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The car crested the hill, the road dropping away almost immediately, snaking its way down a steep incline into a small valley. Elephant-grey rocky crags fell sharply from either side, giving way at the base to large angular boulders, mounds of purple heather and a stony scree partially obscured by rich green ferns. In the base of the valley tall trees, their leaves just starting to give way from rich deep green to russet reds, ran in a broad swathe towards a cluster of stone buildings nestled at the far end. Dwarfing them, the dark square outline of a church tower erupted from the green canopy. As Owen carefully manoeuvred the car down the narrow turns of the single-track road hugging the hillside, Tosh caught a glimpse of white water cascading down a deep cleft in the hillside in a series of perfect miniature waterfalls before disappearing underground through a fissure in the rocky gutter bordering the cliff side of the road.
"It's beautiful," Tosh breathed with a rapturous smile as she took in the vista before her. "A hidden valley."
Owen took his eyes from the narrow road for a moment to assess the view. Tosh was right, it was breathtaking.
"Amy always did have good taste," he commented wryly, returning his attention to the road. It was a fair bet that the valley was cut off from the outside world after the slightest snow shower. He sent a quick message of thanks skywards that it was only early September. "Aunt June told me Jamie was born here. His parents still live in the village. A large stone house set away from the main village." He scanned the approaching village, still some way below them. "That one, I guess." He lifted his bandaged hand from the steering wheel, pointing to the only house standing apart from the cluster of buildings.
"I don't blame her for wanting to get married here," Tosh said in a quiet voice. "It's like a fairytale." There was a catch in her voice which made Owen look across sideways. Tosh's expression was wistful, her eyes suspiciously bright. He looked away uncomfortably.
"I never saw you as a fairytale wedding kind of girl, Tosh," he covered rapidly, immediately berating himself for his cruel tactlessness as she flashed a contemptuous glare at him from beneath dark lashes.
"You never see me at all," she retorted bitterly, lowering her eyes, unable to believe she'd actually just said that out loud. She was a fool. They'd just got comfortable again and here she was stirring up things best left forgotten.
"I'm sorry," she said softly after a moment. "That wasn't fair. It's just...well...fairytale weddings don't come as part of the Torchwood package." She shrugged as if it was of no matter, but her eyes were forlorn.
Owen laid an understanding hand on her arm and squeezed gently.
"Gwen got one," he countered encouragingly. "It can happen." The vision of Tosh walking down the aisle, an ethereal white dress floating around her, took root in his mind. Then his mind completed the picture, a handsome, smiling man waiting with a smile and a gold ring, and he felt a twist of numbing pain. He wasn't sure he could watch that. But she deserved to be happy. She deserved the fairytale. She deserved a kind, loving husband. And he knew she sure as hell wouldn't find it with him.
Tosh gave an unladylike snort of laughter, snapping him back to attention. "You were at the same wedding as me? Weren't you? A fairytale complete with an alien pregnancy and a shape-shifting, man-eating Nostrovite. I could be wrong but I'm guessing it wasn't Gwen's idea of a dream wedding."
Owen gave a reluctant chuckle. "OK, point taken," he said, nodding. "Still, Tosh, you can't let Torchwood and this life stop you. If you see a chance for the fairytale, you grab it with both hands and screw Torchwood." He meant it, he really did, but he couldn't ignore the insidious little voice whispering that he could have been part of that fairytale if he hadn't been such a blind fool.
Before Tosh could even think how to answer Owen's startling pronouncement, he pulled the car up on a grass verge a little way down the lane from the church. The narrow road was lined on one side with a parade of cars, all makes and models, but Tosh noticed that a fair proportion were high-end classy cars, Mercs and Beamers and, if she wasn't mistaken, a glossy black Aston Martin DB9, which Owen was observing with envious eyes. This had every hallmark of a seriously posh wedding. She looked down at her outfit in concern. Had she gone over the top? Yes, she wanted to be the distraction Owen needed, but she had no desire to make a fool of herself.
Owen caught her anxious glance. "Tosh. You look amazing. Guys out there will be falling over themselves to be introduced to you."
Tosh gave him a grateful smile but shook her head dismissively. "I'm already taken, remember."
For an instant Owen looked confused, and to Tosh's wonderment positively defeated, then, as he remembered their pretence, he gave a rueful smile and nodded. Climbing from the car, he straightened his shirt and shrugged on his suit jacket, grateful that he'd eventually taken Tosh's advice not to wear it in the car. He was only moderately crumpled, he saw, checking his reflection in the car windows. Stepping round the car, he opened the passenger door, holding out a helping hand to Tosh. She placed her fingers lightly in his and eased herself from the car, brushing shallow creases from the fabric of her skirt and blouse. To Owen's eyes she looked as perfect as the moment she'd twirled in front of him in the service station car park.
He crooked one arm in her direction. "Shall we?"
Tosh took his arm and smiled sunnily at him. "The wedding, scene 1, take 1," she joked as they set off up the lane towards the church.
"Owen, love. I'm so glad you were able to come." A short blonde-haired woman in her early sixties grabbed Owen by the shoulders before he could respond and pulled him in close, laying a smacking kiss on his cheek. She wrinkled her nose, her angular cheekbones and jawline proclaiming her to be one of Owen's relations. "You're frozen, get into the hotel and warm up." She released him, taking a step back so she could look him up and down. "What on earth have you done to your hand?"
They were stood outside a country house hotel, a buttery-coloured stone Georgian residence set in extensive private grounds located in the next valley to the little church where less than an hour ago Amy and Jamie had pledged their troth in a traditional ceremony which had brought tears to Tosh's eyes and sent Owen's thoughts scurrying in directions he preferred not to think about.
"Hello, June," Owen said his face creasing in a sheepish grin. "I knew you would berate me until my dying day if I didn't come." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tosh wince at his wording. "You and Amy," he corrected. "I figured I'd save myself some grief."
June smiled fondly. "And the hand?" she pressed, genuine concern on her angular features.
"Broke two fingers playing footie with the lads," Owen lied smoothly. "Last Tuesday. Don't worry, they're mending just fine."
"And this must be...?" Jane said turning a friendly smile on Toshiko.
Owen reached an arm around Tosh's waist pulling her close to his side.
"June, this is Toshiko Sato. Tosh, this is my Auntie June, the greatest woman in the world, bar none...well, maybe one." Owen leaned across and placed a chaste kiss on Tosh's cheek.
Tosh ignored the shiver of pleasure that the kiss sent careering down her spine and held out a hand. "Owen has talked about you a lot. It's nice to finally meet the legend."
"Legend?...Owen, you'll make me blush." June lowered her eyes in embarrassment, taking Tosh's proffered hand and shaking it lightly.
"I call them as I see them," Owen said seriously. "June Thomas, legend in her own lifetime."
"Cheeky sod," June retorted, tweaking a lock of Owen's hair as she used to do when he was a boy. "Toshiko, it's a real pleasure."
"Call me Tosh, please. Toshiko always makes me think I'm in trouble." Tosh smiled. "I'll leave you two alone to catch up. I know it's been a while." She ignored Owen's panicked eye rolling and with a final smile stepped past June and up the stairs into the hotel. Owen's eyes followed her up the stairs, watching intently until the final flash of ruby silk had disappeared into the dim interior.
"You've got other people to speak to," Owen said rapidly, looking about him for an escape. "We can catch up later."
June nodded knowingly, then pinned him with speculative eyes. "I can understand why you don't want to let her out of your sight. She's stunning. Is it serious?"
Owen looked momentarily taken aback. It was on his lips to deny it. After all, it didn't matter if he admitted that it was a new relationship, it wasn't as if his aunt would ever have the opportunity to meet Tosh again. But he hated lying to his aunt, he always had, even as a child. Back then she had always known when he was telling a lie, even if it was to spare her feelings, like when she asked if his mother was drunk that day. He lied better now but it still produced that twisting knot of guilt in his chest.
"Yeah, it is," he said finally. "She's..." He trailed off, unwilling to put his feelings into words, irrevocably out there. June felt no such compunction.
"The one?," she finished, looking at him for confirmation. He nodded slowly. "I'm so glad, sweetheart. It's been too long since Katie. I was worried about you." She placed a hand on his arm and squeezed it tight. Owen wished with all his soul he could feel it.
"It's a shame Samantha couldn't make it," June said after a moment. She saw Owen's face harden and shook her head sadly. "You really should talk to her. She needs you."
"Everything she needs she can find in a bottle of Bombay Sapphire. The last time we spoke she barely knew who I was," Owen said coldly. He couldn't forgive Sam for following in her mother's footsteps, not when she was one of the few people who had known and understood the extent of the suffering Owen had been subjected to as a child.
"Katie was her best friend, Owen, don't forget that. When she died, Sam lost her best friend and her brother in one day."
Owen's dark eyes met June's accusing pale blue ones. "I don't know what you mean," he said quietly.
"When Katie died you changed. All of a sudden you had a new job you wouldn't speak about and shut us all out, Sam included. She didn't know where to turn."
"So she turned to the bottle? Great choice," Owen commented sarcastically. "It's no excuse. You didn't see me getting slammed day and night." He guiltily pushed hazy, alcohol-dimmed, half-memories of countless nights spent in bed with nameless, faceless women aside.
"We didn't see you at all!" June retorted. "Do you realise I've only seen you once since Katie's funeral, and that was the day we buried Patrick." Owen shuffled uncomfortably on the spot, his lips forming an automatic apology and plea for forgiveness, but June raised her hand to stay his words.
"It doesn't matter, Owen, I understand that that was your way of dealing with what happened. But Sam isn't as strong as you, she couldn't handle losing both of you like that. Please, for me, promise me you'll try to speak to her. If anyone can bring her back from whatever dark place she's in right now, it's her little brother."
Owen could have laughed out loud at the irony of it. How could he bring someone back from the brink? But hadn't he done just that, on a rooftop, not so very long ago? And that had been for a complete stranger. Sam was his own flesh and blood. Was he really going to let his mother destroy her too?
"Alright," he said, shaking his head in surrender, "I'll call her when I get home. I can't promise anything though. She's got to want to talk to me too."
"That's all I'm asking, sweetheart," June said softly.
Impulsively Owen leaned forward, enfolding his aunt in a hug, something he had not done since he was a child.
"Love you," he whispered so low that only she could hear.
"Love you too, sweetheart. Now..." she extricated herself from his grasp and surreptitiously wiped away a tear, "...you go find that lovely girl before your cousin Jasper lays eyes on her." Without waiting for a reply she turned to greet the next guest. Owen gave her a final fond smile and walked up the stairs as quickly as dignity would allow.
In the hotel lobby, a knot of young men were crowded about a somewhat bewildered Tosh. She'd expected attention dressed as she was. After all, wasn't that the whole point? But the bevy of eager young men vying for her attention was a whole new, and not entirely unwelcome, experience.
"Hand's off, Jasper. She's taken." Owen's strident tones cut into the babble of voices somewhere behind her and the young man to her left, a dark-haired handsome twenty-something, fell back with a sudden scowl to allow Owen to step in by her side, a possessive arm sliding across her back.
"How come you always get the stunning ones, Owen?" the young man, obviously the warned-off Jasper, said with a touch of bitterness. "Rat-face." The insult was loosely tossed out. Tosh tensed, expecting Owen to react with his usual outburst of temper; he really couldn't afford to break any more fingers.
To her surprise Owen grinned. "Pretty boy," he retorted. Jasper's face broke into a similar wide grin. Obviously this trade of insults was the standard form of greeting in the Harper clan.
"Tosh, this reprobate is my cousin Jasper. On my dad's side," he clarified, seeing the confusion on Tosh's face. They never had finished the whole back story conversation.
Tosh smiled politely, but impersonally at Jasper. "Nice to meet you, Jasper." She turned deliberately adoring eyes at Owen. It wasn't difficult. "Owen, didn't you say something about getting us checked in before the reception starts? We do have half an hour," she purred.
She saw the startled glances from Jasper and the other men still crowding around them. Owen's smile was smug. His arm still fixed about her shoulders, he steered her through the throng of people towards the reception desk, murmuring when they were out of earshot, "Nice one, Tosh. That should put Jasper and the other sharks in their place."
The room was stunning. Tosh had never stayed in a room like it. Decorated in muted greens and creams, high ceilings bordered with fine plaster architrave, the crowning glory was a beautiful cut glass chandelier, delicate droplets of crystal cascading about a central column of gilt metal, refracting the light from a dozen slim candle bulbs into a myriad of rainbows on the pale walls. The furniture was period, although Tosh was in no doubt that they would be reproductions; the genuine articles would have been priceless. A fine spindle legged bureau sat in one corner. Two tall walnut armoires, which Tosh couldn't bring herself to call wardrobes, stood imposingly on opposite sides of the room, their doors polished to a high sheen. Next to the door stood a chest of drawers flanked on either side by a cupboard, one of which Tosh guessed would contain the slightly incongruous note provided by the obligatory mini-bar. To the left a door led though into a small but perfectly appointed en-suite.
There was only one problem with the room and it screamed at Tosh from the moment she pushed open the door. "There's only one bed," she stammered, immediately feeling foolish.
Owen stepped in after her and dropped the two overnight bags he was carrying onto the floor. He gave Tosh an apologetic, and what he hoped appeared to be, an unconcerned shrug.
"There were no twin rooms left. Besides, I thought it might look a little odd. You don't have to worry though. It's not as if I actually sleep. I'll...go for a walk or something." Damn right he would. There was no way he was going to even sit in the same room as Tosh when she was sleeping only a few feet away. Especially in that bed, a vast white expanse of pristine white cotton sheets atop a deep mattress topped by a downy comforter, made for something more than sleeping.
Tosh coloured and she busied herself with lifting her bag onto the high bed, unzipping the top and lifting out a pair of faded purple brushed-cotton pyjamas, obviously much worn. Embarrassed, she stuffed them beneath one of the plump duck-down pillows. Those pyjamas were an indictment of her life, she thought sadly, always sleeping alone, swapping the warmth of a lover's arms for the childish comfort of flannel pyjamas.
She glanced over her shoulder to see whether Owen had seen the sad sight, but he was stood in the bay window between two high backed armchairs, looking out over the formal gardens laid out below. His face was still, almost desolate. Maybe coming to this wedding hadn't been a good idea, Tosh mused sadly, too vivid a reminder of what he had lost. Not realising how close and yet how far she was from the truth, she stepped across the room to lay a hand on his arm.
"Are you alright?" she asked softly, her voice filled with gentle concern. Owen looked up, startled. Of course, she realised belatedly, he hadn't felt her hand and had clearly been too absorbed in his thoughts to hear her approach. "We don't have to go down if you don't want to."
And stay here, alone with Tosh, berating himself for all his missed opportunities? He nearly groaned aloud.
Instead he shook his head. "No, it's fine. We should go. I promised you a slap up meal." His mouth twisted in what he hoped was an approximation of his old carefree smile. As he spoke, he stepped towards the door, swinging it wide and waving Tosh through before him.
Tosh frowned briefly, not fooled for an instant by the mockery of a smile on his lips, but wordlessly stepped through the door. He wasn't alright. This was a torture for him, seeing life lived and knowing he could never be fully part of it again. But she couldn't fix it, as much as she wanted to. All she could do was play the role she'd been assigned and steel herself for the storm when, just as he had in his flat, he raged against the machine once more.