A Winter Bride (34 page)

Every so often Byrony wrote with news from London and asked if Nell would visit, and each time Nell would say to Hamish, ‘I think I’ll go see Byrony. One day.’

Hamish agreed it would be good for her, ‘One day,’ he agreed.

‘One day,’ they’d say in unison. Procrastinating again.

The village changed. Houses were built, all tacked on at the end of Main Street. Fresh faces arrived, every one of them creased with tension and worry. ‘People on the run,’ Nell said. In time, these faces would relax as the worries drifted away and the procrastination kicked in.

Some people arrived looking hopeful and fled months later. They found the pace too slow. They couldn’t stand the weather: sudden storms; lashing rain followed by splashes of sunshine. They didn’t know what was coming next. They missed pavements, city smells, shops, restaurants, and the array of strangers to ponder. Nobody stayed a stranger for long here. These people hated the intimacy of this place. Everybody knew everybody. Everybody knew everybody’s business. What they didn’t know they assumed and turned into gossip. It seemed to Nell that these people ran away, screaming and waving their arms in the air.

Hippies turned up in their Volkswagen camper vans. They’d park near the shore and sit in groups playing guitars and smoking pot. They called one another ‘man’ and spoke of a new world of peace and love. Some of them moved into abandoned cottages miles into the hills. They wanted to grow their own food and raise their kids away from the hustle and demands of bureaucracy. Nell was sure they all lived on lentils and beans, so, now and then, she’d take them leftover food from the hotel. They always thanked her and invited her in to sit by their smoky fires and drink coffee. She liked their clothes and their music. She liked their banter. She ordered a copy of Jimi Hendrix’s
Electric Ladyland
from the local shop. When it arrived it was put in the window with brown paper over the cover and a note that said
Our Nell’s weird LP
. Nell was so enamoured she left it there for weeks before picking it up.

Nell never forgot the Rutherfords. Things happened to make them sneak back into her mind. A waitress on a busy night in the dining room barged past her, whirled round to apologise and a steak slid from the plate she was carrying and landed on the kitchen floor. ‘Don’t barge and whirl. Glide,’ said Nell. ‘Our guests are here to unwind and they mustn’t know it’s mayhem in here.’

The waitress blushed and Nell bit her lip. Oh, God, I sound like May Rutherford.

Proud at seeing his guests leave relaxed and glowing after their holiday, Hamish boasted that they made people happy. ‘That’s what we do, and we do it well.’

Nell told him not to say that. ‘It reminds me of someone I’d rather not be reminded of.’

‘Who?’ asked Hamish.

‘My old mother-in-law, May. She was a wicked witch and I got caught up in her spell.’

Hamish said that was absurd.

‘No, really,’ said Nell. ‘I adored her. I actually wanted to be her. She was so wildly generous and glamorous, if you like scarlet lips and violent blue eye-shadow. She threw herself at life and I loved that. Of course she was a rogue as well. She and her husband sold really dubious cars and, in her restaurant, she’d refuse to serve pudding to people who didn’t finish up their main course.’ She shrugged and said, ‘Ho hum, I don’t think about her much these days. I ended up hating her, but now I think she never got over her impoverished childhood. She threw money around. She loved expensive things. I think she only ever wanted to be loved. Sometimes, I almost feel sorry for her, and wonder what must she have been feeling inside. Sometimes I almost forgive her, but only sometimes, and only almost.’

In the end it was Bella who forced the marriage. Nell was three months pregnant with her and decided that this child ought to be legitimate. ‘And it’ll make honest children of the other two, as well. We’ll do it before I start to waddle.’

They married in January. Nell jokingly complained about being a winter bride for a second time. But this time it was her choice. She’d found the perfect outfit: a simple empire-line dress in a dark – almost black – satin that skimmed over her blossoming stomach. Nell could almost hear her mother whisper in her ear, ‘Marry in black, you’ll wish yourself back.’

Hamish thought this excellent news when she shared the old rhyme with him. ‘I’m going to take it to mean that you’ll wish yourself back to me when you’ve been away. You’ll always come back to me.’

The party afterwards included most of the village, hotel guests, anyone who happened to pass by, and Byrony, up from London. They ate from a buffet prepared by the hotel chef and just about drank the bar dry. They danced to the music of Beautiful Insight, a local hippy band who specialised in Creedence Clearwater Revival numbers. They planned to honeymoon the following year, taking their children with them. ‘Anywhere but Valencia,’ said Nell. ‘People I don’t want to run into ever again live there. Or Florence. I don’t want a second honeymoon there.’

They would decide on a honeymoon location later. One day.

It was just after midnight on the night of their wedding; the newlyweds were outside cooling off. The night was bitterly cold, thick frost on the lawn, a damp chill mist hung in the air. As Nell and Hamish spoke to one another steamy breath burst in small clouds from their lips. Hamish said they’d better get inside soon or they’d catch their deaths out there.

The front door of the hotel burst open, and Byrony shouted that it was time for the official march past. ‘The ultimate wedding celebration.’

Half-a-dozen young men burst out into the night and steamed down the drive to the gate. All were naked but for red bow ties. The wedding guests gathered to watch them run, all shouting, ‘Go, Go, Go.’

Nell said she thought they only did that to celebrate winning at football matches.

‘This is just for you, Nell,’ Byrony said. ‘A treat.’

‘Oh … And it is,’ said Nell, laughing

Hamish said he thought it a bit crazy. ‘They’ll catch their death running like that on a night like this. It’s about four below out here.’

Nell and Byrony looked at one another and smiled.

‘He’s not ready for London,’ said Nell.

Hamish said he never was and never would be. ‘I love living here.’

He pulled Nell to him and whispered, ‘You know.’ It was something he said to her every day. Nell replied, as she always did, ‘Yes, I know.’

Bella was born at twenty-past-three on the morning of the third of June in the local hospital. She weighed seven pounds and eight ounces, had a shock of black hair and seemed to look round at the world with a bemused expression. The midwife said she was going to be a dreamer. Oh no, Nell thought, anything but that. But at least I can warn her about the pitfalls.

Hamish held the child put his lips to her head and said, ‘You know.’

‘No,’ said Nell. She was tired and spoke softly. ‘You tell her properly. And say it to her and to all our children every day. They must grow up knowing they are loved. They must have confidence so they can go into the world and do what they please, and be the people they want to be. No drifting into daydreams, no hiding. Go on, Hamish, say the words. Say them out loud.’ And he did.

He started with Nell.

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First published in hardback in 2011 by Ebury Press, an imprint of Ebury Publishing

This edition 2011

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Copyright © Isla Dewar 2011

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