A fragile peace that had just been shattered into oblivion.
Millions of people could be thinking about it now.
And Sophie could feel the safe boundaries of the world she had built so carefully for herself beginning to crumble.
21
It didn’t happen all at once.
There wasn’t a bolt of lightning that sent both Sophie and Luc spiralling into the past so they were back to a point where it was impossible to even be in the same room as each other.
It happened slowly. Like a creeping kind of slime.
At first Sophie was too overwhelmed to notice. She tried to comfort Tilly and tell her everything would be okay as they hurried through the final touches of packing up after the wedding, so they could all escape, but it was an automatic response. She had no idea what they might be up against this time and didn’t want to find out until she and Luc were alone together.
They had coped with their shared grief the other night and had come through it with a stronger bond than ever. Surely they could get through whatever Raven Vale was choosing to reveal?
When they finally got back to Sophie’s little house with its sky-blue door they sat on the couches with their phones, the shock finally having worn off enough to be able to read the text of the blog and make sense of it. They had to do that, they’d decided, so that they knew what they might be up against.
And Sophie could actually feel that slime oozing from the words this journalist was throwing into cyber space. She’d been wary of the freelance journalist the day of Zara’s wedding. Even now she could feel a faint touch of the chill she’d felt when he’d pretty much admitted to having cyber-stalked her. The first paragraph of his blog was enough to give her even more to dislike about his personality.
As you all know, dear followers, I’m a mystic kind of Goth. I play with Tarot cards, I love astrology, dabble in numerology and I simply adore the symbolism and hidden meanings that lie beneath the fabric of an ordinary, or not so ordinary, life.
And this time, my lovelies, I’ve hit the most divine jackpot of tragedy and death, heartbreak and lives destroyed, and maybe even… forbidden love.
Ooh… I’m salivating like a vampire in a blood bank…
How could he make something associated with Sophie’s life sound so… distasteful? She lifted her gaze to where Luc was sitting on the other couch but he was mesmerised by his own screen. She couldn’t see any movement in his eyes that might suggest he was reading. Perhaps he was staring into something his own mind was producing. Those ghastly, soul-destroying memories that were being brought out of storage for the whole world to gawk at?
Did you know that the symbolic gift for a ten-year wedding anniversary is tin?
You can easily preserve almost anything by encasing it in tin. Like baked beans or soup.
And secrets?
Stay with me here. I promise you it’s worth it.
If you’re into numerology, ten years is significant. The number ten represents new beginnings with the completion of one cycle and the start of another.
Ten years. A decade. Or should that be decayed?
I digress but, in my defence, I’m a little light-headed. Possibly euphoric, which is somewhat disconcerting, I must confess, but don’t worry – I’ll return to my celebration of sadness, longing for what I cannot have and devout existential reflection very soon.
The first image in the blog was of Sophie. The one taken of her with Tilly when Tilly was holding the chain made with forget-me-nots.
Its caption read:
Forget-me-nots in every bouquet of wedding flowers. Who wouldn’t appreciate that special hidden message?
Not so long ago, I was honoured to be invited to cover a very special wedding. Shout out to Zara Beaumont, the most successful beauty and lifestyle influencer the social media world has ever embraced. You may have read my article inVogue Weddingsbut, if you missed it, you’ll find the link below. Click on Zara’s link, too. She’s worth following.
‘Oh, God,’ Sophie muttered under her breath. Had he tagged Zara and her millions of followers to share this blog?
It was held in the South of France, in a gorgeous medieval castle with the most delicious little cemetery. The company who supplied the venue and created a wedding to die for was Marry Me in Provence, owned and managed by Sophie Spencer. I was intrigued to meet this woman because I had discovered something that not a lot of people know about her – that her fiancé was killed in a tragic accident the very night before they were due to get married. Not that she was going to talk about it but I’ve finally found out why she looked as shocked as she did when I broached the subject.
Shehadbeen shocked, Sophie couldn’t deny that. Having someone ask about her tragic history, out of nowhere, like that had been a curveball she could never have prepared for. No wonder the ghosts were dancing around Raven Vale. No wonder Sophie had been hit with that horrible flashback when she’d seen Zara’s wedding dress hanging on the back of the door and all she could see was her own dress hanging onherbedroom door, when she’d walked back in from leaving the hospital, Tom’s blood still on her clothes and her hands.
As if he’d read her thoughts, a sound of muted distress came from Luc, and Sophie’s head flicked sideways in alarm.
