Page 84 of The Wedding Pact
‘What was your grandmother’s name?’
‘Pearl. Well, no it wasn’t, it was Penelope but for some reason we all called her Pearl,’ August laughed then, thinking about names. ‘And for some reason I want to say her friend who lived here was called Windy Day, but that can’t be right.’
‘That sounds exactly right, actually,’ Mrs Haverley answered, getting up and pulling a large photo album off her shelf, before bringing it, and the Advocaat bottle, back to the table with her.
‘Did you know her?’
‘Your grandmother or “Windy Day”?’
‘Either.’
‘How about both?’ Mrs Haverley started flicking pages in the photo album, thick, stiff pages with photographs glued directly onto the card. ‘It turns out you and I have been friends far longer than I realised, August Anderson.’
She slid the open photo album towards August. August felt her face light up into a beam on seeing her grandmother’s face looking out at her. Pearl’s hair was darker in the photo than August remembered it being, curled around her face. She was laughing, standing in a river, the water up to her ankles. Her tea dress was hoiked up around her knees and she held both it and a cigarette in one hand. The other arm was linked with another girl’s, someone younger, who was doubled over with laughter, her eyes scrunched shut and the sun illuminating her skin. But even in the split-second capture of what looked like a wonderful summer’s day, August knew exactly who it was.
‘This is you! And my grandma!’ she said, delighted. ‘You and my grandma were friends?’
‘I’ve lived in this house a long, long time, August. Before it was separated into apartments, before your grandmother moved to Bath.’
‘So you’re, um, Windy Day?’
‘I’m actuallyWendyDay – or at least I was before I married – but your grandmother delighted in calling me Windy Day.’
August sat back in her chair and stared at Mrs Haverley. ‘But … you’re a lot younger than my grandmother.’
‘I was back then, too,’ Mrs Haverley joked. ‘But when we met we were both single and had enough friends in common that the fact I was barely twenty and she was, I think, early thirties didn’t matter. We had a lot of fun and laughs.’
‘Did the two of you fall out?’
‘Oh no,’ Mrs Haverley said with a firm shake of her head. ‘Over the years we lost the closeness to the point of being no more than acquaintances I’m afraid. But that’s just how life works. Pearl was older, she married and started a family before I did, long before I did, as it happens. Though I remember she thought I was the one who was the ‘old soul’ and stuck in my ways. We just drifted apart. I do remember her bringing you here that day though.’
August watched Mrs Haverley talk. She’d known her grandmother. She’d beenfriendswith her grandmother, to the point that she also called her Pearl. A tear spilled onto a cheek which August tried to wipe away so Mrs Haverley wouldn’t see it, because though it warmed her heart to have this connection to her past, a guilty cannonball sank inside her. Mrs Haverley – old-fashioned, austere Mrs Haverley – had been her beloved grandmother’sfriend. And August had lied to her.
In an attempt to shake away the feeling of shame, August turned back to the photo album and silently pledged to no longer view Mrs Haverley as just an old-fashioned landlady, but to see her and hear her as a person. Starting with today.
‘Mrs H, I’m going to make that eggnog for us, and then will you tell me the story behind these photos?’
Mrs Haverley smiled at August, colour in her cheeks, and said, ‘I would love that, August.’
November’s long and drizzly stretch eventually turned into December. August watched as Flynn’s work didn’t let up, and occasionally she wondered when he’d last seen daylight. He left home in the dark, he came home in the dark. She guessed his lunch breaks were non-existent, as was his social life.
He and August didn’t talk about Poppy, or their argument, and sometimes a sadness appeared to envelop Flynn that he couldn’t seem to shake. He barely noticed things like the Christmas lights being switched on in the city centre or the market that had popped up, or the festive music that had begun to be the background soundtrack to everything outside his office walls. He seemed lonely, longing to come up for air.
August watched Flynn from the sidelines, wondering how to help, wishing she could take some of his burden off his hands. The more he worked, the less she saw of him, but what she did see seemed sad and withdrawn.
One evening, mid-December, when she was nearly ready to hit the sack but poor Flynn hadn’t even made it home yet, an idea struck her. If she could get him home at a normal time, just for one evening, she was sure she could inject some much-needed Christmas spirit into him.
‘A Christmas party?’ Bel asked down the end of the phone. ‘Of course I’m in – where?’
‘My house,’ August explained. ‘Just a small party – my friends, his friends from the office, just something to help Flynn forget work for the night and let the festive spirit in.’
‘Would your landlady allow a party in your flat?’
‘We’d keep it low-key, and it’s not like I can see any of us doing keg-stands on the landing or anything.’ The more August thought about the idea, the better it felt. Flynn needed some fun, some friendly faces, and yes, a couple of them would be from his work but she knew he hadn’t spent any chilled evenings with them in the pub for a long time. ‘I think he needs this, Bel.’
‘Do you think he’s blue about not going home to Japan for the holidays?’
August had wondered about that, but hadn’t had a chance to speak to him about it. ‘Maybe. I was wondering whether to ask him if he wanted to spend Christmas together.’
