Chapter Twenty-Five
When Imogen stepped outside Birdie’s house on Saturday morning, the sky was pink, although that might have been because her head had been full of love hearts since Wednesday night.
She had tried to play it cool, to pretend she wasn’t feeling a whole lot more than perhaps she should be after spending the night with a man she’d only known for six weeks – and six weeks after she was supposed to be married – but Dexter hadn’t been having any of it.
She wound her scarf idly around her neck, replaying parts of that night and the following morning – when he’d returned after opening the bakery – and her grin widened.
It hadn’t felt like they were getting each other out of their systems, or like a typical one-night stand; a matter of simple, physical attraction.
To her it had meant a whole lot more, and that was the thing that made her smile falter, even as she walked to Dexter and Lucy’s house, because nothing was certain, and Mistingham was an escape.
None of it was real, however real it seemed.
‘Imogen!’ Lucy opened the door and grabbed her hand, Artichoke bouncing and yipping at her feet, dressed in a cute polka-dot dog jacket. Behind her, their Christmas tree twinkled in the cosy living room.
Imogen blinked and tried to focus. ‘Lucy!’
‘Dad says it’s going to snow, maybe while we’re foraging.’
‘I said there was a fifty per cent chance in the forecast,’ Dexter called, from deeper in the house, and even the sound of his voice twisted Imogen’s stomach in ways that were both pleasant and torturous.
Then he appeared in the doorway, his smile wide and his dark eyes so clear, they were like a night sky full of stars.
‘Hello,’ he said, and if there was a slight bashfulness there, who could blame him?
Not after everything they’d done only a couple of nights ago.
‘Hey,’ Imogen said.
‘Do you want to take off your hat and scarf?’ Lucy peered up at her.
‘We’re just about to go outside,’ Dexter said with a laugh. ‘Unless you want a drink first?’
‘Oh no, I’m fine—’
‘But she’s too hot,’ Lucy said indignantly. ‘Her cheeks are red.’
Imogen slapped her palms to them. ‘Oh Lord.’
‘Oh Lord what?’ Lucy asked. ‘Do you go to church?’
‘Let me get my boots on,’ Dexter said hurriedly, and Imogen felt as if she was being cherished. He’d noticed her embarrassment and was trying to distract his daughter. When had Edmund ever worried about anyone’s embarrassment but his own?
‘I’ve got purple boots,’ Lucy announced, and Imogen was glad to be diverted by footwear, to be shown the orange laces that, she had to agree, went very well with the purple boots.
When the four of them stepped outside, Artichoke so excited that she was jumping in circles like a broken jack-in-a-box, the sky was even more ominous.
The clouds obliterated everything, hanging low over the village and the sea, the pink hue tinged with orange.
There was the unmistakable scent of snow in the air.
‘Woah.’ Dexter craned his head back to look up.
‘Snow!’ Lucy clapped her mittened hands together. ‘Sure you want to go foraging on the beach?’ Dexter asked.
Imogen held up Birdie’s canvas tote bag. ‘I’m ready if you are.’
‘Good. Let’s go.’
They walked down Perpendicular Street, past the cosy shops and food offerings.
They waved at May, who was holding the fort in Sophie’s stationery emporium, and even though she was busy with a customer, she waved back.
It reminded Imogen of the mornings she’d been spending in the community hub, helping villagers set up Facebook pages and navigate online shopping, and the very cathartic couple of hours she’d had when a woman called Maureen had turned up with two disastrously tangled balls of wool.
Winnie had said that wasn’t what the hub was for, but it had been quiet and Maureen had said the wool was limited edition, all sold out, and she needed it for her grandson’s Christmas present.
When she’d added that her kitten, Barney, was responsible, Imogen couldn’t say no.
She hadn’t realized how soothing, or gratifying, it would be to untangle wool.
Maybe she could find a paid job like that in London?
One where she was actually helping people who needed it, where she got to see the difference she made.
She frowned, wondering what Maureen would do when Barney inevitably got hold of more wool and she wasn’t there to help, but then Dexter swept her gloved hand up in his, and she let her worries drift away.
‘All right Dex? Lucy? The Green Goddess?’ Jason was standing in the doorway of Two Scoops, his arms braced on the door jamb.
‘You do know the Green Goddess is a salad dressing, don’t you?’ Dexter said.
‘You didn’t say hello to Artichoke,’ Lucy added.
Jason crouched and Artichoke pranced up to him. ‘Hello Artichoke.’ He ruffled the dog’s fur while she yipped ecstatically. ‘Where are you all off to on such a freezing day?’
‘We’re going foraging for tree decorations,’ Lucy told him. ‘Imogen doesn’t like all the fancy ones because they’re what everyone else has, so we’re going to be different.’
Imogen realized today was going to be a day of blushing. ‘I just … I find all the traditions get set in stone, and it’s nice to change things up.’
‘You’ve not been put off by the mistletoe thieves, then?’ Jason raised his eyebrows.
‘Oh no. It wasn’t exactly vandalism, was it?’
‘If that’s the only bit of Christmas mischief this year then we can count ourselves lucky,’ Dexter added.
‘I still think it was Frank and Valerie.’ He grinned, and Jason chuckled.
‘I can just picture it, those two sneaking around after dark with torches and carrier bags, railing against the desecration of the natural world by leaving a big pile of mistletoe on the village green.’
‘A couple of years ago there was a wreath thief going around my parents’ neighbourhood,’ Imogen said. ‘They were pretty luxurious wreaths, and a lot of doors got damaged because they’d been attached securely and the thieves brought proper tools.’
‘That’s big cities for you.’ Jason shook his head. ‘Still, the mistletoe thief wasn’t exactly awash with Christmas spirit, whoever they were. Enjoy your walk. Don’t forget that I sell posh hot chocolate for people who are so cold they can’t feel their fingers.’
Lucy looked beseechingly at her dad, and he smiled and put his hand on her head. ‘We will bear that in mind.’
They said goodbye to Jason, and it wasn’t long before they reached the seafront, a low wall separating them from the promenade and the beach. Imogen shivered.
‘We wouldn’t last long in there,’ Dexter murmured. Today the sea was a deep slate-grey, the waves white-topped, emphasizing how dark and forbidding the water was. But Imogen could still see other colours: the hints of blue; a pink sheen where it reflected the snow-filled sky.
‘Let’s not test it out,’ she said and, trying to appear nonchalant, she took his hand this time, and they walked down onto the beach.
Under the shelter of the promenade, the wind wasn’t so fierce, but the gusts that came their way were peppered with sea spray, and Imogen huddled closer to Dexter while Lucy and Artichoke raced ahead, distracted by the waves.
‘Don’t get too close!’ Dexter called. Lucy raised an arm in acknowledgement and then ignored him, running straight to the water. ‘She’s ten going on eighteen.’ He rubbed his face.
‘She’s wonderful,’ Imogen said. She didn’t have a whole lot of experience with children. She was an only child so didn’t have any nieces or nephews, but a few of Edmund’s friends were married, and they had often been beset by cute but noisy toddlers when they’d gone for visits.
Lucy was in that perfect state of being entirely too grown up on one hand, and unashamedly holding onto her childishness on the other.
Imogen couldn’t help thinking of the talk they’d had about Dexter before Sophie and Harry’s wedding, and she wondered if she was making life too complicated for them both, simply by being here.
‘She’s a real credit to you, Dexter. She’s bright and happy, and she’s curious. She loves books, not screens, and she has all this to explore on her doorstep. I know it’s impossible not to worry about her, but as someone on the outside, looking in, I think you’re doing an amazing job.’
‘So is she,’ Dexter said. ‘She’s stronger than I ever imagined.
But thank you. I do worry, because I have to decide what’s best for her, every single time.
I don’t have Rae to check my thinking against, to contradict me or have other ideas.
That push and pull of parenting, where you have two voices, not one. Like a double-check, you know?’
‘I get it, and I can’t imagine how difficult it is. I still think you’re doing a brilliant job.’
Dexter nodded. ‘That means a lot. How are you doing in this cold?’
‘A little bit chilly, but I’m enjoying myself. Shall we see if we can actually find something?’
‘Let’s.’ They walked towards the rockier part of the beach, and he added, ‘I don’t think you’re on the outside, by the way. While you’re here, while you want to be, you’re a part of our lives.’
Imogen didn’t know what to say to that, so she just held his hand tightly as they scrambled over the rocks, peering into pools left behind when the tide receded.
They were soon joined by a breathless Lucy and a soaked Artichoke, and they all looked for treasure together.
They found cockle and whelk shells, their pale surfaces patterned with pink and gold.
Most were broken but a couple were still whole, the unblemished whelk shells particularly appealing.
‘What about razor clams?’ Dexter held one up. It was long and thin with striations all the way along.
‘They look like angel wings,’ Lucy said. ‘We could paint them!’
‘Good thinking.’ He added some of the better examples to Imogen’s tote bag, the contents making a pleasing clinking sound.