Reunited at the Altar

by Kate Hardy

  ‘Are you selling tubs for people to take home, nowadays?’ he asked, suddenly curious.

  ‘Yes, but they’re half-litre paper cartons rather than like this. Ruby designed them for me—pink and white Regency stripes, with “Scott’s” written across it in black script,’ Abigail said.

  ‘So you’re expanding the business?’

  She inclined her head. ‘Certain local restaurants stock our ice cream, and we have pop-up ice cream stalls for events. Regency-style carts. Ruby’s having one at her wedding.’

  And how different his sister’s wedding would be from his own. A big affair, with the church filled with family and friends. The complete opposite from his and Abby’s: no frills, no fuss, just the two of them, and two witnesses that the wedding planner at Gretna Green had provided. Abby had worn an ordinary but pretty summer dress and carried a posy of cream roses, and he’d worn the suit his mother had bought him for his interview at Cambridge. It had got a bit creased in his rucksack, but he hadn’t cared. He’d just wanted to get married to Abby and be with her for ever and ever, and prove to his dad that he was wrong, that they weren’t too young and he wouldn’t find someone else in the first week away at university—that their marriage would last.

  The summer when they were eighteen.

  How young and foolish they’d both been.

  All that was left from that day now was a handful of photographs.

  He shook himself. They were meant to be talking about her business, not their past. ‘Sounds good,’ he said lightly. ‘So what’s this?’

  ‘A new flavour. I’m still tweaking it, so it’s not in production yet. Let me know what you think.’

  She actually wanted his opinion? Something shifted inside him.

  She put a scoop into the bowl. ‘If you hate it, don’t be polite and eat it—just tell me what you don’t like about it because that’ll be much more useful. I also have salted caramel in the freezer.’

  His favourite. And he knew that she remembered. Just as he remembered that she loathed chocolate ice cream.

  He looked at the bowl she’d just given him. The ice cream was a dusky pink, studded with pieces of deep red fruit. He took a spoonful. ‘No more tweaks needed,’ he said. ‘Cherry and almond.’

  ‘Cherry and amaretto, actually—but that’s close enough.’ She looked pleased. ‘So the amaretto isn’t overpowering?’

  He tried another spoonful. ‘No. You’ve got a good balance. It’s not too sour from the cherries, but it’s also not oversweet.’

  ‘Analysed like a true scientist.’

  There was amusement in her voice, but there was also respect. And maybe, he thought, a note of affection? But he’d managed to kill her love for him, five years ago. He’d shut her out, hadn’t let her help him deal with the shock of his father’s death. He didn’t deserve her affection. ‘It saves time,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks. I thought I might have got it right with this batch, though I was thinking about adding pieces of crushed amaretti biscuits.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’ll change the texture too much. This is rich and soft and—well, nice.’

  ‘Good. Help yourself to more. Or there’s salted caramel,’ she said.

  He realised then that he’d finished the bowl. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘But thank you.’

  He insisted on doing the washing up. And, even though he knew he really ought to go, how could he refuse when she offered him another coffee?

  Her living room was just as cosy as the kitchen.

  ‘Is that one of Ruby’s?’ he asked, gesturing towards the peacock.

  ‘Yes. It was a special commission,’ she said with a smile. Then she grew serious. ‘It’s going to be hard for you, this week.’

  There was no point in lying. He knew she’d see through it. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I imagine you came back early so you could face things before the wedding on Saturday, instead of being hit by the whole lot on the day.’

  How well she knew him. ‘It seemed the most sensible approach.’ Doing the lot in one day tomorrow would be easiest in the long run; and if he did it now he’d cope better at the wedding.

  ‘I’m working tomorrow,’ she said, ‘but I’m pretty much off duty from Wednesday so I can help Ruby with any last-minute details.’ She paused. ‘If you want someone to go with you to...’ She paused, and he knew what she wasn’t saying. To the church. To his father’s grave. To all the places in the town that held so many memories, they threatened to choke him. ‘Well, you know where I am,’ she finished.

  It was a really generous offer, especially considering how he’d pushed her away before.

  But he also knew he had to face this on his own. ‘Thanks, but I’m fine.’

  * * *

  Brad wasn’t fine. Abigail could see it in his dark, dark eyes.

  But he was as stubborn as his father had been. Which wasn’t always a good thing. He was making himself miserable, and that made his family miserable. Why couldn’t he see that?

  ‘Brad. It’s been five years.’ And everyone else had moved on, except Brad himself. ‘I hope by now you’ve worked out that you weren’t to blame.’

  He said nothing.

  ‘Your dad was a stubborn old coot. I loved Jim dearly, but he didn’t help himself and he didn’t listen to anyone.’ Maybe now wasn’t the right time to say it—but then again, when would be the right time? ‘I think you’re going the same way.’

  ‘What?’

  There was a simmering, dangerous tone to his voice. But Abigail wasn’t backing down now. It was a boil that had needed lancing years ago. The poison needed to come out so Brad could move on instead of being stuck in the misery of the past. ‘Jim was the one to blame for his death, not you. If he’d listened to his doctor and taken his angina medication out with him on the boat—or, better still, waited until the following weekend when you could’ve gone out on the boat with him and he wouldn’t have been on his own—he wouldn’t have had the heart attack in the first place; or at least if he’d had his GTN spray with him he would’ve been able to buy himself enough time for the emergency services to get to him and treat him in time.’

  He clenched his jaw. ‘My dad’s dead.’

  ‘And you’re still alive, Brad.’ Though he wasn’t living. Just existing. ‘Stop wearing that hair shirt and thinking you have to atone for something that really wasn’t your fault.’

  His face shuttered. ‘I don’t want to have this conversation.’

  ‘No,’ she said, not sure whether she was more angry or sad. ‘You wouldn’t face it then and you won’t face it now. Brad, for pity’s sake—you might want to keep punishing yourself, and that’s your choice, but please make sure you don’t punish your mum and Ruby at the same time.’

  ‘I think,’ he said, ‘I’d better go. Before we say something we’d both regret.’

  He was shutting her out again and refusing to discuss anything. So he hadn’t changed. How stupid she was to think that five years might have made a difference. ‘You do that,’ she said. ‘But if you’re not smiling all day until your face hurts on Saturday, then you’ll answer to me.’

  His eyes widened as if he was shocked that she could even think that he’d do anything less than be delighted for his twin. ‘Ruby’s my sister.’

  ‘And you’ve been there for her?’ It was a rhetorical question, because they both knew the answer. He hadn’t. He’d shut himself away in his lab, suffering in silence and not letting anyone comfort him—and that had also meant he wasn’t able to comfort anyone else.

  A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘That’s the attitude you took when it was still my business,’ she said. ‘Stubborn, refusing to see any other point of view except your own.’ The anger she hadn’t realised she was suppressing flared up, and the words came out before she could stop them. ‘That’s what killed your dad. Don’t let it kill you, too.’

  He stood up, his dark eyes full of answering anger, and wal
ked out without a word.

  He didn’t even slam the door behind him. Just left it open.

  Abigail stared after him, the flash of anger suddenly gone and leaving her full of guilt.

  Oh, God. What had she done?

  She was supposed to be civil to the man and start pouring oil at the first sign of any troubled waters. But instead she’d stirred up the storm. Big time.

  OK.

  Tomorrow, she’d apologise. And hope that she could repair the damage in time for Ruby’s wedding.

  CHAPTER THREE

  EVEN THOUGH BRAD was tired after the three-hour drive, he couldn’t sleep. He just stared into the darkness, replaying Abby’s words over and over again in his head.

  ‘You might want to keep punishing yourself, and that’s your choice, but please make sure you don’t punish your mum and Ruby.’

  Was he punishing his mother and his twin?

  ‘Stubborn, refusing to see any other point of view except your own. That’s what killed your dad.’

  No, what had killed his dad was Brad’s selfishness.

  He should’ve come home for the weekend and gone out on the boat with his dad, instead of going off with Abby for a romantic weekend away. OK, so she’d won the trip in a competition, but she could’ve taken Ruby with her instead and made it a girly weekend: and then Brad would’ve been there for Jim. He would’ve made sure that his dad had his angina medication with him on the boat. He could’ve administered it, bought time until the emergency services could get to them.

  Though he was horribly aware that Abby had said pretty much the same thing. If only Jim had listened to his doctor and taken his medication with him. If only Jim had waited.

  But everyone knew that James Powell was a Type A personality and the word ‘wait’ simply wasn’t in his vocabulary. Jim was a larger-than-life character, a sharp barrister who’d lived for his job and been bored stiff being stuck at home. Of course he wouldn’t have waited to go out on the boat until someone else could be with him. He would’ve argued that he was perfectly capable of crewing the boat alone. He’d hated the whole idea of having to retire early on the grounds of poor health. Being diagnosed with a heart condition that could kill him if it wasn’t kept under control had been the worst thing that could’ve happened to him. He’d needed something to fill his time, and the boat was the one thing that had stopped him going crazy.

  If Brad had only come home, that weekend...

  But he hadn’t.

  And Jim had taken the boat out on his own. He’d had an angina attack and collapsed. The chest pain had been so bad, he hadn’t even been able to call the emergency services; he’d only been capable of hitting the last number redial on his phone.

  Brad’s number.

  ‘Chest. Hurts. On boat. Call coastguard,’ he’d gasped.

  ‘I’ll do it now. Where’s your medication, Dad?’ Brad asked.

  ‘Home.’

  Meaning that there had been nothing to help with the pain.

  Abby had been in the spa, having a facial, but thankfully she’d left her mobile phone in their room. With shaking hands, Brad had put his dad on speaker on his own phone and called the emergency services from Abby’s.

  ‘I’m getting someone to you now, Dad.’

  ‘Should’ve waited.’ Jim had squeezed the pain-filled words out.

  ‘That doesn’t matter now, Dad. Stay with me. Stay with me. It’s going to be OK. I’ve got help coming. I know it hurts to talk, so I just want one word from you every couple of minutes so I know you’re still with me. OK?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Stay with me, Dad. I love you. It’s going to be all right.’

  But Jim had been in trouble way before the helicopter and the lifeboat had reached him. Miles and miles away from the coast, knowing it would take him hours to drive to Great Crowmell even if he left the hotel that very second, Brad had been unable to do anything to help. He’d heard the clatter of the phone onto the deck and guessed that his dad had dropped it.

  ‘Dad! Dad! Stay with me. Pick up the phone. Please pick up the phone,’ he’d pleaded.

  But Jim hadn’t answered. All Brad had been able to hear was the hum of the engine and the screaming of the seagulls, until finally the phone had been picked up by one of the lifeboat crew.

  ‘This is the lifeboat. We’ve winched down the paramedic from the helicopter. You’re his son, who called us out, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK. We’re going to fly your dad back to hospital. Can you give us some information?’

  ‘Anything you need,’ Brad had said, and had gone through his father’s medical history.

  But it had been too late.

  Jim had had a massive heart attack in the helicopter and the crew hadn’t been able to resuscitate him. He’d died on the way to hospital.

  Stop wearing that hair shirt and thinking you have to atone for something that really wasn’t your fault.

  Now that was where Abby was wrong. Brad didn’t blame himself for his father’s death. Even if he’d been there, if he’d given his father the medication, there was a very high chance that Jim would still have had that heart attack and died on the way to hospital.

  That wasn’t what crucified him every single day.

  It was the fact that he’d been the last person to speak to Jim while he was still alive—while his father was still conscious—and he’d known that he couldn’t do a thing to save his dad. That the lifeboat and the air ambulance wouldn’t get to him in time. And then, in the days after the funeral, he’d realised that he would never get the chance to prove to his dad that he’d made the right career choice, following his heart to become a scientist rather than following in Jim’s footsteps and becoming a barrister.

  Brad just hadn’t been able to cope with it all. To keep himself functioning, he’d had to build a wall round his heart. And that hadn’t been fair to Abby: so he’d done the right thing by the love of his life. He’d set her free to find happiness with someone else.

  And she thought he was being self-indulgent and wearing a hair shirt?

  He stared into the darkness.

  If only things had been different.

  If only.

  Eventually, he slept. His dreams were vivid, to the point where he actually reached out for her, the next morning, thinking she was curled up in bed beside him.

  Of course not. How stupid of him. Those days were long gone. She wasn’t next to him, she was next door. There was only a single brick wall between them, but they might as well be on different planets.

  Brad dragged himself out of bed and had a hot shower, but he didn’t manage to scrub away the guilt and remorse. Or the sick feeling that today he was going to have to face everything he’d spent years avoiding.

  Toast and coffee—thanks to the supplies Abigail had left him—made him feel more human.

  OK.

  He’d do the hardest bit first.

  He headed into the centre of the town to renew the ticket for his parking space, then went to buy flowers. It meant he had to walk past the quay, and he could see another boat moored in the place where his father’s used to be. Well, of course there would be. His mother had never really been into boats, so there was no reason for Rosie to keep the boat or the mooring after Jim’s death.

  But it still felt as if a little piece of his dad had been wiped away.

  He bought a bunch of flowers from the shop in the middle of the high street, then walked to the church on the edge of town. It was a big old barn of a place, built of flint, with a massive tower, a lead roof and tall arched windows.

  What he liked best was the inside of the church, and not just because it was full of light from those enormous windows. He turned the massive iron handle and pushed the heavy door open. He could remember coming here with his father, who’d showed him the ancient graffiti of the old-fashioned sailing ships scratched into the stone pillars, explaining they were probably prayers of thanksgiving for safe returns from long voyag
es.

  If only James Powell had made a safe return from his last voyage.

  But you couldn’t change the past.

  Brad shook himself and wandered through the church. There was the hexagonal stone font with its carved wooden cover and the smiling stone lions at the base—the font where he and Ruby had been christened as babies. And the ancient wooden pews with their poppyheads and carved bench ends, parts of the carvings polished smooth over the centuries where children’s hands had rubbed against them. He’d always especially loved the carvings of a cat carrying one of her kittens and the mermaid.

  This was the church where, if they’d waited until after his graduation, he would’ve married Abigail. Just as Colin would wait for Ruby on Saturday, Brad would’ve waited at the altar for Abby. But, because he’d been young and impetuous and desperately in love with her, he’d wanted to marry her before he went away to university. He realised now how much they’d deprived their families of a celebration. How stupid and selfish he’d been.

  There were tea-light candles on a wrought-iron stand near the font, a couple of which were already lit. He lit one for his father using the wax taper provided, and stood watching the flame flicker for a while before putting some money into the slot in the wall safe.

  Outside, several more graves had been dug in the churchyard since he’d last been here. And it was the first time he’d actually seen his father’s headstone.

  His mum had made a good choice. Together with the dates, she’d kept the words simple: James Powell, beloved husband, father and son. And on the back there was a carving of a boat, his father’s favourite thing.

  The stone vase-holder in front of the headstone was already full of flowers. Of course it would be; either Rosie or Ruby would’ve made sure of that. He should’ve thought to buy one of those pots on a spike that you could push into the earth, or bring some kind of jam jar to put his flowers in. Too late, now. He placed the wrapped bunch of flowers on the grass next to the vase, and sat cross-legged in front of the stone.

  ‘Well. I guess it’s about time I showed my face here,’ he said.

  Understatement of the century.