Love at the Little Wedding Shop by the Sea - Jane Linfoot Page 0,111

dizzy first love at fourteen – even an unrequited one – I’d have known to keep on looking. It’s strange how one kiss through a van window changed my whole outlook on love and life. Once your eyes are open to the possibilities of super-hot, lukewarm doesn’t get a look in. With Ben, neither of us had been around enough to know any better.

I’m staring out at the waves racing towards the shore in parallel lines. ‘What I was in love with wasn’t Ben, it was the home and the family Ben was going to let me have.’ It feels good to finally admit the truth. There’s a natural thought that follows. ‘That makes the break-up my fault just as much as his. If we’d been properly happy, he wouldn’t have looked at Phoebe.’

Nic wrinkles his nose. ‘It’s not about blame.’ There’s a flash of a grin. ‘From what I’ve seen, Ben and Frisbee are ideally suited – they’re both super-anal about things that don’t matter, they both have inflated opinions of themselves, they both get immense pleasure from putting people down, and they’re both great at ordering people around and taking advantage.’

I can’t help smile at how accurate he is, and that he hasn’t held back. ‘That’s a very comprehensive list considering you’ve just come up with it.’

A flicker of guilt passes across his face. ‘I’ve been thinking about it quite a lot too.’

‘When Phoebe used to list the reasons why Ben was with her and not me I could never see it. But I can now.’ I kick the sand. ‘People say time heals, but I stood still for a whole year in Bristol, seeing them both every day. It’s only since I moved away that I’ve worked my way around to the truth.’

There’s another throw of the rag doll, then Nic blows out his cheeks. ‘You know, time’s supposed to heal. But it hasn’t helped me.’

‘Sorry?’ This is the first time he’s ever volunteered anything. I jolt to a halt so I can concentrate better.

He’s stopped walking and he’s staring at the horizon. ‘Pixie’s accident at the go-cart track …’ His face is set. ‘Her spinal cord injury was entirely down to me because I booked the go-carts. I couldn’t have chosen a worse way to celebrate my thirty fifth.’

Oh shit. I’m feeling sick for him. And no wonder he closed up that day at Jagger’s when I mentioned her life without limits. ‘And you still feel that was your fault?’

He gives a grimace and his voice is empty. ‘It’s hardly anyone else’s is it?’

‘And does Pixie think that?’

He shrugs. ‘You saw Pixie. She’s fiercely independent, she takes ownership of everything including this. But I’ll always know that if it hadn’t been for me she’d be okay – I’m always going to carry that guilt.’

His face is so sad, I want to wrap my arms around him and not let go. ‘But wasn’t it just an awful accident?’

He sighs. ‘Whatever you call it, she was twenty-six, she had her whole amazing life ahead of her – and now she doesn’t. She won’t ever trek in the Himalayas, or run the mothers’ race at sports day, or walk down the aisle like every other woman does. And I won’t ever forgive myself for that.’

I’m swallowing back my saliva. ‘But despite all that, she really is going to have the best wedding day.’

‘I hope so.’ He dips for a pebble and throws it into the water. ‘That’s all down to you, Milla Vanilla, I’ll never be able to thank you enough. And I’ve had such a good time with you these last few weeks putting it together.’

I shrug. ‘Happy we could help.’ I don’t need to be a mind reader – I can sense from his hesitation there’s a ‘but’ coming.

He throws another pebble. ‘That was okay, somehow, because I was doing it for Pixie.’ He frowns. ‘I’d never be comfortable enjoying things that much for myself though. The only way I can live with my conscience going forward is by making sure I never get too happy.’

Here we were, two broken people washed up on the same shore. Except, after weeks of hanging around with him and having the support of all my friends here, I’m almost mended. While he never will be. I’m staring up at the hollows in his cheeks, the darkness of his eyes, that tousled hair blowing, tangled with salt from the breeze off the sea. His beautiful tanned wrists sticking out from his