by Paige Toon
When we venture out from behind the rocks, Adam and April are already tucking into the picnic. Adam spies us immediately and jumps to his feet, throwing his hands up in the air.
‘WAS IT A YES?’ he shouts, his voice carrying across the cove.
I glance at Charlie, who gives him the thumbs up.
‘Did he know?’ I ask.
‘Yeah.’ He casts me a wry look. ‘He was supposed to take April for a walk once we got here – I had to improvise.’
He jumps down onto the beach and turns around to face me.
‘How long had you been planning this?’ I scramble down the rocks a bit further before taking the leap myself – his legs are longer than mine.
‘I’ve been thinking about it for ages,’ he replies, steadying me as I land.
‘Have you?’
He looks a little uncomfortable. ‘I wanted to speak to Val and Kate first.’
That’s Nicki’s mum and sister. ‘You spoke to them when they came for April’s birthday?’
He nods. ‘I hope you’re not upset.’
‘Of course I’m not. Why would I be?’
‘I wasn’t sure if you’d mind them knowing before you that I wanted to pop the question.’
‘No, it’s fine. I understand.’ He was just trying to show respect to his former family-in-law.
‘Have you been crying?’ Adam asks with alarm as we approach.
April runs over to us and Charlie grabs her and swings her around like an aeroplane, making her squeal with delight.
I shrug and grin at Adam. ‘Might’ve been.’
‘Why? Aren’t you happy?’ He looks genuinely confused.
‘Of course I am, you idiot!’ I laugh at his expression. ‘One day you’ll get it.’ I turn and face the ocean and hold my hand out dramatically. ‘When you find The One…’ I let my voice trail off and he shoves my arm with mild annoyance.
‘So you’re going to be my sister-in-law,’ he says with a grin.
‘Hell, yeah, bro.’ I hold my hand up for a high five. He tuts, but obliges. ‘Oh my God! I’ve never had a brother before!’ I exclaim loudly. I’m an only child.
‘It’s overrated,’ Charlie teases, plonking April back on solid ground. She wobbles left and right and then falls down on her bottom.
‘Oi, careful what you say,’ Adam warns him. ‘Or I’ll get you back when I do my best man speech.’
I smile with genuine delight and turn to Charlie. ‘Have you already asked him?’
‘It was part of the deal for me babysitting today,’ Adam interjects.
‘I can’t wait to call my dad!’ I say, diverted.
‘He already knows,’ Charlie reveals sheepishly. ‘I spoke to him at April’s birthday, too.’
My mouth falls open. ‘Did you ask his permission?’
He shrugs. ‘It’s convention.’
‘I’m thirty-five!’ I crack up laughing, but I’m secretly thrilled. ‘What did he say?’ I’m expecting to hear some kind of joke about how it was ‘about time someone took her off my hands’, but Charlie is straight-faced when he replies.
‘He said that he couldn’t think of a better man for his daughter.’
My eyes well up again. How I love my dad for saying that.
‘He’s right,’ I tell him softly, stepping forward to slide my arms around Charlie’s waist.
He’s the best person I know.
Beside us, Adam makes a vomiting noise. Charlie breaks away from me and pushes him over.
Charlie and I usually take turns doing bedtime, but that night we do it together. We chat in the bathroom while April is in the bath. I perch on the toilet with the seat down and Charlie sits on the floor, his knees bent and his back resting against the closed door.
It’s been the loveliest day. When we got back from the beach, I called Dad and emailed Mum – she’s on a cruise at the moment so it can be hard to get hold of her – and I also rang Marty, my best friend, and asked her to be my chief bridesmaid. She almost pierced my eardrums when I told her Charlie had proposed.
‘Where shall we get married?’ I ask, my insides still bubbling over with happiness because I can’t believe I’m actually engaged.
‘Do you want to get married here or in London?’ Charlie asks.
‘Are you kidding? Here, definitely. This is home now.’
He smiles warmly at me and holds my gaze. ‘I’ve been thinking about selling the house.’
‘Really?’ I’m surprised. This is the first time he’s mentioned it.
‘I wondered about finding a place together, making it ours.’
Having a fresh start…
This home may hold countless happy memories of the first two years of April’s life, but it also holds devastatingly sad ones. Nicki collapsed beside six-week-old baby April’s cot the night that she died. Charlie discovered her there.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask, filled with compassion.
He nods.
I feel a belated trickle of excitement. Buying a house together? I love the idea. ‘Would you like to find somewhere to do up?’
He shrugs. ‘I’d love to. If that doesn’t do your nut in.’
‘Ooh! Maybe we could borrow Hermie again and live in him for a few months!’ I’m talking about my dad’s campervan.
He smiles. ‘I’d be up for that. Wouldn’t it be great if we could get our own campervan and go on a bit of a road trip together?’
‘We should do that for our honeymoon!’ I exclaim. ‘I’m sure Dad would lend us Hermie.’
His face lights up. ‘That would be awesome! Europe, maybe?’
I furrow my brow. ‘We would take April, too, though, right?’
‘You don’t want to go on honeymoon without her?’
I laugh and answer honestly. ‘No.’
He grins at me and swipes my right foot, lifting it into his lap. ‘Aw,’ he says.
‘I wonder if you can get married on Lansallos beach,’ I muse out loud as he starts to play with my toes.
‘That would be cool. There’s a church in the village. We could get married there and walk down to the beach for photos and stuff.’
‘We could have a picnic reception!’
‘Yeah!’
‘I’d have to wear flats, though…’ I say out loud, shrugging. ‘That’d be alright, wouldn’t it?’
‘Course. Wear what you like.’
‘Are you doing “This Little Piggy”?’ I ask out of the blue; he’s been wiggling my toes, one after the other.
‘Sorry,’ he replies, sniggering.
I laugh and turn to April. ‘Come on then, my little prune. Time to get you out.’
Charlie follows us into April’s bedroom, switching off the big overhead lights and turning on the nightlights. He leans against April’s chest of drawers, watching as I get her dressed.
I still remember the first time I tried to put a nappy on her – I made a right pig’s ear out of it. She still wears one at night, but I could probably put them on blindfolded now.
‘I love you,’ Charlie whispers, and I meet his eyes, glinting in the low light.
‘I love you, too.’ I smile at him and then direct my smile down at April. ‘And I love you, too, darling girl. Do you love me?’
She grins up at me and nods, then yawns.
‘She’s so tired,’ I say with amusement tinged with sympathy. ‘I hope her teeth don’t bother her again tonight.’ I think that’s what was keeping her awake last night. She didn’t have a temperature or anything.
‘I’ll get up with her tonight if she wakes up,’ Charlie promises.
‘I feel fine, actually. I never even thanked you for my lie-in.’
‘Well, you sort of did,’ he says with a cheeky grin.
I laugh lightly and scoop April up for an all-too-brief squeeze before walking over to the bed. Charlie pulls back her covers and tucks her in once I’ve laid her down. We stand side by side and he strokes her curls away from her face. She smiles up at us, one after the other.
‘Lub you,’ she replies, in the cutest little voice imaginable.
‘I love you, April,’ he says.
‘I lub you, Daddy,’ she complies.
‘I love you, April,’ I say, trying not to giggle.
‘I lub you, Bidget,’ she says in turn.
Beside me, Charlie hesitates. ‘Can you say Mummy?’ he asks quietly, and suddenly I’m the one to feel tense.
‘Mummy,’ April replies, pointing at the photo frames of Nicki on her side table.
‘Yes, that’s Mummy,’ Charlie replies, and his voice is thick with emotion. ‘But would you like Bridget to be your mummy, too?’ he asks her. ‘You’re allowed to have two mummies,’ he adds.
April grins at me and nods, and I blink back tears.
‘I would love to be your mummy, too, April,’ I say, hardly able to get the words out past the lump in my throat.
‘Mummy,’ she says to me, and I only just manage to gulp back a sob. I don’t want to freak her out by crying so I bend down and press a kiss on her forehead, teardrops falling from my eyes and staining her pale pink pillow as I retreat. I turn to face Charlie and smile at him, hurriedly drying my eyes.
‘Sleep tight, sweetie,’ he murmurs, bending down to kiss his daughter as I struggle to compose myself.
‘Sing,’ she states, holding her hand out to me.
I take her hand and sit down on the chair beside her bed, glancing at Charlie. He shrugs at me and smiles, gently rubbing my back and leaving me to it.
I don’t know how I manage it, but I make it all the way through ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ without crying. April is almost dozing off by the end of it. I give her one more kiss and then walk out of her room, starting with surprise when I see Charlie sitting on the floor outside her bedroom, his back leaning against the wall.
‘What are you still doing here?’ I ask in an alarmed whisper.
He smiles up at me. ‘I didn’t want to go.’
I blush. I wouldn’t have sung with quite such abandon if I’d known he was listening. He gets to his feet and pulls me into his arms, holding me close until the heat on my face fades and my insides expand with happiness once more. I withdraw and place my hand over his chest, staring up at him as his heart beats against my palm.
‘It’s yours,’ he whispers, completely seriously.
I feel slightly surreal as I take his hand and place it over my own heart. His lips tilt up into a smile.
‘If my brother could see us now,’ he says.
And then we both crack up with silent laughter, stumbling into our bedroom and grabbing pillows to stifle the sound as we really let rip.
He makes me laugh, he makes my heart feel like a hot air balloon that’s lifting me off my feet, and he makes me cry – but rarely with anything other than joy. He really is the best person I know – and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with him.
A Christmas Wedding
Never has an ending divided my readers more than that of Thirteen Weddings. So many readers have told me Bronte should’ve ended up with Alex that when I asked members of The Hidden Paige to vote for Lachie vs Alex, it actually surprised me when Lachie won.
I wasn’t sure who Bronte was going to end up with when I began writing Thirteen Weddings – I’d more or less decided to let the ending write itself and had even wondered if Bronte might end up alone… But then loveable Lachie appeared on the scene and I just adored him.
I absolutely stand by the decision I made when I wrote that book – there was no way Bronte and Alex could have had their happy-ever-after considering everything they’d just been through. However, I did wonder, if enough water went under the bridge and they met again one day, what would happen?
Of all of my ebook short stories, this is my longest at almost half the length of a full-length book. It was so much fun to write, tying in The Last Piece of My Heart, One Perfect Summer and One Perfect Christmas, The Longest Holiday and even Lucy in the Sky, but it did break my heart at times. No spoilers, though. Here’s Bronte, three and a half years after the end of Thirteen Weddings…
The sight of his name in my inbox causes flu-like symptoms to wash over my body in quick succession: hot flush, cold flush, prickling all over, dizziness, nausea…
Alex Whittaker
It’s been three and a half years since I called and told him to stop emailing me, but it has been impossible to wipe clean the memory of his last words: ‘I love you. I’m not giving up.’
But then he did give up.
He let me go, just as I asked him to. And he hasn’t contacted me since.
Until now.
With my heart in my throat and a shaking hand, I hover over his name with my mouse, feeling surreally shocked that he can still have this effect on me after all this time. What does he want? Click…
Hi Bronte,
Sorry to land in your inbox out of the blue like this but I’m going to be in Sydney next month at the Tetlan offices. It’s unlikely I’ll be coming into Vivienne, but I thought I should let you know in case we bump into each other in the lift or something.
I hope all is well with you.
Alex
My heart thumps hard against my ribcage. Alex in Sydney? Next month? In the same building as me?
Alex and I used to work together at a celebrity weekly magazine in London – he was the head of the art department and I ran the picture desk. I heard on the grapevine that he has an even more senior role now, overseeing art direction for the whole of Tetlan, the publishing company that produces the women’s style magazine where I work.
I read his email again. His tone is hard to dissect. I can’t tell if he’s being cold and detached or respectfully distant.
How does he even know where I work these days? Does he keep tabs on me? I shouldn’t care about any of this, but I’m alarmed to find that I do.
Massively.
My eyes come to a rest on his sign-off.
I hope all is well with you.
What was going through his mind when he wrote that?
‘Hey, you ready?’
I whip my head around to see Christie, a colleague from the style desk, smiling down at me expectantly. We’re about to do a casting for a photoshoot. Her face falls at the sight of my expression. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ I lie, pushing out my chair and getting to my feet. ‘I’m all set.’
Am I going to see Alex again? Do I want to? I’m not sure I should be pondering the answer to that question.
As I gather my things together at the end of what has felt like a very long day, I overhear a group of people discussing their options for Friday night drinks venues.
‘You coming, Bronte?’ Louise, the features editor, calls from across the office.
I shake my head reluctantly. ‘I can’t. Next week, though, definitely!’ I try to inject some enthusiasm into my voice and feel bad as she turns away. I had planned to join in tonight – I’m quite new to this job and I haven’t fully integrated yet – but I need time to get my head together. The ferry ride home to Manly still won’t be long enough.
Today has been a struggle.
I must’ve read Alex’s message fifty times, but I haven’t come close to formulating a reply. I need to talk it through with Lachie first. What will he say when he discovers that his old nemesis has been in touch?
Lachie and I still live in the same flat in the same northern beach suburb where we settled almost four years ago. Lachie was moving home to Australia permanently with his expended visa, but I was only supposed to be visiting for Christmas before returning to my job in London.
Then a certain someone rang and told me that he’d left the wife he’d married right in front of me and wanted to be with me instead.
Alex’s declaration of love was everything I had hoped to hear for months, but it was too late. I was happy with Lachie, and Alex had already caused too much pain.
I had a perfect
ly good plane ticket at the ready, but, rather than return to the UK to face my demons, I called my boss on the other side of the world and resigned so I could stay put in Sydney. I’ve been burying my head in the sand ever since.
I’m not proud.
Digging my phone out of my bag while waiting in line with the hordes of commuters at the ferry terminal, I type out a quick text to my boyfriend:
You coming home for dinner?
Lachie replies just as I’m boarding:
At the pub. Thought you were out with work tonight?
I wait until I’ve reached an empty space by the railings at the back of the ferry before I write back, ‘Change of plan…’ I hope he’s not up for a big one.
We’re already chugging out of Circular Quay by the time he replies:
Just got the beers in. Come join me!
I sigh and slip my phone back into my bag, then tuck my long brown hair into my coat before zipping it up to my neck and bracing myself against the cold September wind. I don’t want to be a nagging girlfriend, but Lachie is gigging at a wedding up in Newcastle tomorrow, a couple of hours drive away, so that rules out pretty much the whole of Saturday. I need to talk to him about this tonight. I need to talk about this, full stop. If I don’t get it off my chest soon, I think I’ll burst.
The Sydney Opera House is cast in golden light from the setting sun as we motor past. It was sunny today for the first time in I can’t remember how long – spring is officially here, it seems – but I was too dazed at lunchtime to appreciate it.
Someone once said to me, you have to go back in order to be able to move on. Wise words, I’m sure, but the thought of seeing Alex again has always scared me.
I haven’t returned to England since I left, and I still feel haunted by what happened. My boss, Simon, said he understood my decision to stay in Australia, but I’m mortified by how unprofessionally I behaved. Luckily, my career wasn’t affected – at least, my magazine career wasn’t; I haven’t photographed a wedding since.
I thought that, with time, I’d start up that side of my work again, doing the occasional job on weekends, building up my portfolio, maybe even one day leaving journalism behind and going full-time as a wedding photographer. But, despite encouragement from Lachie, my mentor Rachel and my close friend Bridget, it still hasn’t happened. Work has been so full-on; I haven’t had the energy to pursue work as a weekend warrior as well.
