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She hadn’t been ready before now. Twenty years was an awfully long time, she supposed, but there were no rules about how long it took. She would never find anyone like William. He was irreplaceable. She wanted someone from out of town, because she knew all the available men in Speedwell, and none of them were what she was looking for.
Whoever he was, he would need to share some of William’s qualities. He would need to be confident. Comfortable in his own skin. Independent. Solvent. Kind. A family man, preferably, for it was important for a partner to understand that family often came first.
But there were other qualities she needed this time. She wanted someone who would give her the confidence to step out of her comfort zone. William had been physically adventurous, but he had never wanted to stray far from Speedwell. He’d had no interest in foreign travel, or cities. And Helen had found herself hungering for both of those lately. She dreamed of wandering the streets of Venice or Vienna or Istanbul. Of devouring cacio e pepe or sachertorte. Seeing the sun rise over the Bosphorus.
There were companies who catered for single travellers, but somehow that didn’t appeal. She wanted someone to plan with, to debate the merits of which city to choose, which hotel to stay in. To wander out on a warm evening and stroll until the perfect restaurant presented itself.
It wasn’t too late, was it?
She knew she had to be proactive if her wish was to come true. Mr Right wasn’t going to knock on the front door and say, ‘Pack your bags! I’ve booked us into the Hotel Cipriani.’ And online was the modern way.
She’d tentatively signed up to a dating app for widows and widowers called Sunshine After the Rain. You put up your profile, and you could match with other people whose interests you shared, then meet up for no-strings walks or cinema trips or whatever you had in common. And it seemed that quite often companionship led to romance, if the testimonials were anything to go by.
Robert and I hit it off straight away. After a few lovely months getting to know each other – woodland walks, trips to the theatre, candlelit suppers – we are engaged to be married! I never thought I would feel like this again …
Helen felt her heart melt as she read similar stories. Was there someone out there who would be her partner in crime, and egg her on to do something out of the ordinary? Nothing too wild. She wasn’t about to hare off to Argentina to take up tango. But she really should expand her horizons before it was too late. She adored her house and the sea and the coast and her job and her family, but she knew there was more out there. And now was the time. Another five or ten years and it might be too late. If she didn’t act now, she would never know what other wonders the world held.
She had played around with writing her profile, agonising over how to present herself. She’d pored over other women’s profiles, with their solo trips to Mexico and their award-winning business ventures and their charity challenges. In the end, she decided to go with the truth. And now she just needed to find some photographs. There was one of her blowing out the candles on her cake on her last birthday, but it wasn’t very flattering as her cheeks were all puffed out. She’d tried taking selfies, but she couldn’t get it right at all, not like Juno, who always looked like Angelina Jolie when she took one. Helen just looked as if she was grimacing, or her eyes seemed to cross. It was so frustrating. She didn’t want to look airbrushed and glamorous, for she didn’t want to present a false image – but she wanted to look nice.
Maybe she should have some professional shots done? There were examples of women her age looking like something out of a magazine – wandering through an autumn wood dressed in cream cashmere, curled up by a roaring log fire holding a glass of wine, riding along on a mint-green bicycle with a basket on the front. But the photos looked completely staged and had obviously been touched up, leading to disappointment in real life. And the last thing she wanted was to see someone’s face fall as she turned up for their first meeting.
She sat for a moment considering her options. She was going to have to ask for help. Nikki and Jess would give her some advice. She wasn’t sure what they would think, whether they would be thrilled to bits and cheer her on, or if they would think it was disrespectful to their dad.
She looked up again at the photo of William. Twenty years since she had felt his strong arms around her, felt his beard brush her cheek as he had kissed her goodbye before heading out into the storm that afternoon. She imagined what would have happened if that dreadful day had gone differently, and he’d walked back into the room a few hours later. She would have taken off his wet things and hung them up, found him dry clothes and sat him down in this very chair while she got him a shot of warming whisky and a plate of food, like she’d done countless times after a shout. She’d have listened to his tale of how the rescue had gone, the risks they’d taken, the bravery they’d shown …
She sighed. She had enough common sense to know she wasn’t betraying William. She knew he would think she should have ventured out of her shell a long time ago. He had never been a jealous man. He had been practical, and would have known full well it didn’t mean she didn’t still love him, for she always would.
‘Go for it, Helly,’ she heard him saying now, in that broad burr redolent of sea and shipwrecks. ‘You’re a wonderful woman. Find someone who deserves you and will look after you. Just don’t settle for second best.’
9
After her evening with Adam, Nikki woke much later than she intended. It was gone eight o’clock and she should already be hard at work, but she’d lain awake for hours and had then fallen into a velvety dark blue slumber.
She lay still for a moment, not sure which of her emotions to deal with. Her veins were buzzing and her stomach was flittering, not with butterflies but something more menacing. Black moths. She had been so looking forward to waking up in the cottage with that special new-house feeling, but the postcard had taken the shine off her excitement.
She dragged herself out of bed and went to the window. Last night’s storm had died down, and everything outside looked slightly the worse for wear, the grass and hedges flattened, the trees hunched sideways. The sea looked swollen, the surface rolling like a drunken sailor after a night on the rum. But the sun was peeping through, and she was tempted to head down the steps to the beach for a swim. The silkiness of the water on her skin would lower her heart rate as she gave herself up to it, becoming weightless, cradled like a baby. But she wanted to get the stair carpet up and into the skip before she went for Sunday lunch at her mum’s. Besides, she was on call today for the lifeboat, and this was just the kind of day people might get into trouble in the water, fooled by the sunshine. She got dressed quickly, checked her pager and stuck it on her waistband.
She headed to the kitchen to make a coffee. Her mouth was dry and her head throbbed: too many gimlets and a bad night’s sleep were probably the last thing she had needed, but she didn’t regret them. She felt comforted by the thought of Adam and Gatbsy next door. Both of them were a rather reassuring presence, offsetting her uncertainty.
She started a list in her head, of who could possibly be behind the message. It was impossible to imagine who had kept quiet for so long and chosen to speak up now. She’d thought that no one knew her secret, except Woody, and he would take it to his grave. Never in a million years would he betray her, the mother of his son. In a funny way, they loved each other even more than when they’d been together, albeit not in a romantic way. It was a love based on mutual respect and trust and their adoration of the boy they shared. It was unbreakable.
Wasn’t it? For a moment, Nikki’s belief in their bond wavered. But what possible reason could Woody have to cause her such anguish? He was a straightforward soul, not given to jealousy or bitterness or revenge. She refused to believe he’d have it in him, plus his handwriting was awful. This card wasn’t his style at all.
Of course, she could be jumping to conclusions by assuming what the sender was alluding to. Perhaps she was guilty of some other transgression? Weddings were a high-octane business – had she slighted a bride somewhere along the way? She couldn’t think of any instance where her clients were anything other than delighted. She had a drawer full of effusive thank-you letters in her office. They gave her confidence when she felt as if she was losing control, when all the loose ends were still loose and looking in danger of staying that way. Of course, everything was tied up in the end, in a beautiful bow, but it was always a race to the finishing line. And she was a perfectionist. Nothing was left to chance.
A terrible unease gnawed at her as she went from telling herself she was over-reacting, that no one could possibly know, to full-blown panic that her whole world was going to fall apart. She would be shunned, by her family, by the whole town. Her business would collapse. She would be thrown out of the lifeboat. They wouldn’t want her as part of the team if they knew what she’d done.
She felt nauseous as she took a sip of her coffee. She probably needed food. A few scoops of hummus – admittedly the most delicious she’d ever had – wasn’t really enough sustenance after the long day she’d had yesterday. She jammed some bread in the toaster and was shocked to find she was on the verge of tears. This should be a special moment, her first breakfast in the house of her dreams. She should be wandering out into the garden with her mug and enjoying the view, the breeze on her face. Instead, she wanted to slink back to bed and hide under the covers. Your past always catches up with you in the end, she thought. And it wasn’t as if she’d ever been in any doubt that what she was doing was wrong.
The toast popped up, making her jump. She told herself to get a grip. She had a lot to get through. She put on the radio to distract her then slathered butter and Marmite onto her toast. Being hungry and slightly hungover was always bad for anxiety.
She steeled herself for pulling up the stair carpet. It was filthy, and stubbornly stuck to the treads, and the nails savaged her fingers as she pulled at the edges, but it was absorbing work and her anxiety faded as she concentrated. It took ages to lever up the battens, but by midday, it was all in the skip and she was back in the bath, soaking away the grime.
She didn’t have the energy left to cycle to lunch, so she took her van. She suddenly felt self-conscious, for her business name was emblazoned on the sides: The Seaside Wedding Company. It had never bothered her before, that people might know her movements, but she suddenly felt the need for anonymity. Who might be watching her, with knowing eyes, tracking her every move?
The vestiges of her dreams were still clinging to her, images and memories flashing into her mind. She remembered the first time she’d taken Rik to Mariners. How he had fallen under its spell.
Everyone always did.
