Autumn

There's a line of the ABBA song "When all is said and done" that mentions the two lovers feeling the onset of middle age as the "autumn chill". That was the genesis of of this one; the story started with Helen's marriage and evolved from there into something very different to what I first thought it might be.

-:- Autumn -:-

I suppressed the half-formed sob as I gently passed my daughter's hand to her fiancé and stepped aside from them.

It was harder than I ever could have imagined it would be to let her hand go.

But I did it, somehow.

Just like all the other things that I had somehow managed to do, over the years.

Helen turned to me, and gave me that heart-stopping smile that had first etched itself into my heart all those long years ago.

She alone of everyone here knew what this moment meant to me.

I took my place, and briefly touched the seat of the empty chair beside me.

And I swallowed once, and then again, and somehow found enough strength to go on.

This was Helen's day, and I would not permit anything to change that.

The celebrant had a lovely dry wit, and laced humour throughout the gentle, poignant marriage rite. Helen and James spoke their vows, blessings were given, the rings were exchanged, and I sat there throughout, smiling for her.

Then, at last, only one more duty remained for me do - to witness the signing of the wedding register, preen for the photographer, and endure the speeches.

And, afterwards, I could garrison my barricades from some dimmer corner where I could be close enough to help when needed but safely out of the centre of attention when not.

.:.

The evening went as I had hoped it would - happy guests, copious amounts of food, and enough wine to make Helen's entourage pleasantly merry without rendering them senseless. Helen and James' friends were all young, well-mannered and silly rather than quarrelsome. I was pleased to see the type of people she'd chosen to surround herself with had not changed all that much over the years.

Helen was radiant, and the bright pink Bougainvillea blossoms that she'd insisted on twisting into her white-gold hair suited her far more than I'd thought they would; they elevated her from a stunning young woman into some strange radiant ethereal being who'd blessed us with her presence for this one special evening. She and James roamed the tables, investing time with every person there, and I watched their love reflected back at them time and time again.

I smiled a small, bittersweet smile to myself. They'd be fine.

So would I, given enough time.

I ate a little, drank a little more, and dealt with the numerous small bits of admin that the best man didn't want to bother the groom or bride with.

And so the hours of the evening wound on. The speeches were mercifully short, and my daughter was gentle and dexterous with hers - alluding only in passing to the person who wasn't there with us, and wasting even less time on everything the two of us had been forced to weather afterwards just in order to live.

And I blessed her a million times for that - I was only so strong, after all.

I cried only once, briefly, in one of the toilets - a swift, brutal thirty seconds of intense black grief that was necessary so that I could forge on. James' mum had recognised the signs and had quickly come and grabbed me and got me away from everyone. She stood guard at the door, her Valkyrie-like presence granting me my brief moment of privacy before she gently helped me fix my makeup and rebuild my defences.

Helen knew I'd been bawling, of course. Helen always knew these things.

"Mum?" she said softly as she came to me.

"I'm OK, love."

"Are you sure?" she said, as she gently took my arm and stared down at me in that particular way she had.

"Yes. It's just an... emotional day for me, to see you like this. It's everything I'd hoped for for you."

She put her arms around me and pulled me to her, and I marvelled again at how tall and strong my precious little girl had become.

.:.

"Can I have a glass of the Syrah-Grenache, please," I begged the pretty young bartender.

She smiled and reached under the counter for a bottle.

I turned back to the floor, watching my daughter as she slow-danced with her husband. I admired how graceful she was, and I loved him for how reliable and gentle he had always been with her, since that first day I'd met him at Helen's sixteenth birthday party.

I smiled at the sharp tang of the memory. She'd told me, even back then, that the tall, slightly awkward teenager was the one for her.

I hadn't believed her at first, of course. But nine years had proven how wrong I had been to doubt my daughter's determination and her man's unwavering devotion to her.

"Your wine, Mrs Fielding."

"Oh. Thank you, dear."

"You're welcome," the girl smiled.

I sipped my wine and stood, watching as I always did. Watching the many beautiful couples, watching my daughter, and remembering my own shoestring shotgun wedding all those years ago.

I'd been so young...

Helen had escaped that, thank God.

"Evening. Can I get a glass of that wonderful Syrah, please?"

I turned to eye the newcomer. I'd seen him at one of the closer tables but couldn't place him; he looked to be around my age, so he must be one of the few parents who'd cracked the nod. He was handsome, quite dashing in a weather-beaten way, and his suit fitted him very well.

He noticed my glance. "Good evening," he said, with a smile and a nod. "You must be Helen's mum."

"Yes. Hello. I'm Rachel. You are..."

"I'm Caleb. The best dad."

"The best..."

"Dad," he added, grinning. "The best man's my lad. So I get to be the best dad. I like the role."

I smiled, amused. "I suppose that makes sense. Are you enjoying your evening?"

"The speeches were wonderful. Nice and short - my favourite kind. Nothing worse than listening to people droning on and on when all you want is your pudding."

"Helen was adamant that she'd skin anyone who went over ten minutes," I said. "It worked out well, I think."

"Your wine, sir," said the bartender.

"Thank you very much."

He took his glass and turned to watch the dancers. "This is a wonderful venue," he said.

"They weren't originally prepared to host a reception, but Helen was very... persuasive. I saw the manager walking around earlier with her mouth open, I think we just gave her all sorts of new ideas."

"Cheers to that," he said, raising his glass. "What a lovely way to inaugurate the place."

"So, Mr Caleb Richards. Are you here alone?"

"For my many sins, yes," he said, eyes crinkling as he smiled. "My... ex-wife... I guess that's her title now; she has a fascination for the yachts of self-made multi-millionaires on the Côte d'Azur. And the best of luck to her," he added, raising his glass in salute.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"Oh, no, not at all. It was always amicable; we liked each other well enough but worked out that we no longer loved one another. The best thing we ever did was to call it quits - it meant we could focus on being good parents rather than fighting. And it all worked out well in the end, my lad Grant's a well-balanced boy so I really have nothing to complain about."

"Your son really is lovely."

"Yeah, we were lucky. Like you," he said. "Helen is..."

"Helen is Helen," I said, with a small private smile of my own, and he nodded.

"And how are you?" he said, slightly more softly.

"Well enough," I deflected.

He nodded again and, thankfully, didn't pry. The unbalanced seating at the bridal table had told as much of the tale as I was prepared to go into.

"So how did the kids find this place?"

"Sheer, dumb luck," I said. "They were driving out this way, looking for venues, and saw the signboard for the lodge. And then Helen came in and asked at the front desk, and someone there was unwise enough to admit that it might be within the realms of possibility to have the ceremony here... and, well, once Helen finds her way in there's no stopping her, is there? Nobody has the ability to say no to those eyes and that smile."

"Turned out well for the lodge though, didn't it?" he said, laughing.

"Yes, rather. Everyone leaped at the chance to stay overnight here. Half the party are staying until Monday morning. Considering that it's the off-season, that's pretty good going for this place. No wonder the manager is... look, there she goes. She's practically skipping with glee."

He chuckled. "Well, take it from me, it's lovely. You should be proud of what you pulled off."

"Most of it was Helen," I demurred. "I was just along for the ride. Right. Lovely as idling here with you is, I need to make a circuit and make sure everything's OK."

"Mind if I walk with you? It's quite dull at the table, watching all the youngsters enjoying themselves."

"Come along then," I said, impulsively.

He and I orbited one another until the reception and after-party started to wind down. Helen and James were still dancing with some of their friends; she smiled at me as I begged off, gave me a tight hug and kiss, and told me she'd see me in the morning.

Caleb escorted me to my chalet and bid me goodnight there; he was off to see if he could find somewhere to watch for shooting stars. I thanked him for his company, and smiled, amused by the wide, white-toothed grin he gave me before he loped off, whistling, into the darkness.

Then I let myself into my chalet, kicked off my shoes, and latched the door against the chilly night air.

.:.

I eased my aching body into the bath, and groaned as the scalding water rose up my back and reached my shoulders.

Thank God for hot water, I thought to myself. One of life's most frequently-overlooked luxuries.

I briefly thought back to that first, dark year when the only way I'd been able to give my daughter a warm bath was via a kettle and a plastic bucket on the bare concrete floor of the small room I'd somehow managed to keep for us; back when the choice had been hot food or warm water but seldom both...

I sighed.

We'd weathered the storms. Somehow. And come through stronger for it.

Helen had always had what she needed, if seldom what she wanted, and I'd made do without either for many years to ensure that she would thrive. I'd been young when Michael died - just twenty two and with a three-year-old in tow...

I remembered that young, terrified girl that I'd been - the friendless, hopeless castaway who'd somehow dug down deep and found the bedrock that formed her core.

I slid lower into the bath, letting the water caress the back of my neck.

I'd told Helen enough about our past for her to appreciate what we had. But I would never tell her everything; I would never speak of the thousand agonizing knife wounds that life had inflicted on me before I'd finally dug us out of the mire. I'd spare her that; not even the most brutal torture would wring it from me.

I'd spare her, too, the cold indifference of my parents to our plight - my unplanned, unwed pregnancy had thrown cliffs up between us that had never come down again, and they'd both died without any real attempt at reconciliation between us. As far as my daughter knew, they'd been gone before she was old enough to remember them - like her father's own parents had been.

Michael...

I tried to remember his face, and found to my shame that I couldn't - not really, not properly, not any more. Time had started to take even that from me, now.

It was more than half a lifetime, when I stopped to think about it.

I could remember how tall he'd been. I could remember the way he'd made me laugh; and how very much I'd been in love with him. How hard he'd worked to afford a home for us.

I could remember, too, the shapes of the men who'd come to take everything away when I could not pay the bills after he was gone.

And I could still remember the nauseous, helpless horror that I'd felt as I cleaned myself after I'd let my first... customer... into me.

I shook my head, banished the shadows into the corners.

I'd prevailed, despite everything. I'd built a life, secured my daughter's future.

I'd won.

I lifted a foot free from the water, and twirled it through the air, watching the soap bubbles as they ran down along my skin. And I wondered what I would do with myself now that Helen was secure.

Competitive lava-surfing. Or Lion-taming, perhaps, I thought, mouth curling into a smile. Both sounded much easier than raising an intelligent, high-spirited and stubborn phoenix of a daughter...

I toyed with the bubbles, forming and reforming them into fantasy castles. Then, growing bored at last, I washed myself and climbed out of the cooling water.

I found myself a robe and wrapped it around myself, taking a moment to appreciate the scent of the freshly-washed fabric - another luxury I'd learned the value of.

Outside, groups of merry people were stumbling to their rooms, calling cheerful good-nights to one another.

I heard a soft rap-rap-tap at the door.

I unlatched and opened it. Helen stood there like my own personal Annunciation, warded from the cold by James's dinner jacket. I could see him standing, shivering, beyond the immediate circle of light.

"Helen? Everything OK?"

"Just checking you're OK, mum," she said, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.

"I'm fine, love. Did all your friends make it safely to their rooms? Or do I need to come and help fish people out of the pond?"

"We're going to do a quick patrol now to make sure, but I think everyone managed to stumble to their rooms."

"Don't get cold, sweetie. I'll see you both in the morning. Night, Jamie."

"Night, mum," he said, and I flushed, pleased that he'd finally stopped calling me "Mrs Fielding".

"Love you, mum," my girl said as she turned to walk away.

"Sleep well," I sassed, and she laughed over her shoulder at my knowing grin.

I retreated to my bedroom, turned on the kettle, and dried and brushed my hair as I listened to the waning noises outside.

Then I dug in my bag for my novel, made a cup of coffee, settled my glasses on my nose and snuggled down into my nest for the duration.

.:.

I snorted awake, and lay there watching dawn's pink dappled shadows shifting on the wall. Then I yawned and stretched; it looked to be a beautiful morning and it would be a shame to waste it.

Yawning again, I dragged a thick woollen jumper on over my pyjamas and peered through the blinds at the small deck outside.

It looked nice. Perfect for an early cup of coffee and some calm contemplation.

I raided the mini-fridge for the scones that had been left there (now, alas, past their best) and put the kettle on to boil.

Ten minutes later I sat in state in my fluffy slippers, letting the French press brew as I enjoyed the crisp, pure morning and the view of the wide green valley laid out below us.

There was little sign of life; I imagined most of the guests were still sleeping various things off.

I nursed my coffee and cherished the moment as the morning's gentle breeze toyed with the tangled curls of my hair.

I could see staff moving at the main lodge building, but I decided to wait until the sun was well clear of the horizon before I went hunting breakfast proper. I didn't feel like being an early bird today - someone else could be the disapproving mother hen for once. I'd earned a break from responsibility.

I poured myself a second cup of coffee and savoured it and the sense of utter calm in which I had nothing urgent to do.

A man's figure appeared at the top of a ridge line and moved slowly down the slope towards the chalets.

It was only when he had covered most of the distance that I realised it was Caleb - semi-feral and almost unrecognisable in a faded blue-grey tee-shirt, boots and battered khaki trousers. He raised his tattered cap to me as he drew nearer, paused, and gave me a practised stage bow; I smirked and blessed him with a nod.

"Good morning, Mr Caleb Richards," I called to him.

"Please, Caleb will do just fine," he said as he closed the final distance. He leaned on the veranda's metal railing and grinned up at me. "You're up early."

"I could say the same of you."

"I've never needed much sleep, and it was such a lovely dawn that I decided to go and watch it somewhere closer to the sky. You look established and comfortable."

"Mm, so so," I agreed. I eyed him. "Coffee?" I offered. "It's fresh."

"Well, now, that would be nice," he said.

"Come on up then and find a chair. Would you like a scone? They're less fresh, I'm afraid."

"A stale scone is better than no scone," he said, still smiling as he joined me. "I apologise in advance for the outfit."

"Those who breakfast in fluffy slippers should not cast the first stone," I replied, and he chuckled as he sat down. "So did you see your shooting stars?"

"A few; all small and brief. But it was nice to be out under the sky."

"You do seem to enjoy the outdoors."

"I do, when I can get to it," he said. "Thank you," he added, as I passed him the cup of coffee I'd poured for him.

"You're welcome. I take it life keeps you cooped up?"

"Work does," he said, wincing. "Too many late nights - moments like this remind me that I should be better about making time for what I enjoy. Life is short, after all."

"It is. So what is it that you do?"

He winced again. "Now that's a shortcut to being labelled boring. Oh well. I'm an accountant. Or rather, I'm a partner in a business that does accounts."

"And why would that make you boring?"

"Uh..."

"I run my own business; I know the difficulties well enough."

"Do you, now?"

"Yes. Nothing glamorous, I'm afraid, but it's done well enough for me."

"What does your business do?"

"Buttons," I said.

"Buttons?"

"Buttons," I agreed, amused. It never failed.

He stared at me. "As in..."

"Yes, buttons. Like the ones on shirts, jackets, etcetera," I added, grinning. "I know. It's mad. But apparently people love buttons. And they love custom buttons even more."

"So you literally make buttons."

"I literally make buttons. Well, when I say me, I of course mean the wonderful, skilled artisans who for some reason are willing to degrade themselves enough to work with me. I haven't made buttons myself in years."

"But you did..."

"I did. Back when all this started."

"I'm amazed. I had no idea there was even a market for buttons. I mean... logically, I suppose it makes sense... but it's hardly what springs to mind."

"I know. But there is. Luckily for me."

"So how did that happen?"

"Mm. You've heard about necessity being the mother of invention?"

"Yes."

I smiled wanly.

"Lets just say necessity and I are... well acquainted."

"I... see."

He sipped his coffee, then glanced sideways at me. "I'm not going to pry. I can guess what you mean, and perhaps someday you'll tell me the rest. So instead I'll just say a quiet, heartfelt "Well done, you," and leave it at that."

I flushed at the praise, and he looked away from me to give me my space.

He sat beside me, chatting quietly with me as the world slowly woke up around us.

Helen eventually came to find me to ask if I was planning to shift my bum any time before Christmas and come and have breakfast with her.

She seemed unsurprised to see him there with me and greeted him as "Uncle Caleb" with casual warm familiarity; he responded with real fondness. They teased one another briefly while I watched them, then Caleb excused himself and made for his own chalet. I didn't miss the amused smile on Helen's face as she turned to face me.

"What?" I demanded.

"Oh, absolutely nothing," she said, eyes twinkling as she grinned at me. "I'm just aghast that you were holding court in your sleepwear. Come on, mum, hurry up. There's going to be nothing left for you if you don't get a move on."