger into one of the many crumbling holes in the stone wall as we walk down the steps.
Paul keeps glancing back to check we’re following him. Or to check we haven’t started mauling each other. Which is ridiculous, really. There’s no way we were actually going to kiss. Even if Rohan wasn’t Rohan and we were actually in a relationship, I’m pretty sure you don’t kiss in front of vicars on sacred ground unless they’ve just pronounced you man and wife.
‘So, do you have many weddings here?’ Rohan asks.
‘Quite a few.’ Paul glances back at us. ‘Probably more than you think. We’re booked solid in the peak season and pretty solid in the off-peak.’
Ro makes a noise that sounds like he doesn’t believe him. ‘Okay, answer me this – how do so many couples find this place? You don’t advertise, you don’t have an online presence, you’re not even listed in the phone book.’
Paul looks back at us again. ‘How did you find us?’
‘We, er…’ I look at Rohan in trepidation. We should have gone over this stuff. We’re nowhere near prepared to sell this lie.
‘We work in the industry,’ Rohan says smoothly. ‘I’d be lying if I said we hadn’t heard the rumours. We both had last week off and came down to the coast for a bit of sunshine, and we were browsing day trip timetables when we spotted the Edelweiss Island boat on the list and remembered what we’d heard. Bonnie thought it sounded lovely, so here we are.’
I’m impressed by how easily the lie slips off his tongue. It sounds genuine even to me. Calling someone a good liar doesn’t seem like a compliment, but Rohan’s quick thinking has saved us the stuttering garbled answer that I would’ve come up with on the spot like that, and even though I’m sure it’s wrong to be impressed by how good he is at lying, I reluctantly am.
‘Exactly,’ Paul says, smiling and looking away. I can tell he believes every word. ‘That is how people find us. Organically. We don’t believe in advertising or forcing our venue onto people. If it was meant to be, then people will come. We don’t want our church to become a tourist attraction with a listing on every travel website. We believe that the only people who need to find this island are the ones who are meant to get married here. We also rely on word-of-mouth from our happy couples, and of course, we have a lot of guests coming to their friends’ weddings who fall in love with the venue and return for their own weddings when the time comes. And then there’s people like you two. Hundreds of people browse those timetables every week and scroll straight past our name, but sometimes people just feel a tug and are naturally drawn here. An unplanned visit turns into a longer stay and the island inspires you to take the next step in your relationship. Just like you.’
I feel so guilty for how much he believes us.
‘I’m sure you think we’re silly old dinosaurs not to be on the internet and reaching our biggest audience and all manner of other things that reporters usually enjoy telling me, but we’re not a tacky tourist resort. We’re not a wedding-to-go Vegas chapel where you get married by Elvis and divorced the next morning. We’re just a group of people who believe we’ve got something special here and only want to share it with special people. Everyone who lives on the island got married here, did you know that?’
‘No,’ I say in surprise. ‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ he says as we reach the bottom of the wooden stairs and follow him back out into the foyer. ‘Clara, Amabel, Kittie, and I don’t think you’ve explored The Little Wedding Street yet but all the folks who own businesses there too. Everyone who’s a permanent resident has a connection to the island. This island has a way of pulling people in, and once you’re a part of it, you don’t want to leave.’
‘Cult,’ Rohan whispers.
‘You’ve overplayed that joke by about three weeks now.’
‘We’ve only been here a few days!’
I give him a sarcastic grin. ‘Exactly.’
‘So many couples come back for holidays or to celebrate anniversaries or show their children where they got married,’ Paul says. ‘Maybe you two will one day as well.’
‘Oh, I bet we will,’ Rohan says, his voice dripping with mockery.
‘Now, this is the main part of the church.’ Paul takes us through a wide double door. ‘This is, of course, where you will walk down the aisle and where your wedding will take place.’
Despite how small the church looks from the outside, I look around in awe. The nave of the church is huge, with a vaulted ceiling and Norman arches, and a wide aisle covered by deep red plush carpet. The scent of wood polish reaches my nose as I look at the rows and rows of smooth wooden pews, enough to seat as many guests as you’d want but not so many that it feels cramped.
‘Wow,’ Rohan murmurs, putting into words the only possible reaction.
‘We’re non-denominational,’ Paul continues. ‘We don’t believe in any particular god or religion. We cater for all people and all beliefs. You could say that the only thing we believe in is love.’
Rohan makes retching noises into my ear and I try to hit him but he jumps out of reach too fast.
Above us, two impressive chandeliers are dripping with crystals, and light in a pyramid of colours breaks in through the stained glass arched windows, but instead of the traditional biblical scenes, these windows depict trees and flowers. It’s a nice, unusual way to keep the traditional look but without a religious connotation.
Ro offers me his arm as we follow Paul down the long aisle. He puts his hand on top of mine and does an exaggerated slow bridal walk, and I shouldn’t be encouraging him by laughing, but we both dissolve into a fit of giggles every time we look at each other.
Paul looks like he can’t understand what’s so funny as he takes us out the back, through a large vestry and outside to a big, open terrace.
‘Wow,’ I say again at the view.
‘This is where most wedding photos are taken.’
Even Rohan nods. ‘I can see why.’
The view is perfect from here. We’re looking the other way from the bell tower now, across the English Channel towards France. The sun is high in the sky and the water is navy blue. It’s an incredible backdrop to any picture, and I recognise it from some of the photos on Paul’s foyer wall.
‘Make yourselves at home. I’ll be right back,’ Paul says before disappearing back inside the church.
The terrace we’re on is so pretty. Sandstone slab paving in varying shades of brown, with wooden benches nestled against the church wall at the back, under reddish-green creeper that’s scrambling up the brickwork. There are plants in ornate china planters and a brick wall around the perimeter, closing us in away from the cliff edges below. Outside the walled terrace, the tiny graveyard we could see from the front is to our right.
‘It’s so beautiful up here,’ I say to Rohan.
‘You say that about every place we go on this island.’
‘Sorry. I just love it here.’
‘You don’t have to apologise. I might not agree but I like how much you like it. Your unending faith in love and belief that a building can somehow influence the successfulness of a marriage is kind of endearing.’
I’m sure that’s a compliment and an insult wrapped up in one. ‘As usual, your cynicism knows no bounds. Don’t you think there’s something special here? Don’t you think this is beautiful?’
‘Of course I do. The island is gorgeous, and if it isn’t officially recognised as an area of outstanding natural beauty then it should be, and this church is so old that it should be on the listed buildings register.’ He grins at me and I know he’s just aching to add something cynical. He can’t help himself. ‘And I think they’ve got a fantastic garden designer who’s worked hard to make it feel like you’re walking into an enchanted forest, but the only thing that feels “special” to me is the marketing team.’
‘That’s because you have no imagination and no capacity to believe there might be a little bit more to the world than what you can see.’
He raises an eyebrow at the insult. ‘I’ve got to hand it to him, that vicar’s a genius. He’s preying on people’s deepest fear when it comes to getting married – that their marriage will fall apart. That things will go wrong with this person they love. That they’ll end up old and alone and their family will consider them a failure. And you can tell me that so-and-so many marriages end happily until the cows come home, but even you’ve got to admit that for any couple getting married, the idea of divorce crosses their mind. Even if they don’t want to admit it, you cannot get married and never even think “there’s a possibility that sometime in the future I will divorce this person”, even if you’re head-over-heels in love. It’s human nature to consider, even briefly, the worst possible outcome. He’s offering a solution to that. You fear divorce – come get married in our church and we promise it won’t happen.’
‘Maybe it’s more of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I mean, this place is amazing, but I don’t think there’s some kind of magical voodoo going on in the church. It’s probably more about belief – if a couple believes they won’t get divorced, maybe they’re less likely to. Maybe they’ll put more effort into saving their marriage if they do run into trouble.’
‘Relationships don’t work or fail based on belief, Bon. You can believe that your wife isn’t going to sleep with your best friend all you want, that doesn’t mean she won’t.’
I look up at him curiously but he leans on the wall and looks out at the open ocean and resolutely refuses to meet my eyes. I turn around and sit against the wall, looking up at the church towering over us, trying not to think about the heat of his body or the way his elbow is millimetres from my thigh on the cold stone wall, and how easy it would be to shift a bit closer.
Luckily, the vicar comes back before I have a chance to do anything stupid.
‘Can I get a picture of you?’ he asks, waving an oversized Eighties-style black Polaroid camera around. ‘I hope you don’t mind. It’s one of my daft traditions. I insist on taking a picture of every couple on the day I first meet them and again on their wedding day. I think it’s lovely to keep a record like that here at the church.’
‘Sure.’ Rohan stands up and loops his arms loosely across my chest from behind. ‘Can’t wait to join the wall of voyeurism,’ he whispers quietly enough for only me to hear.
He’s warm and solid and I like the feel of him standing this close more than I probably should. It’s the affection of an engaged couple, an affection that you only get when you’ve been in a relationship with someone for a while, not the kind of affection you get from going on a date or two. I don’t realise how much I’ve been craving it until Ro’s arms are around me.
We smile and the shutter goes off.
‘Lovely, thanks,’ the vicar says as the camera makes a whirring noise and spits out an undeveloped photograph, which he lays face down on one of the benches. ‘And now one of you kissing?’
‘I’m sorry, what?’ Ro says, instantly going from relaxed to tense.
‘Just another daft tradition,’ Paul says. ‘You can tell a lot about a couple from a kiss. I believe that real love is shown within a kiss and that love is infused in the image. I insist on taking one of all my couples to put up on the wall and share with every visitor.’
I pull out of Rohan’s arms and look up at him nervously. It’s a tenuous explanation at best, and it crosses my mind that the vicar suspects us and this is a test.
‘Well, if you insist,’ Rohan says. ‘Why wouldn’t I kiss my fiancée? What reason could I possibly have for refusing? That would be absurd.’
The tremble in his voice matches the one in my knees. I turn to face him and meet his eyes, and he looks as lost as I feel. There should be a way to get out of this and it’s plain that neither of us can think of a good enough excuse, and if this is a test, we need to pass it.
Kisses are meant to be spontaneous and unconstrained, and it’s weird to stand here preparing myself for one, particularly with him, an almost-stranger who makes my stomach feel more fluttery than any date I’ve been on in years. As I stand there worrying about it, about how long it’s been since I kissed anyone, how we’re going to make it look natural, he kisses me. Just like that.
His arms slide around my waist and he pulls my body against his, and he kisses me. It’s soft and gentle and as innocent as you can get as he presses his lips against mine. My arms loop themselves around his neck and my fingers wind into the ends of his blond hair at the nape of his neck, and if I thought I had butterflies before, they’ve all frozen motionless in shock.
I feel like I’ve melted against him, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear the shutter noise of the camera, and I know we can stop now, but he keeps kissing and I’d be fine if he just doesn’t stop. His hands are warm at the base of my back. I can feel the gentle pressure of his fingers through my T-shirt as he pulls me closer, kisses me with a delicious little bit more force and I let out a moan that probably rivals a whale’s mating call. Every part of me is tingling, I feel all shivery, and if my arms weren’t around his neck, I’d probably face-plant on the floor.
The vicar puts the camera down with a deliberate clunk, and the noise is like an electric shock, jolting me back to the here and now. My eyes shoot open in surprise and lock onto Rohan’s ice-blue ones, the same look reflected back at me.
Blimey. I think we got a bit carried away there.
Ro stands up to his full height and my hands slip down, clutching on to his shoulders for support, but even as we pull away, his hands stay holding on to my waist, like he knows how wobbly I feel.
Wobbly. Emotional. That was such a good kiss, I want to cry. I look at him and I could actually tear up. Emotions are zinging through me.
‘I’m just gonna…’ He nods at the wall and sits against it, keeping his hands on my waist, doing that kind and attentive thing again. He looks dazed, blinking too much and trying to catch his breath, and I feel another little shiver at the idea that the kiss affected him even half as much as it affected me.
The vicar’s gone as red as an unripe beetroot. He clears his throat and holds up two Polaroid photos that have clearly had enough time to develop, and I wonder exactly how long we were kissing for. I’m not sure if it was a few minutes or since a Tuesday in 2015.
And I would really not complain if Paul said the pictures hadn’t come out and we’d have to do it again.
‘Beautiful shots,’ Paul says. ‘You’re such a lovely couple. You fit each other so well.’
I can’t get the grin off my face at that. Fit is a good word. I’ve never felt like I fitted anyone before. But that kiss… I shiver at the memory. I felt like I fitted into that kiss. And I’m just a little bit grateful to Paul and his silly traditions.
I look at Rohan sitting on the wall, and he’s got that dopey, half-dazed grin on his face. He smiles so wide when I meet his eyes and all I want to do is take his face in my hands and kiss him again. It would be so easy from this angle. He looks happy, so open and unguarded, and I’m smiling so much that my jaw is actually aching.
The vicar is right there, watching us, and I’m pretty sure that snogging and anything else I could do to Rohan at this moment would be a sin on church grounds, and I try to arrange my face into seriousness, but Ro raises an eyebrow and we both dissolve into giggles again, and for just a moment, it doesn’t feel like part of the act.
‘I never get tired of seeing people so happy together. That’s why I take these photos and display them in the church. See?’ He waves the photos in our direction again. ‘You can feel the love emanating from these pictures. I think of them as a lucky charm for other people’s weddings.’
Rohan changes the instant Paul speaks. He goes from relaxed and smiley to stiff and tense. He shifts further along the wall, away from me. His knuckles are white as his fingers curl into the bricks, and he shoves the other hand through his hair, pushing it back almost angrily.
It’s fine, I tell myself. We’re just acting. We got carried away there. It’s not right to get carried away like that. We’re supposed to be professionals, doing this to save our jobs, and a quick peck would’ve sufficed. Kissing like that is definitely not professional. Even if it was a really good kiss. The kind of kiss that makes me wonder what it would be like to kiss him at other times, without a vicar snapping photos. Alone in the darkness in bed, wandering along a moonlit beach… It’s a good job he has moved away from me. I should be glad of him having the self-control that I plainly haven’t.
Rohan pushes himself off the wall and wanders to the far end of the paved terrace, facing the small row of headstones. ‘For a church this size, I expected a bigger graveyard.’
I frown at him. Trust him to want to talk about dead people when we’re meant to be talking about love.
‘We’re a small community on this island. Only residents of Edelweiss Island are permitted to be buried here, and most of us are still living.’
‘And what’s with the flower?’ Rohan points to an area further down the hill where a large stone daffodil head is set flat on the ground. It’s apart from the other gravestones, nearer to the cliff edge, and the area around it is full of real daffodils. ‘That’s not a gravestone, is it?’
‘Not as such. That’s Amabel’s husband.’
‘Funny, it looks like a stone daffodil to me. Bet he’s a riot in bed.’
Paul glares at the back of his head. ‘I’m sure you’ve met Amabel, the florist supplier who lives near the steps to the dock? Well, it’s such a sad story. She and her husband were married here about twenty years ago. They were city folk and after their wedding and honeymoon here, they went back to London, but within a month he had been killed in a tragic accident. Amabel moved here because it was where she felt closest to him. I offered to put up a stone or something for her to remember him by, and she chose a daffodil as it was his favourite flower. Now she comes to visit him every day, she sits by the stone and talks to him, and it provides a little comfort. She’s a flower expert and she somehow manages to grow daffodils all year round, no matter the season, and she brings a little bunch of them up here every few days for him.’
Amabel. The first one to congratulate us on our proposal. I remember what she said as we walked away, about showing our love before it’s too late. Now I know why. My eyes fill up as he speaks. Imagine finding your happily ever after and losing it within a month.
‘Jeez,’ Rohan says. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun…’ His voice catches and he turns away, pinching the bridge of his nose.
I swallow hard and wipe tears away before they fall. ‘That’s a really nice thing to do,’ I say, unable to take my eyes off Rohan. The cold-hearted, human-hating, anti-love guru is clearly affected by it. After the kiss, I know I should keep away from him, but I can’t stop myself edging over and standing next to him, looking at the open water. I nudge my shoulder against his arm.
‘Hay fever,’ he mutters, rubbing at an eye.
‘Yeah, I know,’ I murmur.
‘Love never dies,’ Paul says. ‘It’s a force bigger than all of us. It outlives everyone who feels it. This church will always be here, in hundreds of years’ time, and it will still hold the love that every couple has felt in it.’
‘Barring a natural disaster,’ Rohan says, turning to face him with a pasted-on smile. ‘Earthquake, lightning strike, that sort of thing. I don’t think love will make much difference then, do you?’
‘I think you’re a sceptic, Mr Carter,’ Paul says, flashing him an equally false smile. ‘I think being in love with your fiancée scares you, so you employ humour as a defence mechanism.’
‘Ah, if I had a quid for every time someone’s told me that, I could retire and buy a yacht. No, two yachts.’
The vicar raises an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘And on that note, shall we go inside and set out some plans for your upcoming nuptials?’