The Winter Wedding (21 page)

‘Sorry, Haze,’ he said, running a hand through his hair. ‘I was having a weird dream.’

I got up to seated, and straightened out my rumpled top. I suddenly felt uncomfortable, being here in Sam’s parents’ house. We hadn’t even made it upstairs to his bedroom. Sam
raised his body up from where he was lying and we both sat there for a moment, side by side on the sofa.

‘Tea?’ I suggested.

‘Yes,’ he said, quickly.

An hour later I was at the door, ready to leave.

‘See you this weekend?’ Sam said, as if everything was still on course, just how he would have wanted it to be.

‘OK,’ I said. I walked back to the train station. There were no bluebirds. And it didn’t matter – or maybe it did. Just a little bit.

Amber was getting ready to go to work as I came in the flat after spending the night at Sam’s.

She was eating toast at the table, with a card open in front of her.

‘So, bit of a mystery,’ she said. ‘Look at this.’

She passed me the card. There was a gift voucher inside. ‘A day’s training with Rosanna Delgare . . .’ I cast my mind back to a recent TV series on baking. ‘Isn’t
she?’

‘Yes,’ Amber nodded. ‘One of – if not
the
best pastry chef in Europe. She’s over in the UK on a tour for her new book and running a couple of
cake-designing workshops. Mum and I were talking about them – but as the stuff of dreams. The prices are astronomical.’

‘So . . . where did this come from?’

‘I don’t know – it’s anonymous. Arrived yesterday at work,’ she said. ‘Came with the regular post.’

‘No handwriting?’

Amber shook her head. ‘It’s all typed. I was thinking perhaps it was Tim – I mean I have been putting some long hours in recently . . . it would be kind of weird for him to
send it in the post, but not out of the realms of the possible.’

‘Perhaps it’s a case of not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Just go and enjoy it.’

‘Don’t worry about that, I fully intend to,’ she said, smiling. ‘It’s something to take my mind off the date with Courcheval78, anyway.’

‘Not a winner?’

‘Only skiing. Seriously – only skiing,’ she said, slapping her hand on her forehead. ‘I mean I should’ve known – last time I pick a man whose username is a
resort.’

I smiled. ‘Next time.’

‘Yes. I’m kind of envious of you and Sam – not like that – but the fact that you already know each other. You can just get on with being cosy and together, and not deal
with all of this cringy stranger stuff.’

‘I guess,’ I said.

‘It’s great you two have found each other – I’m sure you have what it takes to last.’

I knew I couldn’t go on with things the way that they were. As much as I’d wanted it to happen, as much as I’d
willed
it to happen, being with Sam
didn’t feel right. When I’d dreamed about being with him, I’d felt complete, and he and I had both brought out the very best in each other. Two happy people making one happy
whole. It had seemed impossible that things could be any other way – we worked so well as friends, after all, and if we were attracted to each other too, surely that was the whole package?
But instead, we had turned out to be less than the sum of the parts. Our friendship seemed to have wilted, with our new relationship a poor substitute, and – what I couldn’t ignore any
longer – I felt less like the woman I wanted to be than ever. What we had wasn’t what Lila, or Gemma, or Josh had. And I was sure now that it never would be.

I’d wanted so much to believe in it. So it was with a heavy heart that I’d called Sam and arranged to meet him in the village pub in Bidcombe.

‘Cheers,’ Sam said, raising his glass. I raised mine, and forced a smile.

Guilt lay heavily in my stomach as I thought of what I’d come here to do. How had everything changed so quickly? From a time that I would have done anything to be with Sam, when I felt
full of sadness about him choosing Amber, to now, when I had what I thought I’d always wanted and was about to push him away.

‘It’s good to see you,’ he said. He went to kiss me, and I moved my face gently away.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Right.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. He looked wounded.

‘What’s going on? Have I done something wrong?’ he asked.

‘No, you haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘Then what?’

‘I think we should talk about this, about where it’s going.’

‘Sure, if you want. But it’s pretty clear to me. I know what I want,’ he said, his eyes bright. ‘And it’s you.’

‘You really feel that, still?’

‘I’m better with you. I’m not a mess when we’re together.’

I shook my head. ‘I can’t fix you, Sam. And I’m not sure I really want to. I haven’t even worked out how to fix myself.’

‘So what are you saying? I thought you wanted this? Everything you said last Christmas . . . Did you not mean that?’

‘I did mean it. I wanted us to be together. Which is why I feel bad saying this now. But I don’t think it’s working. I think I preferred being friends, after all.’

Sitting there on the sofa, frowning, I thought how small he looked. How vulnerable. How very little like the Sam I’d once thought I was in love with.

He laughed, wryly. ‘I wasn’t expecting this. Not at all.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I hope one day we can be friends again.’

‘Maybe,’ Sam said, vaguely. ‘But after this? I feel like you messed with my head, Hazel. I don’t want to be friends right now. Not any time soon.’

I woke up to a morning that was cool and grey. I was tempted to close the curtains again and block out what little light there was. I settled for pulling the duvet up over my
head and nestling down into the sheets until the alarm clock told me in its definite way that I had to get up and start work.

I knew I had done the right thing in ending it with Sam. But I didn’t feel good. I felt bloody awful. The balloon of hope I’d once held had now popped and shrivelled up into a sad
little mess of plastic. And it wasn’t just that those film scenes with me and Sam – a shinier, romantic version of me and Sam – were never going to play out, it was the fact that
I didn’t even have him as a friend to talk about it with. And I knew I wouldn’t for quite some time. I couldn’t be close to him, talk to him, share things with him like I once
had, after what had just happened. He was right – I had messed with his head. But it wasn’t that clear-cut. The whole thing had confused me, too. I’d felt something – every
time he looked at me, and each time his hand had grazed mine.

And as I remembered that feeling, the way my body had lit up at his touch. But it just hadn’t been enough.

I got up and made myself a cup of tea, and tried not to let the guilt take over. I had never wanted to hurt Sam, but that’s exactly what I’d ended up doing.

I wanted to shake off the feeling, get some perspective. So I did something I hadn’t done in months. I put on my leggings and trainers, and headed out towards the park for a run. Building
up speed gradually, I jogged over the bridge opposite our flat and across the canal with its scattering of riverboats and barges, and I was grateful for the cool rain that lashed my face and
shoulders. In saying no to Sam, I wasn’t just turning down the chance of being with him, I was saying that the very thing I’d been wishing for, for years, wasn’t what I really
wanted, after all.

My sight blurred as the rain grew heavier, and the leaves became a mass of greens, yellows and golds. By pushing Sam away I felt as if I was erasing a part of myself. First Lila, in her own
natural and healthy way had broken away, then my job, and now my last scrap of comfort blanket had been thrown away too. And I wasn’t entirely sure who I was going to be now.

I met Gemma and Eliot that afternoon, and felt clearer and more focused. It brought home to me how distracted I’d been by things with Sam. It might hurt now, but
everything was better this way.

‘So, the wedding’s getting close now,’ I said to them both, brightly.

‘Yes – I can’t believe it. It’s gone so quickly,’ Gemma said, biting the nail of her index finger. ‘But we’re all set up, aren’t we?’

‘Yes – the beautiful Highlands venue, the Ceilidh, an amazing cake, all the flowers . . . it’s all under control,’ I said. ‘Everything’s arranged. All you and
Eliot need to do is turn up. And not change your minds. Promise me you won’t change your minds?’

They looked at each other and smiled.

‘No chance of that,’ Gemma said. ‘After everything we’ve been through to get here, there’s no way we’re turning back.’

Amber was in the bath when I got home, and I could hear her singing. She emerged wrapped in a fluffy white towel and smiled when she saw me.

‘How was the course?’ I asked.

‘Brilliant,’ she said, glowing. ‘Imagine – having an expert like that on hand, I was able to ask her everything I wanted about cakes; got some excellent tips.’

‘Sounds good.’

‘And at the end of the day, we were almost like friends, really. So, there was one more thing I asked her.’

‘What was that?’

‘I asked her to check the records, tell me who booked the course for me. Said I needed to know.’

‘Who was it?’

‘It was Jude.’

Lila handed me the tickets to
The Nutcracker
she’d got for me and Amber. ‘Here you go.’

‘Fantastic. Thank you. Can’t wait to see it tomorrow night. How’s it all been going?’

‘Intense, exhausting, terrifying. But in short I’m not sure dream come true even covers it,’ Lila said proudly, with a smile.

She looped her arm through mine, and we walked down the street together, the day was cool with a light mist. ‘I need a break from thinking about it, though. Tell me about you.’

‘Me? Well, hard at work with the weddings. Eliot and Gemma are getting really excited about theirs now. It’s going to be fun.’

‘Ollie and I can’t wait. And how have things been, with Sam? Since you decided to call it a day?’

The memory hurt – a visceral acknowledgement that someone so key to my life up till now was going to be absent from it, at least for a while.

‘It’s better this way,’ I said. And it was true. Things were simpler, without Sam, without the doubts, without the questions. Part of me still wished I could turn the clock
back, undo the feelings I’d had, then he’d had, go back to the simple time when we wanted nothing more from each other than a chat and to hang out.

‘You must miss him,’ Lila said, quietly, her green eyes fixed on mine.

‘I do,’ I said, reluctant to say it but relieved when I had. ‘But it was the right thing, moving on. I’d talked myself into a corner, thinking if he wasn’t right
for Amber, then he must be right for me – but there are more than two women in the world . . .’

‘And there are more men out there too,’ Lila said. ‘Plenty of them. Believe me, now that I’m married I can’t stop spotting them.’ She laughed.

‘Oh I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I mean yes, of course there are, I’m not disputing that. But I wonder if maybe the world’s divided up into those who are good at
relationships, like you, and those of us who are better off on our own.’

Lila looked at me quizzically.

‘You think you’re destined to be on your own?’ she said.

I shook my head, but I couldn’t shake away the feeling – that Lila had just voiced the doubt that had been nagging at me for months.

‘Maybe,’ I said finally. ‘After all, if you are better at being by yourself, why not realise that early on, before you hurt anyone else.’

Lila looked at me sceptically.

‘Haze. You’ve got it all wrong.’

I looked down at the tickets in my hand. Row 5, seats S and T. December 11
^th
. The name of the show –
The Nutcracker –
had a dusting of glitter
on it. I’d been looking forward to tonight for weeks. Seeing Lila on stage at the Royal Opera House. It was huge for her, and I wanted to give her every ounce of my support.

Then I looked back at my phone, and Amber’s message:

It was just after five, on the day of the performance, and I was sitting on the sofa with Pablo, stroking his soft fur.

That’s OK, I texted Amber back. That’s OK, I told myself. These things happened. Amber was at her mum’s cake shop. Word about her designs was spreading, and drawing a lot of
good publicity, and I knew today’s shoot was important for the business. It wasn’t just that aspect of her life that was flourishing, either. As Jude’s anonymous, yet
no-longer-anonymous gestures trickled in to Amber at work – flowers, deliveries of muffins and cakes, tickets to her favourite films, she seemed to be warming to him again. She was thinking
about giving him a second chance.

I had pictured me and Amber walking through fairy-lit Covent Garden, and then sitting through the performance before getting drinks together, London coming alive in the build-up to Christmas.
With Amber by my side, it wouldn’t matter that everyone else was in couples. We’d be facing the Christmas-time romance together, delighting in our freedom from disappointing gifts and
arguments about whose family to spend it with. At least that had been the plan.

I toyed with the idea of calling Mum and Dad, even though I knew they’d already seen it. But the timing would be tight, and I couldn’t shift the feeling that it was a slightly
desperate act. I didn’t want them feeling sorry for me. I was an independent woman. I could go on my own, what was I even bothered about? I’d get to see Lila backstage afterwards,
anyway.

The show started at 7 p.m. I had to pull myself together and get into the Christmas spirit before then. I owed it to Lila. I grated some of the best chocolate I had in the kitchen cupboard and
made up a batch of warm hazelnut-flavoured hot chocolate to drink with some of Amber’s cinnamon cookies.

This would do it. I poured the drink and tried to rally – I’d put on my best red dress. I’d go. I’d enjoy it.

I opened the door of number 11 on my Advent calendar and ate the bell-shaped chocolate. Then I opened the doors of 12, 13 and 14 and ate them all too.