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We’d found ourselves, quite aptly, in the bedroom section. Ben playfully pulled me onto the nearest perfectly made up king-sized bed, with a duvet cover that would actually quite suit our bedroom, and lay me down on the soft surface.
‘I promise.’ He leant over and kissed me hard.
The tutting of an Indian man examining the nearby hypoallergenic pillows made me blush so I pulled us back to our feet to finish the shopping and get back home, to our own bed. Ikea is not a place for idle browsing and I may have strayed somewhat from the list I’d scrawled out as we’d had breakfast earlier. It was time to call it a day.
‘Oooh, wait. I forgot we need cereal bowls!’ I exclaimed as we moved onto the next section, remembering that the ones we currently had were chipped and, well, just not deep enough for my liking.
‘Okay. Cereal bowls and then let’s get out of here.’
‘Deal.’
Ben’s eyes had narrowed as if he was a character in a video game, some sniper assassin that had been trained to keep their focus on the target, refusing to be drawn in by my ‘oh look, isn’t that gorgeous!’ or ‘we need one of these’ lines as I shuffled through the Market Hall getting carried away by the funky coloured spatulas.
I imagined that in a moment he would take my hand and break into a run just to tear me away from ALL OF THE PRETTY THINGS, called Rort or Skedstorn or even a word with no apparent vowels in, that I couldn’t help but chuck into the crispy, oversized blue bags. I could feel Ben’s amused eyes flick to me as I snuck in another couple of tea towels.
‘Really, babe?’ he asked with a wry smile, faking a yawn.
‘I know, but they are so cheap!’ I took a deep breath. ‘Okay, please get me out of here. I don’t know what’s happened to my self-control!’ I wailed as he laughed and took my hand.
We made it to the self-service checkout section of the shop pretty disgustingly smugly if you ask me, especially with relationship apocalypse exploding around us. We sauntered through to the right aisle (I’d been meticulous about scribbling down where the dining table was located that we’d both liked) holding hands and coming up with how many famous Swedish people we could think of. Ulrika Jonsson and ABBA topped the poll after some obscure football players Ben suggested. It was all going rather swimmingly, maybe too swimmingly, until we saw the oblong-shaped thick cardboard box on section A shelf 39.
‘Oh.’
‘Balls.’
‘It’s enormous!’ I gasped. Not only did I worry about us getting it into the car, I also didn’t know how it would fit in our already cosy flat. This was the main reason we’d come here as we were having a dinner party in a few days, a posh house-warming, and I’d panicked that our guests would have to eat from their laps.
‘I’m sure it’s all just packaging. I don’t remember it being that big in the showroom,’ he said, scratching his head.
I nodded even though I wasn’t convinced. ‘You did do the measurements before we came out, didn’t you?’
‘Yep, come on. It’ll be fine,’ he said, through a heavy wheeze as he awkwardly hoisted the giant box onto the flat trolley, ignoring my narrowed eyes.
We were both exhausted and as fun and relatively painless as this shopping trip had been I was ready to get home, put the kettle on and brew up in my new matching mugs. Of course he had the sizes worked out in his head – just trust him, Georgia. But the meatballs and lingonberry sauce were soon forgotten as we struggled to just get the damn thing into Ben’s car. We drove the whole way back to our flat with my seat pulled as far forward as it would go. I told Ben to be careful not to brake suddenly or else my neck would be sliced open by the sharp corner of the box that was precariously close to decapitating me.
We eventually both fell onto the sofa trying to catch our breath from lugging the enormous box through the front door. My smugness at surviving Ikea was starting to fade, but our spirits were still relatively high as we found a way to laugh at the experience, a pretty impressive feat considering how stilted the car journey had been – although I did smile to myself at Ben’s cautious grandma-style driving.
‘Well, it’s in!’ He smiled, wiping his damp forehead. ‘How about I crack on with putting it up and you clear some room in the bedroom for all these candles you’ve collected?’
‘You sure you don’t want a hand?’ I asked, looking at the mess he was making tearing his way into the giant box, pulling out the surprisingly thick instruction manual, bubble wrap and screws that were soon littering the floor.
‘Nope. If I can’t put up a simple table for my woman, then I basically fail at being a man.’ He grinned, looking unfazed by the debris around him and popping the lid off a cold bottle of lager, ready for the challenge.
‘Okay then, if you’re sure…’ I leant down and pecked him on his mop of dark brown curls. ‘Good luck.’
I made my way around the boxes that lined the hallway, the ones we still had to unpack, trying to ignore the possible fire risk they posed, and dragged the full, blue Ikea sack into the bedroom. This was already my favourite room in the flat. It was a larger than average size with wide sash windows that let in so much light it made the calming space seem even bigger. I was still amazed that after moving out of the house I’d shared with my ex, Alex, and then going backpacking, I’d amassed so much stuff. Since moving in a month ago, Ben and I had been dancing around each other, finding places for both of our life possessions and bringing a touch of homely charm to the previously blank canvas.
It had been only a matter of time before Ben had moved out of the flat he’d shared with his best mate Jimmy and we got a place of our own. The decision to live together had been such an obvious one, especially as we spent all of our time in each other’s company at work anyway and our relationship was going so well. The times I did find myself apart from him I’d hated.
I artistically arranged my new candle collection on top of the chest of drawers, next to the framed photo of us taken when we’d first met on a sun-drenched Thai beach. So much had changed since that moment I sometimes forgot where it had all started. Since then we’d launched our own joint business, The Lonely Hearts Travel Club, fallen in love and were now living together. I never could have predicted any of this back then when this hot stranger had placed his arm around my waist as I grinned at the camera lens.
I pulled myself back to the moment and smiled at hearing Ben whistling along to the radio from the lounge. I couldn’t remember feeling this happy and excited about the future before; it was such a special, precious feeling that I never wanted to end. It had made sense to move in together. Both of our diaries were always full of short breaks, taken separately, to promote The Lonely Hearts Travel Club – just in the last few months I’d been to Spain, Greece and Morocco. But sadly, the most I got to see of the fascinating destinations was the airport and a variety of nondescript hotel rooms. It also meant that when I wasn’t away from the office then Ben was, both of us taking it in turns to keep in personal contact with our travel guides and excursions, as well as trying to bring in new clients.
This was all so exciting, but it meant we had to manage our downtime carefully, with planned date nights and time together booked into our diaries weeks or months in advance. I wouldn’t say I ever really got homesick but I had found myself feeling sick of not having a home – with Ben. Somewhere we could both at least wake up and fall asleep together whenever we were in the same country.
Not wanting to get in the way of his furniture assembly techniques, I decided to make a start on unpacking those boxes littering the hallway. They were labelled Ben’s Clothes so I ungracefully dragged them into the bedroom and pulled open the floor-to-ceiling, built-in wardrobes, wincing at how cluttered it was already looking in here.
I closed my eyes and inhaled the comforting and familiar scent of my boyfriend as I pulled out soft T-shirts and piled them in the drawers on his side of the wardrobe. Lost in heady memories that his smell caused my brain and my lady parts, I almost missed it. In amongst neatly folded winter jumpers, my hand touched upon a solid object. Digging further into the cardboard box I felt my stomach clench and my heart skipped a beat as everything around me froze.
Tucked – almost hidden – in the pocket of a thick woollen jacket was a small, maroon-coloured, velvet box.
CHAPTER 2 (#ulink_1d6c688d-e5ff-5c0d-a295-38493f13ceaf)
Qualm (n.) – A sudden feeling of doubt, fear or uneasiness, especially in not following one’s conscience or better judgement
For a few seconds I just stared at the golden trimmed little box as it sat in my trembling hands, as if holding an injured bird or an unexploded landmine. I was too nervous to move a muscle or even catch up on the breath that had caught in my dry throat.
‘Ah, bollocks!’ I could hear Ben swearing as he got on with assembling the dining-room table, unaware of the momentous discovery that his girlfriend had just made in the very next room.
‘Open it, open it,’ my subconscious urged. ‘No!’ my brain shrieked. ‘Once you do, everything will change.’
I rubbed my index finger slowly over the lid as I battled with whether to look inside or not. What if it was hideous? What if it wasn’t even an engagement ring but a nice set of earrings instead? Screw it, there’s only one way to find out.
I gingerly lifted the lid and heard myself take a sharp breath. The sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows caught the diamond that was proudly set on a simple but elegant platinum band, forcing me to blink. It was gorgeous. And, it was most definitely an engagement ring.
Unanswered questions, thoughts and emotions suddenly flooded my shocked mind, which is probably why I did what I did next. It was as if I had come out of my body, lost all of my common sense and had shoved my fingers in my ears singing ‘la la la, I’m not listening’ to my brain, which was currently having a panic attack. Checking the bedroom door was firmly closed and hearing Ben muttering to himself over the music from the radio, I lifted the sparkling diamond out of the plush box and put the ring on.
It slid down my ring finger effortlessly. Like Cinderella trying on the glass slipper, it fit like it had been made for me. I couldn’t hide my bright smile as I admired the gleaming rock glinting on my hand, making my usually quite stubby fingers and gnawed cuticles appear as smooth and pretty as a hand model’s.
I didn’t even stop to think about what finding this hidden box would mean for our relationship, if I was even ready to get married to Ben, if I wanted to be someone’s fiancée again after the disaster I’d made of it the last time. All that mattered was me and this ring, which was so obviously meant to be mine. I’d become blinded by its beauty, causing all rational thoughts to exit the building. It had left me curled up on the floor, Gollum-like, stroking my precious.
I don’t know how long I sat like that, with my back leaning on the edge of our bed and my open mouth gaping at the beauty of the piece of jewellery, but in my admiration I hadn’t realised that the radio Ben had been badly humming along to had been turned off.
‘Babe, I think you might want to come out here,’ Ben’s voice sounded louder in the stillness, floating through the flat and shocking me back into the moment.
‘Oh right, erm, yep, give me a sec,’ I cried, hurriedly pulling at the ring to get it off, tuck it back in the box and hide it away before he came into the room and found me like this.
I didn’t know if the room had heated up or it was karma coming back to bite me for opening the box, but the ring wouldn’t come back up past my joint. Shit! I tugged it, pulled at it and even spat on my own stubby, stupid finger to prise the thing off. But it remained stubbornly jammed on.
‘You know we were a little concerned about the table being too big?’ Ben asked nervously, right outside the bedroom door.
‘Mmm?’ I replied, only half-listening. Come off, just come off! I was sweating and wincing at the pain of trying to force this damn ring over my finger without snapping a bone, just as the handle turned. I launched myself to the bedroom door and blockaded it using my body weight to keep Ben from getting in, all the while twisting and tugging at my hand that was now red and swelling up in pain.
‘You okay in there? I can’t get in!’ he called out through the wood.
‘Yeah, fine, just got boxes everywhere. I’ll be out in a sec,’ I called back, my voice strangely high-pitched and strangled.
I could hear him standing on the other side of the door for a few seconds longer, my head throbbing as much as my hand in fear at him coming in.
‘Oh right. I’ll pop the kettle on shall I?’
‘Yep, great, fine, thanks!’
Eventually, as I heard his footsteps on the wooden floors head back towards the kitchen, I let out a sigh of relief. My hand had now turned a strange shade of yellow with angry-looking red blotches from the force of me fighting with this damn ring. With one final tug, and a female tennis player style grunt, it flew off and skittered over to the other corner of the room. I leant my head against the door and tried to control my breathing. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, wincing at my sore finger. I quickly pulled myself together and shoved the ring back in its box, stuffing it back in the pocket where I’d found it.
A moment later the bedroom door opened. Ben was stood there holding out a steaming mug for me. ‘Here you go.’ I was sure his eyes widened at the mess I’d made in the bedroom. ‘You okay, babe?’
‘Ah thanks, yeah, all good. Right, let’s see your masterpiece!’ I said, pecking him on the cheek and shooing him out of the stuffy room, rubbing my sore hand behind my back.
‘Well, like I said, you might need to manage your expectations.’ He coughed. ‘It is a little larger than I’d… well, you’ll see…’ Ben trailed off.
I stopped still as I walked into the lounge. All thoughts of rings and wedding plans vanishing from my mind as I saw what he’d assembled. ‘A little larger?’ I gasped.
The dining-room table that had seemed so stylish in the showroom was now taking up pretty much all of our floor space. It looked ridiculous. I couldn’t concentrate on what he was sheepishly explaining. As he rambled on about measurements, sizes and dimensions, I zoned out and self-consciously rubbed my sore ring finger. Was this an omen? A sign of things to come? Our first proper adult purchase as a couple and it didn’t fit, just like the engagement ring? If that was the case then what the hell did that mean for us?
CHAPTER 3 (#ulink_4ede108a-66bc-5278-9b43-5deef64a0f9e)
Equanimity (n.) – Evenness of mind, especially under stress
You know how sometimes they say that when things are going well it is as if the stars are aligned and everything in the universe is exactly how it should be? But, the thing they don’t tell you is how precarious this configuration is, how it can all fall out of alignment at any second. Imagine a steel tightrope with everything perfectly balanced on this sturdy, but still pretty vulnerable wire; this was how my life seemed to me. Maybe I had been too smug, too content, but with the gift of hindsight I could see how a gust of wind, a heavy bird plonking its feathered butt on the high line, or even a slip of the tongue and a secret that was never meant to be shared, could cause all the elements that had previously been so perfectly positioned to tumble and free-fall from a dizzying height to the ground. How could I have known that the laws of physics – or whatever it was that had caused this chain of events – would be the start of the stars falling out of alignment, the start of everything going so very very wrong? How naïve I was.
*
Of course, these thoughts were far from my mind as I went to meet my best friend the next day to fill her in on the drama of discovering the ring, the upcoming proposal and the monstrous dining table taking over my lounge. With all that had happened yesterday – including Ben and me having a silly, bickering row over the sodding table and its elephantine dimensions, ending with me telling him that size does matter – I hadn’t given much thought to what discovering this engagement ring actually meant for us.
Of course, I’d be lying if I told you that I hadn’t, at various times since we met, imagined the wedding day that Ben and I might have. Him in a cool linen suit with his freckled nose, me in a simple but stunning long, floaty dress, both promising our vows as we stared adoringly at each other on an exotic, cashmere-soft, sandy beach. I’d imagined how he would be as a father: kind but fair, hands-on but not smothering.
As fun as these daydreams were – strangely I was always a slimmer, swishy-haired version of myself – we’d never really had deep discussions about babies and weddings. There had been light-hearted jokes at unusual baby names – Ben was on a one-man mission to bring back the name Roy, and I had laughed, but secretly hoped he’d been joking, just in case. But having children and marrying each other wasn’t completely outside the realm of possibility. I mean, we had successfully navigated working together as we ran our ever-growing travel and tour agency for broken-hearted singles, and so far living together had been a sickeningly easy breeze; but neither of us had spoken about marriage being on the cards. At least, not yet.
In a way I was grateful that I’d made the shocking ring discovery, to give me some time to get my head around the idea and figure out if I thought we were in the place Ben so obviously thought we were. Not that I didn’t want to marry my clever, kind, good-looking, amazing-in-the-bedroom boyfriend, of course, but because I’d been so badly burned after ending up a jilted bride before. I was meant to have married my ex, Alex; we’d had everything planned, paid for and organised but just before the big day he had revealed that he had been cheating on me and called the whole thing off. Him uttering those painful words ‘I can’t marry you’, had brought about the biggest change in my life.
I had gone backpacking, met Ben, fallen in love, started my own business and truly found that travel did heal a broken heart. I now believed that what Alex did was the best thing that ever happened to me. Not that it wasn’t heartbreaking and difficult – I mean, what girl wants to be told by someone they love and trust that actually they weren’t worthy enough to become their wife? But, over time, I felt like I’d healed myself and I had discovered that all those irritating clichés people harp on about, like time being the best healer, actually were true.
My life was so much better now than it had ever been, thanks in a large part to Ben and the success we’d made of our joint business. Maybe the non-wedding with Alex was all part of the plan – the rehearsal, if you will – for what would be the wedding of the year with Ben?
‘Will you take over pushing the buggy for a minute?’ Marie asked, breaking me from my bonkers bridal thoughts. ‘I’ve got cramp, another wonderful side effect of being with child,’ she grumbled.
We were slowly meandering around the local park – and I mean slowly; even the ducks were waddling faster than us. Marie was on her ‘get this baby out of me’ mission, and I’d completely forgotten that I’d agreed to support her until she called me this morning. Her due date was still weeks away but she was determined to deliver precisely on time. She’d been exactly the same with her toddler, Cole, her firstborn. Marie was having this baby on her due date, come hell or high water.
‘I don’t feel like I did with Cole, so I need to be upping my game to get this baby out of me,’ she said, as I took over wheeling his pushchair for a while over fallen branches and skirted round piles of dog poo. Marie had a crazed look in her eyes as she spoke. It was a look I remembered seeing when we were both eighteen and she was determined to finish the line of shots in Waverley’s bar in order to win a free T-shirt. Those luminous shooters never stood a chance.
‘Marie, it’s a baby. I know I’m not a world expert on the subject matter but don’t they kind of come when they’re ready?’
She glared at me. The mood swings were clearly still going strong. ‘Georgia Green, I may have developed haemorrhoids, darker nipples, and lost the ability to hold in my pee when I sneeze or cough or laugh, but this, this is something I know I can control.’ She looked like a determined Michelin Man under the many layers swaddling her neat bump as she waddled around.
‘I still can’t believe that you haven’t found out what you’re having.’
‘We’re having a baby, Georgia. Did no one tell you?’ She stuck her tongue out playfully.
‘Ha, bloody, ha. I mean, how have you not been desperate to know if it’s a girl or a boy? I’d certainly need to know if a teeny, weeny penis was currently growing inside me.’ I shuddered.
‘Well, we all know there have been enough of them inside me.’ She laughed, blushing at the carefree memories of her single days. ‘Nah, seriously though, I don’t want to ruin the surprise. It will make it even more magical when he or she does finally make an appearance.’ She put on that drowsy hippy voice that she used to use to imitate Lorraine with the lazy eye. Lazy-Eye Lorraine. She was an earth-mother type woman who ran the antenatal classes and got right on Marie’s nerves by implying that basically she’d been a lousy mum to Cole and that nowadays they did things differently. Everything was magical in Lorraine’s world.
Marie didn’t do ‘magical’; she did practical, and right now the most practical thing she could do was try her hardest to get her baby safely into the world on her due date. It was a mini achievement but still one way to show bog-eyed Lorraine that mummy Marie wasn’t a failure.
‘If you don’t know what you’re having then what have you been buying for it? Isn’t there some unwritten code of motherhood that you go all out and splash the cash on anything and everything pink for a girl or blue for a boy?’
Marie rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘It’s all about gender-neutral clothes for babies nowadays, so he or she is going to have a wardrobe filled with yellows, greens and whites. I just hope people will be able to tell what sex it is by the look of him, or her.’
I scoffed. ‘Well, if it was me I’d dress my baby only in teeny tiny Halloween costumes. That’s one way to do the gender-neutral look.’
She let out a burst of laughter. ‘Thank the Lord you’re not expecting then. I’m not sure how the baby would like to look back at their first year of life to realise they were dressed as a pumpkin or a bat for most of it.’
‘Yeah, maybe, but how cute! God, Marie, it’s just mad to think that soon he or she will be here sharing this buggy with Cole.’ I felt this strange tingle in my chest as I said it. Everything was changing. My best friend’s life would never be the same again. When she was pregnant with Cole we had spent ages imagining what he would be like, how he would grow into an actual person with a personality, and what becoming a mum, rather than just being Marie, would be like. I guess a small and selfish part of me had worried that I’d be sidelined from our friendship once she had this other human who was the complete centre of her world. How could her best friend ever compete with that?
They say a mother’s love is like no other, but not having a child I could only understand that from a rational perspective. Now we were on the edge of her life changing again, but this time I was less concerned with how I was going to fit in, and instead focused on the fact that my life was about to change, too.
‘I know.’ She smiled tiredly. ‘And then Operation Skinny Jeans is back on.’
I frowned at her.
‘Don’t give me that look! I’m not going to be going all A-List celeb and ping straight back but I am desperate to feel like my body is my own again. Plus, if I’m going to meet my five-year plan then I need to be getting trim for the big day.’
‘This big day that Mike knows nothing about,’ I teased, then let out a deep sigh. ‘It’s amazing to think that a few years ago we were both in such different places – and yet somehow exactly the same – as where we are now. What with you popping out sproglets and me…about to get engaged…’
It took a few moments for this to click in.
‘Oh my God! What? You’re getting married!’ Marie’s squeals made a lone dog walker jump from the other side of the lake. My ring finger throbbed in memory of the torture it had been under as she mentioned the M word.
‘Shush! You’re going to wake Cole!’ I glanced down at her toddler son, wrapped up in blankets in his buggy. He remained fast asleep with just his pink nose and angel-bud lips peeking out of the many covers she had piled on him earlier.
‘Tell me everything!’ She’d stopped in her tracks and snatched up my hand to hunt for any sign of bling. ‘Wait – where’s the ring?’
‘Well, okay, so I’m not engaged yet. But I will be…’
She stared at me, blank faced, as if I’d totally lost the plot. ‘You what?’
I sighed and told her about the trip to Ikea, the unpacking, finding the ring and damaging the nerves in my finger from the force of trying to get it off before Ben caught me.
‘Wow, so what was it like?’
‘Dreamy.’ I hugged myself without realising it.
‘Better than the last one you got?’ She raised an eyebrow.
I pulled myself together. ‘Yes, actually.’
She nodded slowly, thinking of how to word the next question. ‘Are you ready to do all of that again? You know, with what happened last time?’ she eventually asked, leaving a whisper of breath hanging in the air.
