Chapter 13 #3
‘Oh my god.’ Heather’s eyes widened in disbelief as she read the article. Shock made her stomach drop. ‘This is about Aunt Chrissie?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. I have no idea how they got a hold of this, apart from the fact that I suppose some little jobsworth researched all of us and found Chrissie in the archives somewhere.’ Catriona shook her head.
‘Please don’t be offended, Annie, dear, but I do feel that if your mother hadn’t taken it upon herself to have that press conference up at the castle the other day, the media wouldn’t be hounding my poor old aunt about her past now. ’
‘I’m not offended at all. I saw that article – the one about the jewellery. It was typical Mother.’ Annie sighed. ‘I’m so sorry. I can only imagine how she’s been.’
‘Not quite what we expected, to be sure,’ Catriona said tactfully.
‘But it’s Chrissie I’m worried about. I know she’s not ashamed of her past, but she’s frail.
She’s an old lady now. I don’t know what anyone has to gain from posting pictures of her in the papers.
And anyway, it’s all so tame, compared to what people do today.
I mean, look. She’s in a two-piece.’ Catriona pointed to one of the old photos that the journalist had found.
‘And she looks absolutely gorgeous. I hate this judgemental tone.’ She read a few lines of the piece aloud.
‘As if it was anything to get your knickers in a twist about. I ask you.’
‘She looks great. I look forward to meeting her.’ Annie smiled at the pictures. ‘I’m so sorry, though, on behalf of my family. You’re right; if Mum hadn’t been all over the papers, this would have been a non-story.’
‘Maybe we shouldn’t tell Auntie. She might not see the papers. It’s not like she’s on the internet,’ Heather suggested, pouring coffee from a jug in the corner into two large mugs with Highland cows on the front and bringing them to the kitchen table.
‘No, but Aunt Joan is.’ Catriona sighed. ‘Have a bun, Annie, dear.’ She brought some plates to the table with the tin of cinnamon buns, now glistening with white icing. ‘And there’s no way in the world that she won’t say anything.’
‘Oh, no. Poor Aunt Chrissie.’ Heather thought about the evening when her great-aunt had shared her story with her; now, she felt guilty, as if, by bringing the Campbells into her great-aunt’s life, she’d exposed the past that Chrissie had kept hidden.
‘Yes. I know. I shall have to pop over there shortly and check on your poor aunt.’ Catriona tutted. ‘It really couldn’t have come at a worse time, could it? Poor Auntie. And poor you, Heather. Right before your wedding.’
‘Oh, I’ll go, if you want, Mum?’ Heather offered. ‘I’m heading back there anyway.’
‘Would you, darling? That would be lovely… I do want to see Aunt Chrissie, and I’ll be there again shortly; it’s just that I have some of your wedding guests arriving today and I have to finish getting all the rooms ready, and welcome them when they get here, of course.
Auntie Bridget and Susan are due in a couple of hours and then it’s Ronnie and Andrew and your cousins. ’
Heather’s Aunt Bridget was Catriona’s sister, whose long-term partner was Susan; Ronnie, or Veronica, was Catriona’s other sister, who was married to Andrew and had two grown-up children, Max and Lucky.
‘No problem. Ah, I’m looking forward to seeing everyone!
’ Heather’s heart glowed with the thought of her wider family and friends from the village and beyond gathering for her special day.
It was a lovely thing to know that there was such a network of people that wished her well.
More than that: a network of people that loved her.
Now, the Campbells were also technically part of that network, although she had to work on feeling as warm about them as she did about other people.
Annie was great, but the rest of them… needed work.
Heather’s phone lit up with a message from Matty.
Heather. Where are you? Can we please talk? I have something I need to tell you.
Oh, now you want to talk, she thought, but her heart still leapt when she saw his name.
I’m busy, she replied. I’ll be home later.
OK. Let me know when you get back to the castle. I have news. I love you.
Emotion caught in Heather’s throat.
She wanted to reply, I love you too. She wanted love with Matty to be free and easy. But he’d put a kink in their previously free-flowing, right-feeling love; the love that she’d trusted. And now, she was cautious.
Heather knew what love was. She knew what the love and support of her sisters felt like; she knew what it felt like to be loved by her parents and her wider family. That feeling was secure and warm. It never made her second-guess herself.
Could Heather trust Matty, now, knowing everything that she knew – about his family, after the fact that he’d abandoned her before the wedding?
Could she trust that love was enough to get them through all of this – that her ‘perfectly imperfect’ goal wasn’t itself a dream?
And could it become a secure love? Because it didn’t feel that way at the moment.
There was a very private thought that Heather had been pushing away – a thought that she could barely admit to herself, let alone anyone else.
She had considered whether it was right to marry Matty so quickly.
Like Catriona had said, all those months ago, you didn’t know someone until you saw them in a stressful situation.
Aunt Chrissie had said that it took at least a year to get to know someone.
It had been a year, but only just, and there was still so much she didn’t know.
Now that things were getting difficult, she’d seen that Matty chose to step back from the problem rather than face it with her. She’d considered what it meant to marry someone: to accept their faults and love them anyway.
Heather had always trusted her instincts, which was partly why she’d said yes after Matty had proposed so quickly. It felt right with Matty, and Heather’s instincts had never been wrong, when she listened to them properly.
Now, she had a choice, and it was about trust. She trusted Matty. However, what was more important was that she trusted her own heart, and knew that whatever happened, she would take care of it.
Could Heather trust herself to make the very big decision of whether to marry Matty Campbell, or not?