And what did Gwennie do? She dropped her headset on the floor and she ran into his arms. I wasn‘t there, of course, but two weeks later, the doorman, whose name was Diego, told me the story before their wedding. “Neither of them would let go of the other," He smiled, “Like they were afraid if they did they’d lose each other forever. It was quite a while before they left the lobby.”
Gwenllian Hughes became Gwenllian Dickinson in the same registrar’s office where Oliver and I had been married forty-four year before. There was a new constable, of course, and the room had been cleaned and dusted, but otherwise it looked the same as it had that day all those years ago. Alexander grinned and nodded, “This is a good place, "He whispered and both Oliver and I agreed. Bess couldn’t make the occasion, but Oliver and I stood with Carolena, Adam, Gryffin, Lakshmi Alex, Lucy, Nigel, Nattie, Mickey and Annie and Steffen, and we watched our Warren and the girl from down the street take their vows. When Gwen kissed him she whispered, “I’ll love you forever, Ren,” and he whispered the words, “Forever, Gwennie” back to her.
It was all his father and I needed to know that they’d come full circle. We were thrilled.
After swearing that there would never be another secret between them, Warren and Gwen settled into Ana and Eddie’s old house. They sat together hand in hand and laughed at everything and everyone around them all the time. Gwen took time off from recording to help Warren set up his school of music in Newtown, which attracted many students just because she was involved. She released two more albums in collaboration with him and went on a world tour. He stayed home to mind his students. Five years later, her next album was released to a cooler response, but I think that was fine with her, especially since she had just discovered she was pregnant. In May of the following year she bore twin daughters. What do two consummate musicians name two baby girls? Aria and Lyric, of course. Three years after that, they had a son they called Cade, which was, of course, short for Cadence.
Five years after the last grandchild came into the world, Oliver and I were sitting at the kitchen table. Spread out before us were a pile of papers. Bank statements, retirement fund quotes, life insurance policies, an inventory of all we owned, the deed to the land in the wood, and the receipt from the cheque from the bank for the amount that Oliver had just sold his medical practice.
“This is depressing,” He said with a grin, “But it must be done.”
“It must.”
We sat together and figured out exactly what our life’s work was worth and devised a way to split it among all seven children and our grandchildren. It was not as easy a thing to do as I might have thought.
“They can sell the cars,” Oliver sat back in his seat, “And really anything else they might want to get rid of. I imagine there’ll be some.”
“And what about the house and the land?”
“I’ve thought about that. This land’s been in my family for almost three hundred years. Caro lives too far, it’ll rot out by the time she gets back here to it. Nigel loves the wood, but he’s busy with his own life. His children aren’t interested. It would sit. Annie and Bess…they’ve no attachment. Bless them, they’d just sell it off. Natalie’s a wonderful choice, but she’s got her own home and family, she doesn’t want to be bothered coming out here. So that leaves us two choices. Our sons, Gryffin and Warren.”
“Warren lives the closest,” I said quietly, but it was my sensibility talking, not my heart. “He’d care for the place.”
“Aye, he does.” Oliver nodded in agreement, “And he would take care of it. Maybe he’d even use it sometimes. But his piano wouldn’t fit in here and I don’t think he’d ever want to tear himself away from his music.”
“I agree.”
“It’s Gryffin who loves the wood most of all,” Oliver was looking at the papers on the table, “He always has.”
“He does.” I agreed, relieved that he said what I’d been thinking, “Gryffin understands the winds and whispers. He has a special tie to the faerie folk.”
“He’s connected to this place in a way the others are not,” Oliver’s face relaxed as he looked into my eyes, “He’d live here if it were empty. I’m sure of that. He’d live here with Lakshmi and he’d write his stories under the tree like he used to when he was little.”
“I know he would.”
“And he wouldn’t change it up.” Oliver was deep in thought. “I reckon he’d probably not change a thing. He respects the magic of the place.”
“He’s made up of all the magic that’s here. If any of the children got a full cup of muffin magic, it was our Gryffin.”
“Now that’s the truth.”
“Ollie, there is no choice. The cabin and the land need to go to him. You know that as well as me.”
He nodded again, “I thought the same.”
We were quiet for a moment.
“If I go before you, I want Carolena to have my ring,” I ran my fingers over it, “To give to Kitty one day.”
“All right, Love,” He wrote it down. “Anything else? “
“I think we’re finished.”
“I hated doing this when I was thirty. It was much simpler then. It reminds me of my mortality and I hate that. I’m only sixty… something…”
I laughed, “And getting senile, I see! You’re sixty seven, Sweetie!”
“Am I that old?”
“That’s not old!”
He laughed. “Sixty seven! Here I was thinking that old bloke in the bathroom mirror was me and to find out I’m still young.”
“Quite.”
“I’m a very mature eighteen, that’s it, yeah?”
“Yes, that’s it.” I drummed my fingers against the table.
He looked at me thoughtfully, “Don’t you think it’s time for you to go and see your friend Sandra?”
I took a deep breath, “We’ve tried so many times. Something always seems to happen. Every single time. I’ve more or less given up.”
“You talk to her five days a week on the phone, Love. I’m officially retired now. We’ve never taken a trip to Ireland in all the years we’ve been together. Why don’t we take a hop over and see her?”
“We should.”
“Aye, we should. Why don’t you call her and see when it would be best for her. There’s nothing stopping us now.”
A sudden excitement was coursing through me, “I’ll do it now!” I began to stand up, but Oliver caught me by the hand.
“Can you believe it’s been fifty years?” He asked slowly, as if he were contemplating a deep secret of the universe, “I bet you a quid she looks like hell.”
We both burst out laughing.
I had not been to Ireland since I was a child of about nine. I had forgotten how incredibly beautiful the countryside was. Sandra lived in a small village about two hours outside of Dublin in a ridiculously huge old manor that housed a small museum.
“She married well,” Oliver noted as he parked the car.
I didn’t say anything, but I had known that her husband was from old money and was a descendant of Duke Whoever-He-Was of Wherever-He-Was-From. She had mentioned that she lived in a manor house, not that it was in reality a small castle.
“Her parents weren’t exactly poor, either.” I muttered.
A tall, heavy set old woman in a rose coloured silk suit came out the great front doors and jogged down the steps. “Silvia!” She shouted, “Silvia! Silvia! Oh, Sil!””
“Great galloping green grasshoppers!” Oliver gasped, “It’s Sandra!”
I instinctively hurried toward her with my arms open. We met half way and clung to each other in the way that I had only seen two women cling to each other in films. Both of us had tears rolling down our faces.