Chapter Twenty Five
It’s eleven o’clock at night, and instead of getting cosied up for bed, I’m stumbling down the street, knees quaking under the bulk of two bulging black bin bags, each filled to burst with wedding decor pieces.
The last string of patrons are just leaving as I reach the pub, and they gawk as I stagger along the path and rap awkwardly on the locked door with my elbow. Thankfully, Barry doesn’t keep me waiting long, and he grants me entry, though he doesn’t look all that happy to see me.
‘Come on then, Little Miss.’ He ushers me inside, hastily locking the door behind me.
‘Thanks for this, Barry,’ I say as I lug my heavy loads into the pub.
Barry rubs hard at his brow, shaking his head at the assortment of silk flowers and antique brass tealight holders that emerge from a rip in one of the bin bags. ‘You two will be the death of me, I swear.’
Chuckling, I drop a bag to the floor and thread my arm through his. ‘It’ll all be worth it to make a bride-to-be smile, trust me!’
With a withering, unconvinced sidelong glance, Barry releases a sigh of resignation. ‘Hm. Well, it better be worth it to the till, too.’
‘You get yourself home now, Uncle Barry.’ Finn appears from behind the bar. ‘We’ll sort all this out.’
Though I’m ever so fond of him, I’m secretly a little relieved when Barry leaves.
I’m already anxious about getting this place looking wedding-ready, and if I had an antsy landlord watching over me like a hawk, I’d be ten times more anxious.
And when I get anxious, that’s when I make mistakes - I can’t afford any slip-ups, not this time.
‘Right, let’s get started, then.’ Finn claps his hands together. ‘Did you bring the stuff?’
I hold up the bin bags as best I can, though the plastic has thinned and is threatening to tear. ‘Yep.’
Noticing that I’m struggling under the weight, Finn takes them from me and carries them to the garden, and I’m glad to let him.
‘So, we won’t be able to set the tables until tomorrow night obviously, but we can keep all the bits and bobs in the cellar, and we can make a start on decorating the beer garden.
I’ve convinced Barry to keep it closed for tomorrow so no one can mess up our work, though he was not best pleased about it. ’
‘How does he feel about closing the pub to the public on Saturday?’
‘Exactly as you might imagine, though I think he’s banking on what you said, that people drink a lot at weddings, so hopefully that’ll keep him happy.’
Finn clicks a button on the outside wall, and the garden floods with warm white light.
It’s a pretty little spot to be fair, with neatly trimmed hedges, a small flowerbed filled with marigolds, sweet peas and fox gloves, and there’s even a little sandbox and swing set to keep the kids entertained.
With a wing and a prayer, this might just become an elegant backdrop for Lucy and Alex’s wedding portraits.
After downing some instant coffee to prepare for the night ahead, we tear open the bags and get straight to work.
I begged Sarah for some silk flowers and foliage, and after hearing our predicament, she was only too happy to help out.
She not only lent me heaps of flowers that complement the wedding’s colour scheme, but she also handed over a stunning faux ivy arch, dotted with glowing LED lights that should look fabulous during the evening party, all for free.
‘I was thinking we could have some tables set out here, but when the meal is over, we could shift them to the side and have a sort of outside dance floor under the canopy?’ I suggest. ‘David Clarke at Thistlewick Manor has kindly allowed us to borrow the light-up one that they own, and it would look fab out here. Plus, the weather is set to be dry and sunny, so what do you think?’
Finn shrugs his shoulders. ‘Whatever you say.’
Blinking, I watch him assemble the arch stoically. Though I’m a little wounded by his indifference, I’m not completely surprised by it. I clear my throat and come over to help him, taking one side of the heavy arch.
‘You know Finn, I really am sorry about what I said to you the other day.’ I try to look him in the eye, but he won’t spare a glance in my direction. ‘It was mean, needlessly so.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m over it.’
It’s the same blunt, sharp tone I took with him, and it stings terribly to have it spat back in my face like acid.
Are you really? I long to ask the question burning the tip of my tongue, but I daren’t. I don’t think I’ll be able to stomach the rejection I’ll inevitably receive, and I can’t afford to be distracted by heartbreak right now.
In tense, tentative silence (tentative on my end, at least), we continue decorating the beer garden, which takes us into the early hours of the morning.
It’s quarter to one by the time we’ve finished erecting the arch, stringing fairy lights about and sweeping the deck for the dance floor.
Finn also has a tinker with the electrics and manages to hook up a sound system for the band to use outside, along with the infamous karaoke machine, should anyone feel so inclined.
The sky may be dark, but in the glow of the floodlights and the soft moon rays, I can already see that we’ve done a decent job so far. It’s not the grand country manor Lucy and Alex had hoped for, but it’s cosy and cool and intimate … and hopefully, it will be enough.
‘Let’s wrap it up for the night,’ Finn stifles a yawn as he switches the floodlights off, closes the patio door and draws the heavy burgundy curtain across. ‘Fancy a drink for the road?’
Somewhat taken aback by the offer, I stammer my response. ‘Erm, y-yes please.’
Finn pulls two amber pints of Meadow Gold and pushes one of the glasses across the bar toward me. I sniff deeply from the glass, savouring the fresh, hoppy scent.
‘I’ll join you, since I’m not driving.’ He takes a large swig from his glass. ‘So, how is Lucy doing?’
‘She’s sort of freaking out, but I’m doing an okay job of keeping her calm. I’ve told her to just leave the venue to us and to not worry about it, but of course, that’s easier said than done.’
‘Well, we’ll do her proud, I’m sure of it.’ Finn’s lip curls into a sweet half-smile, a glimmer of his true nature breaking through the icy cold wall he’s put up. He swiftly straightens his face, perhaps realising his guard was down for that split second.
Regardless of the fact that he’s obviously annoyed with me, Finn still insists on walking me back home.
As a lifetime nyctophobic, I’m grateful for the company, and yet, it’s so horrible walking side by side in the stillness of the night, not a word spoken between us.
Desperately, I scramble to think of something to say, anything that might fix things, or at the very least, break the ice.
All too soon, we’re on Lucy’s lane, and the precious seconds slip through my fingers until it’s too late - we’re standing right outside Appleseed Cottage.
‘Here we are.’ Stone-faced, he gestures to the white fence. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening. Remember, we’re closing at ten.’
Before I can even conjure up a response, he marches off, leather boots echoing a tuneless refrain on the pavement.
The invisible string attached to my heart strains as he pulls further away, threatening to rip a hole in my chest. I can’t stand it - I know I’ll be seeing him tomorrow, I know it’s not goodbye, but somehow it feels like if I don’t stop him now, it’s game over for us.
‘Finn.’
He takes one defiant step forward, then pauses. Slowly turning around to face me, he sighs, his shoulders squared and defensive. ‘What is it, Alicia?’ he asks wearily. ‘I’m tired of playing this game. I want my bed and I want my peace. All you seem to do lately is disrupt it.’
‘I’m not playing games - well, at least, I’m not trying to.’ I close the distance between us, just by a few inches, yet it feels dangerously close. ‘For the record, you’ve disrupted my peace, too.’
He scowls, more confused than irritated. ‘What?’
‘I was just fine being single, I liked being single. I never wanted to share my life with any man, I simply wasn’t interested in a relationship.’ I swallow down a gasp, fearful I’ve spoken too freely. ‘And now…’
His fingers brush against mine, jolting me in just the right way. ‘And now?’
‘Oi!’
We both jump out of our skin, tearing around to find the source of the interruption. A red-faced man is hanging out the top window of a nearby cottage, moonlight bouncing off his shiny bald head as he waves a stripy-pyjama-ed arm at us.
‘Do you two have any idea what time it is?’ he bellows down, making more of a disruption than our quiet conversation could have hoped to. ‘I’m trying to sleep up here!’
‘Sorry, Mr Nelson!’ Finn calls up, then he sets his golden brown eyes on me, voice distinctly lowered. ‘We’ll talk about this tomorrow.’
And he strolls down the street, his silhouette shrinking into the shadows.