Sunday 10th December
In the attic kitchen at Brides by the Sea: With bells on
When I wake on Sunday morning, it’s to the sound of the landline ringing and the smell of toast and bacon. When I finally find the phone under my folded shirt and capri pants, it’s Poppy.
‘Hols, an early call to warn you that Rory’s on his way.’ Which sadly rubbishes the idea that she’s the one in the kitchen, making the fry-up.
My groan is loud and long. ‘Brilliant, thanks for that.’ Two seconds later, I’m out of bed, jumping at the sound of clashing crockery in the distance. ‘Actually, I think he’s already here.’
I stagger through to the kitchen, cursing that I’ve lost my opportunity to use the sticky cleansing strip on my nose to clean the last of Friday’s gunk out of my pores. As I rub my eyes into focus, Rory is clattering around by the cooker. ‘Is this an excuse to dump the kids off extra early? And do you know that’s Poppy’s second-best apron you’re wearing there?’ If I’m extra tetchy, it’s because he’s totally invaded my space. And also because as I take in a kitchen with so much mess it looks like Masterchef just happened, I’m thinking ahead to the washing up.
As he turns to me he’s grinning. ‘Lovely to see you too, Holly. I’m sure Poppy won’t mind lending her pinny to keep the photographer’s assistant’s chinos clean.’
‘But what are you doing? Apart from digging out every pan in the building.’ Poppy’s new maternity aprons are extra large. If I were trying to size up his bum in smart trousers, which I’m definitely not, I’d be limited to a couple of inches of dark fabric between the pink stripes.
‘Don’t worry, Holly B. I’ve got your back here, just like in the old days.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I’ve always looked out for you. We’re social pariahs who stuck together, and I’ll never forget that. Today might be tough, but we’ll tough it out together. For one day only.’ He’s waving a spoon like he’s been taking lessons from Jamie Oliver. ‘As for the cooking, I decided it’s sensible to have a precautionary breakfast.’
We both know he’s exaggerating the significance of our acquaintance here. And when was rational ever in his mind-set? ‘So how did the guy who was stupid enough to let his car float away on the tide suddenly become wise?’ I’m asking because it’s a valid question. Most clueless people stay that way for their whole life.
He narrows his eyes. ‘Let’s put you straight on a few things. My dad’s car got swept out to sea, not mine. And it definitely wasn’t accidental, it was deliberate payback. Me hitting him where it hurt most.’
Being let in on this direct action has me flinching. ‘Jeez, Rory, that’s a bit harsh.’ If people steered clear of me because Freya died and they didn’t know what to say to me, I never minded. As for his family feuds, I knew his parents weren’t together, but I had no idea it was so acrimonious.
He snaps back. ‘It was no less than he deserved. I’ll tell you about it sometime.’
‘I’ll take your word on that.’ I’m already struggling with the concept of baked beans this early. I can’t cope with any more spilled secrets. ‘At least the weather’s good.’ As I peep through the porthole, desperate to find something else to talk about, far below the sun is sparkling off the sea. Although I’m not about to give him credit for being right about the better weather today.
‘Scrambled eggs, wholemeal bagels, mushrooms and tomatoes okay for you?’ He’s already pulling out two stools and pouring coffee with the other hand.
‘Great.’ I blink, trying to wake up my appetite, as he slides two full plates across the tabletop. ‘Thanks.’
‘Bacon rashers? They’re chestnut smoked sweetcure. Fried bread, waffles.’ As he swings them over, he couldn’t be scrutinising my face any more closely if he were looking for blackheads. ‘You aren’t going to throw up with wedding jitters again are you?’
Again? That one word’s the giveaway. ‘You heard about the last time at Zoe’s wedding?’
At least he has the decency to look guilty. ‘Hasn’t everyone?’
That’s what I was afraid of. ‘Is there no privacy around here?’ Even as it comes out, in a foot- stamping rush, I know it’s a ridiculous question. In fact, it’s one I’ve known the answer to practically my whole life. And if that’s slipped my mind, it’s only because I’ve been away so long. ‘For the record, it wasn’t a nervous puke, it was something else entirely.’
He gives a rueful shrug. ‘Why else would we be sitting down to a decent, stomach-settling breakfast? Chucking up at a wedding is never good.’
As I hold up my hand, my stomach’s already squelching. ‘Enough, okay?’
His nostrils are twitching as he sits down and piles egg onto his fork. ‘At least I finally get to see what kind of pyjamas you wear. You always refused to tell me, back in the day.’ He’s holding back his laughter.
‘Quite bloody right too.’ Not that I remember him asking that specifically.
His brow wrinkles. ‘Whenever I imagined it, you were in a Wonder Woman onesie.’
I almost snort my coffee out of my nose at that. ‘Total bollocks. Onesies weren’t even invented then. And I’d never choose to wear that, because I’m not that kind of “zippy” or “out there”.’ I brush a crumb off my pyjama trousers and study the Eiffel Tower print.
He’s straight back. ‘That’s always been your problem. You could be zippy, if you’d only put the effort in.’
I completely sympathise with his frustration. Sometimes I even feel it myself. ‘But that’s just me. I like to think about things and then do them. Freya would have been more your kind of person. She’d have been fine zooming round in a Superman flying suit.’ What’s more, she wouldn’t have been fazed by anything as minor as wedding pictures. She’d have been gutsy enough to have been a war photographer, although in reality she probably wouldn’t have been free to do a job that minor, because she’d have been too busy ruling the world.
Rory gives a shudder. ‘Freya could be downright scary. You should have seen the way she laid into me when you first started getting the bus to senior school and she thought I might upset you. She was like a she-wolf protecting her cub.’ The way he’s talking about her so openly is lovely. Nothing can bring her back, but it’s great to be with someone who knew her well enough to remember her telling him off.
I laugh. ‘Feisty and fearless – that’s just how she was. It was awful once she wasn’t there to fight my battles for me.’ I don’t have to say it was awful in every other way too, because he was there. He already knows.
He’s looking thoughtful. ‘It’s a shame the “oomph” didn’t get shared out more equally. That way it would have saved her whipping my ass. I mean, look at your top …’
As I stare down at my boobs, I’m wishing we weren’t. ‘Don’t knock my Meet me in Paris jersey, it’s my favourite.’ It was damned hard to find any winter PJ’s that weren’t covered in reindeers or festive robins.
He puts down his fork, rests his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand and stares at me hard. ‘But would you really be up for meeting me in Paris?’
For a second my stomach flips. Then, as I crash back to earth and remember who the hell I’m talking to, my mind finally engages with my mouth. ‘Eff off, Rory. You know I wouldn’t.’
He smiles. ‘Exactly what I’m getting at. If you were a tiny bit wilder, you might start to enjoy life more. If you’re always scared and sensible you’re going to miss out on so much.’
‘Crap, Rory, I’m a stay-at-home person getting over a failed relationship. I’m not going to go running off with the first chancer who reads my pyjama top.’ It’s bad enough us going to Port Giles together. If Rory were the last available guy in Cornwall, I seriously doubt if I’d go as far as Plymouth with him, let alone Paris.
‘Why wear it, if you don’t mean it, Berry?’ He gives another of those challenging stares he’s so great at.
For crying out loud. ‘Get real, Rory, it’s a meaningless printed slogan, not a manifesto. If I hadn’t been avoiding Christmas it would most probably have been a snowflake, okay? And given it’s on my sleepwear, most people wouldn’t get to see it anyway.’ Good points well made. It’s not exactly like I’m parading it around Jaggers.
From his superior expression he could be thinking he’s back in his lawyer’s office. ‘In fact, Paris would be the last place I’d offer to go to with you anyway. For the record, dating and commitment aren’t actually in my remit. I should have said before.’ Up himself doesn’t begin to cover it.
My voice rises to a screech because I’m gobsmacked. ‘Your what? You grumble about my pyjamas and then come out with crap like that?’
‘What I’m saying is, we’re being thrown together a lot lately, but I can’t be around afterwards. So long as you’re clear on that.’ Now he’s found his calming tone, he’s backpedalling for England. ‘I’m sorry, mentioning meeting me in Paris was a mistake. It was only a hypothetical way of pointing out you’ll have to be more daring if you want to get your happy face back.’
And when exactly did he step in as my bloody well-being coach? He’ll be lecturing me on hygge next. As for the teensiest twinge of disappointment that he’s turned this round from real to pretend faster than you can say fairy godmother, that definitely wasn’t any twinge of mine.
I drag in a breath. ‘So now we know neither of us wants to go to Paris, can we please finish breakfast and get on with the day?’ I might have been stalling over my buttered bagel before. But if chewing mushrooms is the best excuse I can find not to talk, right now I’m keen to do it. As for a day that’s shaping up to be the nightmare from hell, Rory Sanderson in my kitchen is awful enough to make me rush on to even that.
‘Fine by me. It’s what I’m here for.’ If he were Gracie, she’d be pouting.
I wait until I get most of the way through my food, then I wave my phone at him, while he’s still eating. ‘So a few rules for the road. We had your tunes on Friday, so today we’ll be having mine.’ Poppy’s loaded me a special No need to call the lifeboat, you’re going to smash this wedding! selection onto my phone. My fave eighties tracks, interspersed with her personal ‘power up the courage’ tracks. With Don’t Stop Me Now! a few extra times for good measure. I’m already secretly whooping at the thought of what Rory’s about to sit through.
There’s not much else he can do other than agree. ‘Whatever.’
‘And have you brought your camera?’
He shakes his head like I’m the idiot. ‘What do you think?’
I mutter. ‘Exactly as I thought.’
He looks at his phone. ‘Are you going to get ready? Or is your photographer’s attention- seeking gimmick going to be Hey, look at me, I forgot to get dressed?’ However long he laughs for, the joke really isn’t that funny. Eventually he stops and begins to wipe up the last of his bean juice with his toast. ‘Time’s getting on. Maybe we’d better leave the washing up?’
I didn’t need to be a clairvoyant to know that was coming.
As we set off down the four flights of stairs twenty minutes later, despite a nutritionally balanced breakfast with enough calories to sustain a lumberjack, after the best part of an hour with Rory, I’m already exhausted. And I’ve still got a wedding to face.