The Flight of Gemma Hardy_ A Novel - Margot Livesey [160]
In bed, after only a page of The Wind in the Willows, his eyes closed. I tiptoed away to brush my teeth. It was just past eight, not yet fully dark, but suddenly I could not wait for the day to be over. All I wanted was to think of Iceland, to imagine seeing the landscape my mother had loved, with its volcanoes and glaciers and wild ponies. And perhaps, in some small village, I would find my grandparents.
The next morning, without an exam looming, was like a holiday. “No lessons today,” I said to Robin. Instead we went out to the garden. With Marian spending most of her time at the hospital, it had been neglected. Now I showed him several common weeds, and we set to work. As Robin pulled out the groundsel and I dug up dandelions, I told him how at school I had had a friend, Miriam, who grew beautiful blue flowers. “What happened to her?” he said. I was trying to think how to answer when Marian appeared on the edge of the lawn.
“George is coming home,” she announced jubilantly. “An ambulance will bring him after lunch. And Jean, Hannah phoned to ask you to supper. I said you’d let her know if you couldn’t.”
Exams had interrupted my weekly suppers with Hannah and Pauline and I was glad to think they’d noticed. They would understand my pleasure in going to Iceland—I pictured Pauline bobbing, Hannah’s long smile—and advise me how to contribute to the trip. While Marian went to buy groceries, I hoovered George’s room and picked sweet peas for the bedside table. Remembering my own convalescence, I got Robin to help me clean the windows. We were polishing the last pane when Marian returned.
“Jean, you’re a wonder,” she said. “I don’t know how I’d manage without you.”
“Robin helped me,” I said, storing up her words of praise against the blame I feared was coming.
Pauline answered the door wearing a green dress I had never seen before. She was still kissing me on both cheeks when Hannah appeared; she too was smartly dressed in black trousers. “Congratulations,” she exclaimed, hugging me so hard my feet left the ground. Was it possible that somehow, perhaps through the headmaster, they knew the results of my exams?
“We couldn’t be happier,” Pauline added.
By now they had whisked me into the kitchen, where the table was set with Hannah’s plates and flowers and wine-glasses. I was taking all this in, and my hosts’ greetings, as Hannah remarked that Archie would be here any minute. He had gone to get wine.
“But—” I stared down at my faded corduroy trousers, my scuffed shoes.
“I know,” she said. “It’s all wrong, the groom providing the wine at the celebratory dinner. Pauline thought I’d pick up a bottle and I thought she would. Your future sisters-in-law are enthusiastic hosts but inept.”
Emily bounded over, and as I bent to bury my face in her warm fur, I knew, as clearly as if he were speaking them now, the words I had missed at the well. Archie’s proposal to visit Iceland had been linked to another proposal; I had, unwittingly, accepted both. But to admit my error in the midst of Hannah and Pauline’s festivities, to voluntarily cast myself out of this glowing circle, was more than I could manage. “Good dog,” I murmured to Emily and asked how I could help.
“Light the candles,” said Hannah, handing me a box of matches. “So tell us, did Archie propose on bended knee?”
Before I could answer, there was the sound of a van pulling up outside. The door opened and my second fiancé stepped into the room, a bottle of wine in each hand. He too was smartly dressed, in a grey suit with a pale blue shirt and a red tie.
“Jean,” he said, “you’re already here. I could have given you a lift.”
“It’s a lovely evening. I needed the walk.” I bent to light the candles; the wicks caught at once. “They sent George home from the hospital today.”
“Oh, I had no idea.” Pauline bobbed. “How does he look?”
As Archie uncorked the wine, I described George’s return. How his hair had turned from pewter to snow and how thin he’d grown but that he’d managed to walk from the garden gate to the house with two canes. “He’s different,