Anna giggled, ‘I am happy, you dope. The important bit about your mum and dad’s story is not how they met but the fact that he’s held her hand ever since. Don’t you think?’

  ‘I suppose.’ He was glad they were having this conversation over the phone because he could feel his skin burn under his eye sockets. He was blushing. Actually turning red. He’d never blushed in his life. Not even as a child. He’d been supremely confident; the sort who only ever laughed at his own mistakes or silliness, never fell victim to crushing embarrassment or shyness.

  Anna had an enormous heart but she wasn’t messy and emotional, far from it. She was calm and considered. True, she tended to only see things on a myopic level and he was trained to see the big picture, yet somehow they met in the middle, balanced one another. He spent his days making and moving hundreds of thousands of pounds, she sometimes fell to sleep worrying whether the centre would be able to pay the grocery bill at the end of the week. She was straightforward, not mad as a box of frogs, as so many women seemed to be these days, full of neuroses and paranoias. Admittedly, men caused most of those problems still, they weren’t fun to deal with. Anna was fun to deal with. She made the most ordinary things into something special. She carried sweets in her bag and cut sandwiches diagonally, every time. His parents’ ham sandwiches today would definitely have been triangular. It was a tiny thing but suddenly he couldn’t imagine ever eating a rectangular-shaped sandwich again.

  Did he actually just think that?

  Her world was so different from his, full of damaged and exposed people. That sort of relentless bleakness might make a person hard or cynical, but not Anna; she was gentle, empathetic. Yet strong. He didn’t doubt that. She didn’t even think her world was bleak; she thought it was a privilege to help. He admired that.

  So this is what it meant to love someone. To be in love.

  He had to tell her. He had to say the words. Not now, on the phone, because he wanted to see her face react to them. Perhaps hear them back. Yes, surely; she loved him too, didn’t she? The possibility that she might not, however slight, slit his gut. He had to know.

  He ended the call and then took a tube home. Without bothering to go inside and drop off his laptop, he jumped straight into his car and drove fast, possibly too fast, telling himself that any fine he might pick up would be worth it. He didn’t stop to pee or buy coffee, he pushed on, thinking of nothing other than Anna and this new intense feeling he had for her.

  As he came within a mile of his parents’ house he started to think about how he might tell her. He hadn’t said the words before. Well, not unless they were blurted out after especially excellent sex, but he hadn’t said them and meant them before. He’d have to get her away from his parents. That would be no mean feat; they loved her almost as much as he did. He’d tell her straight away. That would be best. She’d open the door and he’d say, ‘Hello, Anna, I love you, do you know that?’

  He parked expertly and easily, a blessing those living out of London never appreciated enough, free parking right outside their own house. He rang the doorbell. The front door. That was peculiar of him, he always just walked around the back but, for reasons he couldn’t quite straighten out in his head, he wanted the moment to have a certain formality. He heard her yell to his parents, ‘I’ll get it.’

  She swung open the door and, not expecting him until tomorrow, she looked momentarily confused. Then her face cracked into what he considered her signature enormous beam. Hell, she was beautiful. He hadn’t got the words straight or steady. He hadn’t thought this through at all. There should be a beach, or a sunset, at least flowers. And now, suddenly, he realized he needed a ring too. He had nothing. Nothing other than an impulsive feeling.

  He dropped on to one knee and asked, ‘Will you marry me?’

  Fifteen

  Zoe

  ‘You’ve done what? For fuck’s sake. Anna, what are you thinking? You hardly know the man.’

  Anna stays mute. She can be surprisingly stubborn. And stupid, apparently.

  I want to yell at her, ‘Don’t you ever learn?’ I try to temper my shock and outrage so she’ll at least respond. ‘Well, you’re a fast player, I’ll say that for you.’

  ‘I didn’t play anything,’ she insists, no doubt colouring slightly.

  Anna blushes about twenty times a day. She blushes when someone farts, or if she drops something, or if someone compliments her. If anyone is ever going to be described as a blushing bride, it will be her. Other people looking at her now might think she’s embarrassed, but I know her blushes. This blush is in the hollow of her cheek and actually means she’s furious. With me. I don’t give a shit. My job, as her sister, is to protect her. And if that means pointing out a few unwelcome home truths, then so be it.

  ‘Anna, seriously, you’ve only just met this man.’

  ‘Why wait? When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.’

  That’s not even her line. ‘You just quoted When Harry Met Sally at me, didn’t you?’

  She giggles, unabashed, ‘I did actually, yes.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ I mutter again. I’m not often lost for words, but she’s stretching the limits of my patience here. ‘How long have you two been dating now?’ I know, I just want to draw attention to it, maybe make her pause for thought.

  ‘Nearly three months.’

  That is a stretch of the truth and we both know it. Ten weeks.

  ‘How well do you know him?’

  ‘I know everything I need to know.’

  ‘And how well does he know you?’

  ‘We have a lifetime to discover each other.’

  My stony silence is met with her giggles. ‘I know, I know. In many ways it’s insane but—’

  ‘In every way it’s insane,’ I say, interrupting.

  ‘Except for the fact that he’s asked. I’ve said yes. He wants it. And I want it too.’ She pauses and then adds with a voice dripping in longing, ‘So much. That’s all that matters, right?’

  Jeez. I hate it when she does this, when she pleads with me to believe in the crap she believes in. It’s awkward, humiliating for both of us. She is a living and breathing Cinderella movie. We both fall silent; neither of us has anything to say that the other wants to hear.

  Eventually, in a voice not much above a whisper, she asks, ‘Zoe, can’t you be happy for me?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘But you, more than anyone, must understand that I have so much love to give.’

  It takes my breath away. The honesty. The naked longing.

  ‘Maybe you miss being in the States, Anna. Your friends, your family.’ I hesitate and then add, ‘Me. You’re lonely.’

  She doesn’t like me saying this. The truth hurts.

  Rallying, with a bit more force, she retorts, ‘The dating scene didn’t work out for me in the States. You know that. And yes, I am lonely, at least I was before I met Nick, and now I’m not. I thought you’d be happy for me.’

  Her job doesn’t help. I question whether it’s the healthiest place for a woman like her to work. Surrounded by a lot of people who are practically dead, one foot in the grave. They’ve lived through their own love affairs—tragic or glorious, fleeting or for ever—now they’ve nothing better to do than either look back and romanticize them, or stick their noses into other people’s affairs. If I had a dollar for every time some nosey old git has asked Anna, ‘Still searching for The One, are you, love?’ or, ‘What’s a pretty girl like you doing without a boyfriend?’ then I’d be a very rich woman indeed; head-to-toe haute couture. It’s not helpful. Why don’t people say things like, ‘Still searching for the cure for cancer, are you, love?’ or, ‘What’s a clever girl like you doing without a PhD?’

  ‘I don’t know what your objection is, Zoe. He’s kind, considerate, handsome.’

  Yeah, I’ve said, there’s no denying it, he is sizzling hot. That makes me suspicious. ‘Why is he single still?’ I demand.

  ‘Thirty is young for a man, just not for a woman.’

  ‘Did you really just think that, let alone say it out loud, Anna? Women chained themselves to railings to get you a vote, you know.’

  ‘I’m talking about biology. I’m not making a political point.’

  I try to think of some of the obvious drawbacks that there might be. ‘Does he have kids stashed away somewhere?’

  ‘No. No previous marriages, no kids, no past live-in partners.’

  ‘No serious exes at all?’

  ‘No.’

  I let out a low whistle.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s a commitment phobe.’

  ‘Well, he clearly isn’t. He’s just proposed to me. I guess he was just looking for the right girl and now he’s found me.’ Anna is trying to sound resolute but I know her as well as I know myself. I can hear the ache and apprehension in her voice, however much she wants to disguise it.

  ‘I hope it’s a decent size rock.’

  ‘Oh, it is,’ she gushes.

  ‘Well, at least when this all comes tumbling down on your pretty little head you can pawn the ring.’

  Anna giggles.

  But I’m not joking. Short of ripping the said ring off her finger I’m not sure what I can do about it, so all I add is, ‘Well, let’s see what Mom and Dad have to say about this, shall we?’

  ‘I’m not a child, Zoe. I’m twenty-nine.’

  That almost makes me laugh. ‘Hey, have you forgotten who you’re talking to? You’re thirty-one. Your fiancé is the one who thinks you’re younger.’

  ‘Well, whose fault is that?’ she asks huffily.

  ‘Whose indeed?’

  Sixteen

  Anna

  Telling her parents about the engagement didn’t go absolutely brilliantly but Anna comforted herself and looked on the bright side—which was always the best thing to do—it could have been much worse.

  She wasn’t an idiot, she knew exactly what they’d say; the same as Zoe, and more.

  ‘It’s too soon.’

  ‘We haven’t even met him.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘You’re not very good at judging this sort of thing.’

  She could imagine them taking turns, over and over again, voicing their objections.

  ‘Why don’t you just live together, see how things go?’

  ‘No one is in a hurry for you to get married.’

  Although they would be wrong about that. She was in a hurry.

  ‘Of course we trust you, it’s just that we’re concerned.’

  She thought it would probably be better to field the inevitable onslaught of incredulity and alarm on her own, even if it meant that she’d feel undermined, dismissed or infantilized, at least that way Nick wouldn’t hear any of it. However, Nick had other ideas. He was excited to meet her parents, even if it was through a video call; he insisted they make the announcement together.

  ‘In an ideal world I’d have asked your father’s permission,’ he pointed out.

  ‘What ideal world is that?’ Anna had laughed. ‘The nineteenth century?’ Although secretly she’d been a little bit pleased that he’d at least acknowledged awareness of the antiquated formality, it boded well for what sort of wedding they’d settle on; one that was steeped in tradition, ritual and romance.

  They sat, holding hands, shoulder pressed close to shoulder, as the computer made the little whirling sound promising a connection. Suddenly her mother’s face was on the screen. A little surprised (it wasn’t her usual day or time to skype), a little distracted. She had a paper in her hand, a pencil pushed into her up-do. Clearly working. She took off her glasses.

  ‘Hello, darling. Is anything wrong?’ This was often the first question—and inescapable, since Anna had called out of routine.

  ‘No, nothing wrong,’ Anna said soothingly. ‘Quite the opposite.’

  ‘Oh.’ Unconvinced. Waiting, waiting as always, for the bombshell, the problem, the pain.

  For many years Anna had been the one who called her parents to deliver difficult news. Zoe had been in a fight, they were in the headmistress’s office, they needed a parent to come and sort it out; she had gone with Zoe and her date to a party, now Zoe was unconscious and the date had vanished, they needed a lift home. As soon as they turned eighteen the girls put one another down as their next of kin on all official forms, so Anna got the calls from the police station or, worse still, the hospital when Zoe was in trouble; then it was her job to call the parents. It was totally understandable that they were often wary when she called. Understandable and sad.

  ‘Who is this?’ her mother asked sharply.

  Anna wished she could be more charming and affable, but she didn’t have it in her. Not any more. Her mother’s reserves of patience had been entirely eroded away. Her hope and optimism too, come to that.

  ‘This is Nick. You remember, I’ve told you all about him.’

  Alexia nodded slowly. There was some recognition. Anna often wondered how much attention her mother paid when she called; her mind always seemed elsewhere. Buried in her work or in the past, possibly even in the future, but rarely in the moment. Staying in the moment was the hardest thing of all.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Turner. Albeit digitally,’ said Nick.

  Anna waited for her mother to insist he call her Alexia. She did not offer. She simply nodded at Nick.

  ‘Is Dad around?’

  ‘David, David, Anna is on Skype,’ Alexia shouted by way of an answer.

  A moment later, her father’s face was in the centre of the screen; he beamed at her. No doubt he was also concerned that she’d called, since it wasn’t a Sunday evening, but he tried harder to present himself as upbeat and positive. Anna wasn’t sure which one of their responses broke her heart more: the blatant apprehension, or the staunch cheer.

  ‘Hello, Princess. How’s tricks?’

  Anna decided there was nothing else she could do other than dive right in. She held her left hand up at the camera. The diamond took a bow. Anna waited for the rapturous applause, excited gasps, effervescent congratulations. The usual reaction to a daughter announcing her engagement.

  Silence. Her mother and father looked at one another and then back towards the screen. Nick squeezed her thigh.

  ‘Is that a—? Is that—?’

  ‘An engagement ring? Yes!’ Anna finished her mother’s sentence.

  ‘Well.’ Her mother’s hand went to her throat, eyes the size of saucers. She had lovely fingers. These past few years Alexia had aged quite abruptly and definitively but her hands remained beautiful.

  ‘I see.’ Her father’s smile stayed in place, yet his entire face looked troubled.

  Nick jumped in. ‘I realize this must be quite the surprise.’

  ‘Shock,’ her mother stated plainly.

  ‘Unexpected,’ her father added, trying to placate.

  ‘We’re very happy,’ Nick assured them.

  ‘Very much in love,’ Anna added.

  ‘Yes,’ Nick confirmed.

  Anna was practised at managing awkward situations and so she bravely pushed ahead, ignoring her mother’s trepidation and amazement, her father’s fretful apprehension. She started to talk about Nick’s mother’s fall, and her decision to stay in Bath to help with the aftercare. She laughed about how they missed one another and spoke on the phone constantly. She relayed the drama of Nick’s dash along the M4, his frenzied knocking on the door and then the proposal. Nick chipped in from time to time. They had enough bonhomie between them to carry the call.

  ‘And what are your plans now?’ Alexia stuttered.

  ‘We’re going to get married,’ Anna giggled.

  ‘Well, yes. I understand that’s your intention. I mean when?’

  ‘There’s no rush. We’re just enjoying this moment,’ said Nick.

  The parents let out a sigh of relief; it was synchronized, therefore loud. Nick and Anna pretended not to have noticed.

  ‘Well then,’ said David. Which didn’t mean anything much.

  For a moment Anna thought the screen had frozen and they’d lost the connection, but then she noticed the telltale twitch under her father’s eye shivering. She reached for the bottle of champagne she had stashed nearby in an ice bucket. ‘I’m going to open this now. Have you got anything in the fridge, you could toast alongside us, even though you’re miles away.’

  ‘It’s just gone noon here,’ Alexia pointed out.

  ‘Far too early for us to have a drink,’ David added.

  ‘Quite early for you, I’d have thought,’ Alexia muttered tightly.

  ‘We’re celebrating,’ said Nick. He threw them one of his easy, charismatic smiles that generally won over clients, his boss, his PA, waitresses and bartenders. It didn’t fail him.

  Alexia and David raised their coffee cups. ‘Congratulations,’ they mumbled.

  When they disconnected, Nick turned to Anna, winked and said, ‘That went well,’ in a tone that clearly communicated he thought the absolute opposite.

  Anna burst into a fit of laughter. In love, and careless of her parents’ disapproval, or concern or whatever it was, they proceeded to get pleasantly drunk on Moët, certain that 5 p.m. was not too early when celebrating something as momentous as their engagement.

  Seventeen

  Nick

  Nick was surprised at how clear-headed Anna was about the wedding preparation. He’d thought perhaps she’d be a tad indecisive; after all, the proposal had been sprung upon her, it wasn’t as though she’d had any time to secretly daydream about a wedding. He thought perhaps she might be overwhelmed with choice: church or civic ceremony? Sit-down or buffet meal? Band or DJ? Slinky or flouncy dress? There was a lot to think about. But he was wrong. Anna had a very clear idea of what she wanted. Clear, firm, honed. Then it crossed his mind that some women did think about this sort of stuff in the abstract before they’d even met the groom, let alone become engaged. He didn’t like the thought—it was somehow impersonal, offensive—so he pushed it to the back of his mind. The important thing was that, happily, her polished plans fell in line with his vague idea of what made the perfect wedding.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42