Page 134 of Merrily Ever After
‘There is just one thing I need.’ He waved his hands, to get everyone up. ‘Come on, you all know the words …’
He was right, everyone did. And so with all our friends and family singing at the tops of their voices that they didn’t care about the presents, Cole and I walked back down the aisle hand in hand, stopping to kiss our friends and families on the way.
‘Happy?’ Cole asked.
‘Very,’ I said, nodding.
‘Good,’ he said, ‘happy wife, happy life.’
‘Now that’s a motto I can get behind.’ I smiled, swinging his hand in mine. ‘Have I told you recently how much I love you?’
‘Not once since we got married, no,’ he said, feigning indignation. ‘Very remiss.’
Together we pushed open the doors to the porch and a rush of cold air made us gasp. New snow lay on the ground, a soft white blanket sparkling in the low afternoon sun.
‘I love you!’ I cried, reaching my arms around my husband, my heart, my future.
Cole picked me up and swung me around, and we kissed again and again, our kisses mixing with our laughter.
And then the air was filled with confetti and camera flashes and hugs from Hester and Nell, a wave from Dad and cries of congratulations and, above all, love.
Will had his arm around Emily and I caught her eye and we blew each other kisses.
‘You two next,’ I mouthed, making her laugh.
I gazed around me, looking at all the faces, old and new, I saw my own joy and happiness reflected back at me, and my heart could not have been fuller.
As Cole drew me to his side for another photograph, I remembered last Christmas Eve, when I’d dared to give him my heart. My life had changed beyond recognition since then. I didn’t know what the next year would bring – of course, I didn’t, who did? But I was sure about one thing; that it would be full of love. And if we put love at the heart of everything we did, then how could we possibly fail?
Epilogue
Christmas Eve 2000
Hilary Burgess’s favourite thing was order; her collection of alphabetised books, VHS cassettes and CDs gave her life. And it was this trait which made her the perfect person to oversee the computerisation of Derbyshire County Council’s social services archive. She couldn’t abide mess, or loose ends, or clutter. She gave a shudder as she passed her colleague Bernard’s desk. Honestly, she thought, shaking her head, who in their right mind could finish work for the Christmas break and leave Scrabble tiles all over his workstation? Bernard, that was who.
She set down a heavy cardboard box full of correspondence and lifted off the lid. She’d sort through this last one and then she’d call it a day.
It was 4 p.m. and everyone had already left. It was disgraceful, if you asked Hilary; she was a stickler for the rules. She was paid until half past five and she would leave then and not a minute sooner. Besides, an empty office with no ringing phones, no constant chatter about the Christmas party was heavenly. She hadn’t gone to the party. She’d been at rehearsal with her rock choir. Not that she’d told anyone about that. Her colleagues only knew Hilary the buttoned-up, obsessive neat freak. They’d do their nut if they could see her belting out ‘We are the Champions’ byQueen, in her leather trousers, her long black hair swinging loosely around her shoulders.
Hilary settled herself at her desk with a cup of tea and a mince pie and began to work methodically through the files inside the box. Some of it could be thrown away, but most of it would be sent off to be scanned, digitised forever.
As she took out yet another folder, three sheets of paper, their corners pinched together, fluttered onto her desk. The paper had been torn from one of those reporter’s notebooks, the sort with a spiral of wire at the top.
She looked back in the box to see if there was an envelope for it, but she couldn’t see anything. She tutted, shaking her head. Whoever had filed it had done a poor job. She sipped her tea and began to read the letter. It took her a while because the writing was smudged and hard to read.
December 1996
Dear M,
I don’t know whether you’ll see this when I’m gone or not. I hope so. Maybe you’ll get it when you’re eighteen. I don’t know how these things work. That’s me all over – I never know the answers.
And that’s how I feel now – that I’ve run out of answers. I don’t know how to be your mum; I only know that I love you and want the best for you. I’ve decided that the best is not with me.
My own mother hardly ever looked at me, did you know that? She had no interest in me at all, I’m not even sure if she loved me. I had four nannies at one point, each of them competing with me for her attention. I know I’ll never be able to steer you safely through life. I haven’t even managed to do that for myself. I’d have no chance doing it for someone else.
But I do love you, you must believe that. I’m not like my mum, I can hardly take my eyes off you. I look at you and my heart wants to burst, knowing that you’re mine. Against all the odds, I made the most beautiful child and, whatever happens next for you, know that I loved you with every cell of my body.
I’m sorry for everything. I am so sorry you ended up with me as your mother. You deserve better. Without me around to mess things up, I hope that’s what you’ll get. I hope you remember me with love, even though I’ve let you down. But I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t. Will you miss me? I wonder. The selfish part of me hopes you will, but I know that’s not fair. Above all else, I want your life to be full of light and happiness.
