Forecast (24 page)

“Who are you, May Queen?”

“Yours,” she whispered.

He led her into the woods. The wood folk whispered their approval as they passed. They found a small clearing and he lay her down on the soft grass.

“Take your mask off,” he urged.

But she couldn’t. She was honoring something much larger than the sum of them.

Lilia gave herself to the stag, mind, body and soul. It was an urgent, almost ferocious merging of soulmates, and they both knew it.

He whispered in her ear. “I have been here before, but when or how I cannot tell. I know the grass beyond the door. The sweet keen smell. The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. You have been mine before …”

Later, as the full moon lit them from directly above, they made sweet tender love, this time conceiving a child, a merrybegot.

Lilia extracted herself from his sleeping embrace just as morning threatened to break. She washed her face with the morning dew, but quickly replaced her mask in case he woke. She was tempted to remove his mask, to gaze upon the face of this man, but she didn’t. She couldn’t disrespect the Beltane Gods. If they were meant to be together, they would be.

She lightly touched the tattoo on his arm, committing it to memory. It was a copy of the John William Waterhouse painting,
A Mermaid.
Strangely enough, it looked like Lilia. She gently kissed it … and then she left, ignoring the cries of a faerie urging her not to.

That was nearly thirty years ago. She’d waited, trusting that he’d return to her … but he hadn’t. She felt duped by destiny.

She thought about the men she’d dated over the years. She’d lost count of the kind, perfectly agreeable men who had asked her out, only for her to cancel at the last minute. She suddenly felt guilty for rejecting Warren simply because his sideburns were too long, and Les because he looked too nervous, and Harry because his fingernails were dirty. He was a horticulturist after all. And did it really matter that most men were quite unimaginative when it came to buying flowers?

Lilia still couldn’t help but think it did.

She’d managed a six-month relationship with Geoffrey, but respectful, somewhat fumbling strokes in the privacy of a bedroom could never compare to urgent clawing under a full moon. And an on-off affair with Harold only made her yearn to be alone.

It felt unfair that nearly thirty years had passed yet the memory of that night still made her go weak at the knees. She popped another truffle into her mouth and sighed, though not for the taste of the marzipan.

Lilia shoved the rest of the chocolates into her bag. This was ridiculous. It was time she admitted she’d been wrong, about him, about that night. He’d been sent into her life so she could conceive Rowie. That’s it, the only connection, and it was time to move on and forget about the Horned God.

The shop was for sale. She’d have time to devote herself to a relationship now. Lilia suddenly felt quite free. She was only fifty-four … ish, and looked a lot younger. She was in her prime. If she were receptive and put her desire for love out there then the Universe would provide. She was determined to prove that she had not missed her chance for love.

She stopped and realized she was standing outside Lola’s Lingerie. It was a sign! She entered the store, stalling slightly at the sight of so much revealing lace.

A young, impossibly shaped woman approached her. “Can I help you with something?”

Yes, I’d like your breasts and legs, thought Lilia. “I’m looking for something … sexy.” She scanned the shop. “But not cheap. Age appropriate,” she added.

The woman nodded and took a royal blue silk slip off a rack. “My mother is in her forties too … and she recently bought this.”

Forties! Goddess bless the child. “I’ll take it,” said Lilia. “And I’d also like some lacy underwear.”

Later that night, Lilia tucked her pretty purchases away in her drawer. You just never know … Well that’s not true. She did know. And she was ready now.

Jess and Mac sat side-by-side, eyes glued to the television in Mac’s office. They were watching a montage of ‘Bill and Tina’ shots. A series of images flew by: Bill teasing Tina about her new haircut. It had been malicious at the time, but translated into lighthearted fun on film. And there was Tina giving Bill’s arm a comforting squeeze after his drink-driving offence had been made public. There was no mention of her outing him. And of course
that
first kiss.

Cyndi Lauper sang their song: “And I’ll see your true colors shining through …” It was a moving tribute to the love Bill and Tina shared, and would close the six o’clock news today, the eve of their wedding.

Jess flicked the TV off and turned to Mac, who was surreptitiously wiping a tear from his eye. “Oh come on, Mac … Jesus.”

“It reeled me in, Jess. It actually made me forget what assholes they are.”

Jess grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment. So we’ll run with it?”

“Definitely,” said Mac. “This is the biggest wedding since Brad and Jen.”

“And as doomed,” said Jess.

“Two weeks ago they despised each other. Tomorrow they exchange vows at their new home in the Hamptons. Call me cynical, but I hope they’ve both got ironclad prenups.”

“I just pray they don’t breed.” Jess looked at Mac in horror and they both cracked up. “Rowie was right. She predicted this.”

“Great to hear she predicted something,” said Mac.

Jess surprised herself and jumped to Rowie’s defense. “That’s a bit unfair. Her predictions were faultless up until the day Drew got back.”

“Defending her now? Weren’t you the one who said, ‘we need to fire her ass, immediately’?”

“Yes,” Jess admitted. ‘And you were right when you said we should keep Drew in primetime. The numbers have barely dropped since he returned.”

“He’s good at what he does, Jess.” Mac softened. “And so was Rowie for a while there. I never really believed in psychic phenomena before I met her. I just wish I knew what went wrong.”

“Let’s just say … she was too nice to fight fire with fire.” Jess stood and headed for the door. “I’ll let Taye know that we’ll be using the montage.”

“Before you go, Jess …” Mac scratched his head. “I don’t mean to pry, but … everything okay with you?”

“Sure. Why?”

“You seem rather … sedate lately.”

Jess looked horrified. “If my work hasn’t been …”

“No, your work is fine,” Mac assured her. “Better than it’s been in months.”

“That’s good to know.”

“It’s just you don’t seem really … happy.”

Jess stalled for a moment, tempted to pour her heart out, but instead she settled for a wry smile. “Who ever is, Mac?”

Later, as she watched Drew deliver the weather, Jess thought about what Mac had said. She wasn’t happy, but then she never really had been. Even when she’d been with Drew, certain life couldn’t get any better, she was still too scared, too insecure to be
happy
.

Her
sedate
behavior didn’t stem from unhappiness, it stemmed from humiliation. Jess was embarrassed about the way she’d behaved at work over the past few months. Rowie’s betrayed face burned into her brain. It wasn’t that she felt any real loyalty towards Rowie, although she didn’t dislike her—as much as she’d wished she could. It’s just the one thing Jess always knew she had was her professionalism and the respect of her co-workers. She didn’t care if her colleagues liked her, but she worked hard to gain their respect.

And now she’d blown it. She was sure everyone knew that she’d based her decisions on her personal feelings, rather than what was best for the network. She’d acted like the worst type of woman—the woman scorned. And everyone knew it. Or, in moments of clarity, Jess realized
she
knew it … and that was more important.

Jess wasn’t sure how to rectify the situation. She was a problem solver, yet she was at a loss to solve this. She steered clear of Drew as much as possible. She still fantasized about him at night, alone in her bed, but at work she separated the two, something she should have done all along.

He seemed as eager as her to ignore what they’d done to Rowie. She’d tried to broach the subject once, a few days after his return, but he cut her short.

“I did what I had to do to get my job back,” he snapped.

“I could’ve just fired her. I didn’t have to humiliate her.”

“Then why did you?” Guilt filled his eyes. “And why did I agree to it?”

They were questions she still had no answers to … yet. Jess knew that in order to put this whole sordid episode behind her, she’d need to face a few truths about herself. She watched as the Bill and Tina montage played live. Mac gave her the thumbs up sign and Jess nodded. It was the most romantic piece of film since
Doctor Zhivago.

“Great job, Jess,” called Taye afterwards. “Almost made me believe their marriage might work.”

Jess smiled and felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Perhaps she would be okay.

Gwendolyn sat on the lounge and slowly twirled her wedding ring around her finger. She was strangely quiet for someone whose life was spinning out of control. Despite her wacky façade, Gwendolyn was actually a creature of habit and change unsettled her, even if she’d instigated it herself.

To start with, the thought of selling Second Site was quite frightening. It had been three weeks since she’d told Lilia and Rowie about her plans—they’d barely spoken to her since—and there were moments when she truly regretted her decision. The shop had been a part of her life for so long that she couldn’t imagine what she’d do without it. Not that she was going to change her mind about selling. She had too much pride to back down, and although she knew that was a ridiculous reason to go ahead with the sale, she also believed it was time to make a stand. She was sick of making all the decisions. She was tired of being the strong one, the one that held everything together. She was exhausted. She felt old, and as much as she used that as her trump card, she wasn’t old. William Walters certainly didn’t think she was old.

And that was disturbing her as well.

Just when she’d thought certain parts of her life were over, along comes a man … a very attractive man, who made her feel … quite … alive. It was most inconvenient, given her tendency to focus on death.

She stared at the gold band on her ring finger. She’d taken her wedding vows so seriously that even now it pained her to consider breaking them. She stood and walked over to the mantle. Her fingers stroked the second urn.

“I miss you, Dorian.”

They’d been married for thirty years when she found him dead in the garden from a bee sting to the neck. She knew from the moment she first laid eyes on him that she would lose him long before her own time.

She also knew there wasn’t a goddamn thing she could do about it.

So she rushed Dorian off to city hall a week after they met, determined to suck dry every ounce of happiness she could from their union. She dug up all the flowerbeds and its bee-attracting plants, for although she didn’t know the exact date of his demise she had foreseen the route he planned to take. She charged into the ring with destiny, gloved-up and ready to fight. But it didn’t help, because the hands of fate stretch far and wide.

When destiny finally caught up with Dorian Cunningham and stung him on the neck, Gwendolyn knew she had tried her best to avert it. She had no regrets, only sorrow. And a daughter and granddaughter who shared his blood, his genes, in whom she could see glimpses of the man she loved and lost. Gwendolyn had loved Dorian the only way she knew how: completely. And to her, an hour of that was so much better than a lifetime of mediocrity.

Of course, Dorian was used to his spiritual body now and able to pop from one realm to the next. And while she was grateful for his spiritual presence, the physical void hurt. But the thought of existing without him at all was unbearable, so Gwendolyn made the most of the strange life/death they shared and Dorian continued to be a force in her life. She’d always felt her life was complete. She had her work and her family. She had her man, even though he was dead, but all women complained about something.

But bit-by-bit things were changing. Rowie didn’t need her anymore. The shop was up for sale. And to top it off, she’d met this man, this kind, funny man, who was certainly no Dorian, but was alive. ALIVE!

She thought about William for a moment and smiled. She liked him so much. He was smart, loyal … quite willing to be flexible in thought. And they were on the same page in so many ways. Both of them had experienced true love, and still grieved its loss. Both agreed they could never replace their deceased spouses. Yet both had been flirting like teenagers. And she was enjoying it, despite the fact that it scared the bejeebers out of her.

Gwendolyn walked into the entrance and stood in front of the hall mirror. Her hair was still naturally red, her skin still reasonably smooth, her teeth all hers. She ran her hands over her bust. It had defied gravity and age and remained firm. She turned side-on and stared at herself. Her bottom had dropped slightly, but certainly wasn’t large. Overall she was holding up rather well. Why wouldn’t a man find her attractive? Why shouldn’t she flaunt it? Why shouldn’t she phone him?

And then she glimpsed the ring on her finger and knew why.

“You’re still a damn fine looking woman, Gwen.”

Gwendolyn spun around and stared at her husband. “I was just …”

“No need to look so guilty,” Dorian chuckled. “I know what you were about to do. You were about to blow a chance at a bit of happiness.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Dorian?”

“He’s a good man, love. It’s okay to like him. It’s okay to live.”

Gwendolyn began to cry. “He’s not you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a damn difficult act to follow.” Dorian’s eyes softened. “Ask him out, sweetheart. Have some fun.”

Gwendolyn stared at her husband’s transparent form. “You’ve started to pull away, Dorian.”

“No … I’m here, if you need me. It’s just you don’t need me as much now.” Dorian drifted towards his wife. “Now dry those eyes and call him. Go on.”