It was Friday afternoon. The wedding was less than twenty-four hours away, and Ella was getting fractious.
‘Kit, I asked you not to put anything on top of the trifles.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘Then what are the salmon pinwheels doing?’
‘Oh that. Well, the trifles are clingfilmed and there was no other room in the fridge, so I put the salmon things on top.’
Ella noisily banged about in the fridge, moving salads and quiches and cheese before admitting to herself, but not to him, that Kit had been right. There was nowhere else to put the bloody salmon.
‘How about a cup of tea?’ asked Kit helpfully.
‘The dishwasher needs emptying first.’
‘Right. Well, I’ll pop the kettle on, empty the dishwasher, and then we’ll have a cuppa. Yes?’
Ella reversed out of the fridge and closed the door carefully. ‘What time is Adam due.’
‘About seven, if the traffic isn’t too bad.’
Ella was irritated. ‘He’ll expect me to cook for him, I suppose.’
‘No. I’ll take him to the pub, with Henry,’ Kit said patiently. ‘How about a biscuit with your tea? A nice digestive?’
‘I don’t want to look fat in my wedding dress,’ she snapped.
He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately.
‘What was that for?’ she asked, slightly more mellowed.
‘To shut you up. Now sit down because you and I are going to have a cup of tea and a biscuit.’
A couple of hours later Ella finally sat down and went through her check list. Food? Tick. Cutlery, crockery and glasses? Tick. Flowers? Tick. Sheets changed, loos cleaned, toenails painted? Tick.
Kit was upstairs gathering his suit and toiletries ready to take over to the vicarage where he was going to spend the night. He came downstairs and put the suit bag and a smaller bag on the hall floor.
‘Ready?’ asked Ella coming out of the kitchen.
‘I think so.’
‘Rings?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry I got a bit Bridezilla earlier.’
‘Forgiven.’
The doorbell rang, making them both jump.
‘Hi,’ said Henry on the doorstep. ‘Here I am and I have got something for you. My present to you both.’
Ella was excited. ‘What, what?’
‘I need to get it from the car. Hang on.’
They watched as he opened the boot and pulled out a large picture frame. All they could see was the back of the canvas, but Ella gasped and whispered to Kit, ‘I think I know what this is.’
Henry carried it down the short path and into the house. ‘No peeking. Close your eyes and let me take this through to the lounge to set it up properly.’
Ella and Kit stayed where they were until Henry called, ‘Okay. Come on in.’
Ella couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘It’s me,’ she shrilled, delighted. ‘The one Poppa painted of me. Kit, look it’s me when I was about five, paddling at Shellsand.’
The painting was large and beautiful. Against the golden pinks of a sandy beach, and the wild blue of the sea beyond, a small girl in an old-fashioned scarlet swimsuit was paddling. Her back was to the viewer, but the long red ringlets rippling down her shoulders were definitely Ella’s.
Kit stood for a while, admiring it. ‘It’s amazing. But I thought it was your granny who painted.’
‘Poppa was a very good painter, but he knew that Granny was better so he usually left it up to her. I haven’t seen this for a long time. Where was it, Henry?’
‘I had it on the wall at Mandalay Road. When Granny died I found it in Poppa’s studio. It was behind all sorts of things, hidden really well. I snaffled it hoping that when some idiot married you, not you obviously, Kit, you are the opposite of idiot, I could give it to you on your wedding eve.’
Ella’s eyes shone, ‘Oh, Henry, you are the best brother.’
‘I am your only brother.’ He stopped and frowned. ‘Actually, I’m not, am I?’
Kit was keen to steer off the subject of the half-brother and sister in India and said, ‘Ella, do you remember him painting this?’
‘No. I don’t. But then I was only little.’
‘Well, it’s lovely.’ Kit gave Henry a man hug. ‘Thanks, mate.’
They heard a car draw up. ‘That’ll be Adam,’ said Kit walking into the hall to let his cousin and best man in and was surprised to find Sennen on the doorstep.
‘Hello, Kit.’ She kissed him, her warm Indian fragrance enveloping him. ‘Everything ready for tomorrow?’
‘Yep. Henry’s here. Come into the lounge.’
Walking into the room Sennen immediately saw the painting. She shivered as if someone had walked over her grave. ‘I haven’t seen that for years,’ she almost whispered.
Ella bounced on her toes. ‘Henry gave it to me and Kit. Wedding present. Isn’t it lovely? The only picture that Poppa painted of me.’
Sennen was quiet. ‘Of you?’
‘Yes.’
Sennen walked towards the picture and read her father’s neat signature. ‘Is there a date on it?’
‘I haven’t looked,’ said Henry.
‘I had a red costume like that,’ said Sennen.
Realisation hit Ella. ‘It’s you?’
‘I think so.’
Henry began to work it out. ‘When Granny died, we didn’t find any pictures of you. No photographs or school reports or anything. Which I thought was odd because they took photos of Ella and me all the time. I have rows of photo albums in London, as well as our school books and art and stuff.’
‘I would like to see those, one day,’ Sennen said.
‘Yes, okay. But there are no pictures of you. Ella and I never knew what you looked like.
‘But he kept this?’ asked Sennen, getting closer to the picture.
‘Yes, he did.’
Henry picked the picture and turned it over. He scanned the canvas carefully then found something. ‘Let’s get a light on this.’
Ella angled a table lamp on to it and they crowded round. On the bottom right-hand corner, in faded pencil, Poppa’s hand had written. S. Shellsand summer ’81.’ He looked sharply at Sennen. ‘How old were you in 1981?’
‘About five. The same age as that little girl in the picture.’.
‘You must have it,’ Ella said immediately, pushing it to Sennen.
Sennen smiled but waved it away. ‘No, my love. If you give it to me I will give it straight back to you. It’s yours.’ She looked at Henry. ‘I’m so glad you had it. It makes me feel that Poppa did still want to keep a bit of me.’
Henry was appalled to find his throat tightening against tears. He grabbed his glass and drank.
‘By the way,’ said Sennen, ‘I’ve not properly thanked you for the headstones, Henry.’
Her words were sincere.
‘But mostly, thank you for adding my name. When I saw it, it made me feel a bit less invisible.’
Henry coughed, embarrassed. ‘Yes, well … Got to get the facts right. Good. Drink anyone?’
Much later, when Sennen had gone back to Trevay and Kit and Adam had retreated to the vicarage, Henry poured Ella one last gin and tonic. ‘To you, my lovely little sister.’
‘Aw, thanks. And thank you again for the painting. Did you have any idea?’
‘No. If I believed in the occult I’d say Granny and Poppa had a hand in all that tonight.’
‘Maybe. It was nice of Mum to let me have it.’
‘It was never hers to have. I kept it for you.’
‘I know. But still … And you did the right thing when you added her to the gravestones.’
‘Yeah, well, you know …’
‘Be honest with me, aren’t you glad Mum’s back?’
Henry was surprised by the question. ‘Blimey. Why do you ask that? I don’t know.’
‘I think that you are glad. You wouldn’t be so emotional if you didn’t care.’
‘Emotional? What are you talking about?’
‘You were pleased when she thanked you for the inscription, and you sounded funny when she thanked you for keeping the painting of her.’
‘I didn’t know it was her though, did I?’
‘No, but when you did, I saw your face. You were glad it was her and that we’d had that picture up on the wall when we were little, that Poppa had kept one thing of her to watch over us.’
Henry stood up. ‘Come on. It’s my duty to make sure you arrive in a fit state at your wedding tomorrow. You need your beauty sleep.’
She took his hand and he hauled her to her feet. ‘Henry, beneath your bad-tempered façade, you really have a good heart, don’t you?’
He turned off the lights so that she couldn’t see his face.
‘Bed,’ he said. ‘Now.’