Cancel the wedding! Beatrice blurted over dinner, her words startling the table.
Martha nearly choked on her tea, the shock raw in her throat.
Bea, have you lost your senses? The dress is bought, the rings are set, the reception booked Tom is waiting for you like a spark waits for tinder. Tell me youre joking! she pleaded, hands trembling.
No, Mum, Im serious. Arthur and I are leaving for London soon. Its all decided, Beatrice said, stamping a final punctuation on the sentence.
Marthas eyes widened. London? That place is foreign, full of strangers. Youll be penniless there! Arthur that man has tangled your head, you fool! Hes probably married, has children, nearing retirement! Tom loves you like his own blood. Dont break his love. Youll have to answer for everything, she warned, voice quivering.
Beatrices jaw set. Ill face the consequences. Im not scared.
A fortnight later the pair vanished toward England. Beatrice had long dreamed, even as a child, of peering through a single keyhole at how life unfolded beyond her little town of Birmingham. Shed learned French by the book, mastered English, and was dabbling in Spanish for whatever road destiny might lay ahead. After university she worked as a translator for a travel agency, where she first met Arthur, escorting a foreign guest at a series of events. He had taken a liking to her from the start.
Beatrice was easygoing, always smiling, not particularly striking, but youthful twentythree, while Arthur was fortysix. At first she brushed off his attentions, never expecting a proposal. Within a week of knowing him she heard him speak of marriage. She kept silent about her impending nuptials with Tom.
Confusion swirled in her mind. A chance to marry a foreigner did not come often; she could not let it slip. Love for Arthur was absent, yet a new life, full of wonder and adventure, called to her. She imagined gratitude toward a foreign husband, and thought Tom would eventually recover, find his own path. Thus she rationalised, packing for the unknown.
On the phone she informed Tom of the change. He, bewildered, still wished her happiness and slipped into a long, sorrowful binge.
When they touched down in London, Beatrice felt a rush of euphoria, as if the world itself were unfolding in her arms. Is this a dream? she whispered, clutching at an invisible bird of joy.
Arthur led her to a sprawling house where his family awaited. Two grown sons, Hale and Evan, greeted them. (Soon Beatrice would become Evans wife, her happiness immeasurable.) From a bedroom emerged Arthurs former wife, Lydia, a strikingly wellkept woman, who glared at the newcomer.
Youve gone mad, Arthur! Lydia shouted, using the nickname she always gave him. Whos this girl? Why bring her here to live with us?
This is my future wife, Arthur replied, apologetic yet firm. This is my home. Do not mistreat her, Lydia.
The atmosphere unsettled Beatrice. Though the family lived together despite their split, Lydia seemed to steer the household. Yet in Beatrices mind a new figure took shape: Evan, not Tom with his drunken apologies, but a timeless, pure love.
Evan, twentyfour, bore his mothers good looks and was instantly drawn to the mysterious newcomer. An invisible thread tugged at their souls, a yearning to plunge together into a chasm of unspoken feelings.
Arthur told Beatrice the wedding would have to wait, offering no reason. She acquiesced without protest, refusing to return home. She was given a cosy room in the house, and a tender, innocent rapport blossomed between her and Arthur, while Lydia ignored her as if she were a spectre.
Three months passed. Beatrice grew closer to Evan, who opened her eyes to the tangled family dynamics. Arthur, it seemed, still loved Lydia, and their affection lingered despite a recent quarrel that threatened to end their long marriage. Seeking to provoke Lydia, Arthur pretended he might marry another, and Beatrice, the perfect standin, became his imagined fiancé.
When the former spouses finally reconciled, Arthur arranged for Beatrices return ticket, shuttling her through misty Albion to the airport. After hearing Evans confession, Beatrice burst into hysterical laughter.
So this is it! Im a rented bride! I once fled my own groom. Evan, what shall we do? she cried.
I cant live without you, Evan pressed. I thought youd never dare, Beatrice sighed with relief. How could I confess, knowing youre my fathers son? I didnt know about the parents games. Hale told me. I was overjoyed, for the girl I love is now free!
Would you marry my father? Evan asked, wary.
Oh, Eugene, Beatrice giggled, a nickname shed fashioned for him. The moment I first saw you, my plans turned upside down. Id refuse your father in a heartbeat, she smiled.
The young lovers embraced, as if they were longlost siblings. Beatrice forgave Arthur and his Lydia; love, after all, makes one stumble and rise again. In the tangled saga, a bright spot emerged: she had met Evan, a second half sent from across the sea. Fortune, it seemed, had placed a soulmate on the far side of the world.
Soon they married. Evan, fearing Beatrice might run back to Birmingham, hurried to start a family. Their son arrived, followed two years later by a daughter. Evan showered Beatrice with endless care; their home brimmed with happiness, love nesting in every room.
Arthur and Lydia eventually healed, their old wounds fading with time. They tended to their grandchildren with gentle affection, no longer needing harsh ploys to mend bridges.
One day Beatrice received a worried letter from Martha, pleading for her to visit. She prepared for the long journey, leaving her children with grandmother Lydia, deeming them too small for such travel. Hastening homeward, she sensed something amiss.
Martha met her at the door, tears streaming. Bea, Tom has perished! He crashed his motorbike, leaving his little girl an orphan. He tried to bring you a strange seacreature as a token, but it turned out a burden. He left a daughter, named after you, bright and clever. She now faces a grim future in a childrens home. He even spoke of a gift for you before he died, a memory to cling to, the mother sobbed, wiping her apron with trembling hands.
Beatrice listened calmly, then, after a pause, said, Its settled, Mum. My husband and I will adopt that girl. A true gift from Tom. Evan would support her, she assured. We must answer for everything, Mum. You know that.
She then whispered, Now, please feed me. Im famished from the road. I crave a crisp apple or a briny cucumber. Expecting mothers must eat for two! she added with a mysterious wink.
And with that, the dream dissolved, leaving the echo of an impossible wedding, a borrowed bride, and a love that spanned continents, all stitched together in the thin veil between waking and sleep.
