This particular wintry morning, he headed into work, a bag full of books and a head full of food. It was getting cold, and he almost welcomed it after the city in the summer. Everyone thought that, because he was a Kiwi, he had never been cold in his life before. He spent a lot of time telling them that there were snowy mountains near where he lived, that there were ski-lifts and a huge snowboarding scene. They never believed him. ‘Yes,’ they would say, ‘up the mountains. Sure. That’s different. It’s not really
cold
though, is it?’
He liked this city a lot more once the summer was over. It was less busy, and the people who were there were all interesting. Not that tourists were not interesting (he still felt like a tourist himself), but when they were on holiday, with their maps and everything, they seemed a bit samey, taking up all the space on the pavements and queueing for museums all over the place.
He arrived at work, found the room he was using first, and started unpacking. He was nearly ready, when a woman knocked on the door.
He looked at her, and for the first time in a very long time indeed, he felt a stirring of interest. She was not exactly the woman of his teenage dreams, but he felt that he liked her at once. She had short black hair, a nervous smile. She was not skinny like so many of the girls around here. She looked soft, and he liked that.
‘Hi there,’ he said. They were only meant to speak English, but he made a point of always talking slowly until he knew where someone was from.
‘Hello,’ she said. English was her first language. ‘Sorry to barge in. I’m looking for someone called Hugh. Is he about?’
‘Yeah. Down at the end of the corridor, the door that’s straight in front of you.’
‘Thanks.’ She stepped into the room, eyes wide. There was something tucked into the front of her jacket. ‘What’s he like?’ she asked. ‘Anything I should know? I’m looking for bits of work.’
‘Yeah, he’s fine.’ He took a step closer. ‘Hey, what’s that in there?’
She laughed. ‘It’s a baby. Hence my nerves. A new little baby, but I need work.’
Jack sighed. The first time he’d been attracted to a woman at first sight, and she had a brand new baby stuck to her. He would have to become more observant.
‘Good luck,’ he told her. ‘Hope you get what you want.’ Then he shook his head. He had five students coming this morning for a group session in business English. Business English was his least favourite because half the time he did not know the right word for something any more than they did. It was a constant game of bluffing and trying to stay one step ahead.
He sat down at his desk. He was a teacher. He was the boss. He loved it. He took out a postcard from the front of his bag, and started to write a quick note home to the children. He sent them postcards at least twice a week. That way, they might remember who the hell he was.
In fact, he wanted to chase that woman and ask for a hold of the baby, but she would only think he was mad and weird.
Dear Sarah-Jane, Aidan and LeEtta,
he wrote.
Well, your dad is properly a teacher, and today I’m teaching business people to speak English! How posh does that sound? So what’s the news in Queenstown? Is your mum OK? Here in Spain it is winter. Pretty, pretty cold, I can tell you.
He put his pen down, and stared out of the window at the rooftops. He wanted to smell that baby’s hair. He wanted to hug his children. Business English had never seemed less appealing.
Mia was suddenly taller than me. I stood still on the familiar doorstep, surprised.
‘How did you do that?’ I asked her, looking up slightly.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ she said. ‘Just happened.’
‘Is it nice up there?’
‘Lily! I’m not that much taller. I think we have the same view. You’re making me feel like the . . . like the Empire Estate Building.’
‘Empire State,’ I corrected absently, following her into the house.
‘No, I’m sure it’s Empire Estate.’
‘I’m pretty sure it’s not.’
Mia sighed. ‘Yeah, and you’re going to be right. Let’s look it up. Nice to see you, by the way.’
I followed her into the living room and she switched on the laptop.
‘Guess who I spoke to yesterday?’ she said quietly, as the computer powered itself up.
‘Who?’
‘You’re not going to guess? You’re the only one who should, like, appreciate this.’
‘Not your mum?’ She turned around and grinned at me. ‘
No
! How come?’
Mia shrugged. ‘She added me on Facebook. Then asked for my number.’
‘And?’
She looked quickly at the door. ‘I haven’t told Dad or Julia. I gave her my mobile number. She sent a few texts. It was almost like she was too nervous to call me. So I called her. She sounded a bit of a mess, to be honest. Not like a mum at all.’
I sighed, trying not to be jealous. ‘Is she still in Plymouth?’
‘Yep. She wants us to meet. I’m not sure.’
‘So you didn’t tell her to fuck off, like you once said? No,’ I agreed. ‘I wouldn’t either.’
‘Well, I know
you
wouldn’t. You write to yours all the time, don’t you?’
‘Not all the time! Twice: once because of a funeral and once for a wedding. But yeah, I’d be over the moon if they replied. If they actually wanted to see me. No matter how weird and awful it actually was to see them, I’d take that any day.’
Mia nodded and turned back to the screen. ‘You see? I knew you’d be the only one to get it. Hey, what did anyone do before Google? I mean, how did you find anything out? Look it up in a book or what?’
I watched her typing the words
Empire Estate Building,
dressed in a cobwebby knitted dress and a huge necklace. She looked completely grown up.
‘Are you sure you want to be a bridesmaid?’ I asked.
Mia looked round and gaped at me. ‘Are you joking? Don’t you want me? Do I have to be shorter than the bride?’
‘No, no. You’ll look amazing. Look at your long legs. Your hair. Everything about you is long. I just thought – you seem like an adult. Isn’t it a bit babyish?’
‘I can’t wait. It’s not like I’m, like, thirty.’
‘How are things with Joe?’
‘Yeah. He’s moving in January. We’ve knocked it on the head.’ She carried on talking quickly. ‘It’s cool! It was fun, but moving on is cool too. Hey, you were right. Empire State. I never knew that,
never.
And now I do.’
I looked at the little laptop. ‘Before we head out,’ I said, ‘could I use that for twenty minutes or so? Would that be OK?’
‘Yeah, sure. I’ll leave you to it. D’you want a cup of tea?’
I did what I needed to do, and it was surprisingly straight-forward. Then I called a mini-cab, and took Julia, Jessica and Mia into town for lunch. As I sat between the two girls, looking at the back of Julia’s head, I fought down an urge to tell them how wrong everything seemed. There had been a heavy frost overnight and the world was tinged with white. The car drove slowly up the hill. Life seemed to be running away from me. I did not have any control over it, and I was forever shutting down the part of me that wanted to slam on the brakes. If I told Julia, she would help me. She would help me postpone the wedding, face up to the things that were lurking.
Yet I would not tell her, because I was afraid. I was afraid that she would delight in my unease (though I knew, really, that she would not), and I was afraid that if I asked Harry whether we could keep the engagement but put off the wedding, he would walk away from me completely, and I would have to return to my little bedroom and go back to being alone. I could not throw away Harry, the love of my life.
I decided not to say anything. We would have pizzas for lunch and look out at the boats on the water, and talk about bridesmaids’ dresses; and if I acted as though everything was fine, perhaps it would be, in the end.
When I heard his key in the lock, I bit my lip, screwed my eyes closed, and told myself I had to do this.
‘Lily!’ he said, with a smile. ‘My God. However vile a mood I might be in, when I see your face I’m like a teenager again. How was your lunch?’
‘It was fine, thanks. We were thinking about dark red for the bridesmaids’ dresses. It would suit both of them. And could we have gerberas for the flowers? They’ve always been my favourite.’
‘Bloody gerberas!’ He hung up his overcoat, carefully, on its hanger, and turned to me. He was smiling and frowning at the same time. His hair was thick and wavy and I was glad he was not losing it yet. That stopped him from seeming middle-aged. ‘Does it have to be? My first wife used to fill the bloody place with the things. What about lilies, in honour of you, darling?’
‘Aren’t lilies flowers of death?’
‘Are they? First I’ve heard. If they are, better not, I suppose. Roses then. But the dark red sounds good.’
‘Harry?’ I said. I had not managed to talk to him about this yet, because he came home late last night and left early this morning. ‘Harry, did you get my message on your phone yesterday? That the police came over wanting to know about the party last Christmas?’
‘Oh, yes – that.’ He hung his tie over the banisters and strode to the kitchen to get a drink, with me following him. ‘Load of nonsense. They came to me, too. It’s nothing, forget about it. You won’t be hearing from them again. I’m just heading up to change.’
Five minutes later, he called my name. I ran upstairs to our bedroom. Harry was standing in front of his wardrobe. Mine was on the other side of the mantelpiece, both of them built into alcoves. I struggled to stop myself thinking of mine as
Sarah’s.
‘Sorry, darling,’ he said, kissing the top of my head. ‘It’s just, I don’t seem to have a shirt for tomorrow. Not that I expect you to skivvy for me. I know you’ve got lots of planning to do. Shall I iron one myself?’
I looked at his wardrobe. I had hung a row of them up, in there, yesterday. Now all those hangers were empty. I took the lid off the wicker ironing basket. They were all in there, crumpled and messy, unwearable. I took the top one out. Green and white stripes. I had ironed up and down those stripes. Now it was in desperate need of doing again. So was the next, and the next.
Yesterday afternoon, I knew I had been in a bit of a trance. But I was so certain I had done it. I thought I had spent an hour ironing. Yet it seemed that I had not actually done it. I took two hands full of my hair, and gripped it tightly. This was madness. Proper madness. It had to be.
‘Sorry,’ I said to Harry, my voice faint.
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ he said. ‘For God’s sake, you’re not a maid. I’ll do one myself.’
‘No you won’t. I’ll do them.’ I picked up an armful of them and set off downstairs. As I went, I buried my face in them.
They smelled distinctly of lavender ironing water. I had no idea what was going on.
Harry parked in what looked like a random car park on a small cliff. His little sports car gazed out to sea, while two much more ordinary cars were parked together in the corner.
‘I think it’s this way,’ he said. ‘I must say, it’s not winning me over so far.’
I shivered. A fierce wind was coming off the sea, and there was a heavy Cornish light lying across the landscape, almost tangible.
We were inspecting a wedding venue. Harry had already booked it, so we were hoping to like it. It was supposed to be a fort.
The stone stairs twisted down in a spiral, and suddenly we were in a huge room, with stone walls and floor, columns like a church. It was enormous and grand, and its unexpectedness took my breath away. It was built into the cliff on one side, with windows at the other that looked out on the lawns and the sea.
I took his hand and tried to sound enthusiastic. I had spent the whole of the previous morning searching through his paperwork in search of Sarah’s death certificate. The fact that I had found nothing did not, I was reminding myself, mean anything at all.
‘Like it?’ Harry said to me, as a woman in black and white clothes approached us. I nodded, but he wasn’t looking. ‘Hello,’ he said to the woman, extending a hand. ‘Harry Summer. This is my fiancée, Lily.’
‘Hello, I’m Gloria,’ said the woman. ‘Thank you for coming to visit. Now, shall we start with a little tour?’
I wandered along with them, half-engaged, admiring the beautiful venue, tuning out from the details about numbers of guests, caterers and string quartets. Harry radiated contentment: this was exactly the spot in which he wanted to get married. It was grand and beautiful, and the local registrar was happy to come out and marry us in whatever sort of ceremony we wanted.
If the unthinkable was true – if Sarah was
not
dead – then we would never have this wedding. I tried to relax: I could see that Harry recognised that I was tense. I had that matter in hand. There was nothing more that I could do, for the moment.
‘Now,’ Gloria said, at the end, as I perched on the edge of an enormous sofa and stared out of the window, while she and Harry sat in armchairs and talked business. She had a sheaf of papers in front of her. ‘I know you’ve paid a deposit and made a booking for . . . when was it? May, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, May the fourteenth,’ Harry told her. May the fourteenth. Months and months away.
‘Yes. Well, you were frankly lucky to get that date: June, July and August are booked solid for three years at the moment. But we have just had a cancellation for January. I know it’s not exactly wedding season – it wasn’t a wedding that was cancelled, it was a birthday party, so there’s no bad karma, I know people worry about that – but I do remember you saying on the phone that the two of you were keen to tie the knot as soon as possible. And so if you did want a winter wedding, there is that possibility. We make it very cosy in here, actually. A roaring fire.’
We all turned to look at the enormous hearth. It would be spectacular with a fire in it.
Harry smiled at me. ‘January? What do you say, Lily? I think that sounds rather wonderful.’
‘January?’ was all I was able to reply. That was just weeks away.
‘Yes,’ said Gloria. Her hair was tied back in a tight little bun, and she had lipstick on her teeth. ‘The weekend of January the twenty-second.’