Five Winters(2)

When I was foisted on a bewildered aunt as a grieving nine-year-old, Richard and Sylvia willingly became my surrogate parents whenever Aunt Tilda had to work or just needed a break. I never thought of Mark as family, though. But he sort of was.

“Any nice boys at your work, girls?” Sylvia asked. “I couldn’t decide which outfit to wear, so I ended up buying three, if either of you fancies getting hitched soon.”

“I don’t work with boys, Mum. I work with men. And they’re either already married or total dorks, so no.”

Sylvia turned her attention in my direction. “No one new at the vet’s?”

“We had a new vet start the other day,” I told her, causing her eyebrows to rise hopefully.

“She’s called Freda, and she’s from Sweden,” Rosie said.

“Ah,” said Sylvia, deflated.

When they moved on shortly afterwards, Rosie told me, “I have met someone, actually. But don’t tell Mum. It’s very early days.”

It was a welcome distraction. “Ooh. Who? Spill everything.”

“He’s called Giorgio. I met him at a sales conference last month. But don’t get too excited. It’s just sex. Good sex, though—when he can get over here from Italy.”

I looked at her sceptically. “Are you sure you’re not really madly in love and just pretending it’s casual?” I knew my friend well.

Rosie shook her head. “Positive.”

“And he’s not married?”

“Nope. Listen, quit worrying. Worry about yourself. What’s it been? Two years since you last dated anybody?”

Mark and Grace were dancing now, their bodies melded together.

“And forget about my brother once and for all,” Rosie added, the rather stern command tempered by a caring hand on my shoulder.

Ah. Maybe my acting skills weren’t going to earn me an Oscar anytime soon after all.

“I’m thirty-five, not thirteen,” I told her.

Rosie just lifted her eyebrows at me.

“D’you think your parents will be too upset if I don’t come for Christmas this year?” I asked, imagining what it would be like with Mark and Grace freshly back from their honeymoon.

“You know Mum needs ten months’ notice if you’re going to miss Christmas. Of course they’ll be upset. Anyway, what else are you going to do? Volunteer for sick-dog duty?”

Volunteering to take care of the dogs and cats who were too ill to be sent home from the veterinary surgery where I worked was exactly what I had intended to do over Christmas. I hadn’t said anything to my boss yet, but I knew he’d be only too ready to bite my hand off if I offered.

“Sorry and all that,” Rosie said, “but you have to come. Unless you want Mum’s bitter disappointment on your conscience all over the festive period.”

She was right, of course. If I didn’t join them all, I would feel bad. When someone’s done as much for you as Richard and Sylvia had done for me, it’s not right to disappoint them. I just hoped I could handle it.

I felt exposed and vulnerable when Rosie went off to the loo shortly afterwards. Looking round to check on Mark’s whereabouts, I spotted him with Grace’s grandmother. She was seated, and he was squatting so that their heads were on the same level, clearly listening to what she was saying with complete attention. He was like that with everyone—always making you feel as if you were the centre of his universe when you spoke to him. It might have felt affected, I guess, but it didn’t. As Rosie had pointed out, Grace was clearly very close to her grandmother. I’d met her parents earlier, and they had seemed so cold and stiff that this wasn’t surprising.

Someone else came to speak to Grace’s grandmother, so Mark gave her a kiss on the cheek and got to his feet. When his gaze started to roam around the room, I moved quickly—too quickly, as it turned out, because when I launched myself towards the buffet table as if I hadn’t eaten anything but a green salad all week, I was so focussed on not making eye contact with Mark that I ended up barging straight into somebody else.

“God, I’m sorry,” I said, gazing with horror at the coleslaw which had shunted onto the man’s suit from his plate.

“That’s all right,” he said, putting his plate down on a side table and getting busy with a paper napkin. “It’s only my second-best suit.”

I looked up to see an attractive man about my age. He had curly light-brown hair and hazel eyes, which were quite twinkly, considering the coleslaw belt.

“You didn’t think this wedding warranted the best, then?” I asked, and he shook his head.

“I wore that suit to the divorce courts. It didn’t seem right to wear it today.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Oh.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Jaimie. Jaimie Faulkner.”

I shook his hand. “Beth Bailey. Sorry about just now. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?”

“The groom. You?”

“Bride. Grace and I used to teach together.”

I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice. “Grace was a teacher?”

“For a little while. It didn’t really suit her.”