Page 78 of A Wedding in a Week

I’m so often reminded of that egg timer, its sand frozen instead of falling, after I leave for Cornwall.

Jack hurries me through Paddington Station to catch the Penzance train, brisk and efficient, which shouldn’t be a surprise after the last week. I’m still caught off guard by how smooth he makes my departure, no detail forgotten, which is good because I’m a wreck, not even a ball of twine in my pocket to hold me together.

I follow Jack, half aware that he carves a clear path for me, a pint-sized powerhouse of cheery orders who yodels, “Mind your backs, gents,” and “Coming through, ladies,” as if getting me on this train is what he’s paid for.

He’s less brisk while settling me into a carriage where he gives me a first-class ticket. “With love from Rex.” I also sense the hand of the duke when one of Jack’s lands on my shoulder and squeezes. “Don’t hesitate if you need anything, Stef. You reach out, yes? To me, or directly to the Heligans.”

I nod, but the only call I want to make is to Marc. I’ll have to wait for him to call me instead, like we agreed outside a hospital room where, like the sand in that egg timer I picture, he’s in suspended animation until Noah recovers. Then we need to wait for his future to be settled by agencies his stab wound has triggered. It could be months, with no guarantee of a happy ending.

“Here.” Jack gifts me a suit carrier. “I had this laundered, all spic and span for your next wedding.”

“Wedding?” Here’s another sign of time standing still—for the last week, Love-Land Weddings hasn’t existed. This reminder makes some sand spill, real life restarting. Petals also fall from what else he hands me.

“The dry cleaner found this in your jacket pocket. Wasn’t sure if you wanted to keep it.”

Jack must say goodbye to me.

The train must leave London.

I can only focus on a buttonhole that’s lost its colour.

A day later, it sits next to my laptop while Marc fills my screen, looking faded as well until he tells me, “Noah had a good day.” He brightens then, and that’s a lesson in being grateful for each moment despite our distance. I turn the real version of that egg timer over as he perks up and talks my ear off. He finishes with a quiet, “Love you, Stef.”

Jess lifts her head when I say, “Love you, too,” to an empty kitchen, and time stops again after he hangs up.

Or it would stop if I wasn’t a man on my own mission, and that’s what clicked into place on my journey back to Cornwall—a mission to get them both home and keep them. Because I can’t have one without the other, can I? I wouldn’t want to, not now I’ve seen them together for a whole week, and that’s how they need to stay for so much longer.

I have a plan of how to do it, one that hangs in the air too, only not like grains of sand. This is a sword waiting to fall. Or a knife that could pierce more people than Noah if I can’t make it happen, so I phone the bank, chasing my loan decision even though I can’t get past their computer to talk to an actual human. It doesn’t stop me from trying—that’s only what Marc’s taught me by pushing himself to make the life he wanted instead of accepting the one he’d been born into.

I keep working on getting them home the next morning when the sound of an engine wakes me before cows or sheep get a chance to. I don’t slowly roll out of bed to see who has come to visit. I guess who it will be, throwing back my bedcovers and sprinting, and maybe I should watch out for slippery Farmers Weeklies, or put on some clothes before throwing open the farmhouse door, but Hayden doesn’t complain about me being nearly naked at dawn o’clock in my farmyard.

If anything, he rolls his eyes at my bare chest and boxers, reminding me of my brother. He also does something else Lukas would do if he were here instead of living a difficult dream in London that I’m so fucking proud of.

Hayden pokes me in the stomach. “No wonder I didn’t get a look in with Marc. You’ve got abs for bloody miles, don’t you?” He huffs out a breath, aiming for annoyance. His grin makes him a liar. “Plus you’ve all this pretty land and you bake the best scones in Cornwall. I never stood a chance, did I?”

I can take his teasing when he accepts my hand and shakes it. He also accepts my thanks for helping John while I was away.

“It was no bother keeping this place ticking over.” He gestures at his truck and trailer. “Sorry for the early wake-up though, and for leaving the tent up this long. I didn’t get around to taking it down. I don’t know where the time went.”

I do.

I knew as soon as I got home.

While time’s stood still for me in London, Hayden’s been busy doing more than keeping this place ticking over. He’s started the second cut and made good headway, a huge job I know doesn’t happen by magic. It takes ten-hour days that break lesser men, or at least ones whose weak hearts are hidden. Hayden’s must be huge and healthy, he’s given me such a head start.

That leaves me gruffer. “The tent is why I wanted to catch you.” I turn to the headland, sea mist covering it with gauzy tendrils. This morning, my plan feels almost as wispy. “I…”

Jess stops my hesitation by padding out from her spot by the stove to lick Hayden’s hand, a sign of trust that makes me take a risk. I grasp that imaginary blade hanging over my head, hoping it won’t leave me bleeding. “I need to ask you for one more favour.”

I tell him why, and Hayden listens, and even if a whole city full of knives hung over my head for real, he won’t be the reason I’m cut to ribbons. Hayden says, “Count me in,” and nothing sharp falls.

More sand scatters instead, flowing even faster.

* * *

I ask a second favour at the end of a busy week of baling, going down to the Anchor in Porthperrin to do it, only this time I don’t sit in the snug bar eating five-star seafood. I stand beside a sink in the pub kitchen while Jude scrapes the beards from mussels.

I take out my multi-tool, helping a chef who shares a Michelin star with his husband but who also makes time to listen. Then I meet Carl Lawson on his trawler, not for a favour like I just asked of Jude—I only have one question for him—but I’m glad those PT exercises have made a difference when he helps me aboard—his handshake is crushing.

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