The Little Wedding Island: the perfect holiday beach read for 2018. Jaimie Admans

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ all about.

      I’m the only person on the little street of shops and I look around in awe. It’s so perfect that it doesn’t look real. It’s like a set from one of those gorgeously romantic Hallmark movies. The cobblestones are sparkling in the sunlight, and pink and white bunting is strung across the front of each shop, above open wooden shutters and vintage awning. The doors are open and inviting, and nearest to me is a café with the most delicious smell of coffee and baked goods wafting out the door. I’m definitely going in there later.

      For now though, I decide to have a mosey around the shops and see what they’re selling. Oliver will definitely want that in my article. Near the café, there’s a florist shop with a few potted roses outside, red buds just starting to form. There’s a large area of flat paving stones with the worn circles of flower buckets stained on the concrete and I imagine the florist probably displays her flowers outside most of the time. The shop front is painted pastel pink and there are soft curtains at the window edges with cherry blossom and strawberries on them, and even with no flowers outside, it looks so inviting. I walk towards it, but just as I get to the door, it closes with a bang and there’s the rickety sound of the wooden shutters dropping down inside.

      It makes me jump so much that I nearly topple over. I look at the shop in surprise. The lights are suddenly off inside, and with the shutter down over the door, it looks closed. It must be the wind. A gust has probably blown it shut from the inside.

      I take a tentative step towards it and try the handle, but it’s locked.

      I look up at the shop like I’m losing the plot. Two minutes ago, the door was open. It’s like they saw me coming and shut up quickly.

      ‘Rude,’ I mutter to no one in particular. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. It was probably a gust of wind that slammed the door with such force that the lock clicked into place and the blind fell down. It’s not that windy today but we’re on a tiny island in the middle of the sea. The weather is probably unpredictable out here.

      Well, there are plenty of other shops on the street if the florist doesn’t want me. There’s a bridal boutique on the opposite side of the street, a double window display inside it with three mannequins in each window, each dressed in beautiful wedding gowns. I smile at the sight, but as I take a few steps across the cobbles towards it, the window display starts to disappear from view as a blackout blind is lowered. They can’t be shutting up too. It’s not even close to lunchtime yet. I jog across the wide street, hoping to catch whoever’s inside, but I find that door locked too when my hand closes around the handle.

      It’s not even eleven a.m. Where are they all going at once? Or do they just not want me to see inside?

      Which is weird. Why would they not want me to see inside?

      I glance behind me, suddenly feeling alone and unwelcome on what looked like such a warm and inviting street less than five minutes ago. It looks like a ghost town now. Apart from the café, every shop door is closed and every window has their blinds down. The florist has even drawn her pretty curtains.

      Surely this isn’t because of me? I must be imagining it. Maybe none of the doors were open earlier. Or maybe they just close up for lunch really early here.

      Two doors up from where I’m standing is a bakery. I can see the reflection of the cakes in the closed window of the shop opposite it. The door is still open and I decide to make a run for it. If I can grab just one shopkeeper, I’m sure they’ll have a simple explanation for the sudden mass exodus.

      I stretch my calf muscles like I’m starting a marathon and sprint towards the open door of the bakery, and the very second I get there, just as I’m about to get one foot on the step, a woman slams the door shut from inside and I jump back in surprise.

      She stares at me through the glass pane of the door, and keeps eye contact as she slowly and deliberately turns over the ‘open’ sign and pats it against the glass with a severe-sounding tap. The word ‘closed’ mocks me.

      I step forwards and rap on the door. ‘What are you doing? Let me in!’ I say, wondering if they think I’m going to rob them or something. Do I look like a burglar?

      Through the glass door, she looks me straight in the eyes, lifts a hand, and wags a finger at me like she’s scolding a toddler. She doesn’t break eye contact until a dark blind gradually lowers between us, blocking the view. A curtain has lowered inside the window too, shutting out the display of cakes.

      This is ridiculous. What have I done to these people to make myself so unwelcome here? Why would any shopkeeper close their shop when a customer comes along? Doesn’t that defeat the object of having a shop? What’s going on?

      I wander to the other end of the street, another metal arch strung with fairy lights and a sign saying, ‘Thank you for visiting The Little Wedding Street.’

      Hah, I think as I lean against the arch and kick at a cobblestone, half expecting the shops to open up again now I’ve gone past, but there’s no movement. It really is like a ghost town, and I think of Oliver’s words about reporters coming here and still never knowing anything about the island. Is this why? Do they close down at the first hint of a tourist? I thought this was meant to be a place that relied on tourism. According to the cynics of the world like Oliver and Rohan, they’ve invented their church of no-divorce story to drum up tourism, and if that’s the case, this is surely not the way to go about it.

      I sigh and turn my back on the street. I’m at the bottom of the hill leading up to the church. The cobblestones fade into neatly mown grass, and there’s a narrow path winding up the hill towards the grey building. Even from this angle, it’s still almost completely obscured by trees. There are other ways to get up to it – a wide tarmac path twisting around the coast edges and upwards in a circle around the hill – but I’d have to go back through the ghost street to reach it, so I take the little path.

      The shops’ closing has upset me a bit. It’s made me feel like an intruder here, but I have to start my article somewhere and The Little Wedding Street certainly wasn’t very successful. I may as well get right to the heart of the matter and find out about the church.

      I reach the top of the path and follow it around the hill to the coastal side of the island where it joins up with the wider road. I stop and lean against a tree to catch my breath, hoping no one is watching me feeling the effects of always taking the lift and not the stairs at work.

      It’s like a forestry up here. Although the wide road is lined with uniform tree trunks, the branches above me are thick and unkempt with greenery and meet in the middle, not letting much daylight through. I’ve been to a lot of weddings in my time and I can safely say this is the most romantic walk to a wedding venue I’ve ever seen.

      ‘The proper road is a lot less steep, you know.’

      I look up to see Rohan coming towards me, grinning.

      Great. I’m sweaty and gasping for breath, and he looks just as gorgeous as he did earlier. Why is it that the hotter a guy is, the more of a state I look in his presence? Not that him being hot matters when he’s got the values of an immoral pond-skater, but I’m trying to be professional and aloof here, not the panting mess I currently am. My jeans have got grass stains on them from the climb up, my jacket snagged on every branch I passed, and there’s got to be at least half a tree attached to my hair.

      ‘Are you following me?’ I wheeze, trying to retain some dignity.

      ‘Of course not. I try to stay away from people who clearly don’t want to see me. Otherwise СКАЧАТЬ