Chapter Five
With her goodies from Sophie’s stationery shop in a posh paper bag, Imogen walked down the main road, charmingly called Perpendicular Street, towards the sea.
It was visible between the buildings, a thin slice of grey that held a hundred different shades of blue and green, the play of the November sun on the water making the colours shift like there were fish beneath the surface.
North Norfolk had always felt wholly Birdie’s, and Imogen was glad she was getting a chance to explore it, even if she’d escaped her own wedding only to walk straight into the planning stages of someone else’s.
May and Sophie seemed like Imogen’s kind of people, and she hoped the awkwardness of her situation wouldn’t get in the way if they ended up spending time together.
She walked past Hartley Country Apparel, the window displays promising layers of cosiness, country walks and roaring fires. She tried not to let the delectable whiff of Batter Days entice her, or the lure of the machines drag her into the arcade, Penny For Them. It was the sea she wanted.
She stopped on the seafront, the golden sand ahead of her, then the grey-blue sea, the waves small, the wind sharp but not gusting.
She snuggled more deeply into Birdie’s ludicrous coat and watched seagulls soaring, a man pounding along the sand in time with his dog’s lolloping run, splattered wellies on over jeans.
She had forgotten how freeing it was to have nothing but the sea ahead of you, no computer screens or fancy dinners or weddings to worry about.
Sighing, Imogen walked along the seafront, then took the lane that would lead her onto the cliff path.
Her breaths puffed out as she tackled the incline, her feet slipping in Birdie’s walking boots despite her two pairs of socks.
She reached a fenced-off area, parkland stretching away from the sea, and it spiked her curiosity.
She didn’t remember this from her previous visits, but maybe she’d never explored this far.
A little way along she saw a flash of colour amongst the muted winter tones, and as she got closer she realized the colour was attached to an animal, and that the animal was a goat.
A goat in a knitted jumper, blue with yellow fish swimming across it.
‘This is Birdie’s,’ she said, and the goat bleated in response. ‘I promise you, my grandmother knitted your jumper. As a proud recipient of dozens of knitted items over the years – jumpers and cardigans, hats and scarves – I pride myself on being an authority.’
‘You’re not wrong.’
Imogen jumped, then peered at the black and white goat.
It was staring at her, chewing a bit of grass.
For one crazy moment she thought it had been the one speaking, but then she looked beyond it and found a man standing a few feet away.
He had mid-brown hair, slightly too long, and a handsome, severe face, though his eyes were kind.
He was holding the biggest bunch of mistletoe she’d ever seen.
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘That is a lot of mistletoe.’
‘Yes, I had noticed.’ He puffed out a harsh breath.
Imogen gave him a tentative smile. ‘Are you planning a village kissing competition?’
‘I wasn’t, but I might have to now.’ He shook his head. ‘Who did you say you were?’
‘I’m Birdie’s granddaughter. I told your goat because it’s wearing one of her jumpers and I thought it ought to know.’
‘Felix knows,’ the man said. ‘Felix – and I – are indebted to Birdie.’
‘Felix the goat?’
He nodded. ‘And I’m Harry. I would shake your hand, but …’ He lifted the armfuls of mistletoe, then, after a moment’s pause, dropped it all on the ground. ‘I’ve got enough of it.’ He stepped up to the fence and shook her hand. ‘Good to meet you. I didn’t know Birdie was having family over.’
‘I’m an unexpected guest. Imogen. And you’re Harry – Sophie’s Harry?’
‘That’s right.’ He pointed at her paper bag. ‘I see you’ve already visited her Emporium.’
‘It’s gorgeous. A notebook makes everything better, don’t you think?’
Harry grinned. ‘Either you and my fiancée are kindred spirits, or she’s brainwashed you already.’
Imogen laughed. ‘Kindred spirits. And congratulations on your impending nuptials.’
‘Thanks.’ Harry’s grin got wider, and it transformed his face from steely and slightly unapproachable, to unquestionably attractive.
He wasn’t quite as good-looking as Dexter, but she could see that he and Sophie would make a striking couple.
‘It’s already turning into the headache I thought it would be. ’
‘The wedding?’
‘Yup. I don’t keep anything from Sophie, but I also don’t want to tell her I’ve already made a mistake.’
‘OK.’ Imogen stepped forward, so her knees were between the wire rungs of the fence. Felix headbutted them, so she bent and stroked the fur between his ears. ‘Tell me your mistake, and I’ll see if I can put things into perspective for you.’
Harry crossed his arms. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I have some … insight, into wedding mishaps, and I can promise that yours is on the small side.’
‘You don’t even know what I’ve done.’
‘So why don’t you tell me?’
He glared at her for a moment, then glanced behind him, looking over the parkland. ‘It’s the mistletoe. I’ve accidentally ordered a whole lorry-load of it.’
‘Of mistletoe? How much did you mean to order?’
‘About a fiftieth of what I’ve ended up with. We wanted some for wedding decorations, because it’s natural and Christmassy and … you know. Its symbolism is love and peace.’
‘And it’s good for kissing under,’ Imogen added.
‘Exactly,’ Harry said. ‘Anyway. This guy,’ he pointed at Felix, who Imogen was still lavishing with ear fondles, ‘distracted me when I was making the order, and I must have put in the wrong amount or hit it multiple times, and this morning a lorry pulled up in the driveway, and I got the whole lot. Now it’s up at the manor, it’s non-refundable because it’s a cut plant, and I have enough to open my own mistletoe farm. ’
‘What were you going to do with all this?’ Imogen gestured at the bunches he’d dropped on the ground.
‘I’ve been walking around holding it, as if that would somehow spark a solution, and realized I’d better check on Felix.
I don’t know what to do. Obviously now I’ve looked at my bank account, I can see that it is quite a lot of money for the amount I was expecting, but – it’s been a busy time.
’ He exhaled. ‘And now it looks like I’ve been …
frivolous.’ His frown suggested he wasn’t happy with his word choice.
‘Accidentally buying too many wedding decorations isn’t frivolous. It shows that you care; that you’re not one of those men who leaves all the wedding prep to the bride.’
‘So, go on then. How do I put this in perspective? I’m willing to accept all forms of help.’
Imogen was about to repeat her sorry story again – she really was in purgatory – when a voice cut her off. ‘Harry – there you are. What’s this problem you need my help with?’
Imogen’s breath caught when she saw who was walking towards them, the weak winter sun choosing that moment to peep out from behind the clouds. Dexter, her saviour. She would have to stop thinking about him like that.
‘Hello,’ she said, as their eyes met.
‘Hey. How are you doing?’ Dexter asked.
‘A bit better.’ She was on the other side of the fence to them, facing off with Harry, Felix and now Dexter.
‘I’ve had a couple of good nights’ sleep, some of Birdie’s special tea, sea air and retail therapy.
’ She lifted her bag. ‘And this gargantuan coat isn’t anywhere near as tight as my wedding dress was.
’ At that, she thought she saw the faintest blush on Dexter’s cheeks.
‘Birdie’s coat?’ Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.
‘Birdie’s coat. If I owned something like this, I wouldn’t have packed it for Mauritius.’
Harry frowned, because she hadn’t explained her situation to him yet. But now she wanted to focus on his problem, not hers. ‘I really want to help if I can.’
‘Me too,’ Dexter said, ‘though I don’t know what’s wrong yet.’
Harry told Dexter about the mistletoe mishap, gesturing to the bundle at his feet.
‘Right.’ Dexter shoved his hands into the pockets of his navy jacket.
It was halfway between casual and smart, with large, copper buttons, and it looked great on him, the upturned collar emphasizing his jawline.
He was so … unapologetic, somehow. ‘Couldn’t you just have gathered the mistletoe yourself? ’
‘Are you mad?’ Harry stared at him, his jaw tight. ‘You think, in the run-up to my and Sophie’s wedding, which is also the run-up to Christmas and involves sorting out whatever we’re going to do about the Oak Fest, I should have been scaling trees to gather mistletoe as well?’
‘I mean, you could have?’
‘It’s a moot point, because now I have ten times more than I need, and I’d rather work on fixing the problem than discussing all the ways I could have avoided it in the first place.’
‘Fair enough,’ Dexter said with a grin.
‘Though potentially,’ Imogen piped up, ‘if you wanted to get rid of some of the excess, you could sort of give it back to the trees? Put bunches back up, and nobody would be any the wiser.’
Dexter burst out laughing. ‘That’s a great idea. What do you think, Harry?’
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Are you two volunteering? I know how much you love climbing ladders, Dex.’
‘Well …’ It was clear from his expression that Dexter did not love climbing ladders.
Imogen grinned. ‘I wasn’t being serious.
What I was actually thinking was that you could gift it to other villagers, tell them that, because your wedding is mistletoe-themed, they could hang some on their front doors as a celebration of you and Sophie.
We could even paint some of it gold or silver.
That way it would look like you’ve been a thoughtful groom by including the locals in your wedding celebrations.
Though I suppose that only works if you’re inviting them. ’
‘We’re having it at the manor, and everyone is invited,’ Harry said. ‘Imogen, you …’
‘Sorry if I’ve overstepped, or—’
‘I think he’s trying to say that you’re a genius,’ Dexter said. ‘It’s a brilliant idea.’
‘It is?’ Imogen bent, putting her nose close to Felix’s, suddenly self-conscious.
‘You are a genius,’ Harry said emphatically. ‘It’s an excellent idea, and Sophie will love it, too.’
‘You’re going to own up to ordering too much?’ Dexter asked.
Harry laughed. ‘Of course I am. I would never keep anything from Sophie, even if it was something I could hide, but this way I’m going to her with a problem and a solution. Thank you, Imogen. You should come by the house sometime. We would love to have you over for dinner.’
‘That’s such a kind offer. I don’t know how long I’m staying, but I would love that, and if you’re doing any mistletoe spray-painting and I’m still around, then count me in.’
‘Of course. I’m glad I came to check on Felix.’
‘At least he hasn’t chewed through your fence reinforcements,’ Dexter said.
‘Yet,’ Harry replied ominously. ‘Good to meet you, Imogen, and thanks for coming over, Dex. Are you heading out this way?’
‘I’ll see myself out.’
Harry said goodbye and strode off across the grass. Felix bleated happily and trotted after him.
‘Can I walk you back to Birdie’s?’ Dexter asked.
‘I’d like that, but you’re on the wrong side of the fence.’
‘Oh. Right.’ He shrugged out of his coat, the marl grey sweatshirt he was wearing underneath it clinging to his torso which was, Imogen silently acknowledged, nicely defined. He laid his jacket over the fence, pushed it down and climbed over it.
‘Your beautiful coat,’ she protested.
‘It’s at least a decade old.’ Dexter pulled it off the fence, gave it a cursory glance, then slid his arms back through the sleeves.
He gestured at the path and they started walking, the shushing of the waves providing a gentle soundtrack.
‘So you’ve fixed Harry’s problem, and you’ve only been here a couple of days. ’
Imogen laughed. ‘If only it was as easy to fix my own.’
‘Have you spoken to … people?’
‘My fiancé, you mean?’ She patted Birdie’s coat pocket, where she’d stowed her switched-off phone. ‘I sent him a message. I know I need to talk to him, I just have no idea what to say.’
‘Hey.’ Dexter squeezed her shoulder, a quick, warm press. ‘Cut yourself some slack. This will always be one of the hardest things you’ve ever done, one of the biggest upheavals of your life. It doesn’t matter what led to it. It’s happened, and it’ll take a while to get used to.’
‘You’re saying it’s not a small thing,’ Imogen confirmed.
‘Exactly. Not a small thing. If it was me, I think—’ He was cut off by the jangle of a mobile, and Imogen knew it wasn’t hers.
He took an iPhone out of his jacket pocket and answered the call.
‘Hello? Oh, Birdie.’ He listened, his dark eyes flicking to Imogen, and her lungs tightened.
‘Sure. I’m with her now, actually. I’ll tell her. Don’t worry at all. OK, bye.’
‘What?’ Imogen croaked out. ‘What is it?’
‘Your mum just called Birdie,’ he said gently. ‘I think she’s got some news for you.’
Imogen stared at him, her feet rooted to the spot. Finding out what her mother – who hadn’t spoken to Birdie in at least half a decade – had called her to say, was the very last thing she wanted to do, out of all the worldly options available to her.