Dani finds her exactly where she thought she’d be.
Honestly, the first few times at least, the ghost story had been kind of fun to watch unfold: usually people were very entertained and gasped in all the scary moments, clinging to each other in whatever setting her wife had decided to bring up the tale with a playful smirk dancing on her lips.
She has to hand it to Jamie, she’s a brilliant storyteller. That doesn’t excuse her way of playing with the story sometimes, though.
“Why does the gardener always ‘stroll casually’ into the room but the au pair ‘marches clumsily’ behind her?”
“It just adds to the narrative, Poppins. Characterization is important.”
From what she remembers, Jamie was the one knocking into tables most of the times, awkward in her big gardening boots and overalls. And yes, perhaps she had found it a bit strange that Jamie had never introduced herself to her, maybe even romantic, but the way Jamie tells it makes it seem like she was a fifteen-year-old star struck by the football quarterback.
(Which was kind of true, but it’s still incredibly embarrassing to hear it coming out of your wife’s mouth)
For the most parts, everything she tells is true: Hannah, Peter and Rebecca, the manor and all its ghosts wandering around at night. Their love story too – the flirting and pulling back, the moonflower episode (which always prompts many sighs and some tears from the women in the room), their new life in the States at the shop. With time, she had changed a few names out of necessity, giving each character an attribute so the audience could keep track: the cook, the housekeeper, the lady. It’s a clever way to keep everyone involved without disclosing their private life.
But there’s a point Jamie always reaches that bothers her immensely.
It didn’t use to end like this: sometimes it was their wedding day, other times the day they had celebrated ten years of the shop, but never back at the manor – simply because it had never actually happened. But the audience’s reactions the first few times had left Jamie upset: there weren’t any tears, nor passion, and some had even hinted that it wasn’t a plausible ending. After all it was a ghost story, shouldn’t ghost stories be sad or at least bittersweet? So she had taken some liberties with it, changing the very last part of the story, much to Dani’s disapproval.
As she steps into the dimly lit living room and sees a small group of people gathered around the fire, Dani catches those few sentences she loathes so much, “She will merely walk the grounds of Bly, harmless as a dove, for all of her days. Leaving the only trace of who she once was in the memory of the woman who loved her most.”
So dramatic for no reason whatsoever.
She hangs in the back, watching the various reactions unravel on the poor victims of Jamie’s storytelling faces. Some are heart-broken, others terrified, and most just curious about the likeness of the story. Dani slips next to Owen and glances at him knowingly. He smiles and leans in to whisper in her ear, “Since when did you end up at the bottom of a lake?”
“She likes the tragic ending more,” she explains exasperated, “Says it’s cathartic – whatever that means.” Dani regrets signing up Jamie for that writing class a little bit more each time she makes her die in the story. And what upsets her the most is that it’s so beautifully done. It sounds like the end of a Shakespearean drama, the closing act of an Oscar movie even. She wonders who would play her and Jamie in an adaptation of the story as her wife basks in the questions of the audience, answering each one with the attitude of a famous writer.
Owen is the first to clear his throat and remind everyone that the next day is a very big one so they should probably get some rest. His eyes linger on the bride sitting in front of Jamie, but she seems determined to stay a little more. As the crowd slowly dissipates, Dani reaches her wife, greeting her with a smile.
“Oh, hello darling,” Jamie says with a hand stretched towards her as an invite to settle down next to her, “You missed my story.” There’s a hint of disappointment in the tone of her voice mixed with that cheekiness Dani loves so much about Jamie.
She rolls her eyes and kisses her gently on the forehead, “You know I hate ghost stories. Especially slightly inaccurate ones.” Her teasing doesn’t go unnoticed by Jamie who immediately defends herself and her choice of telling the story, mentioning Greek tragedies and again the catharsis of it all. Dani laughs listening for the millionth time to Jamie’s theories and offers the bride a smile, excusing her wife’s behavior.
“You’re married?” The young woman asks with interest. It’s so strange to hear her speak with such a prominent American accent. Dani wonders what she would sound like if she ever said “perfectly splendid” again.
Jamie interlocks their fingers together and raises their hands to show her the rings, “It’s been almost eleven years now. Well, technically only seven of those are legal, but we have been wearing the rings for more than a decade.” Dani still remembers the plant where she had hidden the gold ring now resting safely on Jamie’s finger, their happiness in that moment, all the promises they had made to each other that day.
“Yes, I’ve been putting up with her for that long,” she replies jokingly, before giving a reassuring look to the beautiful bride-to-be, “But I wouldn’t want it with anyone else. She’s the love of my life, it’s really that simple.”
They’ve been living on borrowed time for so long, Dani doesn’t even remember the fear of it all. Viola has been quiet for years now, occasionally showing up in her dreams sometimes. But they’re not the kind of dreams that had made her run away a couple of times before Jamie could catch her at the airport. They’re happier: dreams of a child laughing through the halls of a castle with her mother beside her, dreams of dinners together and dances with caring husbands, dreams of sisters and dreams of forgiveness. Even her brown eye has started to feel less and less strange – they had even found with great surprise a crack of blue emerging from it one morning.
A sign, perhaps, of healing.
Jamie nudges her a little and she turns her attention back to the woman in front of them. She talks about her love and her fears and Jamie and Dani listen, giving advices and comfort whenever she sounds insecure or doubtful.
“Now,” Jamie remind her gently, “You have a big day tomorrow. A happy day with your silly, gorgeous, insane man. You should sleep.” Dani can almost picture herself tucking in an eight-year-old girl under pink covers and bites her lip hard to try and not shed a tear or two.
(She’ll save those for the actual wedding tomorrow)
They hug, in a weird yet right way, and set off to their respective rooms back at the hotel booked for the ceremony. As they’re halfway through the living room, the bride stops in her tracks and turns around, addressing Jamie. “You know, it's funny. I thought you might be making it up just off that name.”
Jamie makes a confused face, “That name?”
“But, then, I figured, how could you know that?” The woman steps closer to them, smiling with that perfect smile Dani had loved since the very first day they had met. “It's a funny coincidence, I suppose,” she explains to the still rather puzzled couple, “My middle name is Flora.”
“Is that right?” her wife says cluelessly playing along, turning to Dani with fake astonishment.
The bride nods in affirmation and they part again, wishing each other a good night.
While they’re walking up the stairs, Dani slips an arm around Jamie. “You’re a great liar, you know that?” She sighs next to her, shrugging casually, “I know. It’s a gift not everyone can have.”
“I’m still mad you made me die again, by the way.”
Jamie rolls her eyes while sticking the card into their room door, “Poppins, I thought we established that happy endings don’t get good reviews. Besides,” she says pulling her inside and closing the heavy door behind them, “I know you can’t stay mad at me for long.” She kisses her soft and slow, pressing Dani against the door. “Or am I wrong?” she asks pulling back slightly, a teasing smirk painted on her lips. Dani surrenders and cups her face, making their mouths clash again.
“Alright, but the next time you tell it I better not be awful at making tea again. My skills have improved a lot since then,” she complains while Jamie traces the length of her neck with sloppy kisses. She pauses to look up at her and simply spins her around until they fall on the bed.
“Not a chance, love. You’re still shite at it.”
“Jamie!”