Just Haven't Met You Yet(82)

As I read, I feel a weight settle on my shoulders. Now I truly understand why Mum lied, why she wanted to paint me a prettier picture, why she didn’t stay in touch with his family.

Not only was I not wanted, but the coin I wear, the symbol of their “fairy tale,” is in fact what tore the family apart. But if they fought so bitterly over it, how did I end up with both halves?

I fold the letters away. I’ve read enough. I stretch my arms above my head and look out into the garden, where Sue and Monica are still refilling a bird feeder, one seed at a time.

“Anything of interest?” Monica asks as I walk out to join them.

“They hated each other.”

“They didn’t,” says Sue, as Monica puts an arm around me.

“That summer—I’ve never seen two people more in love. It might not have lasted, but there was certainly love there,” says Monica.

I rub my palms over my eyes, feeling them prickle with emotion.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, I thought I was coming to Jersey to write an epic love story. Instead I’ve found—I don’t know—some fantasy my mum invented.”

“Right, I think we might need something a bit stronger than tea for this,” says Monica, patting me on the back, then she calls toward the kitchen. “Sorry, Kitty, you haven’t done the trick this time.”

I laugh and wipe my eyes. Aunt Monica helps Sue back inside and then strides through to the kitchen and pulls three glasses from the cupboard. She decants a slosh of dark brown liquid into all three and then tops them up with a splash of ginger beer from the fridge. Trotting through to the living room, she hands one to me and the other to her sister.

“Now, take it from two women with over a dozen decades of experience between us, there’s no such thing as a ‘happily ever after.’ Maybe a ‘happy for now,’ if you’re lucky.”

Sue nods in agreement.

“People fight, people break up. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t real and it doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth having, Laura. All these films where people walk off into the sunset at the end and you’re led to believe all their problems are over . . .”

“I quite agree,” says Sue. “It’s a dangerous myth to peddle.”

“I prefer action and adventure films myself. Have you seen Lethal Weapon? Oh, I do like that series. If you’re going to sit down and watch a lot of unrealistic hogwash, it might as well have explosions in it, that’s what I always say. Wasn’t Mel Gibson such a dish in his day? I was so upset when he died—I lined up all my ornamental pricklers, and we had a Mel movie marathon to mark his passing.”

“I don’t think he’s dead, Monica,” says Sue.

“Isn’t he? Who am I thinking of then?”

“How am I to know what goes on in your head?” Sue tuts.

I find myself smiling at the sisterly patter between them; it makes me miss Dee.

“Are you married, Laura? Seeing anyone special?” Sue asks.

“No, I’m not. I haven’t had much luck with dating recently.” I find myself trying to hide a smile. “Though funnily enough, I’ve met two men since being here.”

“Two?” both women say in unison, which makes me laugh.

“An island this size, that must be a record,” says Sue.

“Well, well, spill the beans, girl,” says Monica.

I bite my lip, trying to think what to say.

“Well, one is perfect for me; we’ve got everything in common, and he seems to like me too—”

“And the other?” asks Monica.

I pause for a moment before answering.

“The other one is more complicated, less suitable, and I don’t know if he likes me or not.”

“But?”

“But I can’t stop thinking about him.”

The truth of these words startles me, as I admit to myself how much I am thinking of Ted.

“Well, there’s your answer,” says Sue, tapping her forehead. “Men are like woodworm. Once they’ve wheedled their way in, they’re almost impossible to get rid of. Even when you’ve had the wood treated, the holes are there to stay.”

I’m not sure this is the most romantic analogy I’ve ever heard.

“Ah, it’s been a while since I’ve had any woodwormy wood,” says Monica wistfully, causing me to splutter on my damson gin.

Declining another round of drinks, I say regretfully that I must go. I need to retrieve my computer, track down my phone, and finalize the photo shoot tomorrow.

“How long are you here for? You will stay in touch, won’t you?” says my grandmother. “You should meet Graham’s children, your second cousins. You’re a Jersey girl at heart, Laura Le Quesne,” and she pronounces it Ques-ne with a wink.

“I’m not flying back until Wednesday now,” I say, squeezing her hand, “and I would love to stay in touch.”

“We could talk to Graham about having a meal with his brood, before you go.”

Sue turns her head toward Monica, who says, “We’ll do some plotting and let you know what we can organize.”

The idea alone plants a glow inside me. I always longed for more family, to be part of one of those scenes in Christmas movies when the extended family gets together—everyone brings a different dish and people tease each other, the way Jasper and his sisters do.