My daughter is the most laid-back bride in the world.
So far, she hasn’t had a tantrum, hissy fit or even a cross word to say about the wedding plans. Adjoa, the housekeeper, begged me to let her plan the wedding. It was her dream to start a wedding-planning business and she wanted to practise on Nia. During the last few weeks Adjoa and my daughter have been in contact about the wedding via Messenger and email. Nia has said she’ll show Adjoa and me her dress later but now they’re going over those wedding ideas in person.
We sit in the library, a comfortable space with whitewashed walls and books and music CDs available for the guests to use. Instead of sitting on the big sofas and using the coffee tables, everything is spread on the tiled floor. So far, everything that Adjoa takes out to show them is met with squeals of delight from Nia and murmurs of approval from Marvin.
Her bouquet is a beautiful mix of red, orange, pink and white flowers, all native to different parts of Ghana. When Adjoa shows her the table designs, I think my daughter is actually going to explode with happiness.
‘This is going to be the best beach wedding ever,’ Nia squeals.
Adjoa’s eyes widen in alarm and Marvin nudges his wife-to-be. Nia immediately remembers and looks at me, terrified that she’s hurt me. ‘Sorry, Mum,’ she says.
‘You’re right, it will be the best beach wedding ever,’ I say. ‘It’s going to be fantastic. I can’t wait to give you away.’
‘Erm … about that,’ Nia says.
‘Yes?’
‘Well, I was kind of hoping that …’
Marvin rolls his eyes at his fiancée. ‘She was hoping that you and Jake would give her away,’ he says. ‘That’s if you don’t mind.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Oh. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon. And of course I don’t mind.’
‘You could always get married with us, you know?’ Nia says with a giggle.
‘You could always sleep in with Grandma and Grandpa when they come back, you know?’ I reply.
‘Point taken.’
I’m using this opportunity of an empty resort to do some spring cleaning. Even though the three other cleaners and I do our best to keep the place sand-free and pristine, it’s hard when there are guests constantly around.
While Marvin and Nia get ready to go to the beach, I’ve put on my overalls and tied my hair up in a scarf ready to start in the reception area.
When I first arrived to take over running Bussu Bay, most of the staff didn’t believe a girl like me, who had been brought up in England, could be anything but spoiled and difficult. I had to prove them wrong. I had to muck in, pick up after the guests, clean toilets, go to fetch water if that was what was needed, as well as manage the place. Slowly, they accepted me.
When I get down under the desk, I realise that whoever was in charge of this area last week needs a good talking-to. A small dune of sand seems to have collected between the large driftwood-carved reception desk and the wall. There are cobwebs between the filing cabinet and wall, and I can see a line of dust all along the skirting board. Not good enough, I think as I pull the cloth from the front pocket of my overall and start to wipe away the dust. ‘Not good enough at all,’ I mumble.
‘Oh, excuse me,’ a male voice says.
I jump a little at the interruption and bang my head on the desk. ‘Ouch!’ I say and rub at my head. I hadn’t heard a car draw up so wasn’t expecting anyone. And this person is speaking English with a British accent.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, did I startle you?’
My whole body slows down at that voice. I’m not aware any more that I am kneeling on a tiled floor. I can’t feel the buzzing heat that has been rising with each passing minute. I can’t feel the tummy rumble of a missed breakfast. I can’t feel anything but the swirling in my head as that voice filters into my ears. ‘Can you tell me where I can find Tessa?’ he continues. ‘She runs the place now, apparently.’
Slowly, slowly, slowly, I back out from under the desk into the wide reception area. Slowly, slowly, slowly, I stand on my shaky legs.
Slowly, slowly, slowly, I look at the man who is standing just inside the big arched doorway that welcomes people to Bussu Bay. The place where I live. The place where I lost the love of my life on my wedding day.
I stare at the man in front of me. And I blink. Once. Twice. Three times.
The man in front of me looks nothing like the man I lost twenty-four years ago, of course. This man has wrinkles in the dark brown skin around his eyes, the man I lost had smooth skin. This man has a neatly cut and styled Afro, while the man I lost had an almost shaved head. This man has a scar to the left of his nose, while the man I lost had the exact same-size scar in the exact same place.
This man is the man I lost. Of course he is.
‘Tessa,’ he says. ‘Hi.’
‘Weren’t we supposed to be a one-night stand?’ Drew said to me. I was always dazzled by his smile, by the strength of his arms around me, the look in his eyes when he stared at me.
‘I do believe that was what we agreed when we went home together, yes,’ I replied.
This was our sixth date after meeting two weeks earlier in a west London nightclub. Everything was a wonderful, giddy blur of meeting up, going for drinks and spending the night in bed. He would buy me flowers, tell me how beautiful I was, tell me how much he adored me.
‘What a difference two weeks make,’ he said as we stood on Brighton station, waiting for the train that would take us up to London.
‘I know. From one-night stand to all of this. This must be some kind of record,’ I said.
‘No, this must be love. You know, I think our destiny was shaped by the stars,’ he said to me. ‘And I’m going to marry you one day … You and that cute little nose of yours.’
‘My nose isn’t interested,’ I replied. ‘But the rest of me—’ He cut me off by kissing me. Long and slow. Of all the things he did, the kissing was the best part.
‘I can’t believe it’s you,’ Drew says to me. ‘I mean … It’s so good to see you, Tessa.’
I’m staring at a ghost. With all the wedding planning and thinking about him, I must have imagined up a version of him. Perfectly aged and asking for me.
In the early days of losing Drew, Jake and I would talk about this, about how we would sometimes see Drew in a crowd. We would catch a glimpse of his profile, the back of his head, his distinctive walk, the way he held himself, and we would think it was him. I’d often move to call to him, to try to get to him … then I would remember the night spent on the beach, watching, waiting. And I would pull myself together and tell myself it wasn’t possible.
‘I guess you must be a bit shocked,’ he says.
He’s alive. He’s alive! Drew cheated death and he’s found a way back to me. I almost run at him, throw my arms around his neck and kiss every single part of him. He’s here. I can’t believe he’s here. I have so many questions; I have so many things to tell him. I can’t believe the thing I have wished for all these years has come true.
I open my mouth to speak and ‘DAD!’ Marvin shouts, appearing in the reception area. He is dressed in a shorty wetsuit and looks ready to go out surfing. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Dad?’ I manage.
‘Yes, sorry, Tessa – I mean, Ms Dannall – I mean, Nia’s mum. This is my dad, Andrew.’