A Winter's Wedding (3 page)

‘Ha! He is a toad, isn’t he? Thanks a million for your support. You know what, Emily? I know I’m a bit tipsy here but I was half considering just having an affair or even a one-night stand with a good-looking younger man.’

‘No comment, even though you’re my dearest friend. You’re on your own with this one.’

‘No, listen. We had all the tests two years ago, David and me. And there’s nothing wrong with me. And there’s nothing wrong with him. So I think it’s a Zen thing. You know, like in that magazine you were reading? I think we’re both too stubborn, too Alpha in our personalities. And that’s why our genes can’t combine. Because neither set of genes wants to make the first move.’

‘I’m not sure it works that way.’

‘And David’s so strange these days. He’s distracted all the time, checking his phone constantly for messages and worrying far too much about work, in my humble opinion.’

‘I’d really think twice before doing anything too dramatic, seriously I would, Arabella.’

‘But I’m thirty-seven, Emily. Time is running out for me. It’s a miracle the clinic even agreed to see me at all. Mind you, we’re willing to pay anything they ask – so maybe that helps a little?’

‘Well, listen, really and truly it’s your decision to make. I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone, you can be sure of that. And you shouldn’t tell anybody else either. Just in case David finds out you were even thinking about being unfaithful to him, and that leads to another argument. I’m sure you two will be madly in love again by this time tomorrow, in any case. You’ll probably be cross with me for calling him a toad.’

‘I don’t know if we will make up. I just keep thinking I should stop dithering and take affirmative action. The guy who works in our local petrol station is quite sexy.’

‘Is he gorgeous? What’s he like?’ Emily said, trying to inject some humour into the conversation.

‘He’s about nineteen years of age for starters. He’s got lovely firm arms in that red T-shirt they have to wear. I bet he’d have no trouble whatsoever getting a girl pregnant. I’d love to see him naked, actually. I haven’t seen a naked man in ever such a long time. You know, properly gloriously completely naked? I don’t count having a quickie with David, with his T-shirt on and his shorts around his ankles, as seeing a man properly naked. I want to be swept away, Emily, instead of just begging for crumbs.’

‘Oh, Arabella, what am I going to do with you?’

‘I don’t know. Last night I dreamed about the guy from the petrol station. I dreamed that I went straight in there – and propositioned him in broad daylight. Just told him I wanted a baby, and could he please oblige me? There was nobody around, and it was a gorgeous sunny day. So we just kissed and then lay down in the flower bed and got right on with it. And five minutes later, what do you know? I’m on my way to being a mother.’

‘You really are a closet hussy,’ Emily said affectionately.

‘I know, I know. But does it really matter who the father is? It’s only a little tadpole, when all’s said and done. Men are so arrogant, aren’t they? We women are the ones who have to suffer with IVF injections and morning sickness and epidurals and childbirth and C-sections and breastfeeding and bleeding nipples. All they have to do is make love to us.’

‘Yes, but what if David decides to have a DNA test done some day, if the baby turns out to be a gorgeous male model or is no good at mathematics? I don’t think he’d think it was just a tadpole – and not care whose. Men tend to care rather a lot about DNA, don’t they? I wouldn’t want him to walk out on you.’

‘I never thought of that.’

‘Lucky you have me, then,’ Emily said, ‘to do all the worrying for you.’

‘You’re so sensible, Emily.’

‘I know, it’s a gift,’ Emily said sarcastically. She wished she could be more carefree sometimes.

‘And also a curse. Am I right?’ Arabella said. She was nothing if not perceptive.

‘Yes, sometimes it is a curse,’ Emily admitted.

‘Look, I’ll try and get some sleep now. And when you’ve dropped off your Zen-box things to the charity shop tomorrow, will you call me? And I’ll meet you at the McDonald’s near your flat.’

‘Do you really mean that?’ Emily was incredulous. ‘McDonald’s? As in fried food?’

‘Yes, I fancy a dirty great double cheeseburger with pickles and fries and a strawberry milkshake. Sometimes I get tired of rabbit food and white meat and all the things that are supposed to help me conceive. I just want a good old burger dripping grease and melted cheese all down my chin.’

‘I know what you mean. I had a massive pizza tonight. Listen, Arabella, you must get some sleep now. I think a good night’s sleep would do you the power of good. See you tomorrow, then?’

‘Yes, call me when you get back from the charity shop. Yes?’

‘Okay. Goodnight, Arabella.’

‘Goodnight, Emily. And thanks for listening. It means a lot.’

‘Don’t mention it. What are friends for?’

Emily stayed sitting up in bed for a while afterwards. She knew she would never get to sleep now that she was thinking about Arabella. And she was hungry again too. The pizza must have increased her appetite, she thought to herself. Pulling on warm socks and her fleece, she padded into the kitchen to prepare baked beans on toast. She might as well go back to her usual diet before she got a hankering for the fancy stuff. David and Arabella Harrington might be able to afford the finer things in life. But she definitely couldn’t. Not when she still had a cancelled wedding to pay for. An absolute fortune spent on a Vera Wang dress and all the trimmings – and all she’d got for her trouble was an anxiety attack in the church porch.

Oh the shame of it …

3. Donations Urgently Required

It was Christmas Eve. It was still snowing. People were beginning to tire of the beauty of their all-white cityscape and instead spent a lot of time moaning about frozen pipes, slippery pathways and the soaring cost of heating bills. Emily’s attic apartment felt as cold as the North Pole, and the accumulated snow on the skylights was blocking out almost all the daylight from her bedroom. Still, she was determined to press on with her de-cluttering project. And maybe somebody in the neighbourhood would be glad of her cast-offs this Christmas. Emily picked up the first box and took a deep breath.

‘Never mind my fake Zen theory,’ she said to herself. ‘If Arabella ever finds out I gave all this stuff away, she’ll never speak to me again.’

But what was the use of having a pasta maker the size of a mangle, and a complicated coffee maker, and all of these lovely high-heeled shoes if she was never going to use any of them?

‘Come on, then. Let’s do it,’ she said, pulling the door closed behind her and going carefully down the dimly lit stairs. ‘I dare say Arabella has more on her mind than what I do in my spare time. With luck she’s forgotten about most of these gifts, anyway.’

The snow on the path outside had been pounded to a slush-coloured blanket. The parking spaces for the flats were just off the main road and, luckily, all the principal roads in Emily’s neighbourhood had been gritted. She said a brief hello to the owner of the hair salon next door.

‘Merry Christmas, you lot.’

‘Merry Christmas, Emily. How are you?’

‘I’m great. The salon looks even more gorgeous with that tree in the window.’

‘Thanks. See you soon?’

‘You bet.’

The
Rock & Fairy
had become a bit of a fashion destination ever since it had opened for business a year earlier. And quite a few A-list celebrities had been seen gracing the black leather chairs. The gorgeous mirrors were a real talking point, and that chandelier with its rainbow-coloured droplets was just so divine. Emily vowed to treat herself to a new hairstyle in the New Year.

The car started first time, and Emily could have kissed the steering wheel. There wasn’t much traffic as many of the usual Christmas Eve shoppers had opted to stay in bed. So in less than five minutes, Emily was pulling up right outside the charity shop. The lights were on, and she could see a young man busily sawing pieces of wood. He had his back to her, so all she could make out was a very nice bum and a pair of long legs in black combats. The ancient shelves in the shop were only half filled with bric-a-brac. There was a poster in the window. It said:
DONATIONS URGENTLY REQUIRED
.

‘Good, then,’ Emily said, feeling suddenly quite virtuous and smug.

Through force of habit she checked her make-up in the rear-view mirror and then hopped out of the car, fetching her box from the back seat and closing the car door with one elbow. The box was very heavy, but she managed to lock her car and open the shop door without too much trouble.

‘Hi there,’ she said cheerfully as the door pinged shut behind her.

‘Be right with you,’ the man said, setting down his saw. Then he straightened up and turned to face her.

‘Hi again,’ Emily said, blushing furiously. For if Arabella were ever to set eyes on this specimen of male beauty, she would have him stripped and tied to her bedposts without further delay. And not untie him until it was confirmed by a doctor that she was expecting triplets.

He was utterly gorgeous. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, mischievous blue eyes, tousled blond hair. He was wearing a washed-out rugby shirt with the collar turned up in a casual way. He looked posh. And his nose was slightly dented, so maybe he was an actual rugby player, Emily thought to herself. But then, if he were really a posh rugby type, why would he be sawing wood in a shabby little charity shop on a freezing cold Christmas Eve?

‘I see you’ve got something for me?’ he said, nodding at Emily’s box of donations.

‘Yes, yes, I’ve been tidying up,’ Emily said, setting the box on the counter.

‘Thanks a million, yeah. A designer pasta maker … nice one, thanks. There’s some great stuff here. Did you see our poster or something?’

‘No, I just felt like de-cluttering,’ Emily admitted. ‘But now you mention it, I’m sure you’ll be swamped with unwanted gifts in the very near future.’

‘Hope so. Or maybe people will just take everything back to the shops for a refund. You know, with the recession and everything?’

‘Yes, well, maybe they’d feel better giving stuff to charity. What charity are you supporting here, by the way?’

‘Retired horses, it is. Some lovely old horses – about thirty of them, so far – and it costs an absolute fortune in vets’ bills. We haven’t got the shop sign up yet. We only opened for business three months ago.’

‘But I thought this shop was always here?’ Emily said, gazing around at the various shelves. Most had warped slightly and turned yellow with age.

‘It has always been here in one form or another, yes. But my sister has taken over the lease now,’ the man explained. ‘And she’s in the process of setting up her own charity. Sylvia runs a stable for retired horses – it’s all her project, really. I’m just helping her out for a while and putting up the new shelving, and so on.’

‘I see.’

‘Yes, I’m going to take down all these tragic old things and put up some funky cube-type arrangements. You won’t know this shop in a few months’ time. Sylvia’s got big plans for it.’

‘Sounds great. Well, good luck with the shop … and merry Christmas,’ Emily said, backing reluctantly to the door. She wanted to stay longer and go on gazing at this divine vision of a man, but she couldn’t think of any legitimate reason for hanging around – unless she was suddenly to develop an acute interest in cube shelving.

‘Same to you,’ he said, smiling warmly at her.

They stood looking at one another, neither one wanting to be the first person to say goodbye.

‘I’ve got some more boxes at home, if you’d like them?’ Emily said in a flash of inspiration.

‘Sure, the more the merrier,’ he said.

‘I’ll drop them off later today, then,’ Emily told him. She had one hand on the door handle.

‘Thanks again. I’m going to stay open until six. I’m Dylan,’ he said.

‘Okay, right. And I’m Emily.’

‘See you later, then, Emily,’ he said, beginning to unpack the box. He lifted out a pair of gemstone-encrusted stilettos and raised one eyebrow. ‘And if I don’t see you again before Christmas … well, merry Christmas.’

‘Yes, merry Christmas.’

But she definitely hoped she’d be seeing him again, she thought to herself.

‘Nice shoes,’ he laughed.

‘I didn’t pick them myself. They were gifts from a dear friend. Bye for now,’ she blushed.

Emily slipped out of the shop and went tripping giddily to her car. She could barely feel the cold wind snapping at her heels. It wasn’t often she felt so attracted to a man. Of course, he was unbelievably good-looking. But there was more to it than that. Clearly he had a strong social conscience, working in a little charity shop in the suburbs when he could have been a model, or something much more ambitious – a stockbroker, or whatever. It was nice to fancy a man again after all that had happened with Alex, she thought to herself. It was nice to know she might be getting over her very major romantic setback. Even if it was hopeless – knowing her luck, Dylan would turn out to be married, engaged, in love with an old flame, or gay. Still, there was no harm in getting rid of those other boxes. The shop was clearly in dire need of new donations. Oh, she was so transparent! She’d wait until later on that afternoon, she decided.

No need to go back straight away and risk looking totally desperate.

*

By the time Emily returned at four o’clock, the light in the sky was beginning to fade. She’d had lunch in McDonald’s with Arabella, who was still fuming about her stubborn husband David decamping to a mystery hotel. For a full ninety minutes Emily had had to console poor Arabella as she ranted and raved about how it was okay for David to dither and dally about making a baby, but how every single day that passed without a pregnancy was a huge setback for her. And then Arabella had flirted shamelessly with the mortified teenage boys working behind the counter, going up several times to ask for extra sachets of sugar. And they weren’t even having tea. In the end Emily had had to beg her boss to behave herself.

After lunch Emily had gone home and relaxed in a bubble bath. And simply daydreamed away the afternoon, imagining Dylan and herself strolling along a beach somewhere with the sun beating down on them. Somewhere very far away from this endless London winter. Then she’d blow-dried her hair into a sleek ponytail, curled her fringe, painted her nails, applied full make-up and swapped her old anorak for a smart denim jacket with a soft pink beret and matching scarf.

She carried the rest of the boxes down to her car and loaded them into the boot. It took ages to make everything fit. She’d have liked to just pile it all up on the back seat, but she was wary of an opportunist thief smashing the window and leaving her with the hassle of booking the car in for repair at the height of the breakdown season. Sometimes it
is
a curse being so sensible, she thought to herself. Then she drove back to Dylan’s shop with her heart racing, her mouth going dry and her neck perspiring like a honey roast ham.

‘Hello again,’ she said lightly.

‘Hey, it’s my lucky charm come back to me,’ he smiled.

‘What did you say?’

‘All that stuff you brought in this morning, I’ve sold it.’

‘All of it? Even the shoes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wow.’

‘Yes, wow. It all seemed to be in good working order, so I set it in the window and within two hours it was sold. We’ve made over two hundred pounds. You really should have put it on eBay.’

‘That’s okay. But I didn’t think you’d sell the shoes so quickly. They were, um, quite a niche size.’

Dylan threw back his head and laughed out loud. ‘Niche, did you say? Size nine? Yes, I did notice.’

‘Just call me Bigfoot,’ Emily said, and she went bright red.

Dylan buckled up with laughter. ‘You’ll be enjoying this snowy weather, then?’ he spluttered.

Emily couldn’t help laughing too. ‘Yes, I’m feeling right at home in these blizzards,’ she wheezed.

‘What’s wrong with being a size nine, anyway? You’re really tall, aren’t you? What height are you? Five ten?’

‘Yes. Five ten.’

‘Well, then. Stands to reason, doesn’t it? You’d look all wrong with tiny feet. And it’s got to be fun leaving your footprints in the snow and keeping the Bigfoot hunters guessing …’

‘Very funny, but who bought the shoes? Was it a transvestite?’

‘Actually, yes, it was. He said he had lots of Christmas parties to go to, and a posh wedding on Boxing Day.’

‘Are you kidding me?’

‘No, he took the lot. Five pairs of designer shoes for twenty quid each. He said his guardian angel must have guided him down this street today.’

‘But they were all covered in gemstones and, um, very sparkly.’

‘Yes, I know. He was almost crying with joy.’

‘Well, I’m very happy for him, then. Actually, Dylan, would you mind helping me in with the rest of my clutter? So sorry to ask. Only I’ve nearly done my back in, going up and down the stairs to my flat. My car is right outside the shop.’

‘Of course, no problem, just give me one second.’ He opened a narrow door behind the counter. ‘Sylvia, I’m nipping outside for a minute,’ he called.

A bossy-looking girl with a bleached-blonde pixie cut came bustling into the shop, carrying a tray with two mugs of tea on it and a packet of pink wafer biscuits.

‘Hello,’ she said, plonking the tray down on the counter.

‘Emily, this is my sister, Sylvia. Sylvia, this is Emily, one of our chief patrons.’

‘Hi, Emily,’ Sylvia said kindly. ‘Thanks so much for your very valuable support. Every little helps – and your donations helped a lot. Any sign of that plumber yet, Dylan?’

‘Not yet,’ Dylan said.

‘He’s an hour late,’ Sylvia declared. ‘Pipe’s dripping all over my fresh paintwork!’

‘Look, I just came to drop off some more stuff,’ Emily explained. And then wondered why she’d said something so silly. For why else would she be standing in a charity shop, chatting to a man she didn’t know? ‘I … um … I don’t want to keep you back, but I’ve six more boxes with me.’

‘Let me,’ Sylvia said, already halfway to the door. ‘I could do with some fresh air. That storeroom has a whiff of mould in it. Can I have your car keys, Emily?’

Emily barely had time to say yes, before Sylvia took them and breezed out of the door. Within seconds she was back, carrying not one but three boxes.

‘Five years of motherhood,’ she laughed, seeing Emily’s chin drop. ‘I’ve got arms on me like a lumberjack.’ Soon she had the other three boxes stored safely behind the counter. ‘There’s your keys back, thanks. Have my tea,’ she said brightly. ‘By way of thanks. It’s not easy finding good-quality donations at this time of year. And I’m told it doesn’t get much better in January – mostly bath salts and novelty socks.’

Emily looked longingly at the tea and biscuits, and even more longingly at Dylan’s perfect lips and his lovely broad shoulders, but then decided with great reluctance that she should let him and his sister get on with their work. They’d be closing the shop soon, anyway, and heading for home. Suddenly Emily felt rather melancholy that she had nobody to share Christmas Eve with – or, indeed, Christmas Day.

‘Listen, I’d love to stay and chat. But I’ve loads of things to do,’ she lied, ‘and I’m sure you have too. So anyway … I hope you sell the rest of that stuff as easily as the first lot. Bye, then.’

‘Do drop by again, won’t you?’ Dylan said, offering his hand for Emily to shake. ‘I’d like to know the hunters haven’t got to you.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Sylvia said, mystified.

‘Nothing; it’s a secret,’ Dylan told her.

Emily’s heart turned over as she placed her hand in his and felt his warm fingers close around hers. The skin on the back of Dylan’s hand felt incredibly soft, covered with a delicious layer of translucent blond hairs.