A Winter's Wedding by Sharon Owens Read Free Book Online

brown boots and her warmest jacket.
    ‘It’s a Belfast accent,’ she said carefully. ‘That’s in Northern Ireland, by the way.’
    ‘Um, I know where Belfast is. I’m not completely thick, you know.’
    ‘You’d be surprised how many people don’t know where Belfast is on the map. And then they start all this top of the morning stuff. We don’t say top of the morning in the north of Ireland. I’m not sure they say it in the south either, mind you. Maybe it’s just something that American film makers think we say? So then I remind them that I’m from Northern Ireland and they start shouting No Surrender! into my face – you know, like Ian Paisley? We’re not all like that. Actually, most of us are very shy and softly spoken. It’s only a handful of nutters and narcissists that give us all a bad name. And now I’m rambling again. Anyway, I thought I was doing a great job of covering up my accent.’
    ‘It’s not on a par with that Paisley chap,’ Dylan agreed. ‘You’re not scaring the living daylights out of me, I’ll give you that. But it’s still there. It’s very nice, actually.’
    ‘Ha, you don’t expect me to believe that, do you?’
    ‘Of course I do.’
    ‘I don’t like my accent.’
    ‘You should. It is way nicer than the LA whine that’s taking over the planet these days, not to mention our very own Essex cackle.’
    ‘You say the nicest things, Dylan. But then again, that’s easy for you to say because your accent is nice and clear and easy to understand. And people don’t make fun of it all the time.’
    ‘Fair point,’ he had to admit.
    ‘If you’re interested in accents, I can tell you that every neighbourhood in Northern Ireland has its own very distinct accent. Especially in Belfast – the accent changes slightly with every street corner. I can usually tell a lot about a person by the way they pronounce certain words. As well as their appearance, obviously …’
    ‘Can you really?’
    ‘Yes, I can.’
    ‘What’s it like over there? I’ve never been to Ireland. Sorry … Northern Ireland.’
    ‘It’s a very complicated society in many ways. People grow up with a heightened sense of danger. Their trouble radar is never switched off – even nowadays. Although most of the really scary stuff ended over a decade ago.’
    ‘But you live in London now, yes?’
    ‘Yes. I left Belfast for good when I was eighteen.’
    ‘Why? Was it for work?’
    ‘Yes, mainly for work. But I longed for the anonymity of London. Back home everybody knows everybody else, and it’s a bit claustrophobic.’
    ‘Same here. I’m from a little village in Surrey, called Appleton.’
    Emily and Dylan were sitting on two old chairs in the charity shop. Dylan had bought a packet of chocolate biscuits in honour of Emily’s visit. But he’d dropped them twice on the way back from the shop and consequently most of the biscuits were in pieces.
    ‘What can you deduce about me?’ Dylan asked, still fascinated by Emily’s strange talent. ‘I know I’m not from Belfast. But have a try, anyway.’
    ‘You won’t be offended?’ Emily asked carefully.
    ‘I promise,’ he said firmly.
    ‘Well, from your accent and the rugby-shirt collar being turned up, I’m guessing you’re from a privileged background. So that makes you middle class at the very least. Though you’re very self-assured – and I mean that in a nice way – so I’d put money on you being upper middle class. Public school, even. You don’t jump every time the door opens, so that means you were generally relaxed as a child. And that leads me to think your parents were and still are happily married. You’re very laid-back in the company of women, and you don’t mind making the tea and handing out the biscuits, so I’d say you have at least three sisters. And your shabby trainers suggest you just want a simple life, which is why you’re working in a charity shop when everything about you indicates a good solid education and