Reunited At The Altar

Brad shook himself and wandered through the church. There was the hexagonal stone font with its carved wooden cover and the smiling stone lions at the base—the font where he and Ruby had been christened as babies. And the ancient wooden pews with their poppyheads and carved bench ends, parts of the carvings polished smooth over the centuries where children’s hands had rubbed against them. He’d always especially loved the carvings of a cat carrying one of her kittens and the mermaid.

This was the church where, if they’d waited until after his graduation, he would’ve married Abigail. Just as Colin would wait for Ruby on Saturday, Brad would’ve waited at the altar for Abby. But, because he’d been young and impetuous and desperately in love with her, he’d wanted to marry her before he went away to university. He realised now how much they’d deprived their families of a celebration. How stupid and selfish he’d been.

There were tea-light candles on a wrought-iron stand near the font, a couple of which were already lit. He lit one for his father using the wax taper provided, and stood watching the flame flicker for a while before putting some money into the slot in the wall safe.

Outside, several more graves had been dug in the churchyard since he’d last been here. And it was the first time he’d actually seen his father’s headstone.

His mum had made a good choice. Together with the dates, she’d kept the words simple: James Powell, beloved husband, father and son. And on the back there was a carving of a boat, his father’s favourite thing.

The stone vase-holder in front of the headstone was already full of flowers. Of course it would be; either Rosie or Ruby would’ve made sure of that. He should’ve thought to buy one of those pots on a spike that you could push into the earth, or bring some kind of jam jar to put his flowers in. Too late, now. He placed the wrapped bunch of flowers on the grass next to the vase, and sat cross-legged in front of the stone.

‘Well. I guess it’s about time I showed my face here,’ he said.

Understatement of the century.

He could almost see his father’s rolled eyes and hear the sarcastic comment.

‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry I was too far away to help.’ He dragged in a breath. ‘I’m sorry I’ve made such a mess of my life—though at least my career is doing OK. I know you were disappointed I didn’t follow in your footsteps, but I would’ve made a lousy lawyer. I’m a good scientist. I love my job. And I think you’d approve of me being one of the youngest managers ever in the pharmaceutical company, in charge of a really big project.’

No answer. Not that he expected one. But a sudden gust of wind or an unexpected ray of sunlight would’ve been nice. A sign that his father had heard him.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been there for Mum and Ruby,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t trying to neglect them. It was the whole idea of coming back here. Where I’d failed you. I know, I know, I should’ve manned up and driven here instead of always expecting them to come and see me in London. But, the longer I stayed away, the harder it was to come home. I couldn’t face walking into the house, expecting to see you and then seeing the space where you weren’t there—it’d be like losing you all over again and I just couldn’t bear it.’

And how he missed his father. They’d had a difficult relationship at times, but Brad had respected his father and what he’d achieved, even though they’d disagreed about Brad’s career choice. James Powell was a big bear of a man, always laughing and joking, full of outrageous stories about his days in court. Brad had sneaked into the public gallery at court one day, to watch his father at work, and he’d seen how brilliant James was—persuasive, knowledgeable, putting his client’s case in a way that the jury understood but without patronising them. He’d been spellbinding. A father to be proud of.

And he’d died way, way too soon.

Brad sighed. ‘You were right about me and Abby. We were too young to get married. Of course it didn’t last.’ And how selfish he’d been to drag Abby into his teenage rebellion. If he’d waited, maybe they would still be married now. But they weren’t. Another failure. Something else he hadn’t wanted to face, here in Great Crowmell. The place where he’d fallen in love with Abigail Scott.

The break-up had been entirely his fault. He’d been the one to push her away.

Though seeing her again had made him realise that his old feelings for her were still there. They’d never really gone away. He’d ignored them, buried them even; but now he was home and close to her, it was harder to block them out.

He couldn’t possibly act on those feelings. He didn’t trust himself not to mess it all up again, and he wanted to give Abby the chance to be happy—even if it was with someone else. But maybe they could be on better terms than they’d left it last night. When she’d told him things he hadn’t wanted to face and, instead of talking it over with her, he’d walked out and refused to discuss it.

‘Did you ever regret things, Dad?’ he asked. ‘Did you ever wish you hadn’t said things, or that you’d done something differently?’

Of course there was no answer.

Though his father had always been so confident, so sure that he was right.

Abby’s words slid back into his head. Your dad was a stubborn old coot. I loved Jim dearly, but he didn’t help himself and he didn’t listen to anyone.

She was right; and that was probably why James had been so confident. He didn’t listen to anyone who didn’t say exactly what he wanted to hear. And Brad couldn’t ever remember his father apologising; though Jim had come close to it in that last phone call, when he’d admitted he should’ve waited instead of going out on the boat on his own.

Brad sighed. ‘Abby loved you. Even though you were stubborn and didn’t listen to anyone except maybe your clients, she loved you.’

She’d loved Brad, too. And he’d been so sure he was right, not listening to her. Just like his father. Funny, he hadn’t thought that he could be as difficult as James, but maybe he was. Being stubborn and refusing to give up had stood him in good stead professionally; the flip side meant that being stubborn and refusing to talk about things had ruined his marriage.

‘I owe her an apology,’ he said. ‘For a lot of things. I need to go and talk to her. But I’ll be back. I’ll come and see you on Saturday. And we’re going to smile all day until our faces hurt, for Ruby’s sake.’

When he walked back into the florist, the assistant raised her eyebrows. ‘Back again?’

He nodded. ‘Can you wrap up six roses for me, please?’ And there was only one colour he could choose. ‘Cream ones.’

‘Going to see your mum now, are you?’

That was the thing about growing up in a small town; everyone knew you, and they knew your business, too. ‘No. Actually, I’d like a different bouquet for her, please—something with lots of pinks and purples.’ Her favourite colours. ‘Can I pick it up in an hour? Oh, and if you have one of those vases on a spike you can use in the churchyard, I’d like to buy one of those, too, please.’

‘Sure.’

He paid for everything, taking just the roses and the vase with him, then bought a bottle of water in the newsagent next door.

Then he noticed the shop next to the newsagent. Scott’s Ice Cream Parlour. That was new. He’d been so focused on visiting the churchyard that he hadn’t noticed it when he’d walked here before. So where would Abigail be today? Here, or at the café by the beach?

Inside, there was a young girl serving; he didn’t recognise her.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked with a smile.

‘Um, I was wondering if I could have a quick word with Abigail, please?’

‘She’s not here, I’m afraid. Can I take a message?’

‘No, it’s fine.’ It looked as if he’d have to catch her at home.

‘Do I hear someone asking for our Abby?’ An older woman came out of the back of the shop and stared at him in surprise. ‘Oh. Brad. You’re back.’

‘Hello, Gill.’ He remembered her from the beach café, years back. ‘Yes, I’m back for Ruby’s wedding.’

She eyed him warily. ‘I can get a message to Abby, if you like.’

It was kind of nice that Abby’s staff were protective about her, he thought, not actually telling him where she was until they’d checked with her first. Though it didn’t help him.

‘I’m not going to fight with her,’ he said softly. ‘I just wanted a quick word with her about wedding stuff.’ That last bit wasn’t strictly true, or anywhere even vaguely near the truth, but the first bit was heartfelt.

Gill frowned, and he thought she was going to stonewall him. But then she nodded. ‘OK. It’s Tuesday, so she’ll be at the beach café.’

‘Thank you, Gill.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Her gaze dropped to the flowers and the vase he was carrying, and this time there was more sympathy in her expression. ‘Going to see your dad?’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t need to know it was for the second time—or that these flowers were for Abby.

‘He was one of a kind, your dad. He’s still missed around here.’

The words put a lump in his throat. ‘Thank you.’

At the church, he sorted out the flowers he’d left at the grave earlier, pushing the spike into the earth and then filling the vase with water; then he headed for the beach café. He’d forgotten what a long walk it was from the harbour to the beach. It had always felt like seconds when he was a teenager, walking there hand in hand with Abby. Now, it seemed never-ending. And he couldn’t remember the seagulls being quite so irritating and screamy, either.