Chapter 1 #2
‘I need to tell you something before it’s too late.’
Pippa tried to smile but she had to muster up every bit of strength not to let the tears roll.
‘I want you to always remember how much I love you, and how proud I am of you. Please keep my memory alive. Any grandchildren that pop up in the future – I want to be a part of their life.’
Pippa swallowed, despite the lump in her throat, and couldn’t stop the tears. ‘They will know everything about you and how much I love you, I promise.’
‘There’s also something else.’ Caroline reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. ‘I need you to listen to me.’ She took a breath as Pippa looked into her eyes. ‘Promise me something.’
‘Anything.’
‘Don’t lose yourself.’ She said it slowly, clearly. ‘Not for anyone. Not for comfort. Not because it feels easier.’
Pippa nodded, tears slipping silently down her face.
‘And don’t settle,’ Caroline went on. ‘I mean it. Not for a life that’s just fine. Not for a man who doesn’t really see you.’
Pippa swallowed. ‘I won’t.’
Caroline smiled faintly. ‘If you ever find love the way I found it with your dad – really find it – then that will be something very special. But don’t go looking for it just to tick a box. When it happens, you’ll know it’s right because it will feel right.’
She squeezed Pippa’s hand again. ‘And if you ever get married…’
Pippa laughed softly. ‘You’re giving me marriage advice now?’
‘Yes,’ Caroline said, ‘because I won’t be there to do it later.’ She paused. ‘If you marry someone, he should worship everything about you. Not tolerate you, not manage you – worship you. He should love everything about you and – most importantly – he should listen to you.’
Pippa broke then, burying her face against her mum’s shoulder. Caroline stroked her hair slowly, lovingly.
Caroline whispered, ‘Remember all those things.’
‘I promise.’
Caroline passed away peacefully on a rainy afternoon in early autumn, with Pippa beside her, holding her hand and listening to the faint ticking of the old carriage clock on the mantelpiece.
Just before she slipped away, Caroline whispered, ‘Never wait for the perfect time. Just live. Always do what’s in your heart. ’
Pippa couldn’t help but think about those conversations right now. Couldn’t help but hear her mum’s voice in her ear telling her not to settle – not in life, and especially not in love.
‘I know. I’ll miss her today,’ Pippa replied, fiddling with the watch on her wrist.
As the car door opened, the rain found its way in immediately.
George helped his daughter out of the car, and she stood and stared at the hotel.
It was big, grey and more than a bit meh.
Not ugly, exactly, but definitely more ‘conference on carpet adhesives’ than ‘dream wedding extravaganza’.
Still, she was here now and there were ribbons on the railings.
Rob was probably already sweating in his rented waistcoat standing at the makeshift altar. No going back. Probably.
She took her dad’s arm and they walked through the automatic doors into the foyer. A woman with a clipboard beamed at Pippa like she was signing for a parcel, then waved them towards the function room.
Rose had already arrived. She’d left in the car before them and was waiting outside the room. She gave Pippa a hug. ‘You ready?’
‘I think so.’
The woman with the clipboard caught the organist’s attention and gave him a thumbs-up before slipping into one of the chairs at the back of the room.
Then, it started. The first bars of ‘Clocks’ by Coldplay.
Pippa’s whole face lit up. This was it. Her song. Not their song. Not Rob’s choice. Hers. She might not be getting married under a grand old clock tower, but she was walking in to Coldplay; that had been non-negotiable.
Her dad laughed beside her. ‘Only you! Honestly, what a brilliant choice.’
Inside, people turned. There was a pause, then someone, probably her cousin Josh, started singing along.
A ripple of laughter followed. A few others joined in.
Someone clapped. Someone else mimicked playing the piano with their hands.
It was probably totally inappropriate, and it was definitely completely unserious, but Pippa loved it.
She stood a little taller, took a breath, then smiled like she meant it, even as her mum’s words whirled around her mind in a loop.
If you marry someone, he should worship everything about you.
The music swelled (in a slightly wobbly, organ-like way), and in she went, into the cranberry-carpeted chaos of a wedding that she still wasn’t even sure she could go through with.
Her heart was pounding, and then she saw it: a photograph of her mum that had been placed on a table near the altar, allowing Caroline to watch over the proceedings.
Rows of faces were looking at Pippa, the expressions hopeful, the smiles beaming, her nearest and dearest completely oblivious to the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.
There were lots of oohs and aahs as they glanced over her dress, and she smiled at her Auntie Elsie (who preferred dogs to humans), who had told her bluntly only last night, ‘If you have even an ounce of doubt, don’t do it. Run. Seriously. Everyone will forgive you … eventually.’
She had been joking, of course, and Pippa had laughed it off. But as her shoes clicked softly down the aisle, each step syncing perfectly with the beat of the song, she counted the rhythm of her nerves, just as she always did. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four…
There, at the end of the aisle, stood Rob.
Her fiancé – her almost-husband. Their eyes met and he smiled politely before rolling his eyes.
It was barely perceptible. A flicker. A blink-and-miss-it-eye-roll at the music choice.
She knew that look. She’d seen it when she’d tried to explain escapements and pendulums, when she’d dragged him to horology conventions, when she’d once stayed up until three a.m. reassembling a French carriage clock on the dining table.
This song? his expression said. Really?
Something inside her snapped like a spring wound too tight.
The rain through the window blurred and the song echoed in her head along with her mum’s words.
Time. Her old companion, her constant. Her joy.
She was about to give it to someone who didn’t understand any of it.
Pippa looked down at the gift her father had just given her: the pocket watch she’d pinned on her dress. It didn’t tick. Time was standing still.
‘Do you take…’
She didn’t.
She stepped back.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, looking Rob straight in the eyes.
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Pippa?’
‘I can’t do this.’
Then she turned.
Gasps rippled like shockwaves down the pews as her veil fluttered and her dress rustled and she, Pippa Bell – horologist, people-pleaser, bride – ran.
Louder gasps trailed behind her like confetti.
A stunned doorman offered a confused ‘Everything all right?’ as she passed him at the hotel entrance.
‘Wrong time,’ she shouted, lifting her dress. ‘Wrong person.’
The clock on the church tower struck twelve.
She didn’t look back.
* * *
An hour later, Pippa was sitting cross-legged on Rose’s sofa, still in the dress, eating Wotsits and crying intermittently into a novelty mug that said Tea First, Panic Later.
‘Well,’ Rose said, cracking open a second bottle of prosecco. ‘That was dramatic.’
‘I’m a monster,’ Pippa moaned.
‘You’re not. You did the right thing for you … eventually.’
‘Everyone hates me.’
‘Don’t kid yourself. Everyone secretly loves a runaway bride.’ Rose grinned, trying to lighten the mood.
‘I have no plan, no future, and a wedding buffet that’s no doubt going stale.’
‘Of course you have a future. You have your very own business restoring clocks, and let’s not forget you have me!’ declared Rose. ‘Even though I’m moving soon with Ethan’s job, I’ll always be just on the end of the phone, and we’ll make sure we put dates in the diary to see each other.’
‘We’d better.’ Pippa paused. ‘Why did I leave it until the last second?’
‘The last second is better than getting married.’
Pippa glanced at her phone. It was switched to silent mode, but she could see numerous notifications for missed calls and text messages lighting up the screen.
‘What am I going to do?’
‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘We both know I’m going to be the talk of the town.’
‘Oh, let them talk. There will inevitably be something new for them to talk about by tomorrow. By the way, you’re more than welcome to stay here and lie low for a while.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Or you could disappear on the honeymoon?’
‘It wasn’t my scene or my choice.’
Rob had booked a week at a luxury golf resort in Portugal, complete with ‘his and hers’ spa treatments and a couple’s golf lesson scheduled for eight a.m. on day one.
Pippa didn’t even own golf shoes, nor did she want to.
The idea of spending seven sun-drenched days pretending to be interested in swing technique while Rob monologued about his handicap filled her with existential dread.
She’d suggested Rome or Vienna. Somewhere with heart, history, and a respectable standard of pastry.
Somewhere she could lose herself in a side street, wander into a clock museum, and marvel at eighteenth-century timepieces.
But Rob had wrinkled his nose and said Vienna was ‘a bit old-fashioned, babe’, which, looking back, should have been another neon-lit red flag she ran from.
Preferably with a cuckoo clock under one arm and her dignity under the other.
‘It’s a shame you missed out on that clock convention thingy,’ said Rose, finishing off her packet of Wotsits. ‘Didn’t you say this year’s one was being held somewhere out of the ordinary?’
Pippa sighed. ‘Puffin Island.’
‘That’s a real place?’
‘Yes, it’s off the Northumberland coast. It’s all cliff paths and sea air and very limited WiFi. Heaven.’
It was also, more importantly, the birthplace of horological legends.