15. Ruby
15
RUBY
It’s disappointing how quickly the fun has been sucked out of running from the police. I don’t say anything to Harry, but I was starting to grow roots in the charming little fishing village. Not because I wanted to spend the rest of my life there, but simply because everyone had opened their arms and welcomed us into their fold.
They thought of us as Mr. and Mrs. Heathcliff, and that’s who we were. Without even trying.
In Gretna, we find a guest house, a rambling whitewashed building surrounded by heather-filled flowerbeds. We check in under a different name: Earnshaw. And sleep in each other’s arms, our tummies rumbling because we haven’t eaten since Eileen’s cooked breakfast the morning before.
Gretna is quirky. Busier than the fishing village, it doesn’t take us long to figure out that it’s the Scottish version of Vegas: people elope to Gretna Green to get married. Or at least they used to, before legal requirements got in the way.
We wander around the pretty wedding venues, reading various plaques and notices about the village’s history. It seems that Gretna became a popular runaway wedding destination when the law in England and Wales prevented people under the age of 21 from marrying without parental permission. The same law didn’t apply in Scotland, and with Gretna being just across the border, word quickly got around.
“I knew there was a reason we caught that bus.” Harry tries out a Scottish accent and fails epically.
I laugh at him. “Ach, get away with ye.”
He shakes his head. “How have you picked it up so quickly?”
“I pay attention.”
We’re strolling past the wedding anvil outside the old Blacksmiths Shop, when a woman wearing an ivory lace-trimmed dress and carrying a petite posy of pink flowers comes over to us. Her partner is wearing a traditional kilt complete with furry sporran, white shirt and black jacket.
“Hello,” the woman says. “This might be a bit of a strange request, but would you be our witnesses? You see, we’re getting married today, now actually, and well, we didn’t want to tell anyone, and now we need someone to sign the marriage certificate.”
I glance at Harry, and he is beaming at the couple and shaking the man’s hand. “We’d love to be your witnesses. Wouldn’t we, Ruby?”
Their happiness is infectious.
We follow them into the old smithy where the registrar is waiting to complete the simple ceremony. I thought I would feel awkward encroaching on the wedding of two complete strangers, but it feels strangely intimate, and I realize that it’s an honor to be invited to share their special moment with them.
I lean against Harry and wonder if this will be us one day. How will it feel to marry Harry? “You should get married in a kilt,” I whisper in his ear. “They’re sexy.”
“Only if we get married in the summer.”
When the registrar completes the ceremony by announcing, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” tears well in my eyes.
I can’t look at Harry. I know that he asked me to marry him in the hospital after his accident, and I’ve refused to acknowledge that he was serious, but knowing what I know now about him, I understand that he meant every word. He wants to marry me … now… But he’ll change his mind when we get back to Chicago and he speaks to my mom.
The couple kiss. I can see it in their eyes: this is their happy-ever-after moment.
I envy them this quiet wedding, their vows witnessed by two people they met on the street outside. I envy them for the freedom to fall in love and plan a future together, no running away, no fights, no secrets. I wonder if they realize how lucky they are.
They ask us to have a celebratory drink with them, and we accept. I wish I’d had time to buy some clean clothes, but they’re so wrapped up in their own little wedding bubble that they don’t even seem to realize that my jeans have grubby patches on the knees and my sweater has been worn three days in a row.
The pub is old-fashioned with dimmed lights, red velvet cushions on the seats, and a selection of desiccated bouquets strung around the walls, obviously donated by people who have gotten married here.
The newlyweds order champagne and Harry refuses to let them pay, saying that it’s his treat. He’s wired, buzzing with happiness, and I wonder how excited he’ll be on his own wedding day. I feel a stab of sadness in my chest—he’ll make someone an amazing husband one day.
We learn that their names are Donna and Bill. They met in a cinema. They were watching a gory horror movie when Donna’s best friend puked over Bill’s then girlfriend—sitting in the row in front—during a particularly gruesome scene.
I cringe. “That’s the weirdest meet cute I’ve ever heard.”
“How did you two meet?” Donna sips her champagne, her eyes sparkling.
Harry inhales deeply. “I fell over her at an ice-skating rink. Literally.”
“Ouch.” Bill chuckles. “Lucky you didn’t slice her fingers off with the blades.”
“Thank you!” I raise my champagne flute to toast him. “My mom always claimed that was a thing when I was younger. She believed that fear was the best way to teach me to skate.”
Everyone who enters the pub comes over to congratulate the couple. Weddings have this effect on people. It’s a celebration of love and happiness and the future, and I find myself smiling so much that my cheeks are sore.
Between pats on the back, kisses, and handshakes, the discussion turns around to the kind of wedding Harry and I would like.
“I want to get married in a forest or a field. Somewhere outside.” Inexplicably, my cheeks grow hot as Harry stares at me intently, like he’s taking notes in case I test him on my preferences later. “You know, in a long floaty dress, something ethereal, with flowers in my hair.”
“Sounds lovely,” Donna says. “What about your wedding reception? Would you have that in the forest too?”
I never thought that far ahead. I’ve only ever envisaged the ceremony, something informal, where my husband and I read out our own vows and people throw wildflowers over our heads.
“Donna is thinking about the great British weather,” Bill adds. “Raincoats, umbrellas, wellie boots getting stuck in the mud.”
“Would kind of ruin the dress.” Donna shrugs.
“Or add to the adventure.” I sip my champagne, and my mind immediately flits to Harry dribbling bubbles into my belly button. “Depending on which way you look at it. It’s the person you’re marrying that’s important, right?”
“Cheers to that.” Bill clinks his glass against hers.
“What about you, Harry?” Donna asks. “Ever thought about your wedding?”
Harry sets his drink down on the table and catches the condensation on the side of the glass with his thumb. “I always thought I’d have a big wedding. You know, the kind of event that the paparazzi are clamoring to get exclusive pictures of. Hundreds of guests. My wife-to-be in a huge, sparkling white gown.”
“Princess Diana style.” Donna smiles at the image.
I can’t tell if he’s serious or not, so I keep quiet.
Harry reaches for my hand underneath the table. “I want everyone to see my future wife. I want to show her off, let them see how beautiful she is, and how happy she makes me.” He pauses. “But I can do that in a forest if that’s what makes her happy too.”
Donna dabs her eyes with a tissue. “Stop. You’re going to make me cry.”
“Well said, mate.” Bill claps Harry on the back. “Maybe we can repay the favor, come along and be your witnesses one day.”
“I’d like that.”
Harry is all sunshine smiles and fluid edges. He’s living his dream, only he’s confusing it with reality, and this isn’t real. None of it is real.
I stand abruptly and make an excuse about needing the restroom, stumbling blindly towards the rear of the pub, my thoughts swimming frantically against the tide.
All this talk about weddings and forests and sparkling dresses has brought me down to earth with a thundering jolt. This isn’t our life. One day we’ll have to go home, and then it will all come crashing down around us and this … adventure … will end up being nothing more than a moment of madness that we’ll look back on with much eye rolling and shaking of our heads.
In the restroom, I splash cold water on my face and stare at my reflection in the mirror above the basin. I look pale, tired, with dark smudges under my eyes. But my cheeks are rosy, and my lips still bear the imprint of Harry’s kisses.
My stomach twists when I think of our naked bodies entwined beneath the fur blanket at Eileen’s B&B. If only we could somehow make it real, stay here forever, make a new life, one in which dreams do come true.
Donna and Bill have made it happen. But even as I think this, I know that their situation is nothing like ours, and the dark cloud that I’ve been ignoring since we landed in Edinburgh settles above my head again, threatening and ominous.
I breathe deeply, trying to calm the insects crawling around inside my chest.
Walking back to the bar, I can hear Donna’s laughter, loud and dirty, the kind of laugh that hints at sexual innuendos every time and makes people smile.
I’ve only walked a few steps when the front door to the pub opens, and two policemen walk in, their eyes scanning the patrons. I freeze. I’m guessing they’ve been given photographs of us, which means there’s no point trying to pretend we’re the Earnshaws if they spot us.
I need to warn Harry. They’re closer to him than they are to me, but if I go back to the table and tell him that we should leave, Donna and Bill will require an explanation, and it will only draw attention to us. Running away has confirmed our guilt enough already.
Harry’s face lights up when he sees me, a wide smile stretching his lips. He hasn’t noticed the cops. Yet.
I know what I must do. He didn’t force me to come here with him against my will. It was my idea to pack a bag and leave home with him, and it was my idea to run from the hotel in Edinburgh when the cops first caught up with us. He said that he would do whatever I wanted, and I—with my head filled with books—wanted an adventure.
I can’t look at him.
Navigating my way around the tables filled with people enjoying a drink with their friends, I approach the policemen, my pulse racing.
One, a tall lanky guy with a protruding Adam’s apple glances at me, looks away, and then immediately returns his gaze to me.
“Hi.” My voice is filled with confidence I don’t feel inside. “I’m Ruby Jackson. I believe you’re looking for me.”
For one awful moment that seems to last an hour, he blinks, frown lines appearing between his eyebrows. His colleague stares at me slack-jawed, and I wonder if I’ve misread the situation completely. Maybe they’re not looking for me after all. Maybe my mom didn’t file a missing person report.
“Ruby Jackson?” the first officer says.
My heart is thumping. This is a mistake, a huge silly mistake prompted by my own insecurities.
But before I can smile and back away, pretend that I’ve drunk too much champagne and have no clue what I’m talking about, Harry is standing next to me, his fingers entwined with mine. I feel something hard and cold sliding onto my ring finger, and Harry’s eyes meet mine. We exchange the briefest glance, but it’s enough for me to know that he has everything under control.
I raise my hand. It feels heavier, somehow, weighted down, and my eyes bulge when I see the huge, heart-shaped diamond set into a neat white-gold band.
It’s … beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful. I instinctively twist my hand back and forth and follow the shimmering patterns dancing across the room and causing the officers’ buttons to glint like the sea when the sun is shining.
“Hello, officers.” Harry shakes their hands warmly. “My name is Harry Weiss. I’m afraid you’ve been sent on a wild goose chase. You see, my beautiful fiancée and I have eloped. We’ve come to Gretna Green to get married.”
His smile is easy, his tone is self-assured. This is a side of Harry that I haven’t seen before, the side that he no doubt adopts when he’s discussing business with potential clients.
The policemen both stare at the ring and then at me. I want to smile. I want to be as confident as Harry, but my facial muscles are refusing to cooperate.
“Getting married?” The first officer nods. “I assume all the necessary paperwork is in place.”
“Yes, sir.” Harry inclines his head, his voice still strong.
The policeman turns his attention to me. “We will have to report back to confirm that we’ve spoken to you.”
“Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Well, good luck then.” The officer smiles for the first time, and I realize that he’s a lot younger than I first thought.
All eyes follow them out the door, and then Donna is hugging me tightly, and Bill is shaking Harry’s hand vigorously, and the ring on my finger is lighting up the room with dancing patterns.