A Merry Mistletoe Wedding (14 page)

As Sean went to run the shower and rinse the sea off him and the neoprene, Thea's phone buzzed with a message. She had a little moment of anxiety in case it was Rich asking again about the dog but it was Anna.

‘Hey, Sean?' she called to him over the sound of the running water. ‘My mum just texted. The folks are on their way down.'

‘Really?' he replied through the shower's steam. ‘Are they wanting to stay here? They're very welcome. The spare room isn't too shabby, or it won't be if I move a few spare boards and stuff round.'

‘No, they're heading for St Ives but asked if it's OK to come over one day this week and see us. Lunch, Mum says. Shall I tell her just to pick a day?'

‘Sure – any except Friday, changeover day. We can take them to the Rick Stein place in Porthleven. And to be honest, I'm not too sad that we'll have the place to ourselves for the whole week.' Sean came out of the shower naked and rubbing his hair with a towel. His body was so damn gorgeous, Thea thought. In spite of Emily's hostility and Rich's … well, existence, there were just so many blessings to count.

He put his arms round her and pulled her over to the bed. ‘I think we've got plenty of time for a proper hello. And we can do some talking catch-up too. Later.'

‘You see we could do as much of this as we like once the house has gone,' Mike said to Anna as they parked outside the Sloop galleries in St Ives. ‘You can't even get into the town in the summer holidays but out of season it's a total luxury.'

‘It is half-term though,' Anna said, looking around at the groups of families dragging bored small children behind them. ‘I think we were just lucky.'

‘Well, OK, but even there we've got an upside: it means we can go round the Tate without tripping over parties of schoolkids.'

‘I thought we'd come to look for a place to buy? Will there be time for both?'

‘Of course there will. And anyway, we've already whittled it down to a few from looking online so it's not like the old days of peering in agents' windows. I'll admit St Ives is a bit more hilly than I remember. We might have to extend the search. But first, I think an ice cream. Fancy one?'

‘I think so, though it's not really the weather for it,' Anna said, pulling her coat close round her. ‘But we're at the seaside which means it's got to be done. So long as the gulls don't attack. I'm sure they didn't use to be this big or this menacing – I mean, look at them, dive-bombing anyone who's got a bag of chips. Are they bigger or am I shrinking? I dread the shrinkage.'

‘Of course you're not!' Mike said, laughing. ‘Why would you think that?'

‘My mother did,' Anna said as they reached the ice-cream stall. She ordered a 99 with an extra flake. ‘She got smaller and smaller like Alice after the potion. Every time I saw her during those last years, her skirt hem seemed closer to the ground. I wonder if that's part of why older people think they become invisible. They – or should I say “we” – start to disappear, literally. It's too depressing.'

‘It's an illusion,' Mike said, paying for the ice cream. ‘Blimey, three pounds fifty. How come?' he grumbled quietly. ‘And nobody needs to do the invisibility thing. We already agreed we're not going to vanish into garden-pottering and snoozing. You're still out there enjoying life, aren't you? Seeing mates and doing stuff? I'm still playing with bands in pubs and everything. Nothing has to change – we simply join in and do it all somewhere else. Neither of us is exactly an introvert so it'll be OK, trust me.' He handed her the ice cream. ‘Those chocolate flakes are looking like they're doing a v-sign. That'll be in protest at the price.'

‘That's the one thing worrying me about the idea of living down here,' she said as they went and sat on the harbour wall. ‘Losing contact with old friends. That and whether it's really possible to find new ones without the long-term in-common stuff. In the end there'll probably only be the children at our funerals, not people we've known half our lifetimes, because we'll have drifted away. The first they'll know of our going is when they don't get a Christmas card. Some of them have packed up their homes already, gone to do the retiring-to-the-country thing. It's making me nervous.'

‘The ones we care most about will still be there,' Mike said. ‘And new ones, well, they'll be a bonus. And really, who cares who's at our funerals? We won't be. Well, not at the second one anyway.'

A gull swooped and, with swift and canny efficiency, stole one of Anna's chocolate flakes. ‘Cheeky bastard!' she shouted at it, flapping her hands to stave off a second attack.

‘We could keep a tiny London base though, I don't see why not. After all, you don't get gulls nicking your lunch in Richmond Park.'

‘Not yet. But it'll come. Gulls or those screeching parakeets.'

They set off up the narrow lanes in the direction of Porthmeor beach.

‘You're right about it being a bit hilly, Mike. And the prettiest cottages here round the back of the town – where you'd really want to live – don't have any place to put a car. Are we being idiots? I know we think we'll live for ever but I'm reluctantly coming to the conclusion we need to be practical. I wouldn't want to lug supermarket bags all the way through the town. Well, I might not mind now but in ten years, no way. I'll end up with a tartan shopping trolley.'

‘Rosie's got a trolley but it's got a pic of Elvis on it and she says it's “ironic”, whatever she means by that,' Mike said. ‘But look, when you get a view like this …' They stopped at the end of a row of old art studios where the view opened out over the beach and sea. The sky was a rich blue-grey and the vivid turquoise sea was thrashing up the sand. As the sun broke through the clouds the beach was lit up with splashes of wet pink. ‘There's nothing like the light in this place, is there?' he said, turning to Anna and smiling.

‘No, that's true. And I hope we can find something with a view of the water.'

‘I'm sure we can. Not necessarily direct sea frontage and not necessarily even over this side of the county but definitely we'll make sure we can see it.'

Anna and Mike carried on walking along the beachfront to the white Tate St Ives building. Anna thought about Emily and her new terror of going out, distrust of crowds and uncertainty about her children's safety. If they had somewhere, a bolt-hole away from London, surely she'd want to escape as often as possible? Who wouldn't have their mind soothed by being beside the ever-changing ocean? Perhaps this could be a good idea after all. She hoped so.

Pentreath Hall had seen better days but they'd been glorious ones and it showed. As homes go, it was possibly a bit too small to merit the term ‘stately'; it would never be host to visiting coach parties and the grounds were more
au naturel
than those looking to sneak cuttings of prize specimens would be keen to visit. However, it was pretty impressive all the same, in spite of needing its paintwork touched up and the wisteria being out of control. It was a low-fronted Georgian oblong of a house like a piece of smooth gold bullion dropped into parkland, with a pair of grand columns supporting a wonderfully ornate porch and a broad set of steps leading up to double doors that opened into a large square hall with a black and white tiled floor and a stunning curved wooden staircase.

‘It'll look good in the photos,' Sean said as he did a sharp handbrake turn on the sweep of gravel outside. ‘Are we having photos? I mean obviously we will but I didn't mean the sort taken by a posh wedding chappie who takes thousands of us under a gilded bower or arty views of us in silhouette looking soppy on the pond bridge.'

‘I wouldn't want that either. Elmo's doing Art A level and he's volunteered so I think we'll get something a bit more normal. Unless he wants us to climb a tree. He might think that would be arty, or “like, totes rad”, as he'd put it.'

‘Up a tree in a wedding dress?' Sean said, laughing. ‘Now that I'd love to see. You'll be wearing the traditional hideous meringue, of course?'

‘Of course!' she said. ‘And you, I expect full kilt and frills and a sword.'

‘I'm not Scottish,' he protested as they got out of the car. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of my best wetsuit.'

‘Thought you might. No tie though, promise me not a tie. I really hate them.'

‘Oh, I think I can promise that.'

‘Good – and I can promise
not
a meringue.'

‘Hello, you two. Come on in!' Paul opened the door before they had chance to ring the bell and ushered them inside. The temperature fell a couple of degrees as the door shut and Thea pulled her old sheepskin jacket closer round her. ‘Sorry, the boiler's buggered again,' Paul said. ‘But the nice clever man will be here tomorrow and I promise it's a lot warmer in the kitchen. Come through and say hello to Sarah and we'll sort you out a drink. And then' – he grinned cheerily – ‘we'll show you what we've done with the orangery. I hope you'll think it's up to wedding standard because you two are going to be our first customers. We're experimenting on you.'

The kitchen was bigger than the footprint of Thea's little house. A massive black Aga occupied a vast old chimneybreast at one end and various dressers and worktops occupied each side. None of the chairs matched and the blinds at the window that had looked rather shabby last time Thea had been to the house were now missing altogether, leaving odd bits of ironmongery sticking out of the walls, waiting for something new to support. A couple of shabby ancient rugs covered some of the flagstone floor and a massive wolfhound lay on one of them under the table, barely bothering to flick his tail by way of acknowledging the visitors.

Paul's wife Sarah was chopping herbs by the sink and she came over to kiss Sean and Thea, still clutching a knife.

‘Hello, both of you, I'm so glad you could make it. You must be exhausted, Thea, all that driving. These days, when I drive anywhere beyond the Tamar I have to pull over into a lay-by for a little nap. I even manage to cut out the sound of the children squawking, “We're not there yet,” at me. It's a matter of survival for all of us.'

‘Ah, but don't forget, Thea's younger than us,' Paul said, opening a bottle of champagne and pouring four glasses.

‘Hardly at all,' Thea protested.

‘It's the hair,' Sean said. ‘She looks about fifteen.'

‘Double it and add some,' she said, clouting his arm. ‘I don't even
want
to look fifteen. That would be weird.'

‘Uh-oh, lovers' fight,' Paul said, handing out the drinks. ‘I just gave you half a glass, Sean, as I assume you're the driver tonight. And let's raise the fizz to you two and a very merry wedding. Cheers!'

‘Here's to you both,' Sarah said. ‘And when will you be moving down here, Thea? I assume that's the plan?'

‘I'll need to find a job and there doesn't seem to be much going in teaching at the moment. I think I should see out the school year where I am but after that … well, it can't come soon enough. This term is being a nightmare. The head and I don't see eye to eye.'

‘Really? What's the problem?'

‘I think the children are too cooped up indoors and I keep trying to find reasons for teaching them out in the open, to give them a chance to be physical as well as using their poor little over-stretched brains.'

‘I couldn't agree more,' Sarah said. ‘You must come and see my school. It's exactly that – as much time outdoors as possible. I think you'd love it.'

‘Oh, I would! I don't suppose you've got any vacancies?' Thea said, laughing.

‘Sadly not at the moment. I wish.'

Paul topped up the glasses and said, ‘Look, let's go and see the orangery. Is that all right with you, Sarah, or do you want us to wait till after the pud?'

‘No, let's all go now. Come on,' and she led the way back through the hallway and across to the drawing room. Beyond that was a doorway through to a long room that ran the entire end wall of the house, with glass on three sides and an ornate cupola ceiling. It was too substantial to be called a mere conservatory, but still small enough to be intimate; it could accommodate a good fifty people on dark wood padded chairs which at the moment were stacked up against the wall. Glass doors all along the longest side led out to the paved terrace planted at intervals with urns.

‘It's a shame it's dark because you can't see the view out over the sea just now but look …' and Paul switched on a light that flooded out over the terrace and beyond to the grassy slope that led down to the lake. ‘We've had the lake cleared and it's almost grand enough to deserve to be called one now rather than a sludge pond. The water lilies won't be there at Christmas, of course, but the reeds are always pretty. And there's a wall between the lake and the terrace so children can't just run into the water.'

‘It's stunning, isn't it?' Thea said to Sean, impressed at the amount of garden preparation that had been done.

‘It is so long as the guests stay in the vicinity of pretty much what you can see from here,' Sarah told her, laughing. ‘Just out of our sightline is the usual jumble of the wrong sort of rhododendrons and a tangle of trees that fell in last year's gales that nobody's got round to chopping up and clearing. There's always so much to be done and, as you know, we've had to take this on after years of gentle decline. So,' she asked Thea as they went back to the kitchen and sat at the table, ‘do you think it'll be your perfect wedding venue?'

‘I love it,' Thea told her, feeling suddenly a bit tearful. ‘It's just beautiful.'

‘Oh, Thea, don't get upset, darling!' Sarah said, squeezing her hand. ‘I expect you're overwhelmed with preparations and so on.' As Paul served the boeuf bourgignon, she asked, ‘Now the important question: have you got your dress yet? I expect you have so if you don't think it's bad luck, can you give me an idea what it's like?'