‘The church has chairs, not pews.’ Lily narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. ‘But that makes it easier – we can tie them on with a ribbon. We’d need quite a few, though. I can’t imagine the flower stall has time to order enough in.’
‘Okay, so how about every other row, you do a lily, or a posy of violets? I don’t know what asters look like, but you could include those, too.’
‘They’re really pretty.’ Lily, her excitement growing, showed me a picture. ‘And apart from lilies, we can get all of them in purple. We’d need to include some rosemary sprigs, too. Daisies, for our other grandma, and Jasmine for Hugh’s ma. But, Emmie, this is brilliant. Iris will love it.’
Now we’d settled on what to me was an obvious theme, the creativity flowed, and by the time Lily needed to pick up the children, we had enough doable ideas for the reception décor, too.
‘I know this is all fairly simple, but are you going to manage it by yourself?’ I asked, aware that Lily couldn’t stop yawning as she drove us all back to Sunflower Barn. ‘Could Violet help with anything?’
‘Violet will be prepping the Old Barn with Pip and Da. Once the junk is cleared out, it needs a sweep, scrub and all the broken boards sorting. Then they need to collect and set up a load of borrowed tables and chairs. Uncle Richard’s helping Lester Drum make a bar, so he’ll have no time either. But Celine’s a bridesmaid, she’ll help, and we can ask Ma and Jasmine. Aster’s fingers are too stiff to tie ribbons, and I wouldn’t trust her up a ladder, but she can still bake better than anyone on the island, so I’ll ask her to do the cake.’
‘And to think people spend years planning a wedding.’
Lily smiled. ‘Me and Malcolm had a barbecue in the back meadow, bring your own chair and a bottle. People thought we were showing off because we ferried in an ice-cream van and some of Malcolm’s family were very unimpressed with the Portaloo.’ She sighed, dreamily. ‘It was a fantastic day.’
‘I’m having pot sausage at my wedding,’ Jack announced from the back seat. ‘With a hundred million sausages. And chocolate cake.’
‘Sounds great.’ I turned around to face him. ‘Who are you going to marry?’
Jack frowned. ‘I don’t know yet. Not any of the girls in my school. They’re all way too annoying.’
‘What about me?’ Beanie asked.
‘You can’t marry your own sister,’ Flora said, patting her sister’s pudgy knee.
‘Then what about… Emmie?’ Beanie said, face lighting up at the very thought.
‘Nah,’ Jack said. ‘Even if she wasn’t so old, she loves Uncle Pip. Everyone knows that.’
‘Emmie, do you want to marry Uncle Pip?’ Beanie squeaked in excitement.
‘Um…’
And there it was. Sitting in this car, with Pip’s gorgeous, funny family, my pleasantly sun-kissed face enjoying the salty breeze through an open window…
Even if I was still haunted by a tampered refreshments tray – how could I look a three-year-old girl in the eye and say no?
I spent most of the afternoon setting peas to mush in Lily’s largest pans, and filling up the slow cookers she’d borrowed from various neighbours with the extra venison we’d not used the day before, adding the other ingredients we’d bought that morning. I’d then do another batch after the rest of the meat arrived in a couple of days. Once everything was simmering nicely, I left Lily and Malcolm painting another bedroom while Flora kept half an eye on her brother and sister in the garden, and went for a walk.
After initially setting off towards the farm, I then deliberately turned in the opposite direction to Clover Field and headed inland. This led me through the orchard’s symmetrical rows of pear trees, then alongside a meadow with warning signs informing me that on the other side of the stout fence was Basil, the bull. I walked for nearly an hour. Frequently slowing to an amble to take in the scenery, admire a patch of wildflowers or the sun dancing through the leaf-canopy.
It was on the other side of a small copse of deciduous trees that I discovered it. Breaking cover from the shadows, I found myself at the edge of a large field. Blinking a few times in the sudden glare, I suddenly realised.
A vast field of ripe winter barley. Golden ears rippling in the late-afternoon sunlight like gentle waves. Above it, from one horizon to the other, clear blue sky, the only blemish a distant bird of prey hovering on an air current. And, as on every inch of this island, the ever-present susurration of the sea.
It was the place I’d been dreaming about. A location so irresistible, I overslept for the second time ever.
As I continued along the footpath between the crops and the hedge, I laughed out loud at the butterflies dancing alongside me. Turquoise, like my dream, as well as a rainbow of reds, oranges, vibrant yellow and palest green.
Little over a week ago, this had been a fantasy inside my worn-out head. And while I marvelled at how I had ended up here, the truth was it had been simple. A £127 ticket for an hour-long flight.
The hard part would be going back.
Fearing I might end up wandering around in circles, when I’d completed a circuit of the field, I headed back along the way I’d arrived. It was almost five, and the children had asked if I’d help them make pizza for dinner. Reaching the orchard, I spied a figure under one of the trees, head tipped back, looking at the branches. As I moved closer, I realised it was Richard, leaning on one crutch, wearing the same brown corduroy trousers as every other time I’d seen him, paired with a scruffy checked shirt.
‘Been scoping out the land?’ he asked, still squinting up at the tree, lined face mottled with flickering shadows.
I paused a couple of metres away. Richard gave the impression of being the kind of man who didn’t pass the time of day with strangers, and his odd question added a hint of menace to the orchard’s hushed gloom.
