4 April 1986
My darling wife, Nellie
(or at least, you will be by the time you read this)
I write this letter sitting at your friend Christopher’s kitchen table, counting the minutes until we meet at the register office, and our real life can begin.
The last few days have been like paradise on earth. I’d thought that nothing could beat waking up to the island birdsong, watching the seals playing in the waves while I drink my tea. But now I know better. When you smile and hand me a mug of coffee, it’s like being greeted by an angel.
And now I get to share every morning with you, for the rest of my life.
A simple man like me can’t find the words to express how grateful I am. I only pray that I can make you half as happy.
You try not to show it, but I know you’re worried about my family, what they’ll think about all this. Fear not, my angel, they will surely love you once they get to know you. And don’t fret about the farm. If that work doesn’t suit you, there’s always a café or hotel in need of good staff. Who knows, maybe one day you could open a wee restaurant of your own?
What I mean to say is – whatever the future brings, we will have a good life, because we will be together. I willingly lay the independence I guarded so fiercely at your feet, and admit I cannot live without you. Nellie Brown – Nellie Hawkins! – I will do whatever it takes to make you as blessed to be my wife as I am to become your husband.
And now I must stop wittering because the taxi is waiting.
With faith, hope and love,
Forever and only yours,
G
The flood of panic when I woke up on Saturday and the clock on the wall said ten past eleven was instinctive. I leapt out of bed, hands tugging at my hair as I cursed myself for oversleeping, bewildered as to how it had happened. What would Lily and Malcolm think at me getting up so late? I’d have to skip the mug of tea I’d hoped to enjoy in bed, jump in and out of the shower rather than washing my hair…
And then I stopped. Closed my eyes. Breathed. Reminded myself where I was.
This was meant to be a break from all of that.
I had nothing to do and nowhere to be until I met Pip for lunch.
Literally, the only things I had to do between now and then were drink tea, eat breakfast and get myself ready.
The panic subsided to a functional level, but not enough to stop me hurrying downstairs only fifteen minutes later, a lifetime of busyness snapping at my heels.
‘Emmie!’ Jack announced when I appeared in the kitchen, dropping the aeroplane he’d been playing with. ‘Mammy said we had to wait for you to help us collect the eggs. I was starting to think you were going to sleep for one hundred years like Sleeping Beauty.’
‘Jack!’ Lily looked up from where she and Beanie were baking at the kitchen worktop, Beanie wearing a home-made paper mask that I suspected was meant to be a mole. ‘Emmie’s on holiday. I told you, she can sleep in for as long as she likes.’
‘All I’m saying is I’m glad she got up now because waiting is boring.’ Jack had already slipped on his left Croc.
‘You’re going to have to wait even longer, I’m sorry to say. Emmie is a guest of Sunflower Barn Bed and Breakfast, so she gets breakfast.’
‘I can help with the eggs first,’ I said.
‘Nonsense. How would that be us testing out the system?’ Lily dusted off her hands on a cloth. ‘You can either sit outside, or in the dining room, madam. Which would you prefer?’
‘I’d prefer not to be called madam,’ I joked before I could stop myself.
‘Great!’ Lily hurried around to a large whiteboard hanging up on one wall and wrote, ‘Do not call guests madam. Is miss any better?’ She stuck the pen in her mouth and chewed on it for a moment. ‘I can’t afford to insult the mainlanders by getting these things wrong. It’s so long since I’ve been over, I forget all the cultural stuff.’
‘I’m not offended. It’s just a bit formal. And implies I’m either old or married. Miss is only really for teachers or naughty children. I think a welcoming, homely place like this would do better with someone’s name.’
‘Emmie, I’m very pregnant. I already have three kids. I can’t be trusted to remember my own name, let alone anyone else’s.’ She gave me a side-on look. ‘You are Emmie, aren’t you? If not, I’ll have to stick with Pasty Girl.’
‘Emmie, Emmaline, Hey You. I really don’t mind.’
