Kitabı oku: «She Just Can't Help Herself», sayfa 6

… Tanya fucking Dinsdale.

Six

TANYA

‘Happy birthday to y—’

‘MAMA! Jasper’s being MEEEEEEEEEEAN! I haaaaaaaaaate him! I want to go shopping!’

‘Happy b—’

‘Whatever, Evie. You ugly anus pig face.’

‘Jasper! E-nough. Where did you learn that dis-gust-ing expression?’

Greg leans down and laughs in my ear. ‘His eye-wateringly expensive private school, probably.’

‘MAMAAAAAAAAAA! Owwwwww! Jasssssper! MY ARM! He’s got my AAAAAAAAAARM!’

‘Happy birthday, dear Taaaaany—’

‘Can’t we go to the shops? OWWWWWWWWWW!’

This particular squeal is so blood curdling I drop my fork. One decibel higher and there could be potential perforation of an ear drum. Judging by the expressions (ranging from marked annoyance to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Child-Catcher-style loathing) worn by the other customers eating in The Croft’s alfresco area, they feel the same. Across the table, Maddie and Kian, look stoically—and a little smugly—at each other. Kian is bouncing their baby, Carter, on his knee. Carter has not murmured since we got here, whilst Suze’s children have not stopped swearing and screeching whilst locked in combat. Her eldest, Jasper (my godson), has always been rough with the younger Evie (Maddie’s goddaughter), to obtain information or his own way but, recently he’s started treating her way outside Amnesty guidelines, purely for fun.

‘Jasper! NO! I said, NOT shouts Suze.

‘Listen to your mother,’ adds her husband, Rollo, without much volume or losing focus on the remaining section of his cheeseburger. ‘Maybe I should put them in the car …’

‘Don’t be silly,’ I reassure him. ‘They’re only playing.’

‘… cut to Evie being disembowelled,’ says Greg.

Suze shoots him a look. But then, another squeal. This one more cochlea-penetrating than the previous. Suze jumps up from the table and marches over to where Jasper is yanking Evie across the grass by her left wrist. With one swift action, Suze separates both kids and drags them towards the car park, where they will stay until she ‘effing says so’.

‘How long is an effon, Mama?’ asks Evie, as they are shunted off. ‘I want new shoes. With a heeeeeeeeeel! Flatties make your legs look gross. You get cankles! FACT! Is an effon longer or shorter than a minute?’

‘You can work that out whilst you’re sitting in the car, can’t you?’ seethes Suze. ‘And by the time you have, we’ll be leaving.’

Jasper blows a nonchalant raspberry at his mother. ‘Like I care. Sooner we get out of this lame hole the better. Can we go to Nando’s on the way home? Food here is crap. I want peri peri chicken. To take away. I’ll eat in my room, then smash the shit out of Call of Duty.’

Greg bursts out laughing. ‘To be fair, I often think that when I come here to start my shift …’

I smile at my boyfriend again, relieved that he is not simply making light of the situation but actually enjoying himself and making sure everyone else does too. I know he wasn’t expecting to have a good time at my birthday lunch today. I noticed a box-shaped lump in the back of his jeans as he was tapping in the alarm code before we left the house. Cigarettes. Or as they shall henceforth be known: sperm destruction sticks.

Suze returns to the table with dots of sweat on her forehead. She dabs at her face—she has applied a fair amount of make-up today—and gives Rollo the type of look usually reserved for violent criminals in the dock.

‘What was that for?’ he asks her, dipping the last piece of his brioche burger bun into a pot of aioli. ‘I haven’t done anything.’ He swivels his eyes at Greg and Kian. ‘Did I do anything? No, m’lud, I didn’t.’

Suze claps her hands to her cheeks and makes a skew-whiff ‘O’ shape with her mouth, briefly resembling The Scream by Edvard Munch.

‘I think that may have been the issue, Rollo, mate,’ mutters Kian, chomping on his dressing and cruton-free Caesar salad (Maddie has put him on a diet) whilst goo-gooing at his five-month-old son. ‘Never ever admit to not doing something.’

‘Who taught you that?’ asks Rollo.

‘You. When Suze got preggers for the first time.’

Everyone laughs, even Suze. She sits back down at the table next to her husband and he puts his arm around her.

‘Sorry, sweetness.’ He squeezes her. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I too wish our son was not so sadistic nor our daughter so materialistic, and that we could leave them both at an enclosed educational institution all year round. As soon as such a place is set up—that is not strictly a prison and has flexi but not compulsory visiting hours—I assure you, you will never have to see them, unless you want to.’

Suze manages a smile back at him. ‘You promise?’

‘As I am also your barrister, I’ll get some legal papers drawn up.’

‘Thank you. Oh, and remember you also promised to drive back.’ She kisses him on the cheek then takes a restorative gulp of white wine. ‘Right, shall we try and sing “Happy Birthday” to Tanya again?’

I wave my hand at them all. ‘No! God, really, you don’t h—’

‘Yeah,’ agrees Greg. ‘Probably not the best idea. I think it’s safe to say the rest of the beer garden know we’re here now.’

Suze glances across the table at me, eyes narrowing. I pretend I haven’t seen her.

‘… so, what are you lot doing next Friday?’ continues Greg.

‘Erm, that’s when we’re round at my parents’ house for their anniversary. You reminded me the other day.’

He pulls a face. ‘Oh, shiiiiit, yeah. Only, there’s a band playing in Camden I wouldn’t mind having a look at. A sort of experimental indie collective with a retro-seventies Hendrix feel.’

I pull a face back at him. I’ve been to gigs with Greg before, where the boxes marked CAMDEN, EXPERIMENTAL and COLLECTIVE have been ticked. And you can guarantee if they have been, so will the ones marked HOT, SWEATY, NOISY, SMELLY AND ABSOLUTELY JOYLESS. But with the addition of the word HENDRIX? That’s a fresh kind of hell that I have not even visited in my darkest nightmares. Suddenly, sitting across the table from my father for a couple of hours feels more appealing.

Greg clocks my expression. ‘Don’t panic, I meant a boys trip.’ He nods at the guys. ‘We could get up there early doors, have a few drinks, do the gig, go to a club … stay overnight. It’s been God knows how long since we all went out on the lash. What do you reckon?’

Like highly strung barn owls, Suze and Maddie’s heads rotate round towards their partners.

Rollo laughs. ‘Well, I think that’s your answer, mate. Sounds great, but it’s the aftermath I can’t handle … that noise you heard earlier, imagine that when you’re hungover. All day. It’s torture.’

‘I hate to tell you,’ Suze adds, ‘next weekend it will feel more like an actual torture chamber. Eves and Jasps are having a sleepover weekend at ours with four pals. Imagine the first Saw movie with elements of Hostel thrown in.’

‘Oh, sweet Jesus, no …’ moans Rollo.

‘You’ll have to count me out too, Greg. Sorry …’ Kian apologises. ‘Obviously, I can’t leave Maddie overnight.’

‘What with her being a fully functioning adult and all that,’ jokes Greg.

I don’t laugh as I know Maddie is staring at me.

‘He means leave me with the baby,’ she says. ‘It’s still early days, and besides, Greg, the last time Rollo and Kian went out with you overnight, Kian came back with a black eye, his arm in a sling and a cracked tooth.’

Greg sighs. ‘Come on, that was an isolated incident.’

‘It wasn’t that bad, Maddie,’ I add, sticking up for Greg. ‘They didn’t leave him on the pavement. A night in Casualty and Kian was good to go.’

‘Good to go straight back to bed, where he remained for two days,’ says Maddie. ‘And he couldn’t do a feed either.’ She nods at Kian. ‘Forget it, you’re not going.’

‘Jesus, you’re so pussy whipped, mate.’ Greg laughs.

‘Yep,’ smiles Kian, quite happily. ‘That pretty much sums it up.’

‘What about Jez?’ I suggest. ‘He’ll want to go …’

‘Nah, not his thing. Too edgy. Jez doesn’t like to veer too far from the status quo. The concept or the band,’ he mumbles.

I can sense he is getting irritated.

‘Tell you what,’ I suggest. ‘Why don’t you go to the gig and stay over? I’ll go to my parents on Friday night, then meet you in London on Saturday morning, and we can spend the weekend there … do something fun. By “fun”, I mean something in no way involving trippy guitar music. And nothing experimental or, heaven forbid, experiential.’

He smiles at me. ‘Yeah … why not? You’ve got yourself a date, babe.’

I smile back. If there was ever a perfect time for us to have The Baby Talk it will be on a ‘mini-break’ (not that I would call it that out loud because I hate all that couples parlance). I’ll splash out, book us into one of the luxury suites at The Rexingham, that posh hotel where Noelle did her book launch. Greg and I will be in our room—which will be a textbook lover’s playground of squishy pillows, his’n’hers dressing gowns, a fully stocked mini-bar and a remote-control docking system—lying in bed after having ‘nookie’ … and start talking. I will pre-empt the conversation by saying that at no point during our future life as parents will we be like them. ‘Them’ being Suze and Rollo, Maddie and Kian or any other couple who reproducing has turned nuts. Or boring. Or both. He will laugh. So will I. And we will both know that we are in this together. It will be as far removed from what happened before as it is poss—

I jolt.

‘I’m gasping for a fag,’ says Suze. She puts her knife and fork together and glances up at her husband. ‘Can you go and check on the little shits? They might be hot wiring the Range Rover. Greg … cigarette?’

I scan his face for a vague hint that he could be considering it, but he doesn’t flinch.

Suze looks at him. ‘You’ve given up?’

‘Yep, it’s all behind me now,’ he says. ‘I’m a reformed character.’

‘That’s … good. Good for you,’ mutters Suze, pulling a Marlboro Light out of her pack. ‘I’m the only one still up for it, then?’

‘Looks that way,’ he confirms.

I stop myself from looking too pleased.

‘D’you mind not having one at the table, Suze?’ Maddie grimaces at Suze. ‘I know we’re outside, but with Carter here …’ She reaches over and strokes her baby’s cheek. ‘Actually, we’re going to need to make tracks soon. My precious boy needs a nap.’

‘Yeah, I’m exhausted,’ says Kian, downing the remainder of his pint.

Maddie tuts at him. ‘I meant Carter, you idiot. I hope he doesn’t go bananas again when we put him in the car seat. It’s the only time he really screams. You don’t mind if we sneak off, do you?’ she asks me.

‘Erm … no, of course not.’

‘I mind,’ says Suze. ‘Not all of us are ready to leave yet.’

I tap her arm. ‘Relax, it’s fine, Suze … we can stay.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘It’s always the end as soon as someone leaves,’ she snaps. ‘Jesus, Maddie, if you go slightly off schedule for one day, Carter is not going to grow up to be a serial killer.’

Maddie looks wounded and says nothing.

‘Why don’t you go for a cigarette?’ I suggest to Suze, to diffuse the situation. ‘Let me say goodbye to these two and I’ll catch up with you. Greg, you don’t mind, do you?’

‘Nah, I’ll go and help Rollo.’

Suze eyeballs him. ‘Why would you want to do that?’

‘Because it’s fun watching over-indulgent middleclass parents being relentlessly poked at and abused by their own offspring.’ He grins at her as he wanders off. ‘It’s a modern and far less upsetting form of bear baiting.’

After watching Maddie buckle a suddenly inconsolable Carter into the back of the car, I find Suze at the bottom of the beer garden next to the pond.

‘What was all that about?’ I ask her.

She drags on her Malboro Light. ‘I thought we were going to be making a day of it, that’s all.’

‘No, not that. Getting at Maddie.’

‘Oh, right … she’s bugging me at the moment. It’s as if she’s produced the first baby to crawl the earth and everyone has to be reminded of this every second of every day. When I first had Jasper I was not like that. I was a lot more relaxed …’

‘You were stoned, plus you had your sister and your mum—a hugely experienced GP!—on hand twenty-four hours a day to help.’

Suze pulls a sheepish face. ‘Yeah, okay, I hear you. Hey, maybe the reason why my children are so out of control now is because I was too effing chilled out then? They’re rebelling against their incense-infused, Portishead sound-tracked babyhood.’

I smile. ‘Nah, they’re going through a phase … one which I have to say, you’re dealing with incredibly well. I’d blow a gasket if mine started acting like that.’

‘Oh, I’m only dealing with their behaviour thanks to Philip Morris and endless boxes of picnic wine from Lidl.’ Suddenly, she stops. She is making her Munch face again. ‘Sorry, what did you say? ‘If mine started acting like that …’ T, you’re not pregnant?’

I shake my head. ‘No, no, god no … but …’

‘Thank fuck for that … I mean, th—’ She stops herself again. ‘Sorry! Sorry. I was only thinking about what it would be like, erm … for me … to have another one. So … you’ve decided you want a … baby?’ She drains her glass and swallows hard. ‘Are … you … are you sure?’

‘Uh-huh. Pending on everything working downstairs—I’ve had tests at the hospital and I’m seeing your mum for the results, so I need to wait and see. I’m sure everything will be fine. It was so long ago that … but, yeah, I’d like to get pregnant as soon as possible.’

‘But …’ begins Suze. ‘B—’

‘Oh, I know …’ I interrupt her. ‘I do not want to be one of those women who act as if it’s like organising an Ocado delivery slot.’

‘No, that’s not what I was going to say …’

‘What were you going to say?’ I peer at her. ‘Suze?’

She stares at me for a few seconds then gazes out over the pond. ‘Are you really ready though, aft—’

I butt in again. ‘Yeah, I am.’

‘But even a few years ago, you still didn’t know what you wanted, and now … you’re sure?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. I’m not a mess any more. Not a single part of my life is. Everything about me is in order. My home, my job, my friends and most importantly, the man I want to have children with.’

‘You mean Greg?’

I shrug. ‘Well, I did consider that “cute” new barman who started here last week as a potential father. Obviously, your husband too, but then thought, no. Even though we know he has good swimmers, it might be a bit weird for our friendship group. Definitely not Kian either. But more because his head is a weird shape. Carter was very lucky not to have inherited that.’ I growl at her. ‘Of course, I mean Greg, Suze. Greg is my boyfriend. If I am going to have a child with anyone it will be Greg.’

‘Right …’

‘Yes, Greg. Greg is my Mr Right. And you can blow fag smoke in my face for rolling out that mawkish old chestnut.’

‘Look, T …’ She is still looking out over the pond. ‘I’m not saying Rollo is the ultimate catch. I mean, I look at him when he is doing that trick with the cereal and think, how the hell did I end up with someone who thinks spraying cornflakes out of their mouth and all over the kitchen in the style of a burst New York fire hydrant is funny? But you know what, the kids find it funny. They love how funny he is. They love him. And he loves them—despite their clear lack of respect for anyone bar the waiting staff at specialist chicken restaurants or the sales assistants at Schuh. And he loves me. He always has. From our party-mad years right through to the staid, middle-class perjury we serve now, he has loved me. And I know that when we are old and dec—’

I interrupt her. ‘Why are we talking about Rollo? I’ve already said I think it would be odd if he sperminated me.’ I continue the joke, purely to give Suze a chance to re-consider what she is about to say. But she doesn’t.

She turns back to me. ‘You know what I am getting at.’

‘Would it be the same thing you were getting at about twenty minutes ago, when you shot me a look after Greg was reluctant to sing “Happy Birthday” again?’

‘Well, it’s not as if he’s gone out of his way to make it a very special day for you, is it, T?’

‘That’s unfair, Suze. He doesn’t have the funds which Rollo does. He works at a bar, your husband works at The Bar … it pays a lot better.’

‘I’m not talking financially, just in terms of effort.’

‘Hang on, it was your idea we came to The Croft because of the outside space for Jasper to re-enact a hunt-to-kill mission on Evie. Besides, we’ve got our weekend away in London to look forward to.’

‘Only because you suggested it about five minutes ago. He was quite happy to be going on a piss up with the boys—totally disregarding the dinner you had arranged over at your parents’, I may add. The addition of some time with you—romantic or otherwise—was an afterthought, of yours.’

I growl at her. ‘Whenever you have a couple of glasses of wine, you cannot wait to start carping about Greg.’

‘That is not true,’ she retorts, then laughs. ‘Let me assure you I carp about him when I haven’t been drinking too, but behind your back.’

‘Suze! This is serious. You’re my best friend. He’s my boyfriend. It’s going to stay that way. I’d really like it if you could build a proper relationship with him. There must be something you like about him. You’ve shared enough cigarettes with him over the years.’

‘I’m not saying he’s a bad person, T. All girls are meant to faintly disapprove of their best friend’s boyfriend.’

‘But it’s more than that with you …’

She pauses again, then takes a deep breath. ‘I guess it’s because of … because of everything you went through. I saw you go through it.’

‘… and “through” is the operative word. I am over it. Partly thanks to you, because you were there for me throughout. Why are you being like this, Suze?’

She swallows hard even though she has no wine left.

‘T …’

‘What?’

‘I want you to be sure.’

‘I am sure. I’ve been sure for a while. But the other day …’ I swallow hard too. ‘I saw her.’

‘Who?’

‘Her.’

‘Her?’

‘Her.’

Suze sucks in her cheeks. ‘What the fuck? Where?’

‘In London … at a launch I went to for my blog. Catwalk were sponsoring the party. I had no idea.’

‘Shitting hell! What did you say?’

‘Nothing. She didn’t say anything either.’

‘And that was it? T! This is HUGE!’

‘It’s not.’

‘T! You saw Ashley Atwal? You saw Ashley Atwal? YOU SAW ASHLEY ATWAL?’

‘Shooooosh, keep your voice down. Please. Look, it happened. It’s over. It’s done.’

Suze’s face contorts as she digests the information. But then she shakes her head at me.

‘And this apparently non-event has changed your mind about everything?’

‘Of course not! For God’s sake, Suze, you know me … I’m not the kind of person who makes decisions without thinking things through so thoroughly I even bore myself, but seeing her forced me to examine whether I was ready. Truly ready. Not because I want to change the past. Because I am living in the present.’ I highlighted this sentence in one of my psych books on cognitive therapy. I found the books more helpful than the therapists. ‘Do you understand?

‘Mmmm, and I’m …’

‘I think the word is ‘happy’, Suze. You are happy for me.’

She pulls me to her. Our embrace is stiff. As I pull away, I hear a guitar being strummed. I twist round. So does Suze. Immediately, both of us gulp for air.

Her sudden need for oxygen is down to shock. Mine is down to a overwhelming sense of love. Okay, and shock. Greg is standing on top of the table where we had eaten our lunch and is playing his acoustic guitar. Within seconds, everyone in the beer garden has stopped talking. They are staring at Greg. But he is only focused on one person … me. He starts to sing a song I don’t recognise, but when he hits what appears to be the chorus, there is one word I am familiar with; Tanya. Tanya. TANYA. He makes it rhyme with ‘I want ya’. From beside me, I hear Suze mutter, ‘Move over, Ed Sheeran … ‘. The other punters are swaying in time to the music and offering Greg encouraging whoops. By the time he has got to the chorus for the second time, a few of them have a go at joining in.

Oh Tanya, Tanya, Tany-aaaaa

I want ya, I want yaaaaa

Sometimes I find it hard to show it

But Tany-aaaaaa, I want yaaaaa

To know it

The way I feel

Is reeeeeal, yeeeeeeah!

I stay sat, staring back at him. This is easily the most romantic, creative, unexpected, well-planned and personal gesture he has ever made for me. But it is also the most public. I would like him to stop immediately. I am acutely aware that anyone who isn’t looking at him is looking at me. I attempt to focus on his bracelet jangling around as he plays, in order to remind myself that he is my ‘true love’ and as such, I should be thrilled by this torture. I mean, gesture. But my purple heat rash starts crawling. It is more intense than usual; spreading over a greater surface area—a wisteria of self-consciousness. I force a smile up at Greg. He is now scanning the garden as he sings. Suddenly, he lets his guitar drop so that it is dangling across his shoulder by its strap, then he raises his hands above his head. Clapping out a beat, he encourages all the other customers to join in and together they sing the next chorus a cappella.

Oh, Tanya, Tanya, Tany-aaaaa

I want ya, I want yaaaaa

Yeah Taaaaaaaaaanya

I want …

… yoooooooooou!

It’s the way I feel

For reeeeeal …

The way I feel for real is MORTIFIED. But I smile at Greg. No, I beam. Because that’s what other girls would do. They would dig this, wouldn’t they? All this … attention. This is why so many movies end with a public declaration of loving intent by the leading man. It’s what we’re brought up to believe is the ultimate romantic scenario: if other people are watching it makes it even more special. Not for me though. I don’t want flash mobs or billboards or kiss-cams or orchestras or sing—

Yeah, Tanyaaaaa

It’s true.

It’s you.

On the ‘ou’ of ‘you’, he gives his guitar a sharp slap and drops his head. It’s over.

‘Jeeeee-sus,’ says Suze, flatly.

‘Cheers, everyone!’ shouts Greg, wiping his hair off his face. ‘If you didn’t think that was too painful, my band play right here at The Croft a couple of times a month. We usually put up some flyers around the pub the week beforehand for you all to ignore, so please, make sure you don’t give them a second glance …’

With that, my boyfriend jumps down to the ground. His crowd jump up; laughing, cheering and applauding … and then, thank-the-Lord-Jesus-Christ-and-the-Holy-Ghost they return their attention to drinking and eating. I get up and walk over to Greg. As I do, he reaches into his left back pocket, which I know has that illicit pack of cigarettes in. For the first time in my life, I consider smoking one. But then I stop. He has not pulled out a pack of Camel Lights from his jeans … it is a black velvet box. He lifts the lid.

I stare at the contents until my vision becomes fuzzy. Then the voices around me become dulled. My head feels as if it is being compressed. The only part of my body I can feel is my burning chest. I grab the box and slam it shut. I know I am about to faint. And like always, as I am losing my balance and the ground is hurtling towards me, I remember standing at the top of the yellow tower. The one which looked like dirty Lego.

ME: I’ve missed you so much …

HIM: (Mumbling into my hair.) Oh, Tanya … I missed you too. So, so much. I’m sorry we haven’t been able to meet for a bit.

ME: A bit? It’s been thirteen days. I’ve been going out of my mind. Seeing you but not talking to you. Not holding you. Not feeling you. I don’t know how much more I can take. We’ve got to work out a pl—

HIM: A plan. I know … (Taking a breath.) That’s what I’ve been doing. A mate of mine, he’s managing a club in London. He might be able to give me a job. Promotions. Warm-up DJ-ing. Bar work.

ME: Will we be able to afford a flat?

HIM: Ha! No. We’ll have to get a room share or something. Worst-case scenario, we’ve got the van until we get ourselves sorted.

ME: You have no money?

HIM: I can’t take the savings that are in the bank. There’s only a few hundred quid. I couldn’t do that to … to either of them. But I’m going to start saving now, put some cash aside for us every month.

ME: Every MONTH? For how many months? A whole year? Two? THREE?

HIM: (Flapping his hand.) Stop it, Tanya. Keep your voice down. Do you think that it has been easy for me?

ME: No, b—

HIM: Look at me. (Grabbing my head.) I promise you that I will do it. You’ve always known it was going to take some time and it still is. I can’t just up sticks and neither can you. We’ll both hurt people.

ME: But there is no going back on that now. They’ll be hurt whether we are together now or in a month or a year …

HIM: Trust in me, Tanya.

ME: I’m trying, I’m trying.

HIM: Good. (Voice softening). Let’s focus on the future. We’re strong enough to get through this, but on the days when you aren’t feeling so strong, this … (reaching into pocket, pulling out a small box) … this should make it easier. (Opening it.)

ME: (Seeing the ring. Gasping.) Does this mean …

HIM: (Kissing me on the mouth.) It means I’m yours.

ME: (Kissing him back. Placing the jewellery on my finger. Staring at it. Taking a breath. Then another.) The only problem is … it may not fit for much longer.

HIM: (Smiling.) Oh yeah, I forgot. Your mum does have a reputation as the estate ‘feeder ‘. Why does she cook so much fucking f—

ME: (Interrupting.) No, not because of that. (Looking up.) I’m pregnant.

HIM: What?

ME: (Scanning his face but finding nothing to read.) I’m pregnant … and scared. (Crying.) So scared.

HIM: Shoooooooooosh, Tanya. It’s okay, it’s okay. Breathe. (Exhaling deeply. Rubbing my shoulders.) So … how … how did this happ—?

ME: (Shrugging.) I don’t know. I’m on the pill. I mean, there was that time I had a bug and she said that you sh—HIM: (Sharply.) Who said? Who have you told? Who is ‘she’?

ME: My doctor. Dr. Lyons.

HIM: Dr. Lyons? That’s that girl Suze’s old dear, isn’t it? Are you insane? Her husband is a copper and she used to hang out with … (Gritting his teeth.) Does she know you’re up the duff? Tanya, ANSWER ME!

ME: Please, quit with the questions. It doesn’t matter HOW it could have happened. It’s happened and is now happenING! (Getting hysterical.) And no, no one knows. Please, I don’t need you interrogating me. I need you to tell me not to be scared because everything will be okay.

HIM: It will. It will … I’ll be there for you. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll look after you. Promise.

ME: (Wiping snot away from my nose with my sleeve.) We’ll go to London?

HIM: Yeah. No one will know us.

ME: When?

HIM: Next week.

ME: (Managing to smile.) But what about needing to save?

HIM: Let me worry about that. We’ll only be down there for a couple of nights, won’t we? I’ll be able to scrape together enough for a hotel room and the clinic.

Clinic. As those final two syllables hung in the air between us, snow started to drift down.

I sense Suze by my side. She is bellowing.

‘T! Answer me. Back off, everyone … nothing to worry about. She’s having one of her turns. T! I know you’re alive. You know you’re alive. Wakey-wakey. One, two, three … WIDE AWAKE!’

I wait a while to open my eyes, my body is rigid with embarrassment. Whenever this used to happen and Suze was there, she always made sure to get rid of the gawpers so I did not wake up in a ‘situation’. She wipes my hair away from my forehead and holds up two fingers close to my face, as if flicking me a ‘V’ sign.

‘What does this mean?’ she jokes, just like she did the first time I fainted at college in the student mini-market.

‘Fuck off,’ I mumble.

‘And this?’ She holds up a middle finger.

‘Fuck you.’

‘Yep, you’re fine.’ She smiles. ‘It’s been a while since you did that. I’d almost forgotten what that thud sounds like. There is no other noise quite like that of a human being slumping to the floor. I told Greg to go and get you a Lucozade immediately. D’you remember at college, I always kept a bottle in my bag just in case y—’ She is distracted by the black box which is lying next to me. ‘What’s this?’

Before I can answer, she opens it. As soon as she sees the ring she inhales sharply. Touching it, she shakes her head from side to side, seemingly baffled.

‘Wh-what does this mean? T? What does this mean?’

I cannot put into words what this means. Which is ironic because, in my early teens, I had my views on marriage totally sorted. I remember ranting to Ashley (which I would do a lot—she would call my outbursts ‘Tanya Tirades’) that I would not get married.

‘Marriage is just a piece of paper, isn’t it? And who needs more admin? A marriage contract takes the mystery out of a relationship and redefines it as a business deal. I’ve always survived independently of anyone and always will do. That said, if in the future my partner wanted to get me a ring, I would accept it. It could mean what it wants to us, because ultimately that’s all that matters: what we think of each other. Not how the legal system views us. Once you introduce that kind of outside influence, it’s going to affect you in some way. I mean, everything could be tickety-boo at the point of acceptance, but what if we hit a rocky patch at some point? If we did we should attempt to ride it out because we still want to be together, not because we are financially bound together by a pair of signatures. I don’t see why people don’t just be.’