A Merry Mistletoe Wedding (2 page)

‘Ha! Well, I'd say yes but it might go to your head a bit. Can't be having that. You already know how gorgeous I think you are.'

‘It's not over yet, you know.'

‘The summer? Well, it is nearly. I'll be up to here in bookbags and the shiny faces of thirty little seven-year-olds next Tuesday.'

‘Nativity plays before you know it. Shepherd outfits, Wise Men, all that.'

‘You're doing it again – that was
this
close to the X-word.' She prodded him in the ribs, feeling bone beneath her fingers.

‘What you need is something about the X-word that you can look forward to, so instead of it all being four months of annoyance, you can celebrate it and get all excited about it.'

‘Don't you have to be about ten to feel that way? All geed up about a new bike?' Thea knew she was being a bit of a grump but couldn't help it. The thought of those giant swaying inflatable Santas in the shopping mall greeting her with ‘Ho ho
ho
!' for weeks on end was just that little bit too grim. A week or two of Christmas was a lovely and exciting time. Several months of relentless glitter and tat, less so.

‘Maybe you could get excited about a Christmas wedding,' Sean said, rather quietly.

She sat up again quickly. He wasn't looking at her, he was staring out to sea. His hands were fidgeting with strands of the tough marram grass that grew on the dunes.

‘What do you mean? Is there a wedding party booked into the manor for Christmas?'

He shrugged. ‘Not yet. But, y'know, there could be.' He turned and smiled at her, looking slightly scared. ‘It could be … maybe … ours?'

Thea didn't say anything for a moment. She could feel her heart beating faster. ‘Oh. Er … are you … um …?' Had she just heard what she thought she had?

‘I'm asking you if you'd marry me, Thea, yes.' He was concentrating on plaiting the strands of grass now, avoiding her gaze. His obvious nervousness was so endearing, she thought. She put her hand on his wrist. His pulse throbbed under her touch.

‘Yes,' she said.

‘Yes as in you realize what I'm asking, or yes as in the answer is yes?'

‘Answer is yes. Yes, I'd love to marry you.' She leaned forward and kissed him lightly.

‘What, really? Sure?' He laughed and hugged her to him.

‘I am sure. I'm saying yes.' She hadn't had to think about it, not for a second, because there was absolutely no doubt: Sean was her soulmate, the for-ever one. It wasn't like last time when she had taken a few days, thinking about whether to say yes to Rich's proposal those couple of years ago, and it was her mother who'd told her that if you had to think about it, that should tell you the answer was absolutely a big fat ‘no'. She should have listened. At the time, since Rich had been living in her little house for a while, it had seemed a fairly logical next step. It was only after he'd left her and she'd started to recover during last Christmas here at Cove Manor with her family, that she'd finally twigged that ‘logical next step' was a hugely inadequate reason for signing up in front of witnesses for a whole life with someone.

Sean looked at her, his eyes gleaming. ‘Wow, that was
way
easier than I thought it would be!'

‘Did you think for even a minute that I'd say no?' she asked.

‘I don't know! It's not something I've ever asked anyone before. I didn't know how it would go because I didn't even think of asking the question till just now. It just seemed … a moment. The right one. I haven't got you a ring or anything.' Both of them were laughing: the moment seemed so madly unexpected and wonderful. Thea looked at the beach, the sea, the sky, taking it all in so she could keep this perfect moment for ever. Who needed a ring?

Thea had had a ring before. A big fat diamond one that Rich had been so proud to tell her he'd bought at a bargain price at an upmarket shopping arcade frequented by cruise-ship passengers while they were on a low-season cut-rate holiday in Barbados. ‘They were practically giving them away,' he'd said, as if that were its greatest charm. Nice. She'd given it back to him on the day he left. No doubt, in the same spirit of thrift, he'd one day give it to someone else and tell the girl how lucky she was that he'd kept it on the off chance rather than selling it on eBay and blowing the cash on a mini-break to Vegas.

‘I don't need a ring,' Thea said. ‘I don't need anything. Just you. And you know what? Suddenly, I'm quite looking forward to Christmas this year. And
that's
something I never thought I'd be saying when it's not even September till next week.'

Sean took her left hand and looped the plaited grass over her third finger. ‘I guess this will fade and fall to bits but with luck, we won't,' he told her. ‘And before you say anything, I already know – that really
is
cheesy.'

The estate agent was bang on time. She'd rung the bell but followed up with a light rap on the knocker as well, probably well used to slack home-owners whose bells had given up the ghost. Anna, having had a quick shufti from behind the purple velvet curtain at the sitting-room window, was surprised to see how young the woman was, and wondered how both she and the agency she worked for had considered it safe for her to come to do this valuation on her own. You couldn't be too careful, could you? After all, how could she have known she was coming to the home of a pair of safe pension-age rockers where the only danger was having her ears blasted by Led Zeppelin being played at volume 11. She and Mike could have been anyone. She was so punctual that Anna reckoned she had probably been sitting in the car outside the house for a good ten minutes; that way she could show how reliable and on the ball the company was by not being a second early or late. Good ruse – after all, this area, Barnes in south-west London, was up to its roofs in estate agents; those, chic restaurants and artisan bakers. You had to keep standards up or sink under the hurtling competition.

‘She's here! We're on!' Anna called to Mike, who was in the wicker peacock chair in the kitchen holding his guitar, looking as if he didn't quite know what to do with himself. He already seemed to be wilting slightly under the threat of the intense scrutiny he (or rather his home) was in for in the next hour. He was clearly taking this visit as an invasion and Anna wanted to give him a bit of a kick to perk him up. He was making the place look untidy and she suspected untidy didn't go down well when a house was being valued. Anyone could see it was a bit tatty (or would the term be ‘well loved'? It had certainly been that) around the edges without Mike adding to the atmosphere.

‘Mike, get it together, man, or she'll knock off a few grand for lack of smiles,' she said to him and went to open the door.

‘Hello!' Anna was conscious that she sounded falsely thrilled. The beam she'd put on her face as she greeted the girl felt forced. Why was she so nervous? After all, this agent was going to be very well paid when (if) a sale went through. And it wasn't a commitment, not at this stage, only a preliminary what-if.

‘Hello! I'm Belinda.' The girl held out a slim, pale hand. A couple of silver rings glinted, her nail varnish was a safe mid-pink and she was wearing the kind of office uniform of black trousers and jacket that was probably meant to look reassuringly professional. Like a banker, Anna thought as she ushered the girl into her hallway. That kind of corporate thing was another world to Anna, who was from the realm of art and sculpture and dressing as she pleased. How weird it must be to have to wear heels and full-scale make-up and something safe and dark every day but never colourful layers and shoes that didn't look as if they hurt.

‘Would you like tea?' Anna offered as they reached the kitchen. She felt twitchy, even though she needn't, yet considering whether to sell a house you'd lived in for over forty years was a massive decision. Would the sitting room have been a better place to take this Belinda? It was big and light, had plenty of sofa space if a long sit-down preamble to the viewing was needed, and was as tidy and clutter-free as she could manage. Mike's paintings of exuberant nudes on the walls might be a bit daunting for her but there were other things she could look at: big old patchwork cushions, lots of colourful throws and the vast Moroccan rag rug in multitudinous shades of turquoise. On the other hand, the kitchen had useful distracting gadgets that would need dealing with while they got to know each other. Nerve-wise she sympathized with Mike, who had put his guitar down and was making a bit of an unnecessary palaver about getting out of his chair. Was he playing at being an old man or something? He wasn't quite seventy yet, not nearing ninety, and he had plenty of energy in him. He shook hands with Belinda and gave her a half-smile.

‘Regular, camomile, jasmine or mint?' Anna said, opening a cupboard and checking what she'd got.

Belinda said, ‘Oh – er, camomile would be … um … Well, I'm not sure. I've never had it. It sounds nice. I like to try new things.'

‘It smells of cat piss,' Mike warned her with a sideways grin as he filled the kettle.

‘Mike …' Anna gave him a look.

‘Well it does.
And
it tastes of old hippies.' He was smiling but Anna saw a puzzled expression on the girl's face. Maybe she didn't know what an old hippie was. It was quite likely – she looked about seventeen (though surely couldn't be) and her voice was direct from the safe calm world of private school, ponies and violin lessons. Either way, Anna would bet the value of this house that she wouldn't know what a hippie tasted like.

‘Take no notice of him, he's just winding you up,' Anna said, wishing the agent could go outside then come back in and they could all start again.

‘Could I change my mind about the tea?' Belinda said. ‘I'm actually fine, thanks. We are told to say yes even if we don't want one because it gives the home-owners something to do and we get to check out the kitchen. You can tell almost all you need to know about a house's value from the kitchen. Oh …'

‘What's the matter?' Mike asked as Belinda faltered over her words. ‘Do the pink kitchen units confuse the price issue? It was all done back in the days of fancy paint effect. The distressed look was very chic then. Not that we distressed it, I mean. The growing family managed that by themselves. Or are the walls and ceiling a problem? I was rather proud of my wispy clouds on a blue sky effect. You dab the colour on with a J-cloth and smudge it.'

Anna looked at him, willing him to stop. He was rambling and would unsettle the poor girl even more.

‘No, no, that's er … lovely. And unusual. It's just that I'm not supposed to say things like that,' she admitted. ‘It's not very professional of me. I do tend to
blurt
.' She smiled at him and bit her lip. Anna felt annoyed, recognizing a gesture that was meant to look charming and a bit helpless. It probably got results with most of the men it was aimed at. Belinda's pretty fingers tugged at the end of her long blond single plait. She was
that
close, Anna reckoned, to putting it in her mouth and giving it a childlike chew.

‘Orange squash?' Anna offered.

‘No, no, really, I'm fine. I don't need anything.'

Anna poured herself a glass of water, put it on the table and they all sat down. She was conscious that the surface of it was covered with old pale rings from years of mugs of tea carelessly placed. The table would be going with her and Mike when (if) they moved but did that kind of thing get noticed by those valuing a house? Belinda eyed the plate of Bourbon biscuits Anna had put out but didn't take one.

‘So,' Belinda said, putting her iPad in front of her and switching it on. ‘I understand you're downsizing?'

‘Er … sort of. Possibly,' Anna told her. ‘We haven't quite decided yet what we're going to do, but we do need to move. This place is far too big and keeping it going just for the two of us is an expense we could do without, frankly, now we aren't working so much.' The family weren't any good at helping them decide either, though Belinda didn't need to know the ins and outs of that. Emily had cried (she'd always been a crier, but was even worse now, being hugely pregnant) and told them they couldn't possibly sell her childhood home. Jimi had said it was a terrific idea – the place was way too big and they were being the household equivalent of hospital bed-blockers. As for Thea, well, they'd got no sense out of Thea since Christmas when she'd paired up with Sean and started to spend every other minute on the A303 whizzing up and down from Cornwall. Anna and Mike could tell her they were relocating to Mars and she'd probably just smile and say, ‘Great, fine.'

‘The idea is to find out what we've got available, money-wise, if we decide to sell up. Then we'll know what we've got to play with and we can think about options,' Mike said.

‘I expect you're thinking of something like sheltered housing? My gran has just moved into a lovely place. Very safe and caring,' Belinda said to Anna in a low tone, surprising her by reaching across the table and gently taking hold of her wrist.

‘Fuck, no!' Mike spluttered. ‘How old do you think we are?'

‘About the same age as Belinda's gran, I expect,' Anna told him. ‘We probably are.'

‘Only if she was a child bride,' he argued, then turned to Belinda. ‘I share a birthday with Keith Richards. Though a few years later.'

She looked a bit blank.

‘Guitarist? Rolling Stones? You must have heard that saying: when the world ends, the only survivors will be cockroaches and Keith Richards? I intend to cash in on the birthday connection and claim shared immortality.'

Belinda giggled and swiftly removed her hand from Anna's. ‘My gran says the Beatles were better. Oops, sorry!'

‘What I'm trying to say' – Mike's tone was softer now – ‘and I'm sorry if I overreacted there, is that where we're going isn't relevant at the moment. We haven't decided yet. Could be Wales, could be West Wittering, could be Willesden. Don't know.'