At First Sight by Hannah Sunderland (best inspirational books txt) 📗

after a reluctant goodbye from Carrick. It was clear from the way he lingered beside them and his uncharacteristic subduedness when they faded from view, that there was nowhere in the world he would rather be than there with the woman he loved and the son he could never truly be a father to.

I’d tried to make conversation on the way over to the mainland, but it was clear that no one wanted to talk. Charlie and I were hungover from the whisky we’d shared atop the lighthouse and the dread of the day to come was stealing the words from everyone’s lips.

I’d been almost relieved when we’d reached the mainland and climbed aboard Steve, relieving the pressure to fill the void with some hastily thought-up words. We zoomed down the winding roads back towards Westport and Carrick’s house. The whole time I kept my arms wrapped around Charlie, happy for the excuse to do so and trying not to worry about the day ahead.

The door to the room burst open as I ungracefully snapped the press studs of my body suit together. I yelped and spun around to find Carrick standing at the doorway, looking at me with utter confusion on his face.

I quickly removed my hands from my groin, smoothed my dress down over it and cleared my throat awkwardly.

‘I’m not even gonna ask what the hell yer were just doin’,’ he said and shook the thought from his head. ‘Yer ready?’ He opened the door a little more, the light from the window behind me revealing Carrick’s newly acquired suit.

‘Oh my … wow,’ I said, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the assault on the corneas that was Carrick. The three-piece chartreuse suit was dazzlingly bright and coupled with a magenta shirt and a pair of turquoise-framed sunglasses, presumably so he didn’t blind himself whilst wearing it all.

‘Ah, Nell. Yer a vision,’ he said, wandering in with his arms aloft.

‘Carrick, you wouldn’t happen to have a cardigan that could pass for acceptable, would you? It’s just … this,’ I said, turning around and pointing to my tattoo.

‘Nell, come on.’ He placed a hand on either of my shoulders and held me at arm’s length. ‘D’yer really think anyone’s gonna be lookin’ at yer with me beside yer?’

‘Good point,’ I said. His hands fell and I turned back to the mirror, looking at the delicate bun I’d pulled my hair up into. I sucked my teeth as I thought it over, before pulling out the elastic and fluffing my long hair around my shoulders and, more importantly, over the tattoo. That would have to do.

I grabbed my phone, pushed it down into my bra and followed Carrick out of the room. ‘Go check on Charlie, will yer?’ he said, a little more carefully than usual. ‘I think he might need a gentle voice in his ear.’

I nodded. Today I was Charlie’s personal cheerleader, his confidence booster, his shoulder to cry on or anything else he needed me to be. I knocked three times, paused a moment and pushed the door open. He was sitting on the end of the bed in his black suit. His elbows were braced on his knees, his hands out in front of him as his fingers fiddled with the piece of orange sea glass that I knew meant so much to him. ‘Hey,’ I said, walking into the too-quiet room and crossing to the bed. ‘You ready?’

He didn’t look up but I could see the slightly shiny remnants of hastily wiped away tears around his eyes.

‘I think so,’ he replied. He pushed the sea glass into his breast pocket and looked up at me with pink-rimmed eyes. ‘Wow. Yer look so pretty.’

I tucked my hair behind my ear and grinned down at my shoes, which I saw now were speckled with gravel dust from outside the crematorium at the last funeral I’d been to. Whose had that been? My uncle’s? Or maybe that first cousin once removed whom I couldn’t even remember the name of now.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t have done this without yer.’

‘I’ll be with you every step,’ I said, leaning in and kissing him gently on the cheek. ‘Oh!’ I blurted a little too loudly. ‘I almost forgot. Stay right there.’ I held up a finger and dashed back to my room. I rifled through my bag until I found what I was looking for, hid it behind my back and returned to Charlie’s room.

‘Now I thought you might need a little extra emotional support today and it just so happens that your weekend of custody falls today, so …’ I pulled my hand around to the front and held George the bobblehead zombie out to him.

His face cracked into a reluctant smile as he took George and flicked his head, the spring inside vibrating as his head wobbled from side to side.

‘Now, as you know, he’s lactose intolerant so don’t give him ice cream, no matter what he tells you, and he should be in bed by nine. I’ll have no zombie son of mine being a dirty stop-out.’

‘D’yer doubt my parenting skills?’ He chuckled, slipping George into his pocket, his smile fading to something less jovial. ‘Just whatever you do today, please don’t let me cry too much. Don’t want to embarrass meself.’

I shook my head. ‘Charlie, if you want to cry, you bloody well cry. I won’t be stopping you,’ I said, brushing the shoulders of his jacket with my hands, not because they needed dusting or anything, just that it was something I’d seen people do in films and it felt like the right time to do it. ‘Shall we do this?’

Chapter Twenty-Three

St Mary’s church was located on the mall in the middle of the town, with a river running down the centre of the road. Across the river were several flower-lined bridges, humming with lazy cars that idled along the roads as if time didn’t exist. The church itself was