‘It’s perfect,’ Kirsty said, looking around the room as if it were Windsor Castle. Clearly she could see beauty where I could not. I felt comfort in knowing that they were the right buyers.
My dislike for Mersea Island was deep rooted. I had nothing against the residents, and the landscape could be breathtaking at times, but I could not stand the isolation. I could not escape the suffocating sense of claustrophobia when the tide rolled in and the island became closed off from the outside world. At night fog came like a blanket, so thick you could hardly see your hand. Emma used to laugh as she told me the old story of the ghost that haunted the Strood. I didn’t believe in ghosts but she was voicing my worst fear. Some souls were destined to be here for ever and I did not want to be one of them.
In the past, Emma had seemed pleased when I showed her pictures of the properties we could afford, but this morning as I broke the news in the playground, I could sense her hesitancy. I had a choice: we could delay proceedings by weighing up the pros and cons, or I could carry on full steam ahead. After all, I wasn’t just doing this for me.
Now that I had the buyers in the palm of my hand, I felt a mixture of relief and excitement. I only hoped that by moving on, my wife could leave the ghosts of her past behind.
CHAPTER THREE
EMMA
2017
‘Careful with that,’ I said to Josh as we unpacked a beautiful silk gown from our delivery. Purchased from Oxfam after being worn just once, it had been a steal. I loved my job and often found that immersing myself in work was the best way of getting through the day. Here in Something Borrowed, I could get lost amongst beautiful things and leave the real world behind. I was not the only person to love my shop; Josh did too. My retail assistant was twenty-six years old and, by his own admission, this was the longest he had ever held a job down. A firm believer in second chances, I had been willing to ignore his mediocre references when I’d offered him the position six months ago. Josh might not look like your typical wedding boutique assistant with his floppy auburn hair and black skinny jeans, but he had proved to be a godsend, setting up the online side of things as well as helping with the day-to-day running of the shop.
‘So, have you spoken to your parents yet?’ I asked, preferring to focus on his problems rather than my own.
He smirked, carefully smoothing the delicate material and giving the dress a little shake. ‘I work in a wedding shop; I think that’s a big enough clue.’
‘We’ll get you out of that cupboard yet,’ I said, smiling as his laughter erupted. ‘What?’
‘Closet. It’s closet,’ he said, still chuckling as he carried the dress to the back room to await collection. Under the deal I’d negotiated with the local dry cleaners all my dresses were picked up and cleaned before going on display.
The old-fashioned bell over my door tinkled as Theresa pushed it open with her backside. We were fully staffed today as we prepared to present our winter collection to our clients. ‘Skinny latte, mocha, and a disgusting green tea for you,’ said my sister, laying them on the vintage ivory table.
‘Much obliged,’ I said, my words barely out before the doorbell rang for a second time. I groaned inwardly. The fact we closed on Mondays never stopped a certain client who had been coming since we opened. Given the nature of our business, we did not see a lot of repeat custom. Maggie was the exception to the rule and I did not have the heart to refuse her. At eighty years of age and four foot eleven, she could be swept away by a sudden breeze. She smiled, her bright-pink lipstick eclipsed only by the sapphire-blue eyeshadow courting her lids. Taking my tea from the table, I patted a chair for her to sit down. The interior of our bridal boutique was like something out of a wedding magazine. I loved the vintage ivory furnishings, the plush cream carpet and the scent of white roses dotted in antique vases throughout the store. French designer curtains cloaked two generous changing rooms leading to a platform surrounded by fairy lights and full-length mirrors. Everything fit for a princess on her special day. It was just as I had envisioned it when I’d first met my husband over nine years ago. Most men would have run a mile from a woman with a passion for wedding dresses. Instead, Alex helped me through my business studies course, encouraging me every step of the way. I felt proud that his faith in me had been rewarded. I never would have made it without his ‘dream big’ attitude to life.
I sat beside Maggie as she stared at it all, her eyes sparkling as they reflected the view. ‘How are you, lovely? All ready for the big day?’
‘I came to talk to you about that dress,’ she said, a frown crossing her face. ‘I’m not sure if it’s for me. I heard you have some new ones and I was hoping to try them on.’
‘Really? I thought you looked beautiful. What’s changed your mind?’
Maggie rifled in her bag, pulling out a bent-up snapshot that I had taken during her last visit. ‘They were laughing at me down the pub; said I was mutton dressed as lamb. Bastards.’
‘Since when have you cared what anyone’s thought of you?’ I asked, seeing wisdom in her green eyes. ‘Now where are you heading after here? Over to see Bernard?’ I crossed my legs, tilting my head to one side as I took in her expression.
She gave me a knowing smile. ‘Already been. He told me to pay no heed.’
‘Makes sense to me. Besides, what do those old codgers down the pub know about wedding dresses?’
‘True,’ she said, gathering up her bags. ‘I suppose you’re right. I should be off. This wedding won’t plan itself.’
‘And I’d better get back to work,’ I said, relieved that today at least, she was willing to see sense. ‘Send Bernard my best.’
It was a spell that Maggie seemed content to stay under. For her, it was preferable to facing the truth. Bernard was not waiting at home, he was in Colchester cemetery, having died on the eve of their wedding seven years ago.
‘You’re such a soft touch,’ Josh said after she had left. ‘For a minute there I thought you were going to let her try on the new gowns.’ Eighty per cent of our stock was upmarket second-hand, but at the start of each season I invested some money in the latest designs.
‘I don’t think Theresa’s heart would take it,’ I laughed, knowing that by the end of the session there would be more make-up on the dresses than on Maggie’s face. I had a special selection of retired and bargain gowns just for her. ‘She’s a good soul, and if it makes her happy then there’s no harm in it, is there?’ I could empathise with Maggie. Some people went on living, even those buried in the ground.
CHAPTER FOUR
LUKE
2002