Five Winters by Kitty Johnson
WINTER ONE
1
It is a truth universally acknowledged that if you have a crush on your best friend’s brother when you’re eleven—flat chested and too shy to say boo to a goose—he is always going to see you that way. I’d been in love with Mark for as long as I could remember, but now here I was, at his wedding reception in a posh hotel in East London, and Mark was officially off the market.
Mark, with his jumpers that always go bobbly because he keeps them far too long.
His “fun” facts about maths—Beth, did you know, if there are twenty-three people in a room, there’s a fifty-fifty chance two of them will have the same birthday?
Mark, with every bit of his lovely dad’s kindness but absolutely none of his practical DIY skills.
Hooked up. Hitched. Espoused.
Married.
“She looks cold,” Rosie said of her new sister-in-law.
“A shoulderless, backless dress in December will do that to you.”
I was acting my poor pathetic butt off in an attempt to convince the world, Mark, and my best friend on earth that I was okay. Trying not to glug my champagne too fast while I watched Grace fitting into Mark’s side like a jigsaw piece.
Actually, she didn’t look cold at all, despite the wedding dress maker skimping on fabric. She looked glowing. That’s what they say about brides, isn’t it? That they glow. As if the happiness of getting what you want plugs you into some kind of blissful circuit board.
“I wasn’t talking about her dress,” Rosie said, helping herself to another glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.
My ears pricked up. This was the first hint Rosie had given that she wasn’t especially keen on Grace. But then again, Rosie had been travelling a lot with her new job, so I supposed she hadn’t really had the chance to get to know Grace that well, what with the romance being such a whirlwind thing.
I wondered why Rosie had reservations about her brother’s new bride. I mean, I knew why I didn’t like her—she’d just snatched the only man I’d ever really loved right out of my dreams. But if Rosie didn’t like her either, maybe there was something else wrong with her apart from this one glaring fault?
“What d’you mean?”
Rosie shrugged, already almost halfway through her new glass of champagne. There was no point trying to keep up—Rosie always had been able to drink me under the table. “Oh, I don’t know. Just a feeling. When she smiles at you, her smile doesn’t seem to quite meet her eyes. But then, maybe she’s shy or overwhelmed by us or something. Who knows?”
I stood next to Rosie, watching the happy couple. Grace’s arms were wrapped around Mark’s neck now, and she certainly didn’t look very shy as he bent to kiss her. I’d seen Mark with numerous girlfriends over the years—long-term relationships that had lasted until the girl in question realised he was never going to settle down with her—but I’d never seen him as smitten as this.
“You do think she loves Mark, though, don’t you?” I asked, because despite the fact that Mark getting hitched was breaking my heart, I didn’t want him to be unhappy. Couldn’t bear the thought that Grace might not feel the same way he obviously did.
“Oh yes. Look, don’t listen to me. I’m sure she’s fine. Mark’s not a total idiot. Like I say, I probably just need to get to know her better. She’s obviously very fond of her grandmother, anyway. Someone who loves their gran must be all right, mustn’t they?”
“Yes,” I said, remembering seeing Grace hugging an ancient-looking lady earlier in the proceedings.
Richard and Sylvia, Rosie and Mark’s parents, were heading in our direction. They were dressed to match, the yellow polka dots on Richard’s pale grey tie complementing Sylvia’s dress. With it being December, the venue was decorated to be festive, and Sylvia was an unseasonal daffodil amongst the swags of yule greenery and holly. Richard’s pale grey suit may have been more restrained, but his expression was pure sunshine, just like Sylvia’s.
“Hello, darlings,” Sylvia said, scooping both me and Rosie up into a hug. “Isn’t this just fabulous?” Her waving hand indicated the swish furnishings, the Christmas decor, the buffet, and most of all, the bride and groom.
“Yes, Mum,” Rosie said, kissing her cheek.
“And doesn’t Grace look divine?”
As Sylvia released me, Richard caught my eye. I may have been able to fool everyone else, but I’d always instinctively known he was aware of my crush on his son, even though we’d never had an actual conversation about it. For a heating engineer, Richard was incredibly in tune with emotions. Or maybe it was just the emotions of the people he cared about, because I hadn’t actually seen him in action in his customers’ houses. He had a very loyal customer base, though, so for all I knew, he dispensed counselling while he fixed people’s boilers. It wouldn’t have surprised me. The man was a gem. I loved him to pieces.
When he hugged me, I could smell cologne and fabric conditioner. Fresh air and salmon sandwiches. Comfort. “All right, Beth?”
I clung to him for a moment. Rosie and I have been best buddies since we were four. As little kids, we were inseparable. I was an only child, and Mark was three years older than Rosie, so from the moment we met at school, Rosie and I were unofficial twins, always together, whether at her house or mine, forcing our mothers to have playdates and picnics in the park even though they didn’t have that much in common. Richard wasn’t around much back then because he was always out at work the way my own dad was. It wasn’t until my parents died that I really got to know him.