The Wedding Cake Tree (17 page)

I turned to him.
‘I thought you didn’t believe in forces beyond our control.’

He scrunched up his nose. ‘Touché!’

Glancing back at the North Star, I said, ‘Maybe that’s where heaven is, on the North Star, and that’s why it’s aligned the way it is, so the spirits up there can look down on us and make sure we’re okay.’

‘
Possibly. But it’ll be a bit crowded by now, and teeming with dinosaurs, and there would need to be a separate heaven for people from the southern hemisphere, so …’

And then, in a flash, it occurred to me.

‘I think St Christopher’s is my very own North Star. It’s my constant bearing.’

He
sighed.

‘
Maybe it wasn’t St Christopher’s that provided the feeling of security, but your mum.’

‘
Yes, you’re probably right.’

‘
I haven’t got a constant bearing,’ he said bluntly. ‘I don’t need one.’ I lifted my head to look at him.

‘
But without somewhere to point to in life, won’t you drift around in the abyss like a broken compass, constantly looking for north?’ I looked up to the stars and rested my head on the sand again. ‘Maybe the marines are your constant bearing, Alasdair.’

I’d hoped he might open up a little with my last comment, but he remained silent so I continued to chatter.

‘Anyway,
I think everyone needs somewhere to point to in life. Where are you sleeping tonight by the way?’

Alasdair jolted.

‘
Grace Buchanan
!’

‘
Oh God, I didn’t mean—’ I sat bolt upright and floundered for a second before realising he was teasing me.

After providing
him an affectionate punch, I clarified my question.

‘
What I
meant
to say,’ I continued slowly, ‘was you said something about a bivvy, but you haven’t set anything up yet.’

‘
That’s because I’m sleeping with Simon tonight,’ he said, sitting up with a wink. ‘Now Charlie’s jumped ship I might as well bunk up with him. Speaking of which, time to turn in I think.’

He jum
ped out of his sleeping bag, turned to stand in front of me and held his hands out. I slipped my gloved hands into his bare ones and rose to look him directly in the face. I held the position; he gave the impression he had something to say.

‘
You seemed to
enjoy
singing earlier,’ he whispered. ‘You look happy and relaxed when you sing by the way.’ I didn’t rush to remove my hands from his but I didn’t quite know what to say either.

‘
Simon seemed removed from the rest of us,’ I said honestly, ‘I was just trying to pull him into the group.’

Alasdair
nodded in approval.

‘
Thanks for caring earlier by the way,’ he said, referring to my tears by the snow gully. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so pleased to see me, not even my mum.’ I wasn’t sure what he expected me to say in response – if, indeed, he expected me to say anything at all.

‘
Well, you have the notebook,’ I joked, brushing off the implication I cared. ‘Mum’s itinerary. I needed you – needed
it
,’ I added quickly, ‘to finish Mum’s story.’

‘
Oh, I thought you might have been worried about me?’ His face was only marginally away from mine and his eyes blazed with a greater light than the fire could achieve. My only defence was humour.

‘
Worried? Me? No. Not at all. Absolutely not. Why cart about the mountain with a Royal Marine if you can’t put him to good use now and again?’

Alasdair
turned his head to look around the moonlit glen. I glanced around too and noticed how utterly still and quiet the evening was without our chatter; the only noise was an occasional crackle from the dying embers. I waited for him to say something. He said nothing so I lowered my hands and stepped back.

‘
Promise you’ll rescue me if a wildcat pounces in the night?’ I whispered.

‘
Promise.’

Chapter Twenty-One

I didn’t sleep particularly well by the lochside for several reasons, none of which had anything to do with wildcats or the eerie Highland glen. I had drunk far too much hot chocolate and, in the middle of the night when my bladder was screaming out for relief, I simply could not find the willpower to remove myself from the cocoon I had created in my tiny tent.

I
was awoken by Alasdair at around six in the morning. He unzipped a small segment of my tent and passed a steaming cup of tea through the flap. Although the devil on my left shoulder wanted to scream, ‘
Bugger off you idiot, I’ve only just got to sleep in this freezing hellhole
!’ – the angel on my right won the battle. So, I smiled serenely, took the tea and said, ‘Oh, thanks Alasdair. You’re a star.’

I could hear voi
celess activity around our makeshift campsite – the boys were obviously up and about – but I gave myself ten minutes to drink my tea. I was tempted to stay in my cosy sleeping bag and simply
jump
my way out of the glen but, on reflection, decided to crawl out of the tent and wrap the sleeping bag around my shoulders instead.

With the camp packed away, a
pan of boiling water and a small stove were the only significant items still in evidence. I refused Alasdair’s offer of US Marine Corps Bacon and Beans (a decision I regretted half an hour later, of course) and accepted Jamie’s offer of a cereal bar and an apple.

‘
Good night’s sleep, Grace?’ Jamie asked, dashing over to perch next to me in the sand. He was far too chirpy.

‘
Put it this way, I feel as though I spent the night balanced on top of a toast rack – I was freezing!’ I gazed into my teacup. My shoulders were hunched with the cold.

‘
Oh, right,’ Jamie said, totally confused by my sarcastic analogy. Alasdair, on the other hand, fell about laughing and stepped over to take my sleeping bag so it could be packed away. We played tug of war with it for a few seconds but, in the end, I had to let it go.

Within twenty
minutes we were ready to move on. My early morning blues soon vanished when I remembered that this was, perhaps, a once in a lifetime experience: waking up in a remote Scottish wilderness wasn’t, after all, an everyday occurrence. A thin layer of mist hung over the water, adding a ghost-like quality to the glen. I spent several minutes trying to capture on camera the one aspect of Loch A’an I found to be the most enchanting: the stillness.

The
climb out of Glen A’an to the summit of Cairngorm Mountain was challenging; I wasn’t cold for very long. Alasdair brought up the rear chatting with Simon, and Tom, Jamie and I recalled the dramatic events of the previous day – which we had begun to exaggerate wildly during the storytelling process. Our pace increased a notch for the last quarter of a mile, which wasn’t easy as the terrain underfoot was particularly steep and constituted a sea of uneven boulders and loose scree. The cairn pinpointing the top of the mountain came into view just at the point when Alasdair shouted, ‘Last one to the top makes the brew.’ The competitive nature within all of us enabled a mad scramble to the top. Unsurprisingly, I was no match for three hormonally charged teenage boys and one steel-thighed Royal Marine. They were perched on the cairn when I arrived at the top, and were holding their cups out towards me expectantly. Alasdair looked the cheekiest of all, despite being twenty years their senior.

Just like the day before when we had climbed Ben
Macdui, Alasdair held out his hand and launched me upwards to stand beside him, firm against the breeze, on top of the world. The boys jumped off the cairn, leaving us to enjoy a moment alone. Once again, I turned through 360 degrees to take in the view, but this time, quite unexpectedly, my eyes filled with tears. The landscape was almost too inspiring, Alasdair almost too wonderful and my heart too full of pride at what we had achieved over the past couple of days to be able to hold back an outpouring of emotion. I turned away from Alasdair and tried to force the tears back with my index fingers. Alasdair noticed, took a tissue from his pocket, turned me towards him and dabbed my tears away.

‘Come o
n, Rainy Face,’ he said. ‘We can’t have tears in front of the kids.’

He bowed his head, pecked me tenderly on the cheek
– at which point I thought my heart might just explode – grinned cheekily and said, ‘How about a photo?’

With our photo call (and my emotional moment) complete, Alasdair took out his map, rested it on the side of the cairn and pointed out adjacent mountaintops. Simon held a corner of the map down to prevent it flailing about in the breeze.

The
point of interest to catch
my
eye in particular was a building a few hundred yards down the mountain on the opposite side of Loch A’an. Alasdair explained it was the Ptarmigan Restaurant and also where the funicular railway stopped. This was excellent news, and I decided Cairngorm would always remain my favourite mountain, purely because it had a café perched practically at the top. Unfortunately, Alasdair burst my bubble almost as soon as it had inflated – it was eight-thirty in the morning and neither the café nor the railway opened until ten.

And so,
with a tremendous sense of achievement on my behalf, we began our descent from the mountain. We arrived at the rear of the funicular building within minutes. A fire door had been propped open with an extinguisher, allowing the music from a funky radio station to flow out onto the mountain.

‘
I’ll be back in a sec,’ Alasdair said, flashing me a last playful wink as he threw off his rucksack and sauntered through the door. The boys arrived within a couple of minutes and asked the whereabouts of Alasdair.

‘
I have a feeling he may have nipped to find a loo,’ I said, just as he reappeared – looking as proud as punch – through the open door.

‘
Come on then guys, let’s go.’ Alasdair’s head nodded towards the open door indicating we should all enter the building. I looked at him questioningly but he said nothing, smiled his sexy smile, escorted us through the empty café (cruelly I thought) and out onto the funicular platform. A man in blue overalls greeted us at the barrier, shook hands with Alasdair, smiled and with a broad Scots accent said, ‘Don’t forget, mum’s the word, eh?’

We were escorted through the barrier and follow
ed Alasdair into a carriage. The boys were as shocked as I was. I looked at Alasdair and shook my head in amazement.

‘
What now?’ he asked playfully, but he knew I was gobsmacked.

‘
Only
you
could have pulled this off, Alasdair. I have never known anyone with so much cheek.’

Saying a final goodbye to the boys was surprisingly emotional. They intended to loiter around the funicular base station and wait for ‘the olds’ to arrive, but we had a date with the bus back to Rothiemurchus to retrieve the car. I gave Jamie a quick peck – which inflamed his cheeks to the colour of burning coal – and Tom shook hands with us. But the most unexpected reaction came from Simon. He shook Alasdair’s hand and then gave him the most enormous bear hug. Alasdair hugged him back, ruffled his hair and said, ‘Just you remember everything we’ve talked about, okay?’ To which Simon responded, ‘Thanks for everything, Al.’

The shuttle bus arrived
, we jumped on and our sojourn in the Cairngorms came to an end. I turned to wave to the boys but a lump came to my throat and I turned away; I had been trying to hold off any emotion for the final ten minutes before we departed. Alasdair must have seen the moisture build up on my lower lashes.

‘You really
are
a rainy face. Come here you soppy thing.’ He placed an affectionate arm around my shoulders.

‘
Oh, I’m fine. I just feel as though we’ve left the kids behind, that’s all.’ I searched for a tissue in my pocket. Alasdair changed the subject and withdrew his arm from around my shoulder as the bus pulled away.

‘
You’ll be pleased to know that there are no more mountainous adventures on this trip.’

‘
Oh, we’re not scaling Ben Nevis tomorrow then?’ I asked, pulling myself together.

‘
Er, no. Back to the hut for some downtime today.’

‘
And tomorrow?’

‘
Well, tomorrow, Grace, we’re doing something totally different …’

‘
Yes?’

‘
We’re going to a wedding.’

I
spun my head to face him. Alasdair was smiling in an
I know! It’s bloody crazy
sort of a way, and we both broke down into hysterical laughter that lasted all the way back to the car.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I fully intended to retire for a late morning nap on our arrival at the hut. But, remembering Mum’s reference to the flowering cherry tree, I looked at the letter once more and went out to the clearing to make sure that it was still there. It was. I smiled. Mum’s legacy at the hut was the tree I had leant on and photographed the day before. She would have been delighted that it had thrived. Such a beautiful thing; striking even. And at least someone was now aware that the tree in the clearing by the bench, where so many visitors to the hut must have sat and pondered for a while, was Mum’s tree; that her time in the Cairngorms had been significant and lasting.

Alas
dair appeared carrying a tray.

‘
I thought you might be ready for this by now,’ he said, squatting down and passing me a plate. ‘One bacon butty and a nice cup of tea as promised. Although, I don’t actually remember promising anything of the kind to be honest.’ All I wanted to do was to lean over and hug him, but then I noticed an envelope perched against a cup. I picked it up – it was addressed to me from Mum. I expected to pull out another letter, but found myself holding an old newspaper cutting. I glanced at Alasdair perplexed. He nodded towards the paper and smiled. I opened it out and, recognising the article in question, smiled weakly, blushed and folded the cutting away. Alasdair took it from me and, despite my obvious embarrassment, began to read out loud.

‘It’s a h
it! North Devon teenager takes Queen’s Theatre by storm. Barnstaple Musical Society bowed out to thunderous applause last night following a magical performance of the classic Rogers and Hammerstein musical,
Singin’ In The Rain
. Grace Buchanan, aged 18, dazzled as up-and-coming singing sensation, Kathy Seldon. With the voice of an angel and a tantalising cheeky smile, her rendition of
All I Do Is Dream Of You
was one to remember. Grace leaves for London in September to follow her musical dream—’

‘Stop
! Alasdair! Please, no more!’ I snatched the paper from him. ‘As sweet as it is that Mum saved this, she doesn’t need to keep reminding me about how she felt. I get it. I’m a failure.’

Alasdair’s smile faded.

‘
I’m sure that’s not what she meant. Listen, Grace. I need to talk to you.’

He looked so serious
I was certain he was going to tell me something dreadful. I put the newspaper cutting down.

‘
What is it? What’s the matter?’

‘
It’s about the wedding tomorrow.’

He took a seat and
began to play with the tassels of a blanket as he spoke.

‘
What about it?’

B
efore he had time to answer, I added, ‘Actually, whose wedding is it? I’m guessing they’re friends of yours?’

He sighed and glanced across
the clearing. ‘The groom is the man I told you about when we were in the Dales, the man who was injured, Alex. He’s a good friend, we joined up together. He was a friend of Rosamund’s too.’

‘How do you feel about going
to the wedding? You seem apprehensive.’

‘
To be honest it’s the last thing on earth I want to do. And he’s asked me to be his best man, which seems beyond ironic.’

‘Don’t you want to see him?’ I asked gently.

‘Yes, of course.’ He rubbed his temple. ‘All his family will be there. God only knows what they’ll think of me.’ He sighed again and rested his head against the back of the chair. I gave him a moment’s silence and tried to think of something to say. I wondered what Mum would say to reassure him.

‘Well, I’m no expert,
and I don’t know the details of what happened, but surely he wouldn’t have asked you to be best man if your friendship wasn’t important to him.’ I leant across and took his hand. The unexpected gesture startled him slightly. ‘Maybe it’s time to stare down this demon, Alasdair. It sounds to me as if it’s all in your head.’

He nodded
.

‘
Actually, speaking of staring down demons …’ He paused.

‘
Yes.’

‘
The thing that I’ve been trying to tell you is, when Alex told your mum about his intention to marry Sarah, she suggested to him that …’ He stopped mid-sentence.

‘
She suggested what?’

Alasdair’s
face held the expression of a doctor who is just about to pass on some terrible news.

‘
She told him you would sing at the wedding.’

‘
What
?’ I pulled my hand away and jumped to my feet. ‘You have got to be joking. Why have you waited until now to tell me?’

‘
I wanted you to have a good time,’ he said despairingly. ‘That’s the reason I’ve been asking you about your stage fright. She asked me to hand you the letter before I told you, I swear I didn’t know what was in it though.’

I
put my hands to my face and turned to look at the hut.

‘
I just don’t bloody well believe it. What was Mum playing at? How dare she … pimp me out like this!’ I threw up my arms in exasperation and turned back to face him. ‘It’s a terrible imposition. She actually thought I would
sing
at a stranger’s wedding?’

‘
Basically, yes. You’re not mad at
me
are you?’

His face was the epitome of anguish.

‘Of course I’m not mad at you. I’m just sorry you’ve had the burden of telling me. Mum had no right. What are they expecting me to sing anyway? An aria, modern stuff, what?’

‘
Amazing Grace.
’

I dropped
into the chair again, dumbfounded. Alasdair came to kneel beside me and took my hand.

‘
When we get there tomorrow I’ll take Alex to one side and tell him you won’t be able to sing. I won’t make any excuses. It won’t make a scrap of difference to anyone. Your mum should never have said—’

I cut him short, my voice barely audible.

‘Like I told you,
Amazing Grace
is the hymn Mum used to sing to me at bedtime. She must have suggested to your friend that I sing it. Why is she putting me through all of this, Alasdair?’

H
e let go of my hand.

‘
She had her reasons I suppose, but,’ he continued brightly, ‘don’t give it another thought. I’ll sort everything out.’

‘
I feel bad, though. I hate to let your friend down – let
you
down
.
I bet they’ve paid for the accompaniment, a pianist or something. God, this is awful.’ I dropped my head, angry at Mum
and
at myself for being such a damn wimp.

‘
The band is there to play throughout the evening anyway. They aren’t just there for you.’

‘
A
band
? Are they any good?’

Alasdair laughed.

‘Not bad. It’s just a band he used to be part of years ago, so it’s no big deal.’

‘
Perhaps best then,’ I said brighter. ‘I’m not sure I could sing along to amateurs.’ As soon as the words tumbled out I realised I had expressed myself badly. Alasdair shot me an expression of shocked amusement.

‘
Grace Buchanan, you bloody snob!’

‘
No! I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—oh, you know what I meant.’

We giggled while Alasdair continued to rib m
e as a diva. When the laughter subsided I turned to face him and said, ‘I wish, more than anything, I had more confidence, but I just don’t think I can do it, which is a nightmare, I know, especially considering how you feel about going.’

He leant across and took my hand
again. ‘Don’t give it another thought.’

We sat with our own thoughts for a
second, and then: ‘Hey,’ I said, ‘incredible coincidence that we happen to be, more or less, in the same location as the wedding. What were the odds of that?’

Alasdair smiled
.

‘
Alex is from Edinburgh and his wife is an American, so they probably—’

I jumped in
, nodding knowingly.

‘
American? I can just imagine her. She probably jumped at the chance of a wedding with a
Braveheart
slash
Highlander
theme. Yes, that makes perfect sense.’

Alasdair stood, gave my hand a last squeeze then headed back into the hut.
He turned round in the doorway and smiled his own trademark cheeky smile.

‘
Singin’ in the Rain
, eh? Did you jump out of a cake wearing a skimpy leotard with a pom-pom on your bum?’

I laughed.

‘Yes, to my everlasting shame, I jumped out of the cake. And yes, before you ask, there were lots of jazz hands and cheeky winks, even a bum wiggle or two! But there was no pom-pom I’m afraid.’

Alasdair raised his
eyebrows. His smile was irresistible.

‘Grace Buchanan
flashing cheeky winks and bum wiggles, now that’s something I’d pay good money to see. Any chance of a rendition? Just for me?’

I turned away with a smirk and fixed my gaze on the mountains
.

‘
Never going to happen, Finn.’

I went for a nap at lunchtime and woke ravenous at five. We replayed the events of our first night at the hut and chatted about the past forty-eight hours. It was clear that, despite the trauma, we both felt the walk was enhanced by the adoption of our boys. Eventually the cold night air got the better of us, and we retired into the hut at around eight.

‘
So, how come you ended up performing in a big production at eighteen?’ he asked. ‘I thought you hated performing.’

‘I do
– did. But I needed to prove my worth to get a place at the Academy. I vomited before every performance … nightmare!’

‘And what about now?
Has your fear of singing in public become slightly less intense since our sing-song with the boys? And don’t jump to the conclusion that I’m trying to persuade you to sing at the wedding either.’

I smiled sarcastically.

‘Singing to a few kids around a campfire is very different to performing on a stage, Alasdair.’

‘
I was there too, remember, and you refused to sing for me the night before so I reckon you’ve made a step forward.’ Alasdair looked distinctly pleased at the thought.

‘
I was including
you
as one of the children. I’ve been meaning to ask though,’ I said, happily snuggling in to my chair, ‘Tom said, or maybe it was Jamie, anyway it doesn’t matter,
one
of the boys said you told them I was a singer or could sing or something? How did that come about?’

Alasdair
performed his usual trick of finding an occupation to distract attention from what he was about to say. He crossed to the wood burner.

‘
One of them asked what you do when I helped them to put the tents up,’ he said, stoking the fire.

‘
And what did you say?’ I wasn’t sure how he had gone from photographer to singer in the few minutes he had spent on his own setting up camp with the boys.

‘
I told them you were trained in voice and piano at the London Academy of Music. They probably assumed you were a singer.’ He turned his attention to some books on a shelf.

‘
A fairly natural assumption I suppose,’ I continued, ‘but that’s
not
what I do for living. I left the Academy years ago.’ I hoped I wasn’t about to hear something that would almost certainly upset me.

‘What did they say when you told them what I
really
do for a living?’

‘
I didn’t tell them about your photographic work,’ he answered, calmly flicking through a book with his back to me. I kept my voice low, but there was no disguising my annoyance.

‘
So, you didn’t answer their question correctly then.’

He didn’t respond.
I knew the following question had to be asked even though I didn’t really want the answer.

‘
Why
didn’t you tell them I’m a photographer?’

He turned to face me.

‘Honest answer?’ he asked.

‘
Of course, what other kind is there?’

He grabbed the
book and returned to the sofa.

‘
I didn’t say you’re a photographer because I didn’t want them to make incorrect assumptions about you, didn’t want them to get the wrong impression.’ He turned the pages of the book. I sat still for a moment, at a conversational crossroads. I could either let my annoyance pass and enjoy the evening, or I could say what I felt needed to be said. Naturally I took the second route.