‘Come in… it’s horribly cold outside… definitely no snow though… yes, we’re closed, but we always make exceptions…do tell me, what can I do to help?’
Call me cynical, but from the welcome, I already know it’s a guy. Thirty to forty, to judge by Jess’s pitch. A smile spreads across my face, because the supercharge of charm tells me he’s probably good looking too. And just because I’m nosey, and amused, and a little bit bored, I tilt my head to hear better.
‘Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you…’ Male, with a nudge of Scottish in the accent. And the kind of chocolate-fudge undertones that make you shiver. ‘But there’s something I spotted in the window…’
My back goes rigid. You know that thing when you instantly know a voice? Even though it’s from years ago, this particular voice is indelibly logged, deep in my unconscious brain. Five tiny words, from twenty feet away, and my heart is hammering so hard that the sequins on my bodice are jolting.
Shit.
You spend years furtively looking round corners, in case a particular person might be there. Even though you know there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of them being around. And then you go so long without it happening that eventually you relax. Get lazy. You forget to look out. There are even days you forget they ever existed. And then…BANG! They’re there.
The last person in the world I want to see.
I’ll spare you the worst details. Enough to say, his name was Johnny, it was back in uni days, and my humiliation was complete. End of.
Shrinking back against the line of hanging dresses, I try to make myself invisible as I creep forwards to hear better. I’m literally turning my ears inside out, but as the voices move through into The White Room the volume fades. Which is extremely annoying, because they seem to be chatting for ages. And whatever I said about this being the last person in the world I want to see, part of me is aching to catch a glimpse. Just the teensiest peep to see if I’m right. And despite my sensible head screaming ‘no, no, no’ it’s as if my bad-girl feet have a will of their own.
Before I know it, I’m through in the hallway. My bridesmaid’s dress might be expansive, but desperate times and all that… A second later, I’m swirling the skirt, winding tulle around my legs, like I’m folding an umbrella. Hauling it into some kind of diagonal surrender. By the end my ankles are clamped so tight under the twists of fabric, I have to jump to move. But the good news is I’m slender enough to squeeze in beside the Christmas tree and duck behind the mannequin that’s dressed in an Alexandra Pettigrew Sophia dress. And despite the occasional soft jingle from the sleigh bell Christmas deccies I disturbed, I’m enjoying an unrivalled, yet concealed, view of the shop door. What’s more, I’m pretty certain so long as I don’t move I won’t be spotted.
‘Cross my heart, promise I’ll literally only look for a nanosecond.’ I whisper to myself, making ridiculous bargains with whatever fates hurled Johnny across my path. I mean St Aidan is on the edge of Cornwall. No one comes here by accident.
So long as I remember not to breathe, and not to let my heart bang too loudly, that’s everything covered. Which is damn good timing, because the next thing I know, there’s the clatter of loafers on floor boards and they’re back.
‘Well thanks for the bears.’ That throaty lilt sailing over Jess’s shoulder has to be Johnny’s.
Even thinking his name makes me cringe. But bears? Everyone wants to buy the knitted bear wedding couple from the White Room window because they’re unbelievably cute and dinky. But no one’s allowed to because they’re our Brides by the Sea shop mascots. They’ve been here as long as we’ve been open.
‘My pleasure.’ Jess’s triple-volume croon says it all.
We all know Jess would sell her grandmother given half a chance, but surely not those particular six-inch-high, knitted bears?
Suddenly there’s no need to move because Jess takes one step sideways and leaves me a clear view. There’s that feeling where your whole stomach drops so fast you feel it’s left your body. And then it’s like there’s water rushing through your ears, and a whole flock of seagulls just got loose in your chest.
It’s him.
Except older. And thinner. And ten years more worn. But still the same hollow cheekbones, still flipping that same piece of hair back off his forehead. For a second I think I’m going to die. But then Jess begins to talk again.
She’s got her hand on his arm as she reaches for the door handle. ‘So enjoy the wedding… and Christmas… and good luck with your best-man’s speech…’
Wedding? He’s here for a wedding? I gulp so hard at that I almost inhale the veil that’s dangling next to my cheek. As the shock of the word makes me lurch, there’s the softest tinkle of a bell. And even though it’s the tiniest sound, two heads whip round towards the tree. And just as my eyes lock with Johnny’s dark brown ones, and I see his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, Jess lets out a squawk.
‘Sera? What are you doing behind the Christmas tree?’
Just what I didn’t need. But I can still bluff it. My brain’s racing so fast it’s already reached the excuses pile. Nuts between floor boards. Loose mice. Lost bears. I’m wavering, weighing up the long-term pitfalls of each answer. I’ve pretty much decided to go with the pistachio, and I’m this close to getting away with it when one kitten heel gets jammed in a knot hole in the floorboards. Had my feet been free to move, I might very well have got away with it. Working with the tourniquet of my twisted skirt, I don’t stand a chance. Balance? I’ve completely lost it.
What begins as a tiny wobble, expands to a series of lurches. I’m aware I’m somehow in free fall, and from the hideously loud jangling beside me, I’m guessing I’m taking the Christmas tree with me. Before I know it, I’m in a nose dive, and the floor’s rushing towards me.
‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh…’ My scream has to be huge, because I can’t hear the sleigh bells any more.
In a last-minute effort to avoid a face plant, I hurl myself over onto my back. As the sequins on my dress splinter across the floorboards, and the tree comes crashing down, the face I’m looking up into is Johnny’s. On the up side, the thump of the impact has apparently culled the entire seagull flock. And even though my breathing has turned to gasps, there still isn’t enough force in my chest to make words.
Johnny’s pushing the tree back to the vertical with one hand, still holding his bag of bears in the other. Which pretty much sums up my life. The guy catches the tree, while I end up on the floor. Sprawled horizontal is never the best look, even if my legs are wrapped up like a mermaid’s tail. Especially when my beachy blonde hair and freckles look so bad with the colour of the dress. That’s why I concentrate on my career, every time.
And for once, that cool sardonic smile of Johnny’s is bursting into a laugh.
‘Seraphina East. All in pink.’ He rubs the back of his free hand across his forehead as he looks down at me. ‘I knew there could only be one of you in the world. We must stop meeting like this.’
And then he’s stooping, grasping my hand, and before I know it, a waft of delicious man scent whooshes past my nose, and he’s whisked me back onto my feet. What’s more, as I drag a stray pine cone out of my hair, my dress is unravelling as if it’s alive. In the time it takes to blink, I’m back to the shape of one of those doll birthday cakes, with a Barbie body, and a sponge made in a pudding basin. Except in my case, it’s without the boobs.
‘You see… he said “pink” too.’ I’m sticking my chin out at Jess. ‘And what about the bloody bears? Who said you could sell them?’
It’s not often that Jess is lost for words, but