Dilly was unbeatable on anything artsy, Clemmie nailed the food and drink round with unnerving precision, and Becca got into a passionate disagreement about whether Jaffa Cakes were legally cakes or biscuits.
Amelia, naturally, was the glue holding it all together– half team captain, half chaos coordinator. Since she owned a book shop, all literary questions were hers.
By the halfway point, Fern’s cheeks ached from laughing. Someone had bought a round of shots ‘for luck’, and it was loud and messy and completely joyful at their table.
During the music round, Fern correctly identified three boybands and an obscure Shania Twain lyric, all to raucous applause from the group.
‘You’ve been holding out on us,’ Amelia said, nudging her. ‘Secret pop princess.’
‘I’m a music journalist, but I also do own an entire collection ofSmash Hitsmagazines,’ Fern said modestly.
They didn’t just do well… they stormed it. By the final round, Agatha Quiztie was tied for first place with a rival team made up of local fishermen, who had an unsettling knowledge of 1980s soap operas.
The tie-breaker question was about the population of Iceland and the girls huddled together, whispering guesses.
‘Three hundred thousand?’ Fern said.
‘Maybe more,’ Clemmie whispered. ‘I feel like it’s more.’
‘We’re going with 372,000,’ Amelia said confidently.
It was 376,000.
They won.
Their prize? A £25 bar tab and eternal glory.
Amelia raised her glass. ‘To Agatha Quiztie. May we reign supreme.’
‘And never be asked to spell Czechoslovakia again,’ said Dilly.
Fern couldn’t stop smiling. She felt a bit buzzed from the cider, a bit giddy from the win, and completely full of something she hadn’t felt in ages: belonging.
Around eleven p.m. she stepped outside the pub. It was dark and quiet, the kind of peaceful that only an island could be. As she walked home, she could picture herself doing this again. A monthly quiz night spent catching up with the girls. Laughing too hard over too many chips. Not rushing. Not checking her phone every five seconds.
She looked up and was surprised to see the vivid tapestry of stars. There were so many more than you ever saw in the city.
And in that moment, with the cider still warm in her belly and her cheeks pink from laughter, she thought she could get used to this slower pace of life.
But she wasn’t quite ready to admit that out loud.
Not just yet.
ChapterTwenty-Four
Friday morning saw Fern and Daniel in a taxi early and being greeted by the sight of Sea’s End’s railway station nestled against the backdrop of the rolling hills. The station was full of vintage charm with its platform of worn stone, ivy-covered walls and freshly painted wooden benches. A white sign with hand-painted lettering welcomed travellers to Sea’s End Station. As they made their way to the platform, Fern heard a train whistle sounding in the distance, growing louder as it began to approach. They sat on a bench, each with a rucksack on their back, and in the small wheely case at their feet was the wedding dress.
The train pulled into the station with a screech of brakes. After they climbed on board Daniel lifted the small case onto the overhead rack before settling into the seat beside Fern. She noticed the way he looked at the seat numbers, a slow, satisfied smile appearing on his face.
‘What are you smiling at?’ she asked, tilting her head.
Daniel turned to her. ‘Because these are the exact same seats we were in when we first met.’
Fern blinked, caught off guard. ‘How do you even remember that?’ she asked, impressed– and, if she was honest, touched.
‘Because,’ he said, leaning slightly towards her so no one could hear, ‘I knew you were going to stay in my life for ever, and it was something I wanted to be able to tell the grandkids.’
Her stomach flipped at his words, but she rolled her eyes, determined to keep her cool. ‘You are so ridiculous.’
