Isabel's Wedding

by Pamela Oldfield

  It was very strange at first and for several months my life here was so alien that I secretly regretted my decision. But I had made my choice so I said nothing to Larry and gradually I became reconciled to my new lifestyle and now would not choose to go back to England. Having said that, there are a few days when the interminable Californian sunshine is too much and I long for some damp and blustery Kent weather . . . !

  Olivia paused, listening, then slid from the bed and made her way along the passage to the children’s bedroom. As she expected, the younger boy Jon, aged five, was standing beside his bed, apparently wide awake but actually sleepwalking. Gently she took his hand and coaxed him back into the bed, settled him down and kissed him goodnight. She turned to seven-year-old Ben who still clutched a blue rabbit his mother had knitted for him years ago. When she was satisfied that they were both sleeping comfortably Olivia went back to her own bed, picked up her diary and continued.

  . . . Our original plan was that I would live in Larry’s hotel and learn all about the running of it but Fate intervened as it often does and I found myself acting as housekeeper to Larry’s much younger cousin Donald. He was widowed shortly after I arrived when his wife caught diphtheria and was dead within a week. Thank the Lord the two boys survived . . . It must have been bad enough for Don to lose his wife that way.

  Now Donald and I are married and I am Mrs Donald Kline (the wife of a chemist!) and a stepmother to the boys. I am possibly the happiest woman in California and my only regret is that my own family are so far away.

  But they are thriving. Theo is working on his third book on antiques and he and Cicely have another child on the way. Bertie and Izzie have a little girl but Fenella (now Mrs Lucas Fratton) is too involved with running the gallery (which leaves Luke time to paint) and says she has no interest in producing any children!

  Olivia allowed her thoughts to drift to Alice Redmond, who had been buried, at her own wish, in the small church in Newquay.

  . . . The family went down to Cornwall with the exception of Theo, Cicely and Larry and we found ourselves part of a huge congregation which spoke volumes for the respect and affection in which Alice had been held. Fenella accompanied the family as ‘a family friend’, but two years later, after her divorce, she and Lucas were married in the same church . . .

  Not being at the wedding had caused Olivia some anguish but they had been sent a wedding photograph which stood on the table in the parlour with all her other mementos of ‘home’.

  Footsteps on the stairs now alerted her to the fact that her husband was on his way to bed and she quickly hid the diary under her pillow, put out the bedside light and pretended to be half asleep.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed Don began to tug off his boots. He said, ‘Are you asleep, Olly?’ and Olivia smiled. This was always the preamble to a late night exchange about when to tell her family the truth.

  ‘No,’ she admitted, turning to smile at the familiar, well-loved face of her husband. He was more dapper than his cousin, more precise in some ways – Olivia put it down to his being a chemist – but the family resemblance was there in the voice and ready laugh, and it pleased her that the two men were such good friends. Larry, still unmarried, was a regular visitor and the two boys adored ‘Uncle Larry’.

  He said, ‘Boys all right?’

  ‘They’re fine. Jon was out of bed fast asleep but he was just standing there.’

  ‘His mother did that as a child.’

  ‘I guess it runs in the family.’

  ‘Ben’s never done it. Funny that.’ He pulled off his shirt and tossed it on to the nearest chair. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Maybe you and Larry should bite the bullet and tell them. You know. The family. Take a chance that they’ll understand. What d’you think? I mean the longer you wait . . .’

  She sat up a little and looked at him. Untidy fair hair flopped round his good-natured face and his grey eyes were anxious.

  ‘It’s up to Larry,’ she said. Her usual reply. ‘It’s his lie. He has to deal with it. Not me.’

  ‘You should have told them after Izzie’s wedding.’ He raised his eyebrows. His usual argument.

  ‘But we didn’t.’ She closed her eyes and yawned. ‘I keep telling you, Don. Everything happened so quickly. You can’t hope to imagine what a mess we were in, one way and another. First Father turning up then Fenella leaving her husband and finally Aunt Alice dying! Disaster on disaster!’

  Donald said, ‘Still . . . Larry needs a push sometimes. He’s always been that way. “Let sleeping dogs lie.” That’s Larry’s motto. Always has been.’

  ‘Not always. He did come to England to seek us out – and he did tell me.’

  He climbed into bed, reached across and turned off the light. ‘And four years have gone by!’ He slid an arm round her. ‘I’m glad he brought you back with him!’

  ‘So am I!’

  He kissed her and she crossed her fingers that the little homily was over. She was disappointed.

  ‘Still, it’s not right to keep the rest of the family in ignorance. They deserve to know the truth.’

  Wistfully she said, ‘But they may be quite happy not knowing. They may be happier. Maybe the belief that their father did come back to them is a great comfort.’

  Already on the verge of sleep he muttered, ‘Doesn’t make it right!’

  ‘Soon then,’ she told him. ‘I’ll remind him. He’s going to write a letter to Theo to share with the others.’

  ‘He’s been saying that for four years!’

  ‘I’ll give him a prod. I promise.’ Olivia snuggled down next to him. Would Larry ever get up the courage to confess, she wondered. Would they be having this same conversation in ten years’ time?

  ‘You should, Olly,’ Don murmured.

  ‘Mmm.’ She closed her eyes.

  Five minutes later they were both asleep.