I can’t believe how much difference half an hour can make. When we wandered down to the harbour earlier, I was carefree and happy, and now look at me!
2
The Harbourside, St Aidan, Cornwall
The trouble with happy hours
Saturday
The night I spent with Lando ten years ago changed my life forever, but Lando and Salvador’s going away bash was a big deal for our family too. When Mum urged us to spread our wings, she was thinking of Plymouth or maybe London, so Sav announcing he was off to other side of the world for a year or two had left her quietly distraught.
Lando with his very different background had always opened up doors and horizons for Sav. He had only ended up in Sav’s class as a temporary measure when he got expelled from boarding school for something he didn’t do and stayed on when he seemed to be doing okay. The Australia trip was the point when Mum started to doubt the friendship was a good idea.
The night of their going away do I’d missed my usual Saturday evening shift at the bingo to stay home to look after the foster children and my toddler half-brother while Mum and her partner, Paul, went to the farewell meal at The Hungry Shark. By the time we swapped places and I joined the goodbye trawl around the local pubs I was five hours behind with the drinking. Even hitting Jaggers Bar’s famous three-for-two-cocktails I had no chance of catching up, so when the party left to go up to the Harbourside Hotel I slipped away to the beach hut instead.
When Lando appeared out of the darkness on the beach hut verandah, it was like a whispering answer to every teenage dream I’d ever had. When I rested my finger on his belt buckle, he didn’t pull away. When I reached up to kiss the corner of his mouth, he let me. A few moments later he ran his fingers through my hair and tugged it, and when he pulled me into the kiss of a lifetime, the whole feeling of now or never pushed me over the edge. It was the culmination of years of longing, and it was as if all my instincts had been spot on; once we touched, we couldn’t take our hands off each other.
Mum being Mum made sure there were always condoms at the hut just as there were piles of the things in the bathroom cabinet at home. Not that I’d used them myself, or ever made a habit of jumping people on the beach before. But this time I made an exception, and as Lando kissed my face off we were grateful for her forward thinking.
The sex was every cliché in the book; urgent, driven, explosive at first, then sweet and tearful as we watched the sky lighten to dawn. And then Lando went, and I was left with a handful of memories and an empty beach.
I’ve often wondered since if I’d have been better off not having had that night at all, because it ruined me for anyone coming after. It was hard to get what I’d been aching for for so long, only to lose it a few hours later. At the same time, I wasn’t fooling myself: if Lando hadn’t been going away it would never have happened anyway.
The one pact we made before he left was that we wouldn’t message, and he was the one who broke that a few days later when he sent me his new mobile number. With a continent of hot surf babes and eco-warriors waiting to throw themselves at him, I decided to spare myself the pain of hearing about it. So I deleted him as a contact, and then threw away his number.
And then seven months later, Nemmie arrived, and there was no more space for wistful thoughts or half-remembered heartache.
When I eventually got hold of Sav, the word was that Lando had seized some great opportunity and would be remote and hard to reach for a long time. And then my own problems overtook me, and by the time I was coping better my priorities had changed.
Salvador returned to Cornwall earlier than planned and went straight back to his empire building, while Lando carried on travelling. A while later Salvador mentioned he and Lando had had a disagreement, which explained why Lando, who had once been a permanent fixture at Climbing Rose Cottage, never came back.
I wasn’t sure how reliable that information was, so for a while I was constantly looking over my shoulder. I can’t remember when I stopped worrying and accepted that he really wasn’t coming back.
More years on, everything has shifted yet again. I’m being a better parent to Nemmie, so I have less to fear from Lando coming back.
And now, here I am, walking up the cobbles to the wedding shop, my sodden skirt hitched up to my knees, trying to take it in that he’s finally turned up.
Whatever happened in the past can’t be changed now. And so long as Lando leaves again and doesn’t come back, things might still be okay.
My next challenge is facing Jess and sorting out the more immediate mess of this totalled dress.
3
Brides by the Sea, St Aidan, Cornwall
Bad hair days and new brooms
Saturday
We rattle up the winding staircase to Tia’s flat tucked under the eaves above the wedding shop, and peel off our soaking dresses. An hour later I’m out of the shower, back in my jeans and sweatshirt, and bolstered by three cups of strong coffee and a plate of bakery pastries, I’m trying to put the meeting with Lando out of my head. We’ve taken the dresses along the mews to Iron Maidens cleaners for one of the save-the-day cleans they’re renowned for, and now we’re back in the downstairs bridal room.
I must have been confident Lando wouldn’t be coming back into our lives, because I hadn’t revisited the scenario in my head for a while. A lot of things have changed since the time I decided I couldn’t risk Lando knowing anything about Nemmie. Nemmie herself is living proof that I’m not completely messing up as a parent, and I like to think thatwhateverhappened to us in those awful early months, I haven’t let her down as badly since. But this is why I need Lando to leave and not come near again. We’re fine as we are, but for a long time we weren’t good at all; and I’d rather not have that put under scrutiny.
It’s hard to imagine how fragile and awful things were once, when we’re as solid as we are now. Like a lot of people, I try to leave the bits I’m not proud of behind, and do the best I can moment by moment. But I’m always aware of how fragile life can be, and how the certainties we take for granted can come crashing down in seconds.
Saturday is the busiest day at the shop, and Lily, who looks after the flowers and accessories in the basement, and Sera the dress designer (short for Seraphina), are already here preparing for a full day of bridal appointments, which Tia will join as soon as she’s fessed up about the dresses and flashed my footage to Jess.
I’ve flopped into a velvet chair and I’m trying to count the crystals in the chandelier and not think about the price tags on the rails of wedding dresses. When I lean to check in the long mirror, my easy-care short hair is sticking up like a yard brush.
