CHAPTER TEN
GRETNA GREEN

"One day, you look at the person and see more than you did the day before, like a switch was flickered somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is suddenly the only person you can imagine yourself with." - Scully (Gillian Anderson,) X-Files

Lucy 19, Ted 22, Six years ago

My trembling fingers pull unstoppably on the edges of the dress, tugging it down. The silence is stifling as I slowly pull away the curtain and step out.

"That's the one!" Dom claps her hands, jumping up and down.

"Are you sure?" I ask, twirling in front of the mirror. "It's not too… much?"

The white dress swirls and billows around my thighs, like soft clouds pressing into my legs. It sits tightly around my midriff, before cascading outwards in a mesh of blondes and chiffon. It's like cotton candyfloss and silken bedsheets against your skin. It's Sunday mornings and his beautiful smile. It swooshes and swishes as I turn, making me feel light as a feather.

"It's perfect."

Vic stands in the doorway, her smile is huge, reaching far. She's holding a large bouquet of sunflowers. They're bright yellow. Their colour makes me sweet-silly happy. I don't know why.

She hands me the bouquet, pulling me to a nearby chair. "Come, let me do your hair."

What feels like seconds later, we rush out the store, me in white, Dom in petal-pink and Vic in green. We're giggling, nervous and excited, feeling the promise of tomorrow underneath our wings. The sunflowers bounce gently as we run, my converse-shoes peeking out from below the white dress.

My heart is bursting with the bubbling promise of the future.

Ted hauls her back inside. Something along the lines of an explanation and need to and love, but in my honest experience, the three have never gotten very well along. But she sits down primly, one leg crossed over the other, her beauty queen blonde hair tucked behind her ears.

"Scotland? Of all places to go, you chose Scotland?" Pippa grabs her drink again, her fingertips white-ended. It's the only sign of anger and I come to wonder whether she'll hit me once she knows.

"It seemed very romantic at the time," I say, clutching my drink, too, a small call to arms.

"Couldn't you have been a bit more modern? Gone to, I don't know, Vegas?" Scorpius wrinkles his nose. "Scotland is so not sexy."

"Scotland is sexy -" I say automatically.

"Scotland is famous for a big green gooey monster, honey, it is not sexy." He pats me on my back.

"Do you mean the Lockness?" Ted raises an eyebrow.

"It was a long time ago. We were young." I flash back to the lake, that night. Trying on white dresses in a small shop up North.

"How old were you?"

"19."

"It's not like it was planned – it was more of a – a – " And I'm fucking nineteen again, feeling like I need to justify our decision to these people. As if I owe them anything.

"Spur of the moment? You know how these things are." Ted straightens. He's distant and I catch myself, before I say any more.

"No, actually I don't. I've never done anything like that," Pippa's voice tremors, she keeps on scrutinizing Ted and I, watching for any hidden looks or messages. She needn't bother, Ted's as distant as the sea to me right now. We're oceans apart. I watch her eyes go from frustrated to anger, back to despair. Ted notices her shipwrecked eyes.

"Babe…"

I glance at Ted who's refusing to look at me.

"Where?"

I let out a slow breath, letting these pieces go from my arms. "Gretna Green."

"Gretna Green?" Pippa splutters, "that's fifty minutes from where my parents live."

"Of course, you'd do it the most cliché way possible," Scorpius rolls his eyes. "Honestly, Gretna Green? Could you be more uninventive? You might as well have been quoting Shakespeare."

He glances at me again. "You were probably quoting Shakespeare."

"We weren't. We'd written our vows ourselves." Somehow, it escapes. There are all these pieces of me that I've kept to myself, but now, they're escaping me. Now, everyone at this table has a little piece of me.

"On the back of a napkin, mind you." James laughs, but no one else does.

I told him that Gretna Green would always be ours, but that was a lie. Now it's theirs, too. It's a barroom-story, smeared in cheap liquor and heavy laughs. I didn't get to keep this either.

"Yup, true love," Darren sighs, squeezing my shoulder, "They were even wed by a blacksmith."

"One with a handlebar beard," Ted nods.

"Oh, the irony," breathes James.

"Wed by a blacksmith, over a Blacksmith's avil. It is a wee bit funny." Darren grins. He's taken to sitting there beside me, his hands on my back. It feels like a comfort, but then again not. He must have known this would come up. He must have known –

I take a large gulp of my lager. It's lukewarm, sticky at the back of my throat.

"You two, just shut your bleeding trap – you've done enough damage for an entire year – bleeding sod." Ted points at Darren and James.

"Well, you Couldn't have turned out anything other than a blacksmith after that, mate." James claps him on the back.

"It was a nice wedding," I can't stop the words spilling. It doesn't matter though, because the way Ted's eyes snap up to meet mine makes it worth it.

"It was. It was perfect." He looks away, but not before I see Pippa's dark gaze at us.

Worth every fucking penny.

Ted 22, Lucy 19, Six years ago

It's a campsite.

Made out of two brittle and worn-out tents, one of which is dedicated to the wedded couple. It is the closest thing to luxury we have, and to us, it's a damn near Five Star Golden Retreat. It is yellow with two large red patches on it. The other tent is even scrawnier; a two-person tent in which five people are to sleep. It is slight crooked, sagging to one side and crisscrossed in patterned patches to stop the rain from coming in.

James stops dead when he sees them. "Nope. Uh Uh. No. Fricking. Way."

Dom looks sheepish. "It was the only tents they had left on such short notice!"

"Stop being such a birdie, James," Vic rolls her eyes and marches up to the tents.

Ted laughs when he spots them, lifting me up with a roar. "Our humble abode awaits, my wife! Let's consummate this matrimony."

Guffawing, he carries me across the campsite, dumping me on the air mattress inside. It smells mouldy and cramped. I thought they may have altered the space inside to make it bigger, but no. There's room for a mattress and that's about it.

"Adieu!" he yells to the group, closing the tent swiftly on us. "See you in the next week!"

I can't stop laughing, rolling around on the squishy bed. It's so soft that my elbows and knees keep sinking in, making me topple over.

He turns to face me. With a large grin, he rubs his hands.

"Now, sun of my moon, are yeh prepared to be ravished?"

Pippa's face is like an open book with wet eyes, a quivering bottom lip and lithe form. She seems tiny, like a small bird you want to take care of. No wonder Ted couldn't resist that insistent need. She won't look at me while they say their goodbyes. Neither will Ted.

"We'll see you tomorrow," she says, looking down at her nails, like she's ignoring me or some shit. Ted doesn't say shit. He opens the door for her, something he'd never do for me. He doesn't look back, not even in anger.

I feel a bubbling rage, crawling underneath my skin. The anger is difficult when it comes to Ted. So is loving him. I've lost touch with what it was that made us great. I can't think of a single reason to stay here in Grimsby. I think I'm losing my fucking mind. I just stand there by the front door at Daisy's, watching them walk away in the rain.

"Well, that went well…" Scorpius guffaws into his drink.

I throw him a dirty look. He raises an eyebrow.

"What's up, little miss girl scout. Not so innocent after all, are you?"

"Shut the fuck up," my voice is distant and strained. The silence stretches out between us. I see Scorpius glance at James, who is also silent. I wonder what he makes of all of this. I consider sitting down, telling him all, but then again, no fucking way.

"I'm heading home," I spit, glaring at the floor. I don't know what I'd hoped for. That they'd tell me fuck no, sit down. Drink., or some sort of sentiment. But the room remains quite silent, except for some slow nods and an of course.

The misty rain is cold on my burning face. Grimsby is empty tonight. The neighbourhood feels foreign. It used to feel like I was a part of it – knowing the kids that ran around there and the shops on the corners. Now, it's a village worth of strange faces, the shops have closed or moved, been replaced. The sunflower fields remain, though. I palm the yellowing buds gently as I press through them. I walk along the ridge in the ground, my feet sinking into the soft mould.

The conversation with Scorpius sticks with me, but I'm not sure what to do anymore. For lack of anything to do, I check my messages on my phone. You get out of touch of these things, once you leave the capital.

Catchlove's left three messages. She is nagging me for the big exposé on the wedding. I've yet to give the final blow. I text her back, promising yes and soon and you have no idea what I've uncovered.

Before, I had such difficulty parading the lies and masks we'd woven. But now, the lies slip through every word and action. Now, the lies are my turning-coat, a constant companion.

The house is quiet and empty when I come home. I leave my shoes at the bottom of the stairs and slip past the array of paintings. In the cupboard, I find a small linen canvas and three flayed brushes. I fill a small tea cup with water. It makes a small white burnt ring of water on the bedside table.

I place the canvas gently in the grey light, silent except for the scurrying of brushes. Bright stripes angle out, before returning, curling inwards on themselves. The watercolour blue billows across the peach, embracing the warm yellow of the sun. Acrylic green taints my 500-pound skirt.

It taps against the window, like small rocks hitting the glass. I ignore it, but it continues. And he's there, standing underneath the window, his motorbike leaning against the gnarly apple tree.

I push open the window. Humid, cool air washes over my face, bringing the smell of the woods; an earthy smell of home.

He doesn't have to say anything. I'm already halfway down the stairs.

He doesn't say where we're going, but just motions silently for me to sit behind him. The bike bumps up and down foreign and yet familiar at the same time, as we get on and I grab his shirt hard in my hand.

I hear Ted's smile. "Easy there, tiger."

The machine whirs to a start, quivering dangerously beneath my legs.

"My bum's vibrating." I state dumbly.

Ted laughs. My hands grip his sides. I can't stop my smile and tug it into his back as he speeds up, the motor rumbling loudly, gargling in the woods.

We don't talk as he helps me unmount, leading me through scrubs and low-hanging branches. We enter a small spot with the view over Grimsby and the lake. I've never been here before. A group of blokes are standing over in the corner, laughing and hitting each other. They spot us early on and greet Ted, smiling widely.

"Guys, meet Lucy."

I shake hand with the five guys. I can't read Ted's face. They look at him and something unsaid seems to pass between them all.

"So this is Lucy," one of them says after a while of silence. He's giant with half a beard and fiery red hair.

"Bob," he grins and shakes my hand, "I see what you meant when you said she'd gone all big city on ya. She's right posh."

I pull at the edges of my pencil skirt uncomfortably. I look around at Ted. "You've talked about me?"

"Let's get goin'." Ted is gruff, rubbing a hand over his face.

We walk in silence down a narrow path between the cliffs. I can hear water and smell the salty breeze of sea. Ted walks in front of me. I stare at his hunched shoulders, at the wide expand of his back and bare arms. He's got a tan, something he'd never had in the years we'd lived together.

The path widens and opens up to the arsenic horizon. The lake is a blank canvas of unmoving water. My eyes search out every acre of it, familiarized with its crooks and corners.

"Who wants to go first?" The tall bloke asks.

"Me." A blond flashes a wolfish grin. He's got a large scar reaching from his left ear down to his chin, cutting his bottom lip in two. He pulls of his shirt quickly. I catch a flash of his torso, before he speeds up towards the cliff and jumps – right over the end. It's marred in a pit patter of similar scars, spreading wide across his chest and back. He's airborne for a second, his arms flailing, before plummeting towards the sea, a white flash down, down, down.

I rush to the edge instinctively, my scream lodged in my throat. He's already hit the water, disappeared from view. I hold my breath the entire 47 seconds it takes for his head to reappear among the waves.

I turn back to tell Ted off, to tell them all off for this idiocy, another guy rushes past me in a blur of dark-tanned skin and a wide, wide grin. He hollers as his feet touch the air, twisting in it, before diving, head-first into the water.

I don't look for him to reappear this time. Instead, my eyes are on Ted. My beautiful stranger Ted. He's pulled off his shirt. The wide spread of bare skin makes me breathless for a second. Our eyes lock and he looks twenty again, young and so fucking mine. I want him closer, he's bare-skinned beautiful and he should be closer to me. The look on his face makes me think he feels the same.

"My turn," he says, his voice rough. His eyes on me. I can't breathe.

Before I have a chance to think, he's running towards me, passed me and is flying into the air. That second, before he falls, as he floats breathlessly in the air, gives me hope. I can't help my smile, watching him laugh as he drops.

"It doesn't get better than this, I'll tell ya," Bob smiles at me, before setting off towards the edge, too. It's as if they're pulled towards the skyline, heedlessly throwing themselves into the air, free falling towards the ground.

I think I've found what I thought I'd lost.

Dusk settles like an itching cloak of reality. The group disperses with hugs and laughter.

"Nice to meet you, Luce," Bob flashes a set of sharp teeth at me, his hand large and warm.

I nod and smile, giving him a hug. I understand this part of Ted. These people surrounding him are so similar in stance and stature. Their faces all have something in common. Werewolves by night, daredevils by day. Their thrive for the impossible makes them quite human. And I get how he's drawn towards it. Toward something that may or may not remind him of the father he can't remember.

We wind up at the edge of the cliff, a free fall below us towards the water. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, seeing the sunrays and the mirror of the bay in his eyes. My skirt has ripped and is grey by red burnt dust from the cliffs surrounding us.

It takes a while for me to form the words.

"They're a nice bunch."

Ted glances at me. "Yeah." He says, "outcasts, but great people."

I nod silently. It doesn't seem like he wants to discuss this further, yet the curiosity is a burning itch underneath my tongue. I want to ask him, shake him. But Merlin knows, I can't go out like that. Why and take care of yourself are bubbling in my throat, the words limping backwards, rolling back inside before they reach the air.

I want to ask him, if he thinks of himself as an outcast, too. If it makes him feel alive, to feel the winds push against his body, concaving inwards on itself, before pummeling towards the ground, an honest death without the consequence. It scares me that he likes to feel the imitation of death, risking his limbs.

His hair is still wet, his cheeks flushed pink. He looks happy, and I feel my bravery collapse slowly, like a punctured balloon, hot air oozing out.

Instead, the conversation becomes this: "So, she knows about us now."

He glances at me. "Not exactly the way I wanted to tell her."

It's not fair. My anger towards her isn't fair. I try to muster some sort of compassion, but it only amounts to this:

"Is she upset?"

He exhales. "I… I don't really think something that happened six years ago is something to be upset about."

"Six years," I muse. "We got old didn't we? Despite what we said. We got old."

He focuses on me, finally. Smiles. "I got old, you're still little, short stuff."

It makes me smile, even though I wish it didn't. Hearing him say it like that, it just makes my heart light.

Soberness sinks, heavy and tight in my throat. "Why her?"

I'm not sure I want to hear the answer. Yet I do want it, I burn for the answer. I don't want to look at him at first. When I finally do, he's looking at me with a soft look in his eyes.

"She needs me," he answers, finally, "she doesn't want to be lonely and that's very me. She's simple. She lets me save her."

I need to solve this one thing. If nothing else, I need to solve this.

"I suppose that's legit," I concede. Ted smiles, but doesn't answer.

We're silent for a while, he nudges me then.

"Why him?" It looks like it pains him to ask.

I contemplate it for a while. "He doesn't think I'm fragile and that I'll break from the slightest touch."

Ted shakes his head. "He tells you what to do, that's what he does."

"Let's… not talk about Pippa and Scorpius. It makes me sad."

He looks at me. Purses his lips. The mask he had on from earlier is gone. Now, it's just Ted. Ted and his sad eyes.

"Fine."

He puts his hand in mine. I rub my thumb on his finger, such small gestures of love. The feeling makes me lightheaded.

He raises my stained hand, eyeing the residues of paint on them. He squeezes my hand.

"You've been painting again," he looks happy. "I'm glad. Your hands are different, though. Not as soft."

I shrug, trying for indifference. "Paperwork does that to you."

He ignores me.

"I've brought you something," he says, reaching for something in his backpack.

"Here." He puts a paintbrush in my hand, followed by parchment.

"Paint me."

Lucy 19, Ted 22, Six years ago

"You have to lie still, oh, wait - I'll go get some grapes," I giggle as I frantically search the pantry for grapes.

"Hurry! Your muse is walking out the door as we speak!" He yells from the living room. "So, is this how married life is going to be like from now on? Posing for my beautiful wife on weekends?"

"Here!" I grab the grapes, rushing back to the canvas and Ted. Paint is flowing everywhere; three paintbrushes are swirling acrylic joy across the page in sheer excitement. The floor is dotted rainbow colours with dye. Amidst it all lies Ted outstretched on a dark blue divan.

He wiggles his toes at me and throws a handful grapes into his mouth.

"Should I pose nude, perhaps?" He guffaws through the grapes. "I could match the couch!"

"It's a divan, hon." I say, stealing a few grapes.

Ted snorts. "Divan, sofa, couch! The painting would improve by my sheer nakedness, I reckon."

"Well, if you insist."

"I do, love. I so do."

Ted smirks, dropping his clothes to the floor with a whoosh. "You know, I always seek to honour the arts."

The painting of him comes easily. He emerges through the colours, the sky falling into his eyes. His posture mirrors mine, when I reach forward, so does he. His eyes don't waver. Whenever I look up from the paper, his eyes are there, burning into mine.

I get to his mouth, before I capitulate.

"I can't. Sorry."

"Luce –"

"No. I just. I –" I start, "I don't paint… not anymore."

I stare at him and it's fucking useless. He looks doubtful, stubborn. The way he's looking at me makes me feel uncomfortable.

I put down the brush, but his hands stop me.

"Lucy."

It's like he's seeing something in me, no one has seen for the past six years. Nothing's ever come close to that. If it wasn't me, I'd cry. I feel the knot in my throat. Ted's hand is still on my arm, steadfast but soft.

"Come on, Lucy. You've done it so many times before."

He's reaching for me, pulling me towards me.

I struggle. "No," I push against him, standing. He stands, too.

"You know, you used to be the guy who made me feel like the most special girl in the world." It happens so fast. The words are tumbling out of my mouth.

"Now, it doesn't feel like that. Now, it just feels sad and over."

He looks taken aback. He steps closer, though. Reaching.

And his eyes. They're brown again.

I step forward, too. Apparently, I'm just as helpless in this as he is. "Your eyes -"

His hands find my face. It feels different, yet very much familiar. His fingers are rougher, yet his smell remains the same. I'm drowning in butterscotch brown. Ted steps closer, his face inches from mine. His mouth is parted. I lean forward.

My cell-phone rings.

His fingers are gone from my skin. I shiver.

I answer the phone, turning away. The sky is a myriad of colours. I stare at it unseeing while I jabber off conversation.

It's Miranda. She wants the report. Now, not later.

I glance up at Ted. He's turned his face to look at the bay.

"I have to get back," I say, hanging up. He rubs his neck and glances at me. Nods.

We drive back in stifling silence. Once we hit the main road, I breathe out, taking in the salty humid air, which beats against my face. Ted's back is a solid comfort here on the bike, unmoving, hot and stable. I rest my chin there, feeling his chest expand between my arms.

It's everything.

The driveway to Clem's house looms, bringing back memories of many nights spent like this when we were young. Together.

I get off the motorbike, still unsure what to do with it all. Still not knowing how this will play out.

Ted is there again. Right in front of my face. He pushes back my hair, which is frizzy and curling around the edges of my face. He smiles.

"I've missed your old hair. You look better now. Less plastic, less perfect. It's like a cracked painting, where bits of you are slowly peeking through."

He reaches into his pocket. A black velvet box is pressed into the palm of my hand.

"Do the job of the best man."

It's the same ring.

My mouth is dry. "Your mother's ring?"

"Yeah."

"See, I've always been nagging you about recycling, knew you'd eventually catch on!" I joke, my eyes stinging. Ted doesn't laugh at all. He's just dead-silent.

"No, but seriously… Don't you think, it's… I don't know, bad luck?"

He's smiles. "Just because my first wife ran off, doesn't mean my second wife will."

"I didn't run off – you didn't come after me!"

What I don't say: You gave up. I should have fought this. You should have fought for us.

"Oh, so going to France and seeing Dom isn't running away?"

"How did you – how did you know I went to France?"

Ted sighs, "Never mind. I'll see you later."

He leaves without further ado. I'm too surprised to do anything other than to watch him go. He's not a stranger, but he's not familiar either. His shoulders greet me with the foreign hood of summer. I wish, it could have been different.

My fingers shake as I unlock the front door. As soon as I enter the office, I pull my skirt off and replace it with my old withered one from the cupboard – it still fits, albeit slightly tighter around my thighs.

The owl is already there, eyeing the quill and parchment on my table. I put the ring by the side. Its diamond sparkles up at me, taunting. I start dictating the quill, sending the expose quickly. It's particularly morbid, delving into the ups and downs of Ted's family. Of Clem. I don't leave anything out. I don't know what I'm doing anymore.

I trod up to my bedroom, unseeing. The door swings open and Dom is there, lying on my bed, one leg crossed across the other.

"Well, hello there, stranger."

Ted 23, Lucy 20, Five years ago

Time is not moving. The clock in our kitchen has stopped working. It is the breathless seconds in which I sit, perched at the edge of my seat, watching the potion brew on our counter, my morning porridge left forgotten.

I have never felt the seconds ticker and rest relentlessly as I wait for the time to be now, for this to –

Poof!

A large cloud of blue smoke emerges from the small cauldron. My trembling fingers run down the page in the book, searching out the meaning.

The book drops to the kitchen floor, and as do I. Such little words can have such a defining and final say. One word, and my world has shifted. I've never attributed much to words until now. The book lies on the floor beside me where its fallen alongside me in kinship. Still open on the page. I can still make out its conclusion.

Pregnant.

Such a small word. Such an irrefutable sentence.