How to Get Hitched in Ten Days (5 page)

‘Have we got any chicken left from that roast you made on Saturday? I can’t be bothered to cook. I’ll just grab a sandwich.’

‘No!’ Mikey jumped up as I lifted the lid on the breadbin. I loved this kitchen that was fitted last year. Think glossy white cupboards, with a grey granite worktop and a sparkling silver halogen hob. With its minimalist feel it even encouraged me to keep it clean, and had been worth the week of Mikey obsessively vacuuming up builders’ dust.

‘I mean – a sandwich is no good after a hard day in the office. Let me rustle something up – sit down on the sofa again. I’ll bring over a drink.’

I managed a smile. ‘Okay, Dad. If you insist. But only for a minute, I might head out for a jog, to clear my head. Honestly, I’m fine. The boss brought donuts in this afternoon so I’m not starving. Anyway, you ought to go to the gym.’

‘Hmm, not sure I can be bothered now…’ Mikey glanced at the clock. ‘How about a game of Scrabble? We haven’t played for ages.’

‘Because you hate it!’ I said. ‘Talk about a sore loser – you always accuse me of cheating.’

Mikey’s cheeks flushed. ‘Well I’ve been reading lately, to improve my vocabulary.’

‘Celebrity magazines won’t do that,’ I said and gave a wry smile.

At that moment the doorbell rang.

I ambled over to the door and pulled it open. Heart beating, I stood back, thoughts swirling like a swarm of butterflies. ‘Dave?’ I stuttered. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Um, perhaps scrub that game of Scrabble then,’ muttered Mikey. ‘I’ll head off to the gym as originally planned. I’m sure you two could do with some private space.’

‘No. Mikey! I mean you don’t have to – Dave should have rung first,’ I said, hoping no one had heard the wobble in my voice.

‘No probs. I’ll be back around ten,’ he said and picked up his sports bag, leaving without even acknowledging Dave.

I stood opposite my boyfriend, who watched Mikey go as if he had something to say to him. Then his rich brown eyes stared at me. He gave one of those sexy lopsided smile. Urgh, why did the most trivial of things have such power? Despite his disastrous proposal, I had to fight a sudden urge to lock lips with him. The memory of vomit down his shirt helped. I pointed to a plastic bag he was holding. ‘What’s that?’

His eyes lit up and with difficulty I straightened my arms so they couldn’t gently wrap themselves around his neck. It had only been three days but I’d missed his tender hugs and the way he massaged my neck after a stressful day. I missed curling up on the sofa with him at his flat, us in our little world, away from expectations, targets and strains, his limbs intertwining with mine – his confident touch making me feel like a desirable sex siren.

‘Food. I was hoping to cook you something special for dinner – hoping we could chat.’

‘You aren’t going to throw it up afterwards, like on Sunday night, are you?’

He gazed at the floor. ‘Guess I deserve that.’

I sighed, heartbeat finally slowing. ‘Isn’t your plan a bit risky? I could have been out – or already eaten…’

Dave gave a sheepish smile and shrugged.

‘Just do what you like,’ I said and walked into the bedroom to freshen up. I had nothing to say to him. Not yet. I was still reeling after the way he’d unromantically suggested we spend the rest of our lives together.

You think me harsh? Guess I am. But… my eyes tingled… if you’d witnessed your mum being downtrodden, never being made to feel unique and wonderful by the person who mattered most, then perhaps you’d feel the same.

I set my lips in a firm line. Got undressed. Headed for the shower. Half an hour later, I returned to the lounge, in my PJs. My heart lurched, secretly pleased that he hadn’t gone home after my cold welcome.

‘Well, you weren’t expecting me to dress up, were you?’ I said as Dave looked me up and down.

His face kind of crumpled. ‘No. I was just thinking how you look Goddamn hot in anything, from super-smart to casual.’

I bit my lip, so as not to react, and he turned back to the hob. My chest pinched but I held strong. Dave had let me down. It was best that we hadn’t got engaged, although my insides relaxed as the garlicky smell of bolognese wafted throughout the flat. He had set the breakfast bar with… goodness, a heart-shaped candle holder. Where had he got that? The yellow candle burned brightly, an exotic, sweet aroma wafting towards me.

‘Nice fragrance,’ I muttered and my nose twitched.

Without turning around, Dave replied. ‘It’s jasmine. I bought it from that new gift shop next to the chemist’s.’

My namesake? And look at those cornflower blue napkins. My favourite colour. Dave had really put some thought in.

My nose twitched again and I gave a small sneeze. On the television was some show about birdlife in Cumbria. With a vacant stare, I focused on the screen, suddenly interrupted by a swear word. I turned around. Dave was shaking his head.

‘The hob won’t work. The Quorn is only half cooked and I haven’t started on the spaghetti.’

I went over and fiddled with the buttons, just centimetres away from him. My insides fizzed. ‘This happened a couple of months ago. Mikey knows exactly what the problem is and how to fix it – it’s something to do with a loose fitting. We’ll have to wait until he’s back. And if it’s anything like last time…’ I switched on the oven. Nothing. ‘The whole thing is kaput until Mikey works his magic.’

Dave’s shoulders sagged. ‘That’s dinner ruined.’

‘Seeing as you’re here, you may as well eat,’ I said, his disappointment tangible. ‘How about chicken sandwiches.’ I got up, headed for the cutlery drawer and pulled it open. Dave came over. I felt his breath on my neck and turned around.

Gently, he took the knife from my hand and placed it on the granite work surface. His arms slid around my hips. On automatic, my fingers curled around his solid waist, his warmth migrating into my arm. With one hand, he gently lifted my chin and ran a thumb across my cheek.

‘Oh, Jasmine… forgive me for being such a prat. Can’t we forget that Sunday night ever happened? You know champagne always goes straight to my head. Let me take you out to dinner again – do everything properly. I mean… whilst you were in the shower I noticed some bridal catalogues on the coffee table – makes me realise how much of a big deal a wedding is; that I should have thought to be more organised and romantic.’ He leant forward and before I knew it, my hand slipped behind his neck as we urgently kissed. My heart beat as if it were an alarm, warning me that it might just combust.

‘No, Dave,’ I gasped and stepped back. ‘It’s… it’s…’ I sneezed again and Dave passed me a napkin. ’It’s not as simple as that. Marriage… I’m not ready – don’t think I ever will be. Never thought about it… us… I mean…’

His shoulders slumped. ‘The idea had never even crossed your mind?’

Cheeks burning, I blew my nose and ignored his question. ‘And so what if I’m looking at bridal catalogues? Doesn’t mean I’m lusting after our own grandiose affair. I like looking at the dresses, that’s all.’ My cheeks burned hotter. Was I lying to him – to myself?

‘No. Of course not. It’s just that Mikey–’

I sneezed again. ‘Sorry Dave – could you blow out that candle? I’m allergic to the scent. Must be something to do with my hay fever. I didn’t stop sneezing for twelve hours when Mikey lit a Cranberry and Spice one in the flat last Christmas.’

A strange expression crossed Dave’s face and his fists curled as he blew out the candle. In silence we made sandwiches, each carrying out the familiar role we’d got used to over the last eighteen months – I buttered the bread and got out crisps, whilst Dave prepared a salad and chicken filling and cut each round into triangular-shaped quarters.

We took them to the sofa – not something crumb annihilator Mikey would have approved of.

‘So. Where does this leave us?’ Dave tried again after we’d finished eating in front of more birds in Cumbria. I’d made us two coffees. Dave muttered something about having pre-prepared pudding. He brought over two bowls and sat down.

Gosh. Jam roly poly. My favourite. My eyes pricked as I thought how hard Dave must have tried, to make the rolls of sponge and fruit filling look so perfect. I dug in my spoon and opened my mouth, but urgh! As quickly as possible I retrieved a tissue from my pyjama pocket and spat the pudding out.

‘Are you trying to poison me? What
is
that sauce?’

He tasted a spoonful and grimaced. ‘Hollandaise… I, um, must have got my Tupperware jar of custard muddled up with this in your fridge.’

‘Mikey must have kept this from when we had salmon last week.’ I gagged and put down my bowl. ‘Excuse me a minute – I think this time it’s me who’s going to be sick.’

When I eventually returned, Dave was on his phone, face purple, waiting for someone to pick up.

‘Everything all right?’ I asked.

‘No!’ he snapped. ‘I mean….’ Exhaling deeply, he switched off his mobile and drained his coffee cup.

‘Look, Dave, I really appreciate all the effort, but it’s just a bit soon. Best to let me cool off for a few days.’

‘But what about New York? That’s next week. We haven’t got a few days.’

‘Nothing is firm at the moment – I’ve… got a lot to sort out.’

‘But my proposal…’ Dave shuffled nearer to me and took my hand. ‘It doesn’t change how you feel about me, does it? Because marriage isn’t the be all and end all, Jasmine. I’m happy just to carry on as we were.’ He squeezed my fingers and shot me an intense stare, from beneath his fringe. ‘I love you,’ he said gently, whilst fiddling with his watch strap. ‘More than anyone before. Don’t throw away what we’ve got over one silly mistake.’

My reservations dissolved a little at his sudden shyness.

‘And honestly… Sunday… don’t know what I was thinking. What a jerk…’ He met my gaze. ‘Must have reminded you of your dad. Is that why… why it’s upset you so much? Me getting plastered?’

‘Not really – it was more the total lack of thought.’

‘I know. That’s me all over. I thought you found that endearing, or has the initial shine worn off?’ He gave a wry smile.

‘No… but we’re talking about the big stuff; our future. You hadn’t even bought the ring, implied that neither of us are getting younger, and wouldn’t meet anyone else so…’ I shrugged. ‘It’s exactly the sort of thing my father would have done. And if Mum had complained, she’d have got another black eye. I don’t want to spend my life with anyone who reminds me of him.’

‘Jazz! You can’t compare us – I’ve only blown things really badly, just this once, haven’t I?’

‘Yeah over the biggest question someone can ask in their life.’ I wasn’t going to risk entering a marriage that in any way reminded me of my childhood.

‘I know the bad memories of him haven’t faded, Jasmine, but don’t let them impact on us. I made an honest mistake. As for the rest… you know I don’t even squash spiders.’

I nodded, as an image slid into my mind of Dad criticising Mum’s steak and kidney pie. He stood by a photo on the wall – the two of them, at their wedding, smiles abundant, arms wrapped around each other. He stank of whiskey. I was nine and Mum shooed me out of the room just seconds before I heard a slap.

We sat in silence for a moment and then he shrugged. ‘Nearly forgot – in the spirit of being more thoughtful, I’ve bought you a gift.’ Dave disappeared behind the kitchen worktop – cue the rustling of a bag. He came back to the sofa and told me to close my eyes. ‘I didn’t have time to wrap it, but it’s the thought that counts, right? I just wanted to show how much you mean to me – and hopefully how much I know what you like.’

I opened my eyes as he slid the rectangular object – a book – into my hands. My jaw fell open. Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James. I glanced at him. He gave a sheepish smile.

‘Oh, er…’ My ears felt hot.

His face dropped. ‘I, um, thought you felt like giving these novels a go? But, well, could prove interesting…’ He gave a nervous laugh. ‘… just run any suggestions past me if you pick up any tips to improve our love life.’

‘You think our love life needs improving?’ My stomach scrunched and I put the book down on the nearby low coffee table.

‘No! Of course not. Just my little joke.’

‘What on earth made you think I’d like this book?’ I said and shook my head. ‘Don’t you know anything about me, Dave? I watch sweet romcoms with happy endings; I read Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte. Each to their own but E L James isn’t for me.’ I picked the book up and passed it back to him. ‘Perhaps you should give it a go.’

‘No! Look Jasmine–’

‘Just leave, Dave. Clearly tonight was a mistake.’

‘But we’ve hardly talked and–’

I got up and headed to the bedroom. ‘I’ve got a headache. Just let yourself out.’

‘But–’

I closed my bedroom door behind me, the last thing I heard being Dave’s angry tones growling something about the gym “right now” and someone having some questions to answer.

Not caring why he was gabbling nonsensically, I threw myself onto the bed and wrapped myself up in the cornflower blue duvet. Contradictory as it sounds, a sense of emptiness filled my chest. Perhaps Dave’s clumsy attempts to please me over the last few months shouldn’t have made him endearing – maybe they were a warning sign that physical stuff aside, he and I were really ill-matched; not suitable partners, let alone formal husband and wife. I mean, I could also tell he hadn’t always appreciated my gifts. Like the leather man-bag – I thought it practical, but he didn’t feel comfortable wearing it. And then there was the lambswool jumper – I’d forgotten that made him itch. Yet it wouldn’t be normal, would it, if we intuitively knew each other’s wishes?

Or was the problem not so much that Dave might become like Dad – was it more a case that I dreaded turning into my mum, with no career to support herself, no gumption to stand up to her husband… Do you think that’s me being harsh again? Perhaps it is; maybe that’s what comes from growing up in a household ruled by the back of someone’s hand.

I groaned and slid my head underneath a pillow. In my personal life confusion reigned, which meant the best thing to do, at this point, was focus on Chemi-Vate and my professional future.