Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
Two weeks passed, filled with party planning and wedding discussions. Ottilie and Heath had agreed on an autumn date, but that was about all. Heath gave the impression of wanting to go along with Ottilie’s choices, but she could tell he was holding his own opinions back. When she’d said she wanted small and intimate, he’d agreed, but he’d seemed disappointed.
It would sound odd and unreasonable to Heath, no matter what he said, and so she didn’t say so, but part of her didn’t want a big fuss. She didn’t want to feel like she was upstaging the first one with Josh, that this marriage was more important to her, more worthy of her time and effort. It was a battle she’d have to work out for herself, one that Heath couldn’t hope to understand because even she would struggle to explain it. They’d started to draw up a guest list so they could have numbers for prospective venues, but even that had been more difficult than either of them could imagine.
‘Where do you draw the line?’ Heath had asked as they sat together at the kitchen table of Wordsworth Cottage, staring at a page full of names.
Ottilie had twiddled the pen in her fingers and sighed. ‘I know. If I invite those cousins’ – she tapped the page – ‘I have to invite all the other ones. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t really like the others.’
‘Same with friends. I’ve known Guy since college, and we were best mates with David. I haven’t seen David for years and he was always a bit of an idiot, to be quite honest, but if I don’t invite him, Guy will want to know why because they’re still good friends, and I can hardly say I didn’t ask him because I think he’s a dickhead who never grew up, can I?’
‘It’s not supposed to be stressful, is it?’
‘If it is, nobody told me.’ He sighed. ‘How many people does that venue in Buttermere hold? You know, the one with the jetty by the lake? I can’t quite remember.’
‘They had two rooms for hire. One held about a hundred and fifty and the other…’ Ottilie scrunched up her nose. ‘Hang on – I emailed them; I’ll check their reply.’ Ottilie scrolled down the list but then stopped at something that wasn’t from a potential venue. ‘That was quick.’
‘What?’
‘The DNA test. The results are back.’ She looked up at Heath. ‘That’s exciting, isn’t it? I might find I’m related to royalty.’
‘I don’t think it tells you stuff like that.’
‘Well, I might have more exotic heritage than I thought. Ireland and Manchester – not the most exciting combo, is it?’
‘I don’t think I even have anything other than British ancestry, so…’ Heath shrugged.
‘I’ll open it later,’ Ottilie decided.
‘Open it now. I can tell you want to.’
‘But we’re busy with this.’
‘It’ll take two seconds to look it over. Open it. Hang on…’ Heath took out his phone and scrolled through his own inbox. ‘Mine are in too. Shall we open them together?’
Ottilie smiled as she clicked the link. ‘See – you play it cool, but you want to know as much as I do.’
‘Well, if we do have long-lost relatives somewhere exotic, that’s the honeymoon sorted, isn’t it?’
Ottilie prodded him with a laugh. ‘Honestly, I can’t tell whether you mean that or not.’
‘Oh, I do, trust me.’
‘You first,’ Ottilie said, her tummy bubbling with anticipation. She hadn’t cared up until this point – not really. Once they’d sent their samples, she’d barely given it a second thought. But now there were all sorts of possibilities, new things to discover about one another.
‘Huh…’ Heath read in silence.
‘What?’
‘Well…’ He looked up. ‘I’m sorry to say, but I’m not Icelandic. English and Welsh – that’s it.’
‘Welsh? Did you know?’
‘No, but it’s only twelve per cent. How about you? Any exciting honeymoon destinations in yours?’
Ottilie scanned the information. ‘Strange,’ she said after a few minutes to process it. ‘And a bit disappointing. Totally English.’
‘Why’s it strange?’
‘Because I know my dad’s family are from Ireland. Some of them still live there. But there’s nothing about Ireland here at all – not even a tiny percentage.’
‘Let me see…’ Heath leaned in to look. ‘You’re right. What’s that there? Norway, three per cent.’
‘I don’t know. I suppose if we’re British, we’ve all got a bit of Viking in us, right?’
‘I suppose so. So they can trace pretty far back?’
‘Generations. I read the info pack when I sent my sample and I think it’s a couple of hundred years.’
‘Weird. Could it be his family were Irish but they’d gone there from Britain and so their DNA is showing as British?’
Ottilie paused. ‘As far as I know there’s at least three generations in Cork, but I don’t exactly know how this works. I suppose that could be it. Well…’ She locked her phone. ‘That’s that. Honeymoon in Manchester it is!’
Up in the hills, it was colder than it had been when Ottilie and Stacey had left the village. Even though it was bright and dry, the air sweet and clear, Ottilie was glad of the fleece she’d picked up last minute. She was, however, regretting her choice of shorts, wishing she’d put long trousers on too. Stacey didn’t seem to be struggling quite as much with the temperature. In fact, there was a sheen of sweat on her brow as they trudged up their planned route.
‘Whose idea was it to start hiking?’ Stacey paused on the track, holding her side as she caught her breath.
‘I believe it was yours,’ Ottilie said, taking a sip from her water bottle. ‘You said you wanted to get into shape, you didn’t want to drive for hours to a gym where you’d hate everyone there, and that we had a natural gym right on our doorsteps that we never use.’
‘Did I really say all that?’
‘I’m paraphrasing, but that’s about it.’
‘Next time I say something that stupid, remind me of today.’ Stacey wiped a sleeve across her forehead and squinted up at the hillside. ‘How much further is it?’
‘I have no idea. You’ve got the map.’
‘About that…’ Stacey looked sheepish as she turned her phone screen to Ottilie. ‘I lost signal about a mile back. I thought we might get it back further up, but…’
Ottilie threw a look of concern at the screen. ‘Will we be able to find our way down?’
‘We haven’t found our way there yet.’
‘I vote we turn around, get in the car, find that little bakery we passed on the way here and stuff our faces.’
‘I’d say that’s the best idea I’ve heard today. We can start our hiking routine again next week, right?’
Ottilie raised her eyebrows. ‘Whatever you say.’
‘We will!’ Stacey insisted as they scrambled down the hill, rocks and scree coming away beneath their feet. ‘That’s if we don’t die getting down here.’
‘We’ll be fine. Just talk less and look more at what you’re doing.’
‘Easy for you to say. I’m pathologically incapable of shutting up – everyone knows that.’
‘Have you ever been tested for ADHD?’
‘Don’t you start – Chloe’s always going on about that. I think I only have a lot to say because people keep asking me things.’
Ottilie grinned up at her. ‘Want me to stop?’
‘I didn’t say that…whoops!’
Ottilie had to laugh as Stacey slid on a patch of wet grass and onto her bottom. ‘I take it back – it’s not ADHD; you’re just scatty.’ She went back and offered a hand to help her up, Stacey grinning sheepishly as she took it.
‘If we do come hiking again, maybe we’ll pick somewhere on the flat?’
‘Thimblebury high street?’
‘Sounds good to me. Can we just have a minute? I’m sweating buckets here.’
Ottilie nodded, and they picked their way over to a tussock where they could take a seat and look out from the hillside.
‘It’s been worth the effort for that view, hasn’t it?’ she said.
‘I suppose so. This was what I meant. We’ve said it before, but we live in this amazing place and we don’t see nearly enough of it. Sometimes I feel guilty. I bet some people would kill to live here; I don’t even think about how lucky I am half the time.’
‘You’re busy. There’s a difference between living in a place and holidaying there – everyone knows that. You can go on holiday and dream of moving there, but the reality for most would be they’d still have to work and cook and clean and whatever else. And don’t forget you’ve got Chloe and Mackenzie to think about, not just yourself.’
‘True. And Ollie now – he stays over every weekend. I keep asking when they’re going to get their own place.’
‘Can they afford to?’
‘I don’t suppose they can, but it makes more work for me when he’s there. Simon’s great, of course – he helps out when he can, but he’s got a big workload at the surgery, so…’
Ottilie took a packet from her backpack and offered it to Stacey. ‘Diet biscuits,’ she said with a grin.
‘I sound like I’m complaining about nothing, don’t I?’ Stacey said, munching on a biscuit, her gaze on a vista where sunlight and shadow chased one another across distant hillsides. ‘I’ve got nothing to moan about really.’
‘It does us good to get things off our chest. Doesn’t matter whether they’re big or small.’
‘How’s the party planning?’
‘Good. You know Geoff and Magnus – I’m hardly lifting a finger. They’ve got the food covered, buying from their wholesale suppliers and insisting they do a lot of the cooking – because we know they love cooking – and they’ve got that amazing sound system at the house so no need for me to worry about music…all I’ve got to do is invite people. I almost want to ask them to step back and leave me something to do because it doesn’t feel like our party at all at the moment.’
‘It’s a tricky one.’ Stacey crammed the rest of the biscuit into her mouth and reached for another one. ‘But I know my brother and that sounds about right. Take advantage of it. You get an easy ride, and him and Magnus get to indulge their inner party animals.’
‘Hmm…’ Ottilie bit into a biscuit. ‘I suppose you’re right. People pay good money for this sort of service.’
‘Exactly. What’s Heath said about it?’
‘He’s happy enough.’
‘There you go then.’ Stacey got up and brushed a hand over her shorts. ‘I think those biscuits have made me hungrier than I was before. Shall we go and find that bakery?’