by Nina Milne
‘Where are we?’
‘A helipad. We’re flying by helicopter to Cornwall and we’re going to Tintagel Castle. I did some research and the flight is completely safe for the baby. But if you feel worried, obviously I’ll change the plan.’
Helicopter. It occurred to Gabby that for Zander taking a helicopter was akin to hopping in a taxi. The realisation was a reminder of just how wealthy he was, and for a moment discomfort tugged at her chest.
She blinked to dispel the unease. Zander had planned this, and it would be churlish not to simply appreciate it. ‘Let’s go!’
Twenty minutes later they approached the craft and she gazed at it in surreal fascination. ‘I’ve never seen one close up.’
‘I’ll climb in first and then help you. You need to use the footplates, and then there’s a big step up to get in.’
Once inside she settled back, and soon the whir of the blades made conversation impossible.
The eventual take-off was completely different to that of a plane.
‘It’s as if we’ve just lifted and floated upwards,’ she said.
Once they were airborne the noise abated a bit and she looked down over London, watching as it became smaller and smaller, the familiar landmarks looking like little toy miniatures.
‘So why Tintagel?’ she asked.
‘I figured I owe you a castle after Sintra, and I thought it would be good to spend a day together away from familiar haunts. Give us a chance to centre ourselves. It’s been a pretty momentous few days.’
The rest of the journey was spent watching the landscape. The aerial perspective of rich swirls of brown and green dotted with farm buildings, grey blocks of towns and cities, caught her breath with its sheer variety. Then finally there was the intense sweep of the sea that indicated they were nearly at their destination, a prelude to the helicopter’s descent.
As they alighted from the craft, the Cornish breeze combined with the whir of the helicopter blades to lift her hair in a wild tangle and puff out her clothes so she resembled a fairground mirror reflection.
Once en route in the hired car, Gabby gave herself up to the sheer pleasure of watching the beauty of the Cornish countryside flash past. The fields were full of summer—the golden swish of corn, the deep brown loam of tilled earth—and stacked hay dotted the horizon. The drone of a tractor through the open window mixed with the buzz of insects, whilst cows and sheep watched their journey with placid interest. They passed a farmhouse, and then the green changed shade as the landscape turned to scrubland and then back again.
At the end of a half-hour journey Tintagel came into view, the ruined castle a craggy, impressive feature that loomed over the headland to the sea.
‘Tintagel is where King Arthur is said to have been conceived—you can’t get much more magical than that,’ she said.
‘Then let’s go.’
As they walked from the car park Gabby had an urge to take his hand, but held back, unsure as to the etiquette. Somehow, to hold hands now they were getting married seemed to imply a level of intimacy unsuitable in an arranged union. Instead she allowed herself to enjoy the warmth of his presence, to appreciate the thought that had gone into this trip.
The short walk to the ticket office was achieved in companionable silence and then they began the trek to the castle ruins, pausing as they looked across a wooden bridge and up...and up...at the steep ascent.
Zander frowned. ‘I should have researched this better. I got hooked on historical splendour and magical legends. I’m not sure you should climb this.’
Gabby considered for a moment. ‘The doctor said I’d be fine with exercise.’
‘Hmm... Hang on. I’m going to call Julia for advice.’ Minutes later Zander dropped the phone in his pocket. ‘Right, Julia said she went rock climbing in her first trimester with Heidi and was fine. Her advice is to try it, but to turn back if there is any problem, however small, and to take it slowly.’
‘Yes, sir!’
His concern made her feel...cared for. Alert! Alert! His care was, as it should be, for the baby.
As they walked across the bridge he stayed close to her. Every so often he reached out as if to steady her, and she smiled up at him as they paused, arm in arm, and looked over the rail at a sea that was a clear sun-sparkled turquoise.
He pointed downward. ‘Merlin’s cave.’
‘I can almost imagine a dragon swooping down to visit him.’
Then came the stairs and, as instructed, she took them slowly, very aware of his focus, of the heat of his gaze as he made sure she was all right, his hand on the small of her back to help her.
And then they reached the top and she gasped in sheer awe. The ruins themselves were darkly atmospheric, though the arched doorway and slit windows were all that remained of the great hall. Low stone walls marked where houses, kilns and a chapel would once have teemed with people and medieval life.
But it was the view that literally caught at her newly recovered breath. The headlands were a myriad of jutting rocks, in shades of green, brown and terracotta. And way below the sea crashed with all the force and power of nature against the rocks.
‘It’s a place where your imagination can swoop and soar... You can almost taste history.’
Zander’s eyes rested on her face. ‘I’ve brought something perhaps a little more sustaining if you want to picnic up here. I even brought pickled eggs.’
‘That sounds wonderful!’
Soon enough he had unpacked a hamper bearing the logo of a famous London store and Gabby got down to the serious business of eating for two. Mini quiches, game pie, pâté and crackers, and, of course, the pickled eggs were all washed down with sparkling elderflower pressé.
Eventually she sat back, replete. ‘Thank you. That was delicious and it has fortified me for the trek back down!’
‘Before we do that... I thought it would be a good time to give you this.’ Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small box, snapped the lid up and handed it to her.
A jolt of emotion shot through her as she saw the glint and sparkle of the ring embedded in velvet—a beautiful mix of an ice-white diamond and deep blue lapis lazuli set in white gold.
‘If you don’t like it we can change it.’
‘No! It’s stunning.’
Carefully she took it out, looked at it for a long moment. Suddenly the whole ambience of the day shifted, and as if in response a cloud moved across the sun for an instant.
Don’t overthink it, Gabs.
Quickly now, she slipped it on to her ring finger—he didn’t offer to do it and in truth it wouldn’t have felt right if he had. Too much like a parody. After all, this ring was not an indicator of love, merely an intention of commitment without it. A prop rather than a symbol.
Holding her hand up, she watched as the newly reappeared sun sparkled in the stones’ facets, causing motes of light to dance in the air. Yet for some reason her finger felt weighted.
‘The central stone is a diamond, obviously, and the blue stones are lapis lazuli—the colour reminded me of the sea and Sintra, and the jeweller said they represent friendship.’
Now sadness truly prodded her—a definite sense of This is not how it’s meant to be. Yes, the ring was beautiful, the idea brilliant, but the most important component was missing.
Stop it, Gabby.
This was not the time to be whiny or act the ingrate—Zander had gone to a huge effort and she should appreciate it. Because in their marriage friendship, not love, would be the cornerstone. Love for their child was the bedrock.
‘It’s perfect,’ she said. ‘And thank you for making an occasion of it.’
‘I thought it was important. After all, one day our child will ask us where we got engaged. My sisters were always asking Mum and Dad to tell their engagement story.’
‘I used to love heari
ng Gran and Gramps’s, as well. Gramps hired a tandem and asked Gran to ride through life with him. He said that he’d pedal harder when she needed to rest and that they’d always balance each other out on their journey through life together.’ As always, the story brought a smile to her lips, though the memory was touched now by the sadness of missing him. ‘What was your parents’ story?’
Zander smiled in reminiscence. ‘I told you Dad’s an electrician? He rigged up loads and loads of fairy lights in their local park, hired a violinist and told her she was the light of his life. And she really is—his face still lights up when she comes into a room and vice versa.’
‘And what about you and Claudia?’ Gabby didn’t know why she’d asked that—perhaps because that was what a friend would ask.
The thought tasted bitter on her tongue and she picked up her glass and gulped at a swig of elderflower.
Zander hesitated. ‘I was only eighteen and I went for the romantic cliché. I saved up, took her out for an expensive meal, gave her a red rose and a ring. All the other diners clapped when she said yes.’
She could see it now—the earnest youth he had been, at a time of life when he had still been struggling to come to terms with and conquer his dyslexia and all that had come with it. His dark blonde hair had probably been longer than it was now, flopping forward over one eye, and he would have been dressed up in a suit. Claudia, young and beautiful, would have been alight with the glow of optimism, hope and love.
His parents, her grandparents... Their proposal stories had been full of love—a foretaste of their hopes and dreams of going through life together with love to guide their movements. Whereas this...this was kind and thoughtful and...all wrong.
She wanted Zander to be down on one knee, slipping the ring on her finger for real. Because he loved her, not because it would make a good story for their child. She wanted love, not friendship, because she loved him and, dammit, she wanted this to be real.
Oh, hell. The drink suddenly tasted too sickly-sweet, cloying on her tongue. She loved him. She loved him. She loved Zander. Her Mr Wrong. What to do? What to do?
‘Gabby? What’s the matter?’
Panic, horror, terror—all fused into an icy coldness, enabling hard logic to overcome emotion. Whatever she did, she could not let him suspect the truth, learn of her misplaced, idiotic, unwanted love. A love he would reject just as surely as her mother had rejected her love all those years ago.
But now this marriage would be impossible. How could she hope to make it work when the rules and parameters had exploded? Even she couldn’t live a lie, play a part for the rest of her life, day in, day out, yearning for what she couldn’t have.
He mustn’t know—must not suspect even the possibility that love had somehow had the temerity to take root and flourish within her for him. This wasn’t his fault. None of it was.
So now she would have to play a different part—tell him the truth, but not the whole truth. Above all she had to make this work for the baby’s sake. It was impossible for her simply to walk out of Zander’s life, but somehow she had to figure out a way to rip this love out by its fledgling roots.
The glint of the ring was harsh now, carrying the weight of falsehood, and she tugged it off and held it out to him. ‘I’m sorry, Zander. I can’t do this.’
Shock etched his face, turned it white under the tan, and his body jerked backwards as an expression she couldn’t interpret flashed across his blue-grey eyes. But his voice was calm when he spoke. ‘Why not?’
Deep breath. Careful, here, Gabby.
‘Because we would both be settling for second best, and that is not how I want to teach my child to live his or her life. It is not what a marriage should be. A marriage should at least start out like your parents’ did, like my grandparents’ did, like yours did. You don’t want to get married. You told me that don’t want to marry anyone, and you certainly don’t want to marry me. You want to marry the mother of your child for your child’s sake, and I honour that sentiment but it makes me second-best and secondary. I can’t spend my life like that. I still want my shot at love with Mr Right.’
Those last words were the hardest, but she forced them out, knowing they would help her argument.
A small hope flared that Zander would step up, reach out, grab the ring and say, ‘Gabby I love you. I want a marriage based on love, too,’ then place the ring back on her finger as a gesture of loving commitment to her and the baby.
Her insides clenched and her heart pounded with a sheer yearning that the scenario would play out that way—that he, too, would have a eureka moment, realise that the past weeks had been more than a charade, more than just fun.
The seconds ticked on, each one full of anguish as she watched his face, saw confusion and pain. She wished so hard that he would love her back, could love her back. For herself.
Tick-tock. On and on.
Finally his lips opened and she braced herself.
‘What about the baby?’ he asked.
As hope died, crumbled to ashes, she stared down at the ring, at the lapis lazuli blinking at her in a kind of Morse code: friendship, friendship, friendship. That was all she could hope to have, and she would make that OK for the baby’s sake. Before that, though, she needed space and time, to get her head together and bury this foolish love as in the past she had buried grief and anger. She’d learn her part and play it perfectly.
‘First take the ring,’ she said. ‘Please.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ZANDER STARED AT her outstretched palm. The ring glinted at him in all its suddenly cold hard beauty. He’d chosen it for Gabby; he didn’t want it back. Staring at the blue stones, the white faceted diamond, he tried to think. But his brain had gone into shutdown mode, and the urge to sit on his hands, make her put the ring back on her finger, was paramount.
‘What about the baby?’ he repeated. After all, that was why they’d decided to get married. ‘I thought we had agreed this was best for our child. The right thing to do.’
Now she winced, and a dark part of him was glad—because perhaps he could persuade her that marriage was the right option.
‘We did.’ Her voice low, torn, ragged with guilt. ‘But I can’t go through with it. I’m sorry.’
‘I want to be part of this child’s life.’
‘You will be. I want that, too. Of course I do. I promise we can sit down and work out custody arrangements. I want this baby to have you and your family in his life.’
‘And, like we’ve said, the best way to do that is if you and I and the baby are under the same roof. Instead of moving from house to house.’
Stop! The voice was a Klaxon in his head as he saw the look of pain on her face and knew his words had triggered memories of her own childhood, the packing of her suitcase...
But that had been his intention, hadn’t it? Number one bastard that he was. How low was he willing to go in his belief that this marriage was right? And right for who anyway? Maybe it was better for the baby, but not at the cost of Gabby’s happiness, her life. She deserved a shot at her Mr Right—someone able to believe in love and for ever, someone able to commit and not prioritise work over love.
Not someone like Zander, with a proved track record of failure, a lack of capacity to nurture love, to be satisfied with what he had. He was a man who revered ambition, craved success, and he would never be able to put a family first.
Yes, this marriage would suit him—because he wouldn’t have to put Gabby first. He could have it all. So he was trying to bulldoze her into a marriage she didn’t want, a life she didn’t want. No more.
Yet as he prepared to speak, an inexplicable sense of loss tore into him. For a searing moment he imagined the life that had nearly been his—a life with Gabby, a family life, with trips to the supermarket, holidays, meals, laughter. He watched as the images of that illusory life faded and dispersed in t
he breeze. Because that wasn’t reality. He couldn’t offer her love because he knew that for him the emotion wasn’t sustainable, knew that it couldn’t coexist with his ambition. His plans revolved around his work, and he’d always known it wasn’t possible to have a family, as well. Hadn’t he?
‘It’s OK, Gabby,’ he said, even as he knew it wasn’t. It wasn’t OK at all to have this dark bleakness descend on his heart. His arm felt heavy, inert, but he forced himself to reach out and take the ring. ‘We’ll make this work a different way.’
‘How?’
‘Tell the baby the truth. That we both love him or her...’
‘But we don’t love each other,’ she broke in. ‘That we’re friends. And maybe two homes will be OK as long as they’re both full of love and security.’
‘Yes.’ He forced conviction into his voice and his expression, but inside a sudden bleak disappointment washed over him—a pain he didn’t fully understand. ‘So what now?’
Gabby hugged her knees, stared out to sea. ‘Well, there are still seven months until the baby is due. If you want to attend antenatal classes with me, of course you can, and I’ll keep you posted on how the pregnancy is going. But otherwise there’s no longer any need for us to see each other. No more charade, no more engagement.’
No more Gabby.
As he sat there, so near her and yet so very, very far away, the bleakness increased. It felt like a jagged tear in his chest. He had a sense that he had failed, that he had missed something crucial. They sat in silence for a long time, both looking out at the crags and cliffs, the imposing Cornish coastline and the deep blue of the sea, until finally Gabby shifted.
‘We should go,’ she said.
Zander nodded, told himself it was for the best. He couldn’t sustain relationships, and he didn’t understand compromise. He would never again risk love because he knew he couldn’t nurture it. On his watch it would fray, wither and fade away.
