Five Winters(7)

I leaned against the doorframe, images of the wedding flitting through my mind. It wasn’t the ceremony I’d have chosen for myself—Grace might have opted for a buffet rather than a sit-down meal, but it had still been far too formal and traditional for my taste. If I’d been in her place, I’d have persuaded Mark we didn’t need all the rented morning suits and over-the-top hats. The wedding speeches and the hired cars and the photographers. I’d have married Mark in a meadow of wildflowers if I could find a way to make that possible. On a mountaintop or deep in a forest. Somewhere wild and elemental—maybe just the two of us with a couple of unknown witnesses. Either that or at the local register’s office with a round of bacon butties for our closest friends afterwards. I wouldn’t have made Mark slog for weeks over his vows the way Grace clearly had; I’d have been happy to hear anything that impulsively came from his heart on the day. I would have told him I loved him. That I was a part of him, and he was a part of me.

Except that I wasn’t, and he wasn’t. And never would be. At least not in the way I wanted.

A tawny owl began to hoot up at the top of the plane tree, and I dried my eyes, enjoying the sound. The owl was a frequent visitor to my tree in the autumn and winter—he felt like a friend. Like someone who knew I was feeling particularly alone tonight.

I stood listening to him, my thoughts moving on to the time I’d spent with Jaimie at the wedding. He’d been nice. Genuine. I liked him. Chatting to him had been fun, interesting. He seemed like a man who was capable of caring for people, if his love for his daughters was anything to go by. Certainly, he’d made being at the wedding just about bearable.

If I was going to have to find someone new in order to forget about Mark for good, then why not him? I was pretty sure he’d call me, but if he didn’t, maybe I should call him.





4


Rosie’s dad phoned me the next morning. “Hello, love. Hope I didn’t wake you up? Only I’ve got this little shelving unit I knocked up out of some spare wood. Thought it might be good for your bowls and vases and that. You in if I drop it over for you to take a look at it?”

“That’s sweet of you. Wouldn’t you rather have a lazy day after yesterday, though? You don’t want to drag yourself up to Dalston.”

“You know me; I don’t do lazy. Besides, it doesn’t take long to get to yours, does it? Be good to have a run out. Sylvia’s resting today. Had a bit too much fizz yesterday, between you and me. Bet she’d appreciate a bit of peace and quiet.”

I smiled. “Well, if you’re sure, it would be lovely to see you.”

When Richard knocked on my door an hour later, I could see right away that the cube unit he had with him had not been knocked up in minutes out of spare wood. It was beautiful, made of pine with tongue and groove joints.

I kissed him. “That looks gorgeous, Richard. Come in, come in. D’you want a hand with it?”

“No, love, I can manage, thanks.”

I stepped back to let him go ahead with the unit into the living room. There he stood it in front of the big oak table I’d bought at a furniture auction.

“Now, don’t go thinking you have to say yes to it,” he said. “I just thought the shelves would look nice on the wall there. You’ve got so many interesting bits and pieces. I thought maybe you’d be able to see them better up on the wall.”

“Richard, I love it. Thank you so much. But you shouldn’t have. It must have been so much work.”

“I enjoy it. Keeps me out of Sylvia’s hair. Think of it as an early Christmas present. Right, then. How about you make me one of those posh coffees of yours while I crack on getting it on the wall? I’ll just fetch my toolbox from the car.”

Within ten minutes, the shelving unit was fixed to the wall, and Richard and I were sitting side by side on the sofa admiring it with our mugs of coffee in hand. The pinewood cubes looked great with the jade-green paintwork showing through them. I couldn’t wait to put some of my precious things on the shelves.

“Looks just like I imagined it would,” Richard said with a satisfied smile.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” There was so much more I could have said, but I knew I didn’t need to. Richard knew how much I loved and appreciated him.

“Your boiler still working okay?”

“Of course. It was fitted by one of the best in the business.”

“Good. You need it to be working well. Something tells me we’re in for a cold snap.”

“I think you’re right. Hopefully, it won’t be too cold in Paris.”

Richard didn’t say anything. Just took hold of my hand and squeezed it.

I squeezed his right back, thinking about my own dad, and how it was getting harder and harder to remember him in any detail as the years kept on rolling by. Would we have been close like this if he’d lived? I hoped so.

Sometimes Richard had an uncanny ability to read my mind. “They’d have been very proud of you, your mum and dad,” he said.

I wasn’t so sure. “Would they? If she was anything like my friends’ mums, Mum would probably be wondering why I hadn’t got married and given her grandchildren by now.”

“Plenty of time for all that. Besides, she’d just want to see you happy.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I’d better get going. Sylvia will be wanting me to make her happy by bringing in something substantial for lunch, if I know her. That’s how her hangovers generally go. Not that she’ll admit to having a hangover, of course.”