Jane Austen famously described Emma as “a character whom no one but me will much like.” And it’s true — Emma isn’t a very sympathetic protagonist, at least at the beginning. And I absolutely do think that this should come across in adaptations.
However, I do not think that Anya Taylor-Joy’s prim, haughty portrayal is the right fit. This Emma isn’t just unlikeable to the audience — she’s cold enough to make you wonder why the other characters like her. And I don’t think that should be the case at all.
So here’s an update on the Letting Go story. Whilst I suppose it can be read as a stand alone story, it does fit after the end of the epilogue in ‘Letting Go’. I never intended this story to go into a second arc, but i guess it’s nice to drop in every now and then to see how they’re doing.
Now that Jamie and Claire are together and have moved to Lallybroch, this is the story of their first Christmas there with the extended family.
Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge, @wickedgoodbooks, @happytoobserve for their support and advice with this story. I hope you enjoy and that you all have a wonderful holiday time.
All I want for Christmas is…
I don’t want a lot for Christmas
There is just one thing I need
I don’t care about the presents
Underneath the Christmas tree
Mariah Carey/ Walter Afanasieff
One year ago
“It’s been such a lovely day, Jamie but I feel guilty now, just sitting here watching the fire. Are you sure we shouldn’t be doing something? Helping someone?”
“Och no. Jocasta’s fine, supervising Da and Murtagh washing up. Jenny and Ian have their own routine putting the bairns tae bed and yer uncle seems content studying those old maps he found.”
“Ok, you win. We’ll stay here just a little bit longer. What’s that under the tree?… Are you sure everyone opened their presents this morning?”
“I dinna ken, Sassenach. What does the tag say?”
“It says ‘Sassenach.’ Don’t try and look innocent, Jamie. What have you done?”
“Well ye’d best open it and find out, then.”
“Oh. Oh, Jamie, it’s beautiful…”
“I’ve never loved anyone but ye. I never want tae be apart from ye ever again. This is it… us fer ever. Sae, Sassenach, I ask ye, will ye marry me?”
So. here’s the final chapter, although there may be an epilogue (thanks to @faeriesfanficblog for the suggestion)
Thanks to you all for reading, liking, reblogging and commenting. I appreciate all of you. I cant tell you how much I enjoy reading your lovely comments.
Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks and @faeriesfanficblog for their support
I hope you enjoy this chapter
Chapter 14: From Regret to Realisation
A noise rouses me from my deep sleep. My legs ache as if from unaccustomed exercise and I feel in desperate need of a shower. Last night’s activities come hurtling back into my mind as I become aware of the large, warm body lying next to me. What had I been thinking? Actually, that was the problem—I hadn’t been thinking. My body betrayed me and totally bypassed my brain. I can’t even blame alcohol. Two beers each—last night can hardly be classed as a drunken mistake.
A loud snore makes me turn over to face the reality of what I’ve done. Jamie is lying flat on his back, still asleep. The duvet is loosely tucked around his torso, leaving his chest exposed. I feel myself blushing slightly as I notice the evidence of our nocturnal tryst—an angry purplish bruise on his shoulder and another above his left nipple.
I don’t want him to wake up just yet. I don’t really want to be having an awkward conversation at this time in the morning. And, the fact is, I don’t really know what I want. Actually, I do know—I want it to be this time twenty four hours ago—when Jamie and I were friends. Everything’s shifted now and I’m worried that it’s the end of our friendship.
So, we do need to talk, I know that. But not here, not now, not with the smell of sex in the air and my lips still tingling from his kisses.
With a muffled sort of ‘hmmph’ noise, Jamie rolls onto his side, facing me—fortunately still asleep. Under the duvet, one leg trespasses onto my side of the bed, trying to wind its way around my calf. I hold as still as possible, willing him not to wake up, trying to delay that inevitable moment of awkward realisation.
So. here’s the final chapter, although there may be an epilogue (thanks to @faeriesfanficblog for the suggestion)
Thanks to you all for reading, liking, reblogging and commenting. I appreciate all of you. I cant tell you how much I enjoy reading your lovely comments.
Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks and @faeriesfanficblog for their support
I hope you enjoy this chapter
Chapter 14: From Regret to Realisation
A noise rouses me from my deep sleep. My legs ache as if from unaccustomed exercise and I feel in desperate need of a shower. Last night’s activities come hurtling back into my mind as I become aware of the large, warm body lying next to me. What had I been thinking? Actually, that was the problem—I hadn’t been thinking. My body betrayed me and totally bypassed my brain. I can’t even blame alcohol. Two beers each—last night can hardly be classed as a drunken mistake.
A loud snore makes me turn over to face the reality of what I’ve done. Jamie is lying flat on his back, still asleep. The duvet is loosely tucked around his torso, leaving his chest exposed. I feel myself blushing slightly as I notice the evidence of our nocturnal tryst—an angry purplish bruise on his shoulder and another above his left nipple.
I don’t want him to wake up just yet. I don’t really want to be having an awkward conversation at this time in the morning. And, the fact is, I don’t really know what I want. Actually, I do know—I want it to be this time twenty four hours ago—when Jamie and I were friends. Everything’s shifted now and I’m worried that it’s the end of our friendship.
So, we do need to talk, I know that. But not here, not now, not with the smell of sex in the air and my lips still tingling from his kisses.
With a muffled sort of ‘hmmph’ noise, Jamie rolls onto his side, facing me—fortunately still asleep. Under the duvet, one leg trespasses onto my side of the bed, trying to wind its way around my calf. I hold as still as possible, willing him not to wake up, trying to delay that inevitable moment of awkward realisation.
My mouth feels very dry. And I’m sure my breath must stink too. I can’t go to Geillis’ smelling like this—all garlic and sex and sweat.
Of course, brunch! I reach behind me and fumble around for my phone on the bedside table.
My phone tells me I have precisely one hour before I’m due at Geillis’.
“Shit!”
Jamie groggily opens his eyes as I leap out of bed and quickly gather up my sweatshirt from the floor, wrapping it around my torso. He looks half asleep and somewhat confused. Part of me just wants to reach out and stroke those auburn curls off his face. The other, more sane part of me holds back, not sure of the message I want to give to Jamie or what Jamie wants to hear.
Securing the sweatshirt under my arms I sidestep towards the door, conscious of his eyes following me.
“Morning.” I venture, clearing my throat.
“Morning,” he replies, warily.
“Look,” I begin. “I know we need to talk about...about...er, last night. But I need to get to Geillis’ for brunch. If I’m late she’ll think there’s something wrong. So, sorry, I need to have a shower after…well… after...”
“Aye, I ken.”
“Can I call you later and we’ll sort something out?” I find it difficult to look him in the eyes.
“Ok… er… I suppose. Till later then.”
*********
Once in the shower, I wash quickly but thoroughly, removing any trace of Jamie from my skin. It can’t, however, remove the turmoil going on in my head. The same thoughts keep revolving around my mind—what have I done? Was this a one night stand for Jamie? Does he want a ‘friends with benefits’ set up? Is this the end of our friendship? What do I actually want?
So many questions but I’ve got no answers.
Unbidden, an image pops into my head, scattering my questions to oblivion.Jamie’s face last night, close to mine, sharing the same breath as slowly, so slowly, he enters me, watching me. Even now, my body responds instinctively to that memory. A spark flickers in my groin, only to be extinguished as I think I hear the front door slam.
As I step out of the bathroom with my robe tied firmly around me, I’m not surprised to find that I’m all alone.
**************
The brisk walk to Geillis and Dougal’s house does nothing to clear my mind. Normally, I love this walk through the park on a bright Sunday morning, watching children feeding the ducks while parents relax on the benches. The fresh air and wonderful scenery in the middle of Glasgow’s urban sprawl usually fills me with a sense of freedom and relaxation—but not today.
The ping of my phone causes my heart to race. As I read the message from Geillis, asking me to pick up croissants en route, I can feel my heart rate return to normal but my thoughts are still completely tangled up. Am I pleased or disappointed that it wasn’t Jamie?
***********
Armed with a bag full of still warm croissants, Geillis lets me into her house. There’s no sign of Dougal.
Geillis notices me looking around.
“I’ve sent him tae see his mam,” she explains. “She’ll be desperate tae see her wee boy and I dinna think she’ll be that arsed about whether I’m there or no’. Besides, as much as I love him, I’ve been wi’ him all day every day fer two weeks and I need a bit of girl time. Ye dinna mind do ye? He’ll be back afore ye’ve gone. And I wanted ye all tae myself.”
I settle myself on the sofa in Geillis’ cosy kitchen while she busies herself brewing the coffee and setting the table.
“So tell me,” I begin. “How was St Lucia?”
Geillis’ description of their days spent relaxing on gorgeous sandy beaches, snorkelling in the warm blue ocean, and evenings spent drinking cocktails in little beach bars watching the sunset turn the sky golden, makes me long for a holiday like that and I suddenly realise how much I want to share it with someone special.
Eventually, she realises her coffee’s going cold. “So, enough about that. What’s been happening here while I’ve been away? Any news, eh?”
I look down at my plate, now full of flakes of buttery pastry and idly push a few back and forth. “Oh, nothing much. Work keeping us busy, as ever. We missed you, you know.”
Geillis tilts her head, trying to catch my eye. I look up and try to make my face as expressionless as possible.
“Claire,” she sees right through my glass face. “What’s happened? What’s gone on?”
I say nothing.
“Let me guess. Is it tae do wi’ work?... Jamie...er…?
At the mention of his name, I stop playing with the croissant crumbs.
Her face breaks into a huge grin. “It’s ye and Jamie, isn’t it? Ye’ve slept together. When? C’mon, spill.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to Geillis about it, but as soon as she says that, I realise how much I need to tell someone.
Pushing my plate to one side, I rest my arms on the table and lay my head on them. “I’m not sure what I’ve done. Yes, we slept together last night, and now I think everything’s ruined. That’s it...our friendship gone.”
A chair scrapes across the floor as Geillis comes to sit beside me. She engulfs me in a tight hug and leans her head on my shoulder as I sit up.
“Claire, ye canna ruin a friendship with sex,” she cajoles. “It’s like ruining ice cream with chocolate sprinkles, eh.”
“If only it were that simple.”
“It could be that simple. Why not? Jes’ think about it...think about what ye want.”
“I want everything to go back to how it was—Jamie and I as friends.”
Geillis pulls away a little bit and looks me squarely in the face. “Truly? Is that what ye really want. Claire, think about it. Dinna lie tae yerself.”
“I—“ I pause and try to corral the thoughts rushing around my brain. Is that really what I want or do I want more? I’ve been telling myself for so long not to get involved, not to get hurt, it’s become my automatic response—don’t form relationships, get out before it gets too serious. I’ve never really questioned it before. But now Jamie has ignited emotions, feelings that I tried to keep locked away.
“I want Jamie in my life.” The words burst automatically from my mouth. And Geillis is right. It is simple. But—
“See, ye finally admitted it. Ye need him, don’t ye?”
I nod silently as tears fill my eyes. But I’m scared, I’m terrified of this feeling, this need for him. I’m scared of allowing myself to relax, to love someone and then to have it all vanish. That happens—they can just be taken from you in an instant. I’ve learnt that. And I’m frightened of being rejected.
“This isn’t easy for me,” I talk slowly, trying to find the right words to explain. “I don’t know what to do. I’m used to not getting involved, not having a relationship. If I let my guard down, relax, lo—“ I stop myself from that premature declaration. “And then what happens? People leave and I’m on my own again. Only this time it’s worse because I know how happy I can be.”
Geillis rips off a piece of kitchen towel and hands it to me. “Nothing but the finest here,” she smiles. “I ken ye sae well, Claire. Ye’re ma best friend and I ken what’s going on in yer head. I’ve seen yer fighting this fer weeks. Even when ye wouldna admit it tae yerself. Ye wrap yerself up in this shell, afraid tae let anyone in, afraid tae let yerself get truly involved. That’s why ye date men like Frank—they’re never going tae touch ye. And yes, it’s scary sometimes. But ye need tae take the risk.”
“But—“ I try and interrupt but Geillis hasn’t finished.
“Nah, I’m no’ done yet. I ken that, growing up things were no’ always easy but consider this— we’ve been best friends fer what… eight years, nine?”
I nod obediently.
“And I love ye. Ye’re ma family, ye’re the one I depend on. Ye ken mam and dad are bonkers. Anyway, ye love me too, right?”
Again, I nod, frantically sniffing and trying to hold back the tears at Geillis’ heartfelt words.
“Sae, ye’ve allowed yerself tae take the risk wi’ me. And look, I’m no’ going anywhere. I’m no’ leaving ye. Why could it no’ be the same wi’ Jamie? Go on, risk it, take that step.”
I know that Geillis is right. And I think that maybe, with Jamie, I’m ready to try. A feeling of excitement bubbles up inside me as I let myself consider a future with him—only to have the rational part of my brain quickly stamp on that emotion and grind it to little pieces.
“There’s another thing though, Geillis,” I explain as I twist the sodden piece of kitchen towel between my fingers. She gently takes it off me and passes me another.
“I mean, what if he doesn’t want me? What then? It might be just a casual one night thing to him. I can’t go back to being just a friend… I can’t.” Thinking of that, I start to cry, already anticipating this scenario.
At this, Geillis jumps up and rushes from the room, calling over her shoulder “Back in a sec. Just stay there.”
I’m more than a little confused, but, true to her word, she quickly returns carrying her iPad. She sets it on the table in front of us and selecting an app, types in a password.
“Our photographer has saved all our wedding photos here, for us to make our selection. Dougal and I were looking at them last night.” she explains.
I try to focus on what Geillis is saying. Perhaps she’s trying to distract me from my worries, cheer me up by looking at the photographs. I should stop thinking about my problem and let her have her moment of pride. But she's scrolling too rapidly for me to see the images, until she eventually stops.
“Here ye are,” she sighs. “Tell me what ye see.”
The photograph was obviously taken at the reception, after the meal. The white tablecloth is covered with glasses and cups. I’m sitting to the right, talking to someone not in the shot. My cheeks are slightly flushed from food and wine and my hair has started to free itself from its confines. I’m looking happy and relaxed. Jamie is sitting next to me, his jacket casually slung over the back of his chair, his hand resting on the backrest of mine. His face is partly turned towards the camera. There’s a small smile on his lips, but it’s his expression in his eyes I notice, watching me with such softness, such tenderness and, dare I say, such longing, that it takes my breath away.
Geillis touches my arm. “Ye see it, don’t ye? Claire, that is clearly a man in love—and I dinna mean with Great aunt Frances. Seriously, ma pet, rejection is something ye dinna need tae worry about. Sae, ye need tae tidy yerself up a wee bit, dry those eyes and go and get yer man.”
***************
There’s no word from Jamie and so, once I’m home, I decide to take the initiative and contact him. However, inspiration fails me, so in the end I decide to keep it simple.
I think we need to talk. When are you free?
Anytime today
I’m at home for the rest of the day.
I’m on my way
I quickly rush to the bathroom to check that the effects of my tears have disappeared—no red eyes or snotty nose, thank goodness. I add a dab of perfume and a touch of lipstick before running my fingers through my curls.
Time passes slowly when you’re watching the clock. Every second lasts a minute, every minute an hour. I try and focus on something else but fail miserably. Jamie’s presence is everywhere in my flat—from the living room sofa where it all started, to my bedroom where it came to it’s natural conclusion. I retreat to the kitchen but the pizza boxes and empty beer bottles are a further reminder of him. And so I end up wandering aimlessly from room to room, constantly checking my phone, constantly listening for footsteps outside my door.
Eventually, the doorbell rings. With sweaty palms and my stomach performing somersaults, I walk to the door, taking long, slow breaths, trying to keep myself calm.
Jamie stands in the doorway. He’s wearing his favourite rugby shirt and jeans that I’ve seen him wear so many times, but somehow today he looks different. I feel so aware of his body underneath his clothes, I need to catch my breath.
“Come in, please.”
Today he’s holding back—yesterday he needed no such invitation. With a brief hello, he follows me into the living room, standing awkwardly next to the sofa.
“Will you sit down? Drink?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.” He sits on the sofa, wiping his hands on his jeans. Maybe he’s as nervous as me. Maybe Geillis and I have got it wrong and he’s here to put me straight.
I sit on the chair opposite him. An awkward silence descends. It’s so strange—not even twenty four hours ago, he was making me scream with pleasure, and now we can’t even look each other in the eye.
I clear my throat. “Jamie—“ I begin.
“Claire, please. Can I say what I need tae say,” he interrupts me nervously, looking down at his hands.
I’m finding it difficult to keep still, my knee won’t stop jiggling and I keep biting the inside of my cheek, but I let Jamie speak.
“Yesterday...last night…I didna plan that... I didna come here for that.”
Even through my nerves, I can’t help but smile at this confession. “I know that, I was the one who invited you here, remember? And I was the one who—”
“Aye, ye were. But I wasna sorry. And I’d be lying if I said it wasna welcome. In fact, I’d been wanting it for the longest time,” he pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing. “That is...I mean...not jes’ the sex but a relationship wi’ ye, Claire. I held back because I thought...think...thought ye jes’ wanted tae be friends. But now I need tae tell ye this, after what’s happened, I dinna think I can go back tae that. Mebbe we could try, if that’s what ye want, but for me that’s no’ going tae be enough.”
Finally, he looks up at me and I see it. I see what the photographer captured. How could I have missed it? And, just like that, a weight is lifted off me and my stomach stops it’s somersaults only to be replaced by a feeling of excitement and anticipation.
In one swift move, I’m at his side. Reaching out to touch his cheek, my fingers stroke the soft bristles. He turns to me, eyes now full of confusion—am I trying to console him as I deliver unwelcome news?
“Jamie,” I speak softly. “I didn’t think I wanted a relationship.”
His body tenses and he tries to turn his face away as I continue.
“But, then I met you. I thought I just wanted you as a friend. But I was scared to admit to myself that I wanted—want— more. So, I don’t want us to be just friends. That’s not enough for me now. I’m ready to move forward.”
He breathes a large sigh and I feel his body relax. A huge grin lights up his face. His arm draws me in and I snuggle there, resting my head on his chest.
“Sae, Miss Beauchamp, do ye want tae go out wi’ me then?” His voice sends vibrations through my body.
“Jamie, we’ve already been out loads of times.” I laugh.
“Ah, but this is different, this is courting,” he over enunciates the last word. “We go out, aye, but this time there’ll be hand holding, secret looks and then we rush home when ye canna keep yer hands off me.”
I playfully punch his shoulder. “Or vice versa.” I’m feeling bold and playful now, almost giddy with relief. “Maybe you won’t be able to keep your hands off me.”
His hand, snaking down my back to rest against my bottom, proves the truth of this statement.
“Mebbe,” he kisses the top of my head. “Sae, would ye like tae go out fer dinner tonight, as a couple?”
It’s amazing how natural, how right this feels to me. I sit up. “What I would really like is dinner here. We don’t have to go out.”
“And?” Jamie gives me his attempt at a wink and, as usual, fails miserably.
“Well, maybe an early night? It’s been a stressful day.”
He glances down at his watch. “It’s four thirty. Is that early enough fer ye?”
“Never too early,” I laugh as he leans in and wraps his arms around me, showering my neck with tiny kisses that send shivers down my spine.
“Oh, Claire,” he whispers between kisses.
And just like that, with Jamie’s arms around me, I feel like I’m home. I’ve found what I never even realised I was searching for. All the doubt and worry in my mind has disappeared. It seems so clear now. This isn’t scary, it’s exciting. This is where we’re meant to be—moving forward together.
This isn’t the end. It’s just our beginning.
*****************
The line about ice cream and chocolate sprinkles was actually from The Big Band Theory (credit where credit’s due) but I loved it
A/N: I knew I was going to be emotional when posting this chapter. But I wasn’t quite as ready as I thought I was.
I’ve said what I needed to say in my chapter notes over on Ao3, so please excuse me for the lack of eloquence here.
As always, my gratitude.
@elizabeth-beauchamp, for indulging all my paranoias about the tiniest details and sending the funniest voicemails.
@Sassysassenach for her artistry and her stickers when I need it most.
for everyone who reads this, for everyone who ever sent me a kind word, for everyone who loves this family as much as I do.
Thank you.
[Masterlist for Downhill on tumblr]
Never before had Claire felt as utterly devoid of warmth as this moment. The cold hadn’t hit her all at once, striking instead with all the slyness and cunning of an evil stepmother. Crowning her with white crystals and coating her lashes with diamond dust, its treacherous beauty beguiled her into childlike wonder and compliant immobility. She only realised the danger when it was already too late; when the ribbons of satin silver had eaten their way through her clothes, seeping through her skin and gnawing at her bones.
Left raw and vulnerable to the rising winds, nose and toes were the first to turn into useless blocks of ice. With her core temperature dropping from one low to the next, she was soon too stiff even to shiver, muscles no longer obeying her command as glacial gusts pulled at her hair and lashed at her face. Frozen to the marrow, even the blood in her veins moved thick and sluggish, recalcitrant to perform its essential duty. All she could do was sit and wait; watching with a mixture of abject impotence and morbid curiosity as the walls of her glittering tomb climbed higher and higher.
So, here we are, penultimate chapter - only one more after this. Thanks to you all for supporting this piece of fluff. Hope you enjoy this chapter.
Warning: it is NSFW below the cut
Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks and @faeriesfanficblog for their support with this.
Chapter 13: From Shelving to Sh…
This weekend’s plans were simple—catch up on all the housework I’ve been putting off; finally finish off the redecorating of the spare bedroom; oh, and no drinking.
My only social engagement is brunch at Geillis’ and Dougal’s house on Sunday morning. Since they are returning from their honeymoon on Saturday and will be totally shattered and jet lagged, I’m guessing that brunch will consist of very strong coffee and whatever pastries I pick up on the way.
However, despite any fatigue, Geillis was insistent on Sunday brunch (“two weeks wi’out a good old gossip—how will I survive?”) and who am I to refuse? Plus, I am looking forward to seeing her again. The time difference, not to mention the temperamental WiFi situation in the Cayman Islands, has made any communication between us very difficult.
And so, Saturday morning has gone totally to plan—hoovering, dusting, tbleaching—all ticked off my mental checklist. And now it’s time to tackle my spare bedroom.
This room, although regularly used by weekend guests and friends too inebriated to make the journey across town safely, had, I’ll admit, become something of a dumping ground—with mismatched furniture and walls sorely in need of redecoration.
With several trips to charity shops, a weekend spent repainting the walls and woodwork, and one very stressful trip to IKEA over the summer, the room is now looking presentable. There are just a few finishing touches still required—pictures to be hung, bed to be made up with new linen and a shelving unit to be assembled.
So, here we are, penultimate chapter - only one more after this. Thanks to you all for supporting this piece of fluff. Hope you enjoy this chapter.
Warning: it is NSFW below the cut
Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks and @faeriesfanficblog for their support with this.
Chapter 13: From Shelving to Sh...
This weekend’s plans were simple—catch up on all the housework I’ve been putting off; finally finish off the redecorating of the spare bedroom; oh, and no drinking.
My only social engagement is brunch at Geillis’ and Dougal’s house on Sunday morning. Since they are returning from their honeymoon on Saturday and will be totally shattered and jet lagged, I’m guessing that brunch will consist of very strong coffee and whatever pastries I pick up on the way.
However, despite any fatigue, Geillis was insistent on Sunday brunch (“two weeks wi’out a good old gossip—how will I survive?”) and who am I to refuse? Plus, I am looking forward to seeing her again. The time difference, not to mention the temperamental WiFi situation in the Cayman Islands, has made any communication between us very difficult.
And so, Saturday morning has gone totally to plan—hoovering, dusting, tbleaching—all ticked off my mental checklist. And now it’s time to tackle my spare bedroom.
This room, although regularly used by weekend guests and friends too inebriated to make the journey across town safely, had, I’ll admit, become something of a dumping ground—with mismatched furniture and walls sorely in need of redecoration.
With several trips to charity shops, a weekend spent repainting the walls and woodwork, and one very stressful trip to IKEA over the summer, the room is now looking presentable. There are just a few finishing touches still required—pictures to be hung, bed to be made up with new linen and a shelving unit to be assembled.
Living on my own, I’ve become quite adept at DIY jobs around the flat. I even have my own drill and forty four piece screwdriver set. So, building a flat pack bookcase doesn’t faze me in the slightest.
Very methodically, I lay out all the components of the flat pack, spreading them across the bedroom floor and checking them against the printed instructions. At first, it all seems to be pretty straightforward—I don’t actually need any of my forty four screwdrivers—all I need is the simple Allen key provided.
The problem starts as I try to keep a six foot piece of mdf perpendicular to the unit’s base, while simultaneously using the Allen key to secure the two pieces together. I can’t quite manage it no matter what I do. Lying the large side flat on the floor, propping it upright against the wall—no way will work. The instructions do say it’s a two man job, which usually I tend to take with a pinch of salt—one woman being the equal of two men—but in this case, it really does need a second body.
I reach for my phone.
What you up to this afternoon?
Nothing much. Maybe a run. Why? Fancy a drink?
I was wondering if you could give me a hand building a bookshelf?
Ah, need a skilled man, do you?
No, just need someone tall enough to hold a 6 foot plank steady
Give me 45 mins. I’ll be round
Just enough time for a shower. Not that I’m trying to impress Jamie but I have spent all day doing jobs around the flat. It’s just common courtesy to not inflict your BO on anybody—especially when they’re doing you a favour.
Quickly stripping off my grubby clothes, I pop them in the laundry basket and step into the shower. Like I’ve said before, I love this shower and can easily lose track of time as the warm water cascades over me. Today, I choose my lemongrass and ginger shower gel and breathe in the revitalising scents as I scrub my skin clean.
I’m just about to get dressed when the doorbell rings. Quickly I pull on a fresh sweatshirt and leggings and rush to open the door.
“Oh, thanks for coming so quickly.”
“Nice hair,” Jamie greets me with a grin. “Looks like a pineapple on your head.”
I bring my hands up to my hair. In my haste, I’ve forgotten to take the scrunchie out and my curls are piled up on top of my head, the odd wayward locks springing at various angles from their confines.
As we walk towards the spare bedroom, I pull the scrunchie from my hair and shake my head, running my fingers through my curls.
Jamie sniffs. “That’s a grand smell…reminds me of a Thai meal I once had.”
“Are you comparing my shower gel to a curry?” I ask in mock indignation.
“Och, ‘twas no’ a curry. ‘Twas a delicate soup. And very good it was, too.”
I don’t really take it as an insult—being compared to food. At least not from Jamie. With his passion for his business, it seems almost to be a compliment.
Thankfully, with the two of us working together, building the flat pack becomes a whole lot easier. From time to time, Jamie tries to take charge—obviously used to being the boss in his working life—and clearly forgetting that I’m a surgeon in total command of an operating theatre. But we quickly move past any minor bickering and the job is finished pretty quickly.
With the bookcase now firmly in place against the wall, we stand back to admire our handiwork.
“Thanks once again for this,” I begin and glance at my watch. “I can’t believe it’s six o’clock already. I hope I haven’t buggered up any plans you have for this evening.”
He shrugs. “I hadna any plans fer tonight. Sae, dinna fash.”
“Well, d’you want to have a drink? I owe you.”
“Always willing tae help a damsel in distress.” He bends his arms into a macho strongman pose.
Playfully, I punch his shoulder. He winces in mock pain.
“Ow, all that hammering of bones has given ye a fair punch, woman. Ye ken I bruise like a peach. Ye owe me double now. I reckon a takeaway at least.”
“Sounds good to me. What do you fancy? Thai? Chinese? Your choice. It’s the least I can do, especially after injuring you so grievously.”
“Well, I dinna really mind, but if ye’re up fer it what I really fancy is pizza. A great big greasy pizza with pepperoni and lots of stringy cheese. But only if ye’ve got some beer. Somehow pizza and wine doesna do it fer me.”
We wander into the living room and, with an order placed for one extra large pepperoni pizza, a garlic bread with cheese and a portion of potato wedges, Jamie settles himself on the sofa while I fetch the beer.
“Estrella? Is that ok?” I ask as I pass him an opened bottle and join him on the sofa. “I mean, tough luck if it’s not. I’ve got half a dozen of these and that’s all.”
“That’s fine, I like it. Thanks.”
He reaches for the remote control and switches the television on, leaning back and sinking into the cushions behind him. Watching him stretch his legs out, I never realised how long his legs are as he carefully positions them around the coffee table. He takes a large gulp of his beer, closes his eyes for a moment and sighs. His face is totally relaxed and I reckon if I stroked his shoulders there wouldn’t be an ounce of tension there either.
He opens his eyes and immediately begins to change channels.
I laugh.
“What?” He asks
“You’re just being such a typical bloke—stretched out, beer in one hand, changing channels with the other.”
“Sorry.” Jamie makes to sit up.
“No, really, it’s fine. I’m only teasing.”
And with that, he grins and carries on until he finds my watchlist on Netflix. He scrolls across the screen, pausing to read the brief synopsis of each of my choices.
“True crime...true crime...detective...rom com...detective...rom com...rom com...rom com…” he stops the scrolling. “Ye’ve certainly got a lot of Jennifer Aniston films saved here.”
“Fancy watching one?”
“Looks like it’s either that or a real life murder documentary. And I dinna think that’d go down weel wi’ ma pizza.” He selects one at random and presses play.
When the food arrives, we spread the boxes out on the coffee table in front of us. No need for plates or cutlery, and just pieces of kitchen roll for serviettes. Between eating, drinking more beers and watching ‘Just Go with It’, there isn’t much conversation. And that’s fine.
Finally we both decide that we’ve had our fill of greasy carbohydrates and collapse back on the sofa. I curl my legs under me. Jamie gives a groan of satisfaction and stretches his arms over his head. I can’t help but notice the way his rugby shirt has ridden up, exposing a sliver of flesh above his belt, his muscles clearly defined through the smattering of russet hairs trailing down into….
Jamie straightens up and adjusts his shirt. Suddenly conscious of staring, I quickly turn my attention back to the closing moments of the film. I mustn’t think of Jamie in that way. He’s my friend, that’s it. A good friend, admittedly, but nothing more.
As the credits roll, Jamie picks up the remote control from the table, ready to choose something else for us to watch.
“Oy, mate!” I exclaim, jokingly. “Step away from the remote. You’ve had your choice. Now it’s my turn.”
Jamie’s grip tightens on the small black unit. “Nah, no way. Ye’ll be wanting tae watch how tae murder someone and get away wi’ it, or some such thing. Remember I’m the guest here.”
“Think we’ve gone past guest. I mean, look at you chilling, quite at home. Give me the remote.”
I hold my hand out, palm upwards, waiting.
“I shall never relinquish it voluntarily,” he cries in a grand dramatic style. “Ye gotta fight fer the right tae…er, channel hop.”
With that, he holds the remote at arm’s length above his head. I lean forward to try to grab it. Grinning, he moves his arm away. Laughing, I stretch a bit further towards him as he dangles the remote tantalisingly out of my reach, determined to tease me. And I’m just as determined to get it.
Moving to a kneeling position, I inch forward, trying to get closer to my prize. This is so childish, such juvenile behaviour and yet, it’s fun and natural and—
I lean too far forward and collapse onto Jamie’s chest. We’re both still laughing as I place my hands on his chest to push myself upright. I begin to lift off him but freeze. My brain is trying to pull away but my body won’t let me. The laughter stops, somehow it’s not funny any more. We’re now so close, I can feel his breath against my skin. Has time stopped or only slowed? I can only focus on his mouth, his lips parting a little as he moistens them with his tongue. My eyes travel up his face, taking in every detail, every bristle, line and mark. Finally, I reach his eyes, and he’s there waiting for me.
He moves slightly, lifting his face to meet mine and hesitates for a second.
“Can I?” He asks quietly.
I nod almost imperceptibly before he gently, oh so gently, presses his lips to mine.
A tiny fraction of my brain is trying to tell me... this is Jamie… you’re friends… don’t spoil that friendship. The rest of my brain is overloading me with many other messages...those lips...so soft and strong...his tongue languidly exploring...the jolts of electricity through my body. That sole nagging doubt is quickly extinguished by the sensations overwhelming me, like a candle caught in a raging storm.
The pressure of his lips intensifies, no longer gentle, as I move my body closer to him. My fingers trace a line through the soft prickle of his stubble to his silky auburn curls. I breathe in his musky cologne and the need for more consumes me.
Without breaking the kiss, I bring my leg across to straddle him. Jamie gives a little moan in the back of his throat.
“Sorry, have I hurt you?”
“Nah,” he shakes his head as he adjusts his jeans between us, before bringing his lips to the sensitive skin behind my ear.
His hands lift the hem of my sweatshirt and run up my back, fingers fumbling unsuccessfully as he reaches my bra.
“Front loading?” He whispers as he gropes for an elusive hook and eye.
I pull away from him and shake my head. “Sports bra,” I smile as I tug my sweatshirt and bra off. “Over the head.”
The air is cool on my breasts and I shiver. Jamie pauses for a moment and gives a small sigh, his hands resting on my hips. The waiting is unbearable. I need his hands, his lips, his breath on my skin. I can wait no longer—I take his hands and bring them to my breasts. He circles each nipple with his thumbs. The sensation is wonderful—a bolt of lightning straight to my groin. I squirm involuntarily.
He grins and continues to trace these tantalising circles, before dipping his head to replace a thumb with his tongue, licking slow and warm before drawing the nipple into his mouth. My body yearns for more.
Pulling away, I pluck at his shirt. “Take it off,” I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. “I want to see you.”
He quickly strips off his shirt. His muscles are defined but just the right amount. I run my hands over his chest and linger on each nipple in turn. I smile as I watch the small nubs stand to attention before bending down and pressing my breasts hard against his chest, relishing the friction of the wiry curls against my sensitive skin.
The time for teasing is over as our mouths meet, fierce and hot, our tongues intertwining in a kiss that leaves me breathless. The thought of his body, naked, next to me, on top of me, under me is all consuming.
Jamie shifts beneath me.
“I’m sorry, are you alright?”
“Nah, it’s fine. Jes’ in a awkward position.” He moves again.
“Shall we go to bed?” Without a thought, the words leave my mouth. My body has taken control and bypassed my brain.
He stares at my face. “D’ye want tae? If ye’re no’ sure, ye can say so.”
“I want you, Jamie. Do you want me?”
He licks his lips and plants a kiss on my shoulder. “Oh, god, yes.”
Picking up my discarded sweatshirt I lead the way down the corridor to my bedroom. Together we stand at the side of the bed. It’s not fully dark—light from the street is illuminating the room. I suddenly feel quite awkward and instinctively hold the sweatshirt against my chest, covering me.
He takes a step back. “Ye ken ye dinna have tae do it. Jes’ tell me and I’ll go.”
The sweatshirt drops from my hands as I move closer to him. Standing up, I have to crane my neck to look into his face.
“I want to.” I moan and undo his belt before slowly unzipping his jeans.
My hand cups his balls through his trunks and I feel his hardness twitch against my palm. His eyes are closed and his breath is ragged. A moan escapes his lips.
Opening his eyes, he moves my hand and sits on the edge of the bed, manoeuvring me between his legs. His hands slip into the waistband of my leggings and slowly he peels them down. I use his shoulders for balance as I step out of them. He repeats the process with my panties until I’m standing in front of him naked.
The feeling of self consciousness is quickly swamped by the sensations his caresses stir up. His hands trail a path over my body, from my shoulders, across my breasts, down, further, further until one hand reaches between my legs. I’m so ready for him, I’m sure he can hear the wetness there. A spark begins as he touches the delicate nerve endings.
“Oh, yes,” I groan.
He pulls his hand away and stands up. “All in good time,” he teases as he quickly strips off his jeans and underpants, his cock springing free. I wrap my fist around it, savouring the velvet hardness.
We fall onto the bed, kisses now becoming frenzied. We take time to explore each other’s bodies, our hands discovering those secret places that elicit shivers of delight and moans of pleasure.
Finally, we can wait no longer. Jamie positions himself over me as I open up to him.
“Have ye a condom?” he asks urgently, taking his weight on his arms.
I point to the bedside table. “Top drawer.”
He rolls off me and reaches across. I hear the rustle of the foil wrapper and then he’s over me once more. I wrap my legs around his back as he enters me with movements that are slow at first, easing himself in.
Supporting himself on his elbows, his fingers tangle in my curls as his lips find mine. Our tongues move sinuously together, mirroring the motion of our hips. From deep within, I feel the tremors start to build, muscles tensing in anticipation, beginning the climb towards orgasm. Jamie’s hand moves down between our bodies. All it takes is the lightest of touches and my body explodes with an intense wave of pleasure washing over me. A second wave hits as Jamie gives one final thrust and collapses on me.
We lie there quietly for a minute, taking our time to come back down to earth. Eventually, Jamie rolls onto his side away from me. I hear a small plop before he returns to nestle his head against my armpit, his breath warm against my nipple. One hand settles on my other breast.
“Was that alright?” He asks, almost shyly.
“Amazing,” I reply contentedly.
I push the thought of tomorrow from my mind as sleep overtakes me.
Waking up to a grey and damp Sunday morning. Hope it’s less dreary where you are. Thanks for all the comments likes and reblogs. We’re now onto Chapter 12, with one more chapter to go. Hope you enjoy
Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks and @faeriesfanficblog for their support.
Chapter 12 - From Ex to Exit
Geillis stands up and gives a small shake, as if ridding herself of any negative thoughts. “Coming, Claire?”
I lift up the hem of my dress. “I’ll just be a minute. Something stuck in my shoe. I’ll follow you in.”
Pulling off a silver sandal, I run my fingers over the thin sole, dislodging a small stone that had embedded itself into the leather. A noise from the doorway distracts me momentarily as Angus strides into the room, carrying a very full glass of red wine. Having clearly said goodbye to sobriety a few hours ago, he’s now shed his jacket and tie, there’s a stain on the front of his shirt and his face is flushed. How could any woman resist?
“Hello there Cinderella,” he greets me as he sits down next to me on the sofa.
I quickly put my sandal back on and scooch out of his wine spill zone, tucking my dress firmly underneath me. “Hello.”
“I feel like we’ve no’ had chance tae connect today. Ye ken, the best man and the bridesmaid, there’s something verra, verra romantic about that, d’ye no’ think?”
“Er…” I rack my brain for the perfect response—that ideal combination of scathing put down and icy politeness—but nothing comes to mind. Inspiration will probably strike in the middle of the night. “Not really.”
He ignores my unenthusiastic reply and carries on talking. “Sae are ye staying here tonight?”
“Yes,” I focus on picking imaginary fluff off my dress, hoping that Angus will get the message and just piss off without me having to spell it out to him. I really don’t want to be mean to him, and certainly not today of all days, but, god, read the room.
The UK Government found £12bn for a test and trace system that doesn’t work.
We’re at 26k thousand cases JUST TODAY in the UK.
But they only have £22m for the whole of Manchester and today voted not to extend free meal provision for underprivileged kids through the school holidays.
Waking up to a grey and damp Sunday morning. Hope it’s less dreary where you are. Thanks for all the comments likes and reblogs. We’re now onto Chapter 12, with one more chapter to go. Hope you enjoy
Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks and @faeriesfanficblog for their support.
Chapter 12 - From Ex to Exit
Geillis stands up and gives a small shake, as if ridding herself of any negative thoughts. “Coming, Claire?”
I lift up the hem of my dress. “I’ll just be a minute. Something stuck in my shoe. I’ll follow you in.”
Pulling off a silver sandal, I run my fingers over the thin sole, dislodging a small stone that had embedded itself into the leather. A noise from the doorway distracts me momentarily as Angus strides into the room, carrying a very full glass of red wine. Having clearly said goodbye to sobriety a few hours ago, he’s now shed his jacket and tie, there’s a stain on the front of his shirt and his face is flushed. How could any woman resist?
“Hello there Cinderella,” he greets me as he sits down next to me on the sofa.
I quickly put my sandal back on and scooch out of his wine spill zone, tucking my dress firmly underneath me. “Hello.”
“I feel like we’ve no’ had chance tae connect today. Ye ken, the best man and the bridesmaid, there's something verra, verra romantic about that, d’ye no’ think?”
“Er…” I rack my brain for the perfect response—that ideal combination of scathing put down and icy politeness—but nothing comes to mind. Inspiration will probably strike in the middle of the night. “Not really.”
He ignores my unenthusiastic reply and carries on talking. “Sae are ye staying here tonight?”
“Yes,” I focus on picking imaginary fluff off my dress, hoping that Angus will get the message and just piss off without me having to spell it out to him. I really don’t want to be mean to him, and certainly not today of all days, but, god, read the room.
A slight cough from the doorway makes me look up to see the very welcome sight of Jamie.
“Hope I’m no’ disturbing anything?” He asks politely, but the corner of his mouth is twitching. Trust him to find this funny. He’s probably been quietly watching the whole damn thing.
“No!”
“Yes!”
Angus and I answer at the same time.
Jamie comes and sits down opposite us. “It’s been a grand day, has it no’? Sae warm and bright. I wonder what the forecast is fer tomorrow. Anyone ken? It’s usually a wee bit rainier this time of year.”
Angus tries to ignore him and restart a conversation with me. “Sae, Claire—“
I cut across this attempt and pick up the conversation with Jamie. “I think you’re right. It is usually wetter. Do you know what the temperature was today?”
“Och, I dinna ken but I remember last summer, it wasna like this. I think I have some photos on ma phone. It was more—oh, are ye going?”
Angus, taking the not-so-subtle message, stands up and starts to leave. “Er, best see how the disco is being set up. Catch ye later, Claire.”
Once he’s gone Jamie moves to the sofa.
“When did you become so interested in the weather?” I laugh.
“Worked, did it no’? Bored him intae submission,” he grins. “Unless of course ye were enjoying his line of banter.”
“Ooh, yes.”
We sit together quietly. He’s next to me on this floral sofa which clashes horrendously with his tartan. He’s close, so close I should be able make out the design on his sporran if I wanted. After the lift debacle, I choose to avert my eyes.
My hand rests between us, next to his leg. By just stretching my fingers, I could touch him. For one crazy moment, I wonder what would happen if I were to place my hand on his thigh, feel the muscle firm beneath the woollen fabric. How would he respond? But instead I bring my hand up to my hair and wind a strand through my fingers. I suppose, even though we’re friends, it’s perfectly natural to sometimes wonder—
“Penny fer them.”
“What?” His comment breaks my train of thought, and probably none too soon.
“Yer thoughts. Penny fer yer thoughts. Ye seemed deep in serious contemplation.”
“No, just thinking back on the ceremony.” I quickly make an excuse.
“Ah, aye.”
The pair of us fall back into silence for a moment.
“Jes’ been speaking with—“
“Actually I need to tell—“
We both start talking at the same time and then stop. I gesture for him to continue.
“All I was going tae say is that I’ve been having a wee chat with Anna and Mary.”
Knowing my friends, it was definitely not just a chat, more of an interrogation and yet he survived the mauling and is still here. Obviously made of stern stuff.
“Was it nice?”
“Och, it was fine. They’re like a tag team though, firing questions at me,” he mimics wiping sweat from his forehead. “I think I passed anyway. What were ye going tae say?”
“Well,” I’m not sure how to phrase this, so decide to just say it. “Long story short—Geillis is pissed off at some of Dougal’s cousins who have turned up uninvited for the evening do. Now, it may not be her, but one of them is a Laoghaire Mackenzie. But I’m sure there are others around,” I add lamely.
“D’ye ken any other names?”
“Father’s Gary, brother’s Gregory, I think.”
He pulls a face. “Aye, it’s her.”
“It may not be so bad. I mean, what kind of terms did you part on?”
“Weel, her last words tae me were along the lines of ‘she was fed up with ma obsession with ma fuckin’ food business and if she ever saw me again she would cut ma bollocks off, sauté them in black truffle infused extra virgin olive oil and serve them back tae me wi’ a balsamic glaze’”.
Obviously her time with Jamie and his passion for food had inspired her threats. I try to keep a straight face. The situation really isn’t funny. We don’t want her to make a scene this evening. “That’s dreadful.”
“I agree,” Jamie nods solemnly. “Ye would never spoil the flavour of black truffle wi’ a glaze like that. And I can see ye, biting the side of yer cheek, trying no’ tae laugh.”
“I was just wondering. What wine would you serve with sautéed balls?” I burst out laughing.
“Och, something very robust, I would imagine,” he joins in the laughter. “A Mourvèdre at the very least.”
He nudges me with his elbow. “C’mon. Let’s go back in.”
“But what if she tries to create a scene?” I don’t want anything to spoil my best friend’s big day.
“Dinna fash. I ken Laoghaire. She willna do anything that makes her look bad in public. Likely she’ll get me in a dark corner somewhere tae castrate me.” He winces at the thought.
Geillis chooses this moment to pop her head around the door. “There ye are, Claire. I need ye. We’re doin’ the first dance soon, and ye have tae join us on the dance floor. Ye can dance wi’ the best man or, if ye prefer—“ she nods her head towards Jamie before leaving.
My heart sinks at the thought of dancing with Angus and him trying to press his hot, sweaty body against me, but I have to be fair to Jamie, so I play Geillis’ suggestion down. I could put up with Angus for the three minutes of your average pop song. “Oh, it’s ok. I know you’ve told me that dancing’s not really your thing.”
He gets to his feet and makes a very courtly bow. “For ye, ‘Cinderella’, I’ll do it. Jes’ dinna make it a habit, yeah?”
**********
The room has now been transformed. All the round dinner tables have been moved to expose a small rectangular dance floor next to a raised dais on which stands the obligatory wedding DJ and his vast array of paraphernalia. Even though the sun has not yet fully set, it’s faded enough for the disco lights to be needed, creating intimate pockets of darkness where their illumination doesn’t quite reach. People are hovering around, expectantly, waiting for the customary first dance.
Geillis and Dougal walk onto the dance floor to the opening bars of the music and wrap their arms around each other as the velvety vocals begin:
Wise men say
Only fools rush in
but I can’t help falling in love with you.
In some ways, it’s a very corny choice for a wedding, but the sentiment behind it is so genuine for the newlyweds. I remember so well how excited Geillis was when she first told me about Dougal. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but it was clear what they felt for each other even from the beginning. Tears begin to prickle my eyes as I watch them swaying gently with the music, in their own special world.
From the corner of my eye, I spot Angus, only slightly staggering, making his way towards me. Fortunately Jamie sees him too.
“Shall we?” He leads the way onto the dance floor.
I’m very conscious that I’ve never been this close to Jamie before. We have brushed past each other and of course we’ve sat next to each other, but nothing with this degree of intimacy. I feel awkward, unsure where to put my hands. Jamie clearly feels the same. We settle on my hands resting on his shoulders and his hands lightly on either side of my waist. In this position, we can keep a reasonable distance between us. It’s difficult for me to look into his face; eye contact seems more intimate that I can cope with. I focus on the collar of his white shirt, now with the top button undone.
Like a river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling, so it goes
Some things are meant to be
And somehow, it happens. Does Jamie move closer to me, or do I move closer to him? I’m not sure which. But all I know is I’m suddenly aware of his body right next to mine. His hands move to my back, the thumb of his right hand idly rubbing circles on the bare flesh above my dress. Without realising, my hands are around his neck and my cheek is resting on his chest. I breathe in the cologne that he wears. I can feel his soft curls against my fingers.
For I can't help falling in love with you
For I can't help falling in love with you
“Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s hear it for the bride and groom.” As Elvis’ voice fades away, there’s a round of applause before the DJ launches into Earth, Wind and Fire’s ‘September’.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so awkward, suddenly standing still on that dance floor, back in reality. Our hands drop to our sides in unison.
“Drink?” Jamie asks.
I nod gratefully and we walk over to the bar. While Jamie attracts the barman’s attention, I look around the room. The dance floor is filling up nicely; mainly clusters of women at the moment plus a few children excitedly twirling around, fuelled by an overload of fizzy drinks coupled with minimal parental supervision. Geillis and Dougal are making the rounds, hopping from table to table, chatting excitedly with the new evening arrivals.
Then, I spot a familiar face. Well, I say familiar—I’ve never exactly met her in the flesh. I have heard her a couple of times—berating Jamie in the park, and also during a phone call to me but I recognise her from the photos on Jamie’s Facebook page.
She is very pretty—if you like that whole long blond hair and blue eyes type thing. The dress she is wearing certainly accentuates all her curves and makes my ‘hello boys’ dress look like something from a convent. She sees me watching her and sashays towards us.
I nudge Jamie surreptitiously and mumble. “Laoghaire…heading this way.”
“Oh, Christ.” But he keeps his attention focused on the drink order.
As she gets near, I notice, admittedly rather uncharitably, that her natural prettiness has been enhanced considerably by a significant amount of makeup. Even so, heads do turn as she passes by.
Jamie still seems to be reviewing the whiskies on offer behind the bar. With a dismissive glance in my direction, Laoghaire places her hand on his back and insinuates herself in the small gap between me and Jamie.
“What are ye doin’ here?” She asks. “I didna expect tae see ye.”
From the seductive tone of her voice, I don’t think that she has plans for castration on her mind. Quite the opposite in fact.
Jamie turns and passes me my gin and tonic. “Claire’s Geillis’ bridesmaid, so I’m a guest too.”
“That’s sae funny. I was only thinkin’ about ye today. It’s like fate or something. I was wondering—can we go somewhere private and have a chat?”
Jamie looks past Laoghaire’s right shoulder at me. “I dinna think we have anything tae say. Or nothing that canna be said here.”
“Weel, we could jes’ go and sit over there. I really, really, really need tae. Oh, Jamie, puh-lease.”
She stresses the last word in a supposed-to-be-cute kind of way. Personally, I think she’s overdoing the whole cutsie thing. Instinctively, I roll my eyes. Jamie catches this and smiles at me. Laoghaire clearly thinks this is aimed at her and, with a victorious smirk over her shoulder at me, she heads for an unoccupied table away from the dance floor.
Jamie pauses. “I’ll only be a minute. I dinna think she’ll let us alone until she’s said her piece.”
“That’s fine. Go, puh-lease.” I mimic her little girl inflection.
He grimaces and wanders off to join her.
Mary and Anna are at a table on the other side of the room. I sit down beside them.
“‘Lo Claire,” Anna greets me with a big hug and clinks her nearly empty glass against mine.
“Och, I’m about ready fer a top up. Fill me up, Mary.”
Judging by the slight slurring, I’m guessing Anna has already had quite a few top ups and, based on the way that Mary is pouring the wine, holding the bottle very carefully with two hands, she’s not the only one.
Having filled up their glasses to the brim, Mary offers me the bottle. I shake my head and show her my gin. Mary leans in conspiratorially and pats my hand.
“We’ve been chatting tae yer wee friend.”
“No’ sae wee, there, Mary,” Anna interjects. “We reckon he’s got a lot goin’ on under that kilt.”
“Where is he anyway?” Mary stands up and, very obviously, looks around. “A-ha, there he is, but who’s that he’s talking tae? I dinna think I like her.”
I pull Mary back down to her chair. “Dougal’s cousin is an old friend of his. They’re just having a catch up.”
I don’t really want to tell Mary and Anna the full story. I mean, I’m assuming that Laoghaire is, at this very moment, trying to persuade Jamie to come back to her. And that’s his decision, totally up to him. It would be the wrong decision, obviously, if he did. She is so not right for him. Plus, I don’t think she’d tolerate his friendship with me, or any other woman. But, like I say, it’s his choice to make.
I’m not even bothering to look over there. I’m far more interested in hearing about Mary’s plans to attract the attentions of the cute, blond usher. He does keep glancing over this way—maybe she’ll be lucky.
Our glasses drain pretty quickly, so another round is definitely needed, and, Anna informs me, it’s my turn. Before I have chance to give the barman our order, Jamie appears by my side. There’s no sign of Laoghaire but I’m determined not to pry. He can tell me what he chooses.
“Where's Laoghaire?” So much for not prying.
“Ah, she decided tae leave. Apparently, there’s more action in a mortuary than here.”
“And she didn’t invite you along?”
“Nah,” he shrugs. “She felt she owed me the opportunity fer a second chance wi’ her, tae learn tae be a better boyfriend. Naturally I declined her generous offer,” a smile plays around his lips. “She told me that one day I would realise what I was missing, and come crawling back tae her, but it’ll be too late. When I said that I was more than happy tae take that chance, she booked an Uber and headed intae the city.”
“Oh.”
“C’mon Sassenach, that all ye got tae say? Ye’re no’ usually lost fer an opinion.”
“Well, I didn’t think she was right for you, but…” I tail off. “Say, it’s my round. Want to join the girls for a drink?”
“Aye. In that case, I’ll have a Chivas. Best make it a double. I’ll need all the Dutch courage I can get wi’ those two.”
As we pick up our drinks, Jamie stops for a moment. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
‘Fer asking me as yer plus one.”
“Even with the inquisition?”
He nods. “Even with the inquisition.”
“And Laoghaire?”
“Admittedly, I could have done wi’out that,” he pulls a face. “But it’s done, she’s gone. Aye, even with her. It’s been a grand day.”
**********
Lyrics from Can’t Help Falling in Love - by H Peretti/ L Creatore/ GD Weiss
Another Sunday, another chapter. Hope it’s a good weekend for you all, despite these uncertain times. I always intended this story to be a bit of fluffy light relief from the real world. Thanks for all the support for it.
There will probably be another 3 chapters after this, depending on how the characters behave. I cant seem to make them do what I want sometimes!
Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta
Chapter 11: From Marriage to Mackenzie
It’s 1pm and I’m in a hotel room, still in a bathrobe, sipping Buck’s Fizz whilst a hairdresser wrestles with my wayward curls, finally managing to corral them into some sort of recognisable hair style.
Geillis is sitting on the edge of the bed incongruously dressed in tiara and bathrobe, her hair arranged in an elaborate updo. I catch her eye through the dressing table mirror and smile before my vision is obscured by a miasma of hairspray.
A few final tweaks of my curls and it’s done. I am just amazed that my hair can be cajoled into such glossy, bouncy curls, held behind one ear by an ornately decorated comb. With suitable compliments and thanks, Geillis and I bid goodbye to the hairdresser.
The bride stands up and adjusts the belt of her robe. She seems the epitome of calm.
“Are you not nervous, Geillis? You’ll be walking down the aisle in about an hour’s time.”
“Weel, I am a wee bit worried about a couple of things,” she admits. “I dinna ken how ma cousin Janie will behave. She may try tae proposition every man under the age of seventy five. And as fer Dougal’s Uncle Eric—he has been known tae get steamin’ drunk and puke in the rose beds. But about the marrying? Nah, I dinna have any nerves about that. I want tae spend ma life wi’ Dougal and that’s what today is all about. I have nae worries about making that commitment. He’s the one fer me. When ye ken, ye ken. Trust me, Claire.”
The pocket of her bathrobe begins to buzz. She quickly pulls out her phone and reads the message.
“I’d best go. That was Mam, fretting about something or other. Are ye ok getting dressed on yer own?”
“I’ve managed for the past twenty nine years or so. I dare say I can manage another day.” I sigh theatrically.
“I ken. Ye can manage on yer own. Ye always do. But thanks fer being here with me today. It means a lot tae have the people who mean the most tae me around,” she leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “But remember what I said, Claire, when ye ken, ye ken. Dinna ignore it.”
Another Sunday, another chapter. Hope it’s a good weekend for you all, despite these uncertain times. I always intended this story to be a bit of fluffy light relief from the real world. Thanks for all the support for it.
There will probably be another 3 chapters after this, depending on how the characters behave. I cant seem to make them do what I want sometimes!
Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta
Chapter 11: From Marriage to Mackenzie
It’s 1pm and I’m in a hotel room, still in a bathrobe, sipping Buck’s Fizz whilst a hairdresser wrestles with my wayward curls, finally managing to corral them into some sort of recognisable hair style.
Geillis is sitting on the edge of the bed incongruously dressed in tiara and bathrobe, her hair arranged in an elaborate updo. I catch her eye through the dressing table mirror and smile before my vision is obscured by a miasma of hairspray.
A few final tweaks of my curls and it’s done. I am just amazed that my hair can be cajoled into such glossy, bouncy curls, held behind one ear by an ornately decorated comb. With suitable compliments and thanks, Geillis and I bid goodbye to the hairdresser.
The bride stands up and adjusts the belt of her robe. She seems the epitome of calm.
“Are you not nervous, Geillis? You’ll be walking down the aisle in about an hour’s time.”
“Weel, I am a wee bit worried about a couple of things,” she admits. “I dinna ken how ma cousin Janie will behave. She may try tae proposition every man under the age of seventy five. And as fer Dougal’s Uncle Eric—he has been known tae get steamin’ drunk and puke in the rose beds. But about the marrying? Nah, I dinna have any nerves about that. I want tae spend ma life wi’ Dougal and that’s what today is all about. I have nae worries about making that commitment. He’s the one fer me. When ye ken, ye ken. Trust me, Claire.”
The pocket of her bathrobe begins to buzz. She quickly pulls out her phone and reads the message.
“I’d best go. That was Mam, fretting about something or other. Are ye ok getting dressed on yer own?”
“I’ve managed for the past twenty nine years or so. I dare say I can manage another day.” I sigh theatrically.
“I ken. Ye can manage on yer own. Ye always do. But thanks fer being here with me today. It means a lot tae have the people who mean the most tae me around,” she leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “But remember what I said, Claire, when ye ken, ye ken. Dinna ignore it.”
Pausing at the interconnecting doorway, she does a quick body shimmy and grins. “Woo hoo! I’m getting married. Canna believe it’s here now,”
From the adjoining room, I can hear a shouted response. “Geillis Duncan, ye get here now. Yer mam reckons that makeup lassie has done her eyeliner wonky. It looks fine tae me. Can ye come and talk some sense in tae the daft cow?”
“Alright, Da, I’m coming.” Geillis yells back before leaving to deal with her parents.
I sit down and study my bridesmaid’s dress, now hanging on the wardrobe door. I’m getting excited about the day ahead. Probably not as much as Geillis, obviously, but a host of butterflies appears to have taken residence in the pit of my stomach.
I’m truly thrilled for Geillis to be marrying Dougal—they love each other so much. But, also, it’s scary to me. She is willing, eager even, to commit to one person, to base her future life, her future happiness on one man. If they should ever leave…well, I’m not sure I’d be able to cope with that. If you love too hard, you can hurt too much. Trust me on that, I know. People leave you. Don’t give your heart to anyone, keep it hidden away, protected…intact.
The ping from my phone diverts me from this somber train of thought.
I’m downstairs at the hotel. Can you come and say hello?
I quickly type:
Come up to the 2nd floor. I’ll meet you by the lift.
Making sure the keycard is in my pocket, I slip my feet into the hotel’s complimentary slippers and shuffle out to meet Jamie.
I’m already waiting as the lift door opens and he emerges. My first thought is oh wow, as is my second...and third. He has made an effort for this wedding, and it’s certainly paid off. Eschewing the more formal Prince Charlie style, he’s wearing a charcoal grey jacket and waistcoat, perfectly matching the grey in his kilt. A crisp white shirt and burgundy tie complement the secondary colours in the tartan. His sporran is black leather, heavily etched or embossed. I can’t quite make out the detail. Then I feel myself blush as I realise I have been clearly staring at his...er, lower body. I look up quickly.
Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to have noticed. He looks me up and down and smiles. “Nice outfit,” he comments drily. “Is the bride wearing white towelling too? What’s the theme? Salon chic?”And is that part of the design?” He points to an orange stain on the front of my robe. I pull a face and tie the belt tighter, trying to tuck the offending piece of material out of sight.
“Must have spilled a drop of my Buck’s Fizz.”
“Drinking already? Dinna be staggering down the aisle.”
He reaches out towards my hair and pauses for a second before making a random circular motion with his hand. “And this…I like yer hair. It’s verra…verra…” he searches for the word. “... asymmetric.”
“Thank you,” I hold the ‘skirt’ of my robe and bob a little curtsy. “That’s totally what we were going for—asymmetric.”
He laughs. “Nah, seriously. Yer hair and yer makeup look grand. I’m sure ye’ll look lovely in yer dress.”
I gesture to my room. “I’d best finish getting ready.”
“Aye, I’ll see ye downstairs.” He presses the button for the lift.
“By the way, you look grand too.” I try to say it in an understated way. It’s true, but I don’t want him to read anything into the statement.
The lift arrives and he steps inside. As the doors close, he fires a parting shot. “Especially the sporran, eh?”
*********
Now in my bridesmaid’s dress, I practice a couple of pirouettes in front of the mirror before hearing a quick knock on the door to the adjoining room.
“Ye ready, Claire? Mam’s jes’ gone down. Only us three left.”
I walk through to the other room to be met by a riot of open suitcases, bags and boxes. A variety of towels, dressing gowns and footwear seem to be carpeting the floor.
“‘S ok,” Geillis’ voice comes from behind me. “It’s no’ ma problem. I’m no’ sleeping here tonight. I’ll be in the bridal suite. This’ll be Mam and Dad’s room.”
I turn to see my best friend now fully dressed and ready. Her father is hovering next to her, clad in kilt and full formal regalia. I always knew she would win that battle.
As beautiful as she looks, the thing that really strikes me is the way her father is watching her, with such love and pride. She returns his gaze and brings her forehead to rest against his cheek.
I swallow hard, fighting the desire to shed a tear. It’s such a precious image, so intimate, but also, I realise that, since Lamb died, I have nobody, no father figure, to share something like this. I feel a momentary pang of, not jealousy, but a feeling of regret over an emotion that I will never get to experience.
And then, just like that, the moment passes.
It always does.
Geillis passes me a creamy white posy tied with a simple ribbon and gathers up her bouquet of peonies, roses and fragrant eucalyptus.
“OK,” she takes a deep breath and breaks into a huge grin. “I think I’m late enough tae get Dougal jes’ a wee bit nervous. Time tae roll.”
*******
The hotel’s orangery provides a perfect setting for the wedding ceremony. Softly diffused sunlight filters through the white muslin drapes at the large windows. A slight breeze wafts the fabric gently, giving tantalising glimpses of the formal gardens outside.
At the end of the room, Dougal and Angus stand beside a large arch of succulent green foliage, staring straight ahead as Geillis and her father begin the procession down the aisle with me following.
Even before he turns to look, I can spot Jamie — his auburn curls are head and shoulders above those around him. He stays still at first, but as we draw near he turns around and grins before doing his funny blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes, which I have learnt, is Jamie’s attempt at a wink. I return his smile before focussing on the arch getting ever closer.
Dougal appears rooted to the spot, but Angus turns around and watches for a moment before giving me a perfectly executed wink. I smile politely even as I shudder inwardly. The sheer self confidence of that man is beyond belief. Then he disappears from my thoughts as Geillis reaches the arch and passes me her bouquet to hold. The joy on her and Dougal’s faces as they prepare to make their vows is wonderful and I’m so happy to be a part of it all.
***************
They say the sun shines on the righteous. Well, Geillis and Dougal must be exceptionally good, as it’s a perfect summer afternoon. It’s beautifully warm, but not too hot, as all the guests mingle in the gardens, admiring the beautiful surroundings whilst drinking chilled champagne.
The photographer has finished with the formal photographs, so I’m allowed to relax and enjoy a glass or two. I can still spot him wandering around, ready to take more natural, candid shots of the proceedings but nobody seems to mind.
I was initially worried about inviting Jamie to the wedding for a couple of reasons. The first was my friends. Of course, my friends are great, but Anna and Mary can sometimes have an issue with boundaries and I had visions of the ‘conversations’ they might try to have with Jamie — ‘nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition’ unless Anna and Mary are around.
The second reason was that Jamie would literally know only one person at this wedding —me. And that, when I was off doing official ‘wedding stuff’, he would be on his own, billy-no-mates. But, as I look around, I realise I had absolutely nothing to worry about on that score. He has the knack, it seems, to get on with everyone.
At the moment he’s talking to Geillis’s father, laughing and joking like they’re old friends. He notices me looking at him, lifts his empty glass up and points to me. I hold my glass up and nod. He excuses himself and strolls towards the bar.
There’s a slight touch on my elbow. “Hello, dear.”
I draw my attention to the old lady standing next to me—Geillis’ great aunt Frances. I’ve met her on a couple of occasions before and have always enjoyed her company. She’s a straight talker and makes no bones about it. “When ye get tae my age,” I remember her commenting to me “ye dinna have time tae beat about the bush, ye need tae say what ye think.” I like that in a person.
“Hello, how nice to see you.”
“Ye too,dear. I must say ye’re looking awfa bonnie in that dress. It’s a fine colour on ye.”
“Thank you. And you’re looking lovely yourself.”
Frances makes a self deprecating ‘hmph’ sound, dismissing my compliment with a wave of her hand. “Away wi’ ye. Ye do yer best wi’ what ye’ve still got. Which isna much in ma case.”
I shake my head. “Not at—“
But she decides to change the subject and moves on with her next question. “Is that yer young man over there?” She points at Jamie, heading towards us with two glasses of champagne. “He’s a handsome chap, is he no’? Mind ye, that’s no more than ye deserve. Sae, mebbe ye’ll be next?”
“No, we—“
I have no chance to say anything more, before Jamie is by my side and handing me one of the glasses. I take a sip as he notices that Frances has no drink and, without hesitation, he passes the second glass to her.
“Aren’t ye kind… er?” She accepts gratefully.
“Jamie.”
“Weel, Jamie, let me tell ye. It’s been a long while since a good looking young man has brought me a drink. I should make the most of it. Anyway, I was jes’ saying tae our Claire here, how bonnie she looks today. Does she no’?”
She fixes her gaze on Jamie, demanding an answer.
“Aye, she looks lovely.” His eyes meet mine for a second, before I look away and try to change the subject.
“Don’t you think Geillis looks beautiful, Frances?”
But, it seems that Frances has one line of conversation that she is keen to pursue. “Oh aye, she does. But, Jamie, I was jes’ saying tae Claire that mebbe she’ll be next. What d’ye think?”
Fortunately, I’m spared any response as a gong sounds and the maître d’ announces that dinner is served and that everyone should make their way inside to the dining room.
****************
Having narrowly avoided any embarrassment, I am somewhat apprehensive to see Frances at our table. Fortunately, Geillis’ cousin and baby are enough to divert her attention away from any matrimonial prospects that may or may not be on my horizon.
With Jamie sitting by my side, I catch him up on all the behind the scenes activity of my day and we fall into our pattern of easy conversation and gentle banter. From time to time, I can see Frances, opposite, watching us with a look of approval on her face, but she says nothing.
Once the speeches and toasts are over, there’s a palpable change in the guests. Jackets are draped over chair backs, sleeves rolled up and waistcoat buttons undone. I can spot more than one woman moving awkwardly in her chair, struggling to locate the shoes that were eased off out of sight under the table. Cheeks become flushed with an abundance of rich food and tongues become looser with a surfeit of fine wine.
I sip my whisky, savouring its peaty smokiness. Jamie is in a serious rugby related conversation with his neighbour. A rustle of fabric behind me announces the arrival of the bride, a look of frustration on her face.
She greets the table politely before whispering “Can I borrow ye, Claire?”
I make my excuses and follow her into a quieter room.
“What’s up, Geillis? Is everything alright?” I’m concerned that there’s something genuinely wrong.
“It’s his bloody family,” she hisses. “The Mackenzies, if ye give them an inch, they’ll take a fuckin’ mile.”
She takes a deep breath and continues. “Dougal invited his second cousin Gary and his wife tae our evening do. Jes’ the two of them mind. Sae they turn up an hour and a half early and try tae cadge dessert and brandies from the waiters.”
“Where are they now?”
“Och, they’re sitting outside wi’ a couple of spare bottles of wine.” She gestures angrily to the gardens visible through the window. “And they’ll be first in the queue fer the buffet this evening, nae doubt. And what's more, they took it upon themselves tae bring their three bairns too. Weel, I say bairns, but they’re all in their twenties so it’s no’ as if they dinna have a babysitter.”
She finally sits down and lets her shoulders relax.
I take her hand and try to look serious. If this is the worst thing that happens today, that’s not so bad. Although clearly, in Geillis’ eyes, this is a catastrophe. “It’s not going to spoil anything really is it? They didn’t gatecrash the meal or the speeches,” I speak in a soothing tone. “Are you ok now?”
She nods. “Happen ye’re right. I jes’ wanted tae get it off ma chest. And I kent what I was getting in tae wi’ his family. But tae drag Gregory, Alicia and Laoghaire uninvited wi’ them jes’ pisses me off.”
I stare at her. “Laoghaire? Laoghaire Mackenzie?”
“Aye, that’s right. Unusual name, is it no’? Ye dinna find many of them around—thank god.”
Walked past some of my favourites theatres in London today. So sad to seem them closed. Miss the excitement and throng of people gathering each evening before curtain up. Even the buildings inspired me to pursue my dream. Hope those just beginning to dream can find a way to realise their potential. We will beat this. Stay strong.x
Thank you all so much for your support with this story.
Sorry for the delay with this next chapter. Hope you enjoy it.
thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta
AO3
Previous
Chapter 10: From Posing to Plus One
I adjust the numerous cushions behind me on the purple velvet chaise longue and take another sip from my glass of champagne. This luxurious moment is marred somewhat by the underwire in my strapless bra digging painfully into soft tissue. With my free hand, I surreptitiously try and manoeuvre it into a more comfortable position.
“Claire, after this we have tae get ye a new bra, fer the dress.” Geillis has noticed. She notices everything.
She is sitting on the edge of a lavender boudoir chair, so full of excitement, I can practically see the air humming around her. She can’t seem to keep still, her legs constantly jiggling while the fingers of one hand beat a tattoo on the arm of the chair. Despite all the movements, the champagne in her glass remains unspilt, unsurprisingly.
Eventually, the sales assistant enters holding aloft a large white garment bag. “Here ye go, ma pet. If ye jes’ want tae pop behind the screen over there, we’ll get ye sorted.”
Geillis disappears behind the screen, while I continue to savour the champagne and take a good look at my surroundings. This room is like being in a big fluffy cloud. The walls are white with huge white wooden open wardrobes, filled with masses of lace, frills and satin. One wall has a full length mirror set in an ornate gilt frame. The floorboards are painted white as are the shutters at the windows. The only splashes of colour are from the chaise longue and two boudoir chairs, which do look somewhat incongruous against the overwhelming whiteness, like burlesque performers stuck in a room full of angels.
But perhaps they couldn’t risk white seating. All the shuffling bottoms, fake tan and spilt wine would play havoc with pristine upholstery—less virginal and more slightly seedy and used. The velvet decadence is probably preferable.
Thank you all so much for your support with this story.
Sorry for the delay with this next chapter. Hope you enjoy it.
thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta
AO3
Previous
Chapter 10: From Posing to Plus One
I adjust the numerous cushions behind me on the purple velvet chaise longue and take another sip from my glass of champagne. This luxurious moment is marred somewhat by the underwire in my strapless bra digging painfully into soft tissue. With my free hand, I surreptitiously try and manoeuvre it into a more comfortable position.
“Claire, after this we have tae get ye a new bra, fer the dress.” Geillis has noticed. She notices everything.
She is sitting on the edge of a lavender boudoir chair, so full of excitement, I can practically see the air humming around her. She can’t seem to keep still, her legs constantly jiggling while the fingers of one hand beat a tattoo on the arm of the chair. Despite all the movements, the champagne in her glass remains unspilt, unsurprisingly.
Eventually, the sales assistant enters holding aloft a large white garment bag. “Here ye go, ma pet. If ye jes’ want tae pop behind the screen over there, we’ll get ye sorted.”
Geillis disappears behind the screen, while I continue to savour the champagne and take a good look at my surroundings. This room is like being in a big fluffy cloud. The walls are white with huge white wooden open wardrobes, filled with masses of lace, frills and satin. One wall has a full length mirror set in an ornate gilt frame. The floorboards are painted white as are the shutters at the windows. The only splashes of colour are from the chaise longue and two boudoir chairs, which do look somewhat incongruous against the overwhelming whiteness, like burlesque performers stuck in a room full of angels.
But perhaps they couldn’t risk white seating. All the shuffling bottoms, fake tan and spilt wine would play havoc with pristine upholstery—less virginal and more slightly seedy and used. The velvet decadence is probably preferable.
“How’s it going, Geillis?” I call across the room.
“Fine,” a muffled voice responds.
I am certainly enjoying this experience—wedding dress shopping with Geillis. It’s not something I ever imagined doing for myself, so to share it with my best friend is great. Even when I was a little girl, I never seemed to dream about weddings. I never played weddings with my dolls— I was far too busy bandaging them up, healing their imaginary diseases and, on one memorable occasion, amputating the left leg of my Tiny Tears. (In my eight year old self’s defence, it was a necessary intervention to save her from imminent death—her leg had already turned black with marker pen and all it took was a sharp pair of kitchen scissors and some red wool to stitch up with.)
And so I am thoroughly enjoying this new experience of visiting bridal shops and choosing dresses. All the pleasure and none of the wedding planning. Geillis has already dropped a dress size due to pre-wedding stress and I hope she doesn’t drop anymore—this is our final fitting.
I take the last sip from my glass. While Geillis is still being manhandled into her dress, I quietly lean over, take her half full glass from the (white) side table, pour some into my glass and relax back against the cushions.
And just in time as Geillis emerges from behind the screen.
The expression ‘take my breath away’ is often used, but in this case it is genuine. I’ve seen the dress before. I was with her when she chose it, but to see her in it now, well, I’m speechless. I want to rush over and hug her, but of course, I can’t for fear of spoiling the pristine fabric.
It’s a simple dress. Cream chiffon pleated Grecian style with a fitted strapless bodice and a long floaty skirt full of tiny intricate pleats that make the fabric lift and swirl around her as she moves. A plain cream veil cascades from the back of her head adding to the ethereal image. She looks like a goddess.
A goddess until she opens her mouth. “What d’ye think, then? This dress is bloody gorgeous, is it no’?”
She stands in front of the mirror, and twirls around, trying to glimpse it from every angle.
I feel my eyes prick with tears. “Oh, Geillis, you look absolutely beautiful. It’s just… just… lovely. You’re lovely and it fits like a dream. Dougal is a lucky man.”
“He is. And I make sure he knows it.”
The sales assistant is hovering around, straightening imaginary creases, checking the dress. Finally, Geillis stops moving and allows her to cast a professional eye over the fit. Once satisfied, she directs Geillis behind the screen once more, for the reverse transformation.
Geillis pulls a face as, clad again in jeans and t-shirt, she sits down and picks up her glass. She views it with suspicion, before shooting me a glance and taking a gulp. I try to look innocent.
“All ma clothes are sae boring now,” she pouts. “ I want tae wear that dress every day and never take it off.”
“Not very convenient in theatre, though, love,” I console her. “And think how special it’s going to be when you put it on for your wedding.”
“Aye, I suppose ye're right. And now it’s yer turn. C’mon now.”
The sales assistant returns with another garment bag and I follow her behind the screen.
There’s something quite uncomfortable about being dressed by someone else, I decide as I stand in my bra and knickers, arms stretched above my head waiting for the dress to slither down my body. I mean, obviously my parents would have dressed me when I was little, not that I can remember that, but by the time I went to live with Lamb, I was fully able to dress myself. He would have to do the occasional rebuttoning of cardigans, or zipping up of anoraks, but that was all.
The dress slips over my head and down my body. Now is the moment of truth as the sales assistant lifts my arm and pulls up the side zip. I breathe a sigh of relief (yes, I can actually breathe); the dress fits like a glove, or rather like a dress that’s been tailored to my exact measurements.
I step out from the screen to a round of applause from Geillis. “Claire, ye’re gorgeous. Ye look stunning in that dress.”
I sashay towards the mirror, enjoying the feeling of the fabric as it dances around my calves. In style, it’s not dissimilar to Geillis’, the same intricate chiffon pleats on the bodice and skirt. But my bridesmaid dress has one shoulder and is, as I was informed, ‘seafoam’ in colour.
That name is so descriptive; neither blue nor green yet both at the same time, and, as my skirt swirls around my legs, it’s easy to picture the ocean waves lapping against my ankles.
“D’ye like it?” Geillis sounds genuinely concerned.
“I love it.” And I do, I really do.
There’s just one thing, I realise as I continue to twist around. Geillis was right. I do need a new bra.
***********
With the two garment bags safely stowed in the wardrobe of Geillis’ spare bedroom, we celebrate with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.
I curl my legs up on the sofa and watch as Geillis switches on her laptop, ready to update all her wedding preparation spreadsheets with today’s activities. She sticks her tongue out in concentration as she scrolls through all her information, finally finding the appropriate worksheets. A few taps of the keyboard and it’s done. She doesn’t switch off but continues to look at the screen.
Eventually she speaks. “Claire, I need tae know. This weekend we’ve tae give the numbers tae the hotel and I want tae do the seating plan. Are ye bringing a plus one? I mean, it’s ok if ye’re no’.”
I feel really bad about not letting Geillis know sooner. I mean, after the rugby club, it appears that Jamie and I have somehow become each other’s ‘plus one’, but I haven’t yet decided whether to ask him to the wedding. That somehow seems more intimate—and the thought of him being interrogated by my friends fills me with dread.
“I haven’t asked anyone yet. When do you need to know?”
“By ‘anyone’ I take it ye mean Jamie? Who else would be yer plus one? Frank?” She pulls a face at that idea. “And I need tae know by tomorrow night. It doesna matter if ye dinna bring anyone…Angus isna bringing anyone either. He’d be thrilled tae accompany ye.”
I grimace instinctively. I met Angus, Dougal’s brother, at Geillis’ last New Year's Eve party and he was more than a little, shall we say, full on. I could cope with his hands, although it was rather like trying to wrangle an octopus. Midnight was a different matter as he tried to turn a polite peck into a full snog, tongue and all.
Geillis bursts out laughing, which rapidly turns into a coughing fit. “Running? Ye?” she croaks between coughs. “Oh ma love, I’d pay good money tae see that.”
******************
I don’t consider myself unfit. I try to do yoga every week and all those hours in theatre keep me pretty active. But running isn’t something I ever imagine myself doing, let alone actually enjoy.
Jamie first suggested it to me a couple of weeks ago. As usual, I didn’t have to say a word, my face told him what I thought of the idea. He then proceeded to agree with me, declaring that he didn’t think I had the stamina for that kind of exercise. I knew exactly what he was doing—a blatant attempt at reverse psychology. Did he really think I would fall for that?
Anyway, I’ve arranged to meet him in the park at our bench. I eye the coffee kiosk wistfully. It’s too early in the morning for it to be open, or indeed for anybody to be around, save a few fellow runners and some dog walkers. Perhaps, it will be open by the time we’ve finished.
I hold onto the bench and practice a few lunges, trying to look as though I know what I’m doing.
“Ye’re wobbling a bit,” a familiar voice calls from behind.
Immediately I stand up and turn to face him.
“Morning, how are ye? Looking forward tae this?” He sounds far too cheerful for this early on a Sunday.
“Of course.” I don’t tell him that usually all I want on a Sunday morning is coffee and a cinnamon bun.
He checks his watch. “Well, mebbe yer man’ll be open fer coffee when we get back.”
I don’t believe it. Are all my friends mind readers?
I shrug, trying to look like it never crossed my mind.
“Sae,” he continues. “We’ll start off wi’ 5 minutes brisk walking tae warm up, then mebbe 15 minutes alternating between slow running and walking and finish off wi’ 5 minutes walking tae cool down. I dinna want ye tae do too much as it’s yer first time and I think that’ll be more than enough fer ye.”
Here we go—Jamie and his reverse psychology again. How obvious.
“Oh well,” I reply. “I think we can do more than that. I’ll be fine.”
He smirks as he sets the timer on his watch. “OK, Sassenach, whatever ye say.”
*************
I don’t think I’ve ever seen so welcome a sight as the open shutters on the coffee kiosk. It may be my imagination but, even from this distance, I can smell the freshly brewed coffee. And, boy, do I need it.
I let my pride override my commonsense and actually ran-slash-walked for ten minutes more than Jamie had planned, finishing with a totally unnecessary sprint, or rather my pathetic attempt at one, before the cool down. And now I’m paying the price. My face is burning hot, my t-shirt is one huge sweat patch and my legs feel like they’re made from rubber.
Jamie, on the other hand, is strolling towards the kiosk looking as though he’s barely broken into a sweat. I think it literally was ‘a walk in the park’ for him today.
I sit down on the bench, shifting awkwardly as the sweat trickles down my back and between my cheeks. What I really need is a long, hot shower…
Jamie comes and joins me on the bench, his hands full with coffee and a couple of mysterious bags. He deposits his purchases between us and settles himself. I hope he’s not downwind of me. I don’t think I’m smelling my sweetest at the moment.
He passes me a coffee and a bag.
“Here ye go, I reckon ye’ve earned it. I didna ken what ye wanted. That’s an almond croissant, but I’ve a pain au raisin here if ye’d prefer.”
I accept the almond croissant and coffee gratefully.
“How d’ye feel now?” He asks as he takes a large bite of his pastry.
“I feel fine.” I lie.
“Hmm. Actually, ye did well today. Better than I thought. Ye’ll be running a five k before we know it.”
I stare at him, not sure if he’s being sarcastic, but, no, there’s a genuine smile on his face as he takes another bite of his pastry.
“Not sure about that.” I’m thinking that once is enough.
“Nonsense, ye should do this regularly. I’ll help ye, if ye like.”
“But won’t I hold you back with my slow pace?”
“Doesna matter. I run a couple of times a week anyway. I can do this as well.”
“I’ll think about it.” I break a piece of my croissant off and pop it in my mouth. It is delicious and totally guilt free. I’ve earned it.
We are quiet for a moment, both of us savouring the coffee and treats. I am also pondering how best to ask Jamie about Geillis’ wedding. I know I have to ask him today, but I don’t want him to feel obliged to attend, I need to offer him a way to decline without feeling guilty.
“So,” I begin, a bit hesitant. “I was wondering…of course, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to… but you know I’m a bridesmaid at Geillis’ wedding and I was wondering, well, if you wanted to accompany me…be my plus one.”
“I won’t mind if you don’t want to come. That’s fine too.” I add quickly.
“Ye sound like ye dinna want me tae come.” He watches my face, maybe looking for clues as to what I actually want.
“I do…but only if you want to. You don’t have to.” I’m still giving him a guilt free way out.
“But, ye want me tae come, do ye?” He looks a little bit perplexed, unsure what to do.
“Yes, obviously—“
“Well, Sassenach, in that case I accept. It will be ma pleasure.”
I’m on holiday next week so the next chapter may be slightly delayed, but for now here’s…
Chapter 9: From Siblings to Safety Net
Jamie leads the way through the car park. I tread gingerly, the combination of unaccustomed high heels and uneven ground—a potentially lethal combination. He turns and notices my dilemma.
“Here,” he holds out his arm for me. I smile and gratefully take hold of his forearm until we reach the comparative safety of the marquee.
Once inside, Jamie pauses and looks around, trying to find his sister. I look around too, not that I know what his sister looks like, but I’m assuming, based on her brother, that she’ll be pretty easy to spot in the crowd.
The room is full with a steady stream of people moving swiftly towards the bar and rather less swiftly back to their tables carefully balancing bottles and glasses. I spot, through a break in the procession, Rupert sitting at a table talking to a petite brunette, who I assume is his wife Morag.
“Look,” I nudge Jamie and point towards the table. “It’s Rupert and—“
“Aye, so it is.” And he deftly negotiates our way through the maze of alcohol carrying individuals to the table.
Rupert and his wife stand up as we approach and he greets us enthusiastically, patting Jamie on the back and kissing my cheek.
“Nice tae see ye again,” he says, smiling.
“Good to see you too, Rupert.”
Jamie envelopes Morag in a huge bear hug. Is this the usual greeting for Rupert’s wife? I glance at Rupert but he’s totally unperturbed by this display of affection.
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