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‘No way, I want to surprise them,’ he insists, opening the front door for me.
‘You’re an idiot sometimes, do you know that?’ I ask rhetorically, around the same time my parents both yell ‘surprise’ and fire party poppers in our direction.
I watch as their faces fall, their beaming grins slipping away into nothing. The room falls silent, but only for a second.
‘Hello,’ I say warmly. My parents follow suit and greet me with a hug.
‘Everything OK?’ my mum asks.
‘Oh, we’re fine,’ I reply honestly. ‘I’m just teasing Mark over a questionable decision.’
I give my hubby-to-be a playful nudge. He’s impossible to be mad at.
‘We’ll ask no more,’ my dad says before pulling Mark in for a handshake/hug. ‘Come here, you. Congratulations. And thank you, we didn’t think anyone would be taking this one off our hands.’
‘Hey,’ I laugh. ‘What do you mean “off your hands”? I moved out when I was eighteen.’
I’ve always wanted to be independent, even when I was a little kid. My mum, liking to think she’s a bit of a psychologist, puts this down to my being an only child. I don’t know what the reason is; all I know is that I feel more comfortable doing things for myself. That’s why I can’t let Mark pay for everything. That’s why I spent years living in that tiny hellhole with Gil, so that I could take care of myself while I was working my way up the career ladder. It’s good, though, because I can be proud of everything I’ve worked for, and know that I’ve done it all on my own.
‘Yeah, we just never thought you’d be the marrying kind,’ my dad explains. There’s a smile on his face, but it sounds like there’s a little truth in there. ‘You know, being so career-minded, your wild nights out… We’re just so pleased you’ve got Mark and that he takes care of you.’
I feel my brow furrow at the thought of needing someone taking care of me, but I suppose he’s right that Mark does do his best to take care of me, and I wouldn’t change the way he is for anything. To have someone give so much of a shit about you feels amazing.
‘I’d say we should crack open a bottle, but with Mark driving… I’ll put kettle on?’ my dad suggests, clapping his hands as he jumps to his feet.
‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Mark replies. Being a typical Yorkshire lad, Mark loves a good cup of tea, whereas I’m more of a coffee person.
As soon as the men are out of the room, my mum sits on the sofa next to me and grabs my hand.
‘That is one beautiful ring,’ she gushes.
As I examine my hand, I can’t help but agree. My boy not only has great taste, but he knows me so well. So well, that he knows I’ve been on a rose-gold kick for as long as I can remember, and when I happened to mention that I liked the look of champagne sapphires – my boy was listening carefully.
At the time, he laughed. He said that some girls demanded platinum rings with a big rock of a diamond in there, but I told him I didn’t care about that. Well, I don’t. If I’m going to wear a ring every day, it should be something that I actually want to wear every day, because I think it looks cool, not because it’s expensive. It would seem that, as a compromise, Mark opted for a rose-gold ring with a big, champagne sapphire, surrounded by diamonds. I might not have wanted a ridiculously expensive ring (mostly because I’m so clumsy and forgetful), but Mark insisted I deserved it. I’m wearing it right now, because I imagine it would look pretty bad if I didn’t, but as soon as we’re back home I’ll probably just lock it away in the safe and wear something cheap as a placeholder. Something I can accidentally leave in a bathroom or fling straight off my finger as I gesture wildly while I’m telling a story at work.
‘So, time to meet the in-laws,’ my mum says, pulling a face.
‘What does that face mean?’ I laugh.
‘I just remember meeting your dad’s family for the first time,’ she recalls. ‘Your Grandma Pratt did not like me at all. Straight away, from the moment she met me, that was it – instant dislike.’
‘I never knew that,’ I reply.
‘Well, while she was alive, it didn’t seem fair to badmouth your gran to you, and we did eventually find a way to tolerate each other…’
‘Mum, this is not helping at all.’
My mum thinks for a moment, like she’s wracking her brains for some words of comfort for me.
‘Your Uncle Ben’s wedding was only a few weeks before you were born. Now, you were a big baby, so by this stage I was huge and I was heavy. I spent ages looking for the right outfit, and some shoes that I could actually walk in because I’d been living in trainers, and there was no way I could wear trainers to a wedding, not without your gran having a pop at me. So I got this long, green dress, and it was nice, but I was just so big, I didn’t exactly look like a Victoria’s Secret model in it, and I got these black shoes that had a bit of a heel on them – best I could do if I wanted to be able to walk.’
‘That’s fair enough,’ I reply. ‘Who would criticise the outfit of a pregnant woman?’
‘Your gran,’ my mum says with a laugh. ‘She told me that I looked like a hill, and that my shoes looked like orthopaedic aids for correcting what she called “wonky feet”.’
‘That’s harsh,’ I admit, suddenly not finding things so funny.
‘It was OK, though,’ my mum continues. ‘Because later that night your gran took a tumble in the ridiculously high heels she was wearing and ended up with a shiner of a black eye. So whenever she was horrible to me, to cheer myself up, I would watch the video of her gliding face-first across the dance floor. Suddenly, things wouldn’t seem too bad.’
I gasp.
‘Mum, I can’t believe you’re saying that.’
‘What? She was an old bag. She suggested I put you on a diet when you were two years old. God rest her soul,’ my mum hastily adds.
‘Whose soul are we resting?’ my dad asks, carrying a tray of mugs into the room, Mark not far behind him with a plate of biscuits.
‘Your mother’s,’ my mum replies, taking a cup of coffee from him.
‘Aw, if only she knew how missed she was,’ my dad says wistfully with a smile.
‘If only,’ my mum replies with a smile of her own.
I’d always kind of figured that my mum and my gran didn’t really get along that well, but I never realised she made comments like that to my mum. Is the urban legend of the evil mother-in-law not a legend at all? But that can’t be true. Sure, that’s the way things are in movies, and maybe my gran did make a few remarks to my mum, but maybe her outfit was rubbish, and I was a chubby toddler – I still am, in some ways.
My mum, ever the actress, is obviously embellishing – but with perfect comedic timing, as usual. Growing up with actor parents was interesting, to say the least. For one thing, their poker faces were flawless. When I was misbehaving, and they would pull up alongside the local children’s home saying they were going to give me away, I believed them! They really sold it, and I would instantly cease whatever I was doing that was causing them stress. Their easy confidence wasn’t always my favourite thing either, especially when it came to having friends around or school events. It was like they were always performing, always the centre of attention, always cracking jokes. It did have its plus points, too, though. They definitely told the best bedtime stories when I was younger, often working together to put on a performance at the end of my bed, and they were the ‘coolest’ parents a teenager could hope to have.
‘So, what did Gil make of the news?’ my mum asks.
Gil, a serial player, has never been big on the idea of monogamy, and he couldn’t hide his disappointment when I ‘caught it from Mark’ as he so beautifully put it. While he does adore Mark, and has always been happy for the two of us, we might have a problem…
‘Shit!’ I exclaim. ‘I forgot to tell him.’
‘You didn’t tell your best friend?’ Mark laughs. ‘That makes me even for not telling my parents.’
‘You haven’t told your parents?’ my mum echoes. ‘Why ever not?’
‘I want to surprise them,’ he replies, that cheeky smile of his more persuasive than ever. I don’t know if it’s the cute dimples planted perfectly on his handsome face that just give him this look, like he could get away with murder exclusively because you forgave him, just because he smiled at you. Mark’s smile will be my downfall, I’m just weak for it.
‘Well, that will be a nice surprise for your future mother-in-law,’ my mum tells me. There’s a smug look of warning in her eyes.
I metaphorically bite my lip.
‘I need to call Gil and tell him,’ I say, grabbing my phone.
‘Call him on loudspeaker,’ my dad insists. ‘We miss him.’
As instructed, I call Gil on loudspeaker so that everyone can talk to him, because everyone loves Gil. I find this especially hilarious, because other than me, my family, his family and a very small percentage of his friendship circle, Gil hates everyone. Perhaps it’s an actor thing – and, if it is, it’s very telling of how talented he is – but Gil has the ultimate fake smile, and he uses it to get away with saying whatever he wants, straight to a person’s face, and it confuses them so much, they don’t even realise he’s offending them. I remember when I lived with him, and I was dating this guy who had a bit of a body odour problem, and Gil just couldn’t keep quiet about it. He would spray him with deodorant, that big smile plastered across his face as he did it, asking him if he liked the way it smelt – multiple times, just to make sure he got an informed opinion from him. One time the smelly guy (as Gil has always referred to him behind his back) said that he was tired, so Gil told him to go home and have a nice, long bath. An insult, if you really think about it, but coming from Gil everything sounds charming. I guess you should never underestimate the power of a good smile.
‘Hello, stranger,’ Gil answers.
‘Hey, mister, how are you?’ I ask, holding back my exciting news as best I can for as long as I can.
‘Same old, same old,’ he tells me. ‘You?’
‘Mark asked me to marry him,’ I squeak.
‘Roxie, that’s amazing,’ he replies. ‘You said yes, right?’
‘Erm, obviously,’ I laugh.
As I exchange glances with Mark and my parents, I can not only tell that Gil is sincerely happy for me, but that everyone else that matters to me is happy too. Nothing could ruin this perfect moment.
‘I should’ve known you’d say yes,’ Mark continues. ‘Remember that time you called me up and said he’d made you orgasm, like, eight times in a row? I knew then that you’d never let him go. Plus, when you told me how well-endowed he was…’
I quickly hit the button that takes my phone off loudspeaker, cutting Gil off, but still very much shutting the stable door after the (well-hung) horse has bolted.
I laugh awkwardly.
‘Anyway, call you later,’ I babble, hanging up.
Mark, bless him, looks mortified, but my parents see the funny side. Not only because they’re used to Gil, but because – I told you – they’re cool.
My dad slaps Mark on the back playfully, laughing wildly.
‘I can’t believe you find this funny,’ Mark says, his body still looking a little stiff with fear. ‘Shouldn’t you be punching me in the face?’
‘Why?’ my dad laughs. ‘You clearly make my daughter very happy.’
I laugh, but I still find this embarrassing. I should’ve known the loudspeaker was a terrible idea.
‘Man, you guys are great,’ Mark says, relaxing. ‘My parents aren’t like you guys at all.’
I feel a pang of panic. I’ve been brought up around my parents; they’re the only kind of parents I’m used to.
‘Why? What are you parents like?’ I ask. I can’t believe I’ve never asked, but you know what it’s like when you start dating someone. As fast as things were moving, I still didn’t want to seem like a psycho, asking loads of weird questions.
‘The opposite to yours,’ Mark laughs. ‘You guys are so cool and easygoing. The way you laughed about what Gil said – my parents would not find that funny at all. They’re quite traditional, they don’t swear – I don’t swear when I’m around them. My dad would blow his top if he heard me swear, even now.’
I wouldn’t say that I swore excessively, but I do swear both often and casually – on autopilot, really.
‘So I shouldn’t swear in front of your parents,’ I reiterate.
‘It would be better if you didn’t,’ Mark laughs. ‘Don’t look so worried, you’ll be fine. You have a real adult job where you function perfectly,’ he reminds me.
‘Except I don’t,’ I tell him, anxiously. ‘I know I’ve had a good day at the office if I’ve written some fire dick puns. And I don’t need to worry about swearing in front of my boss because, one time, she genuinely shouted across the office at me to demand I write a top five list of things to put up your butt during sex.’
‘I’d be interested to read that,’ my mum whispers softly, leaning over to me – see what I mean about her perfect comic timing?
‘You don’t need to worry,’ Mark stresses, grabbing a biscuit from the table.
I think for a moment. If he isn’t worried, then why am I? Because he knows what his parents are like, and he knows what I’m like – better than I know myself – and if he thinks I’ll be fine around them, then I’m sure I will be, right?
So why am I still so worried?
Chapter Six (#u0f9fcdab-6024-58a5-8290-1252fe7d89b1)
I wake up suddenly, cold, starving and disorientated – and with a pain in my back from sitting in a car for too long; but as I look out of my window and take in all the greenery, I have to admit that Yorkshire is beautiful. Despite it being a cold December day, I can still appreciate the scenery.
‘So this is Yorkshire…’ I say, stretching my aching back.
‘No, this is the M1. We haven’t been on the road for an hour yet, Roxie,’ Mark informs me with a chuckle.
‘You’re kidding?’ I reply. ‘Oh, my God, I’m so bored. Car journeys are so boring. And I’m so hungry!’
‘You’re so like a child,’ Mark replies. ‘You ate maybe six chocolate digestives little more than an hour ago. You can’t be hungry.’
‘Well, I am. Hungry and bored. Are we going to stop along the way?’
‘Well, I was going to try and make the entire journey without stopping, so that we had longer to spend with my parents today, but if we do stop, the plan was to be at least half of the way there by then.’
I pull an unimpressed face, tapping my nails impatiently on the dashboard. Ergh, this journey is going to be so long. And what is Mark even listening to? He’s got Radio 4 on; it’s so boring.
I lean over and change the station to Radio 1, but the latest X Factor winner’s single isn’t doing much to lift my mood either.
‘Hey, I was listening to the weather forecast,’ Mark informs me.
‘They’re only talking about how cold it’s going to be – it’s depressing.’
‘Come on, what’s up? Are you still anxious?’
‘I’m very anxious,’ I reply honestly. ‘I’m just so freaked out by all of this.’
‘Maybe it will help if I tell you more about my family. I know I’ve told you bits and pieces before, but I’ll give you a recap. How does that sound?’
‘That would be good, thank you,’ I reply.
‘So we’ve got my mum and dad, Valerie and Oscar, and my two sisters, Millie and Mel.’
‘Millie, Mark and Mel,’ I giggle.
‘Erm, Mildred, Marcus and Melody,’ he corrects me with a laugh. ‘And you thought Roxie was bad.’
‘Will anyone else be there?’
‘Yeah, Millie’s husband, Alex, and Mel’s boyfriend, Ste. Alex is cool – a bit boring, but you don’t worry about the sister that marries a boring doctor, you worry about the one who winds up with twat after twat… which brings me on to Ste.’
‘You don’t like him, do you?’
