Penny woke up early Friday morning to the sound of rolling thunder and heavy rain lashing against her bedroom window. Turning on her side and pulling the bedclothes up around her shoulders, she watched for a few moments as fat, lazy raindrops cascaded down the fogged windowpane. She sighed, stretched, pushed the covers off, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and reached around for her slippers. She sat on the edge of her bed, looking around the familiar room, with its sloping white ceiling, sketches and watercolours on the pale yellow walls, bookcases, and much-too-small closet. Still, it was home and it was hers.
As she made her morning cup of coffee she decided that before she threw herself into the day she’d have a decent breakfast so she put an egg on to boil and found a relatively fresh slice of whole wheat bread that would do for a piece of toast.
After finishing her breakfast with the morning paper for company, she opened the shop and did two rather impersonal manicures. When the second client had left, she flipped the shop sign to CLOSED, gathered up a few tools and bottles into a carrier bag, and fetched an umbrella from the small cupboard under the stairs. Closing the door behind her, she opened the umbrella and set off on the short walk to Wightman and Sons, where Philip would be waiting for her.
He greeted her on the step, and asked how she was holding up.
“Usually, I would take care of her nails as part of her hair and makeup, Penny, and if you want to change your mind, just give me the polish, and I’ll get on with it.”
“No, Philip, but thank you anyway,” Penny said as she shook the rain off her umbrella into the street. “This is something I can do for Emma, and I would like to.”
“That’s fine, then, Penny. She’s ready for you. Follow me.”
He led Penny through the premises, past the visitation room, to a small, white-tiled workroom at the rear of the building. Emma was lying on a stainless steel table, dressed in a tailored navy blue dress with white buttons. A crisp white sheet covered the lower half of her body, and her hands had been placed on top.
“In your own time, Penny,” Philip said.
Penny cautiously approached the table, looked carefully at Emma, and then turned to smile timidly at Philip.
“It’s a cliché, but it’s true … she really does look peaceful. You did a good job, if that’s the right thing to say.”
Philip brought a stool to the table and set it down beside a worktable covered with a green surgical-type cloth on which he had thoughtfully placed an empty glass, a bottle of water, and a box of tissues.
“You might find it easier to sit on this side,” he said, “do her left hand, and then take the chair and table around the other side of the table and do her right hand.”
Penny sat gingerly on the stool and looked expectantly at Philip. He nodded gently and said, “It’s up to you, Penny. I’ll stay with you while you work, or if you prefer, I’ll leave you alone with her.”
“I think I’ll do this on my own, Philip, thanks. Give me about half an hour.”
He nodded again and quietly left the room. Penny reached into her carrier bag and set out the contents on the worktable.
She reached for Emma’s hand, lifted it gently, and placed it on the small white towel she had brought with her. At the first touch of Emma’s cool, still hand, her eyes filled with tears. She knew those hands so well. She had seen them hand her an icy gin and tonic, make the most delicious biscuits, fit in the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle, eagerly open a Christmas gift, and gently brush the hair from her forehead on a hot day as she worked in her garden. Penny had held them in her own hands almost every week for more than two decades. And over the years, she had seen them change as time did its cruel work. Brown spots had developed on the thinning skin as its elasticity was lost. The knuckles had become more pronounced and dark blue ropey veins had surfaced. How Emma had hated the way her hands looked! But despite all the hand cream, manicures, and wearing of cotton gloves to protect them from the sun, her hands had aged along with the rest of her. And, thought Penny, they told the story of a long life lived with truth and dignity.
She pulled a tissue from the box that Philip had thoughtfully left for her, and began to work on Emma’s nails for the last time, telling herself she could have a good cry when this was over. Half an hour later, just as she was finishing, Philip returned.
“They look lovely, Penny. You were right, Miss Teasdale would have wanted you to do them for her. Well, just a few more things to tend to and she’ll be ready for this afternoon’s viewing. Will you be coming in?”
Penny shook her head.
“No, Philip. I’m doing the Gruffydd wedding girls this afternoon so I’m going to come this evening. Thank you for letting me do Emma one last time. It was sad, and felt strange, but at the same time it was, I don’t really know what the word is … helpful?”
“It may have helped you accept Emma’s passing. You were a lot alike, you two, and she thought the world of you.”
Penny felt the sharp sting of new tears pricking her eyes and turned away.
With the sensitivity acquired over many years in his line of work, Philip said simply, “You probably don’t feel like a coffee at the minute, so we’ll save that for another time and I’ll just show you out, shall I?”
Penny nodded, and they made their way in silence to the shop door.
He put a reassuring hand on her arm and smiled down at her.
“Good-bye, Penny. See you later, then.”
Putting up her umbrella, Penny bent her head against the rain and headed home to a sad and solitary lunch.
Her afternoon began with the sound of noisy giggling as the two bridesmaids, Jennifer Sayles and Anne Davidson, made their entrances. They were approaching their late twenties, and while each appeared to be expensively groomed, Jennifer, the taller of the two, looked as if she came by her toned, fit body naturally. Anne, on the other hand, would find herself betrayed within the next few years by the body she was working so hard now to maintain; with youth on her side she was winning the battle, but eventually, she would lose the gravity and collagen wars.
Both girls wore expensive designer jeans but not with trainers or sensible country walking shoes. They were wearing Jimmy Choo sandals with extremely high stiletto heels, and Penny could barely conceal a smile as she thought of the comments those silly and unforgiving shoes were sure to be inspiring around town.
Seating herself at Penny’s worktable, Jennifer said she would go first, so Anne took a seat in the small waiting area and pulled the latest Tatler from her bag.
“We picked our colours last week when we were in town,” Jennifer reminded Penny. “Anne and I have chosen Embrace, and I think Meg Wynne is having something else when she comes in tomorrow.”
“How is Miss Thompson doing?” Penny asked. “I expect she’s been awfully busy trying to organize a wedding here when she lives in London. Can’t be easy.”
“That’s true,” Jennifer agreed. “Ordinarily, I guess, they would have had the wedding in London, but with Emyr’s father not being well, it seemed like a good idea to hold the wedding here. I must say, it’s been great fun for us getting out of the city and coming to North Wales, of all places, for a few days.”
“What do you do in London?” Penny asked casually.
“We, that is Anne and I, work together at a PR agency. Meg Wynne works at a graphic design studio, her company did some work for us, and we all just got to know one another through our work, the way you do, really. And then Emyr and his friend David Williams were regulars in the wine bar in Covent Garden where we go after work, so we all just naturally formed a little group. And that’s how we all met up.”
She looked over at Anne, who was flipping through her magazine.
“Anne, how did it happen that Emyr and Meg Wynne started going out together?”
“Yeah, well,” drawled Anne, looking up. “I think he sent us over drinks one night, but you could tell it was really Meg Wynne he fancied. And she led him on for a bit and played it cool. For a while, we thought it was David she was after but I think one night she invited Emyr around for a meal or whatever and that was pretty much it. After that they were just together. They’ve been going out for about two years now, wouldn’t it be, Jenn?”
“Yeah, it would be about that,” Jennifer agreed.
“And will Miss Thompson’s family be coming to the wedding?” Penny asked.
The two girls exchanged glances, and then Jennifer, apparently by some unspoken understanding, was elected spokesperson.
“I think so,” she said carefully. “Meg Wynne doesn’t like to talk about her family. Her brother died about a year ago, and the family has been struggling ever since. Apparently he got in with some bad company, and drugs were involved. He used to come along for dinner with us sometimes when he came down to London to visit Meg. He was only about eighteen or nineteen, I think. Good-looking lad, he was. Meg Wynne said her mother took it really hard. Well, she would do, wouldn’t she? But I’m sure her parents will be here to see her get married.”
Penny murmured sympathetically as she reached for the topcoat polish.
“You’re almost done, Miss Sayles,” she said. “You obviously keep your nails well looked after in London, so there wasn’t too much for me to do today. Miss Davidson, just give me a moment to set up for you, and then it’s your turn!”
Anne handed off her magazine to Jennifer as the two girls changed places.
What are your dresses like?” Penny asked as she started work on Anne’s nails.
“Well, what they are definitely not is puffy and covered with bows,” replied Anne. “They’re just, well, like evening dresses, but not over the top, you know? Meg Wynne always wants everything to be in the best possible taste and I guess it’s the designer in her, but she likes everything to be sleek and sophisticated, if you know what I mean. Minimal. Modern.
“By the way, I was wondering, what part of America are you from?”
“I’m not from the States, actually, I’m from Canada. Most people make that mistake, because the accents can sound quite a bit alike. I’m from Nova Scotia. Nice little place called Truro.”
“Oh, I was just wondering, because Emyr and Meg Wynne are going to America for their honeymoon. New York. Have you ever been there?”
Penny said she had, many years ago, as part of a university trip. While her classmates had spent their days at the Museum of Modern Art, she had found it difficult to tear herself away from the old masters in the Frick Collection.
“I haven’t been yet, but one day!” Anne enthused. “I love everything about America and I can’t wait to go there. I was just green with envy when Meg Wynne told me about New York. I think I was even more jealous about that than I was that she’d landed such a great catch as Emyr!”
Penny smiled at Anne’s open and eager charm.
“I was wondering which of you is the maid of honour,” she said.
“That would be Jennifer,” said Anne. “There are just the two bridesmaids, and Emyr is having David as his best man, and there’s one usher, Robbie Llewellyn. They all grew up here, apparently. Went to school together and been friends almost all their lives. The wedding is quite small, only about fifty people, and most of them are Emyr’s people. But you’d expect that, wouldn’t you, when the wedding is being held in his village?”
“Yes, I guess you would,” Penny agreed. “It’s been quite the topic of conversation around here lately. Everyone certainly wishes Emyr and his bride every happiness.”
“They’ve sent the most wonderful presents, Meg Wynne says. They are all on display up at the Hall, and we’ll get to see them all tonight at the dinner.”
The two girls exchanged excited smiles.
The dinner to be held at the Hall on the evening before Emyr’s marriage had been the talk of the town for weeks. The award-winning chef-owner of an exclusive nearby country house hotel, with her culinary team, had been hired for the evening to cater it. Besides the wedding party, a few select guests—mostly longtime friends of the family—would attend. No expense had been spared for food or flowers, and preparations had been under way for days, with much coming and going of tradesmen’s delivery vans.
The groom and his supporters were staying at the Hall, while the bride and her party had rooms at the Red Dragon Hotel, with its easy access through a side door to the picturesque walkway along the River Conwy that led to the church. Penny had offered to nip along to the hotel in the morning to do Meg Wynne’s nails but had been told that Meg would prefer to come to her.
All arrangements for the bridal party’s nail care had been made over the telephone, and Penny had been instructed to submit her bill for the bridal party’s nail care to the Hall.
When the bridesmaids’ manicures were finished, Penny suggested they might want to sit quietly for a few minutes to make sure their polish was completely dry before setting off. Impatient to get on with their day, however, they said their good-byes, gingerly opened the door, and pranced off into the street.
Penny finished her work for the day and, leaving the shop clean and ready for the next morning, went upstairs for a light supper before setting off for Wightman and Sons. She didn’t expect too many people would be at the evening visitation for Emma, just a few old friends, and that was how it turned out. The rector and his wife, Bronwyn, were acting as unofficial family, greeting the few people who had dropped in. Penny quietly made the rounds, speaking briefly and politely with everyone, and then made her way home for a quiet cup of cocoa and an hour or so struggling to concentrate on a library book as her thoughts kept drifting back to Emma and the meaning of a life fulfilled. And, as waves of grief began to wash over her, she realized how dearly she would miss her friend because as of today, her own life had begun to move slowly forward, leaving Emma frozen in the past.
And then she smiled as she thought how Emma would have enjoyed hearing about the bridesmaids’ shoes.