Jack started. ‘Ok, what would you save in a fire?’
‘Besides you, of course?’
‘Thank god. I think you get some bonus points for that.’
I thought for a moment. ‘My picture of Grandma. Easy.’ It was the first thing I’d put up when we’d moved into this flat: a colour photo of my grandma from when she was in her thirties, back in Nigeria, in a pair of black slacks and an emerald green sweater, laughing over her shoulder at someone just beside the photographer. Although I wouldn’t be born until a few decades after that photo was taken, it was how I remembered her: smiling, beautiful, with the same dark bronze skin my mum, sisters and I had all inherited, and the same long arms. I remembered them wrapped around me when I was little, when she’d tell me stories and teach me about life, chuckling through her soft accent and keeping me safe from everything in the world.
I’d had the photo mounted in a frame to match her sweater, and the feeling of her looking over us as we’d moved into that little flat had felt like a blessing she could no longer give in person. She’d died when I was eleven, and I still thought of her almost every day.
‘Right!’ I shook myself. ‘My turn. What’s your dream job?’
‘Honestly? Probably this one. I love the shop. It took me a long time to get it all together, to get Henderson’s to where we are now. So … this. You?’
‘Same. I love my job. I don’t know if I’ll do it forever, but it’s certainly the thing that gives me the most pleasure.’
Jack coughed.
‘Except you, of course?’
‘Better.’
I offered him the list to take his turn. ‘Right. Where would you like to live in the world, if not here?’
‘Berlin!’ I said, without hesitation.
‘Of course. Your favourite.’
‘Would you? Live there?’
‘Yeah.’ Jack thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, I definitely would, although I can’t imagine how that’ll ever come about – I can’t imagine how I’d ever leave the shop. But of all the places in the world, besides London, Berlin is probably where I’d most like to go.’
‘Maybe when we’re old, then?’
‘Deal.’
We carried on with the list for another hour or so, and it was a strangely enjoyable time. We talked about children (we both want a couple, but not for a few years), films (the fact that he picked neither The Godfather nor The Shawshank Redemption reminded me how much I loved him), religion (him: lapsed Catholic; me: pretty agnostic, despite Mum’s best efforts), food (him: my mum’s rice; me: beef wellington followed by chocolate mousse) and houses (we both dream of a magic house with a garden and a big bright kitchen and large windows, and which never raises any concerns about leaky guttering or cracking plaster or subsidence. Like I said, magic). The whole questionnaire forced us into enough of that emotional intimacy stuff that by the time we went to bed, let’s just say I didn’t have to undress myself.
On Saturday, I could hear Jack clattering about in the living room, moving all the wedding gift boxes around.
‘Zo, what are we going to do with all this stuff? We don’t want any of it.’
‘Except the coffee machine.’
‘Yes, except the coffee machine.’ I could hear it humming away in the background as I joined him, and we looked at the endless repacked boxes of someone else’s wedding presents.
‘What if we return all this stuff and find out no one’s bought us anything?’ I was beginning to regret the pact we’d made not to look at what gifts had been picked off our wedding list.
‘Zo, I’m reasonably sure that at least one of your sisters will have got us something. And Iffy. So that’s two. Liz?’
‘Fine. So will you call the place and have them come and collect it?’ I pleaded, batting my eyelashes at him.
Jack winked at me, and a few minutes later I could hear him speaking in his most charming tones to someone in customer services, explaining the confusion about the boxes and how, in all the mix-up, the coffee machine had been opened and used before we’d realised the mistake.
‘Oh, really? Really? Wow, that’s awfully kind. Are you sure? Wow, that’s really, really kind of you. Thanks so much. Yes, tomorrow would be absolutely fine, we’ll make sure at least one of us is in. Yup, thanks so much. Ok. Bye.’ He hung up, and did a tiny dance.
‘Well?’
‘They said we should keep the coffee machine as an apology from them for their error, and they’d make sure all the other gifts and a new machine made it to the other couple.’
‘Sweeeeeeet.’
‘I know. What can I say – the gods were smiling on us for our wedding day.’
I looked at the boxes again. ‘But who is this other couple? How can they have so much need for tweed sofa cushions and garden kneelers and – oh my god. Do you think they’re old?’
‘Uh-oh. Have an older couple married? Ugh, maybe they’re doing it. That’s gross. I’ll call the police – quick, pass me your phone.’
‘No. It’s nice. It’s nice that an older couple might be still so …’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know, marrying when you need a garden kneeler. Optimistic?’
‘Maybe they’re not an older couple. Maybe they’re Tories.’
‘Nah, I don’t have the energy for the sabotage of the boxes that particular truth would warrant. Let’s just imagine they’re a happy couple of indeterminate age who enjoy gardening and rabbits and tweed.’
‘And coffee.’
‘Well, not while we’ve got their espresso machine, they don’t.’
Jack handed me another perfect cup of coffee (by now he’d mastered the art of the coffee machine), and headed off to dress for the shop while I stared at the chaos around us.
* * *
I tried as hard as I could, blinded with rage as I was, but I couldn’t rip an entire catalogue in half. It was simply too thick.
‘What are you doing?’
I looked up, sweating slightly, from where I was half crouched by the table beside the door. I thrust the catalogue at Jack, who had just come in with the Saturday papers.
‘Yes, good, a babywear catalogue.’ He paused, and blinked at me. ‘Wait. What have you got this for?’
‘That’s what I want to know!’ I realised I was shouting, and tried to pull my volume down a notch. ‘I don’t know why it’s here! Why is it in our flat? Why has it got my name on it?’
‘Did you order it?’
‘No, I didn’t fucking order it! Do you not think if I’d ordered it this mystery might have been solved a bit quicker? I didn’t order it, I don’t want it, and I definitely don’t know why it’s in my fucking flat!’
‘Zo. Zoe!’ I looked at Jack. ‘It’s just a catalogue. It’s ok.’
‘It’s not ok! This never happened before we got married! Ever! But suddenly, somewhere, someone’s ticked some “married” box against my name and I’m Mrs Bestwick all of a sudden, who’s into babies and … wicker wine bottle holders and washable floral sofa covers and genuine porcelain models of royal babies—’ I realised Jack was trying not to laugh.
‘You didn’t really get a catalogue of porcelain royal babies, did you?’
I bit my smile back too. ‘No. But I bet it’s on its way.’
Jack pulled me into a hug. ‘That’s grim. I’m sorry they’re doing this.’
‘But it doesn’t happen to you, does it? You haven’t been getting any mail for Mr Lewis, have you? You’re not suddenly getting letters about joining your local Shed Club, are you?’
‘Not … exactly.’
‘Not exactly?’
‘It’s the ads on my computer. I used to get … holidays. And fashion brands. And … I don’t know, cars and shit. Now I get terrifying ads about leaving your family without a will, and life insurance, and health insurance, and mortgage deals. I know it’s not the same, but someone’s ticked a box against my name somewhere too.’
‘That son of a bitch.’
‘I know. And one day, we’ll hunt them down—’
‘Tell me more.’
‘And we’ll force them—’
‘Yes.’
‘To read all the spam and junk mail they’ve sent to us.’
I gasped.
‘I know, I know, strong words. But these people will never learn otherwise.’
I put my head on his shoulder. ‘This bit of twenty-first-century life is weird enough – unsolicited messages from companies who presume to know us best. But when it’s a name I don’t use and stuff that’s got nothing to do with where we are in our lives …’
‘I know. It’s weird.’ He kissed the top of my head. ‘Come on, let’s go and do something fun and fancy-free which we can look back on nostalgically when we’re old and decrepit.’
‘Like interacting in person with other humans? Seeing family?’
‘You got it, kid. Your mum’s expecting us within the hour. Shall we do it?’
We grabbed our stuff and starting heading out the door.
‘Hang on – one question. You did actually do all that wills and health insurance stuff though, didn’t you?’
Jack looked at me. ‘God yeah. Clicked right on through and tapped my bank details in straight away. I might not be a boring middle-aged husband and father yet, Zo, but I’m no idiot. You need to fill in your stuff, by the way.’
I grabbed my bag. ‘Cool. Please will you leave me everything except your cigar collection?’
‘Those are very valuable cigars!’
‘They were very valuable cigars. I suspect that after keeping them in a box in a bag at the bottom of our old flat’s damp wardrobe, they’re now the world’s most expensive firelighters.’
‘Hmmm, fine. But you have to make sure your section of our will is super detailed. If I’m dealing with the grief of losing you, I don’t think I can handle your sisters falling out over who gets your Chanel handbag on top of that.’
I laughed, although our laughter felt sad. I couldn’t be without Jack, even in a hypothetical future. I kissed him again, and he wrapped his arms around me, breathing in deeply.
‘Come on,’ he said at last. ‘All that face-to-face family fun isn’t going to enjoy itself.’
‘I love you,’ I said. And I knew that whatever was to come, I did.
At Mum and Dad’s, we were the last to arrive. Esther’s husband, Ethan, had three-year-old William in the lounge, sticking flat plastic jewels onto a congratulations card for Kat. Ethan waved and grinned at us, which made William turn around and race over, grabbing Jack by the legs before trying to shimmy up him, eventually holding his hands up to be carried. I smiled as Jack and William babbled to each other, thinking of that baby catalogue I had no intention of needing in the near future, and left Ethan to continue carefully sticking decorations onto his son’s smudgy, wonky card.
In the kitchen, Mum, Dad, Kat, Ava and Esther were all gathered around the kitchen table, chopping vegetables, stirring bowls, pouring mugs of tea, snatching tastes of things and arguing amicably.
‘Jack! Zoe! You’re here at last, my darlings. Now we can all celebrate!’ Mum came over and kissed us both, hugging us and handing us steaming cups of tea from a tray.
‘Er, excuse me, haven’t we just celebrated those two at their wedding? Didn’t we in fact spend a whole day celebrating them? They got gifts and everything. I believe it’s now—’ Kat pointed to herself. ‘Kat Time.’
I moved around the table to hug her. ‘Congratulations, Kat. I am all in for some celebratory Kat Time: we brought wine …’
Kat grabbed it in one hand and hugged me back with her free arm.
‘And flowers for the prima donna, and flowers for you too, Mum. Thanks for having us all!’
‘Oh, darling, it is family! It is my pleasure to have you all here, and see your happy faces. Maybe one day you will know that feeling for yourself …’
I looked at Jack who very deliberately didn’t look at me, just stood with his hand frozen halfway to the crisp bowl, his nostrils flaring in panic. I laughed again at his exaggerated terror and he unfroze, smiling back at me conspiratorially.
‘Mum!’ said Esther. ‘Leave the poor girl alone. She’s only been married five minutes.’
‘Oh, you young girls, you think you know everything better than your mother. It is always the same-same with you!’
‘Come on, love.’ Dad pulled Mum into a one-armed hug. ‘Let’s leave these youngsters to tidy up in here, since they know so much better. Your grandson’s in the other room, and I don’t think he’s realised how little we know yet.’ He turned and winked at us all over his shoulder as he led Mum out. Then he put on a stern tone, adding to us, ‘You better do a good job in here, or you’ll have me to answer to.’ As Mum made her way into the front room, he whispered, ‘Oh, and your mum’s done some lovely ginger snaps, in the tin in the cupboard. Don’t tell her I told you, though.’
Kat and I raced to the cupboard to get the tin out first; she beat me to it, but she needed two hands to open it, so I got the first biscuit. ‘Aha!’ I muttered triumphantly, only to see her stuff four biscuits into her mouth at once in retaliation. I shook my head at her. ‘I hope you’re not going to behave like that at your new job.’
‘What is it anyway, if I’m allowed to ask?’ Ava said, dipping a biscuit into her tea with her enviable quiet grace. Ava, the second oldest of us, was a social worker, but far too kind to ever assume everyone else’s jobs weren’t just as important as hers.
‘It’s a digital marketing agency, and I’ll be in planning and management. It’s unbelievably boring to describe, and I can’t believe I made it through the interview without gagging at some of the buzzwords I had to use—’
‘How bad was it?’ I asked.
‘I had to strategise the outcrop of dissolving mindsets in a twenty-second-century digital mob.’
Jack bit his fist, looking comically panicked.
‘Exactly. But the money’s good, and I do actually like the work, just not having to talk about it. I suppose I’ll get immune to that soon enough, at which point you’ll just have to stop speaking to me.’
Esther took another biscuit. ‘Are you nervous?’
Kat chuckled. ‘Have we met? They’re the ones who ought to be nervous. I am going to boss it. But you guys can see for yourselves – it’s their annual family day next month, where all the employees can bring in their partners or kids or parents or whatever. I guess you twenty-second-century digital mob will have to do.’
‘When is it?’ Esther said, fishing out her phone. We all checked our calendars: Jack and I had a date with Iffy and his girlfriend that we couldn’t get out of, but Esther and Ava promised to report back everything about the company.
‘And let me know what her boss is like. If he’s smoking, etc.,’ I said. Jack coughed politely at my elbow. ‘I meant for Ava!’ I insisted, pointing to her. ‘I meant for her.’ Kat snorted at me, and Jack gave me a kiss on my hand, before releasing it to grab another biscuit himself.
Wednesday was an exhausting day at school – the revving up to reports time and parents’ evenings had begun in earnest, with no consideration for how many hours we actually had in our days – and all I wanted to do was curl up on the sofa with Jack. I made myself a cup of tea and sat down, ready to finally exhale the day, but Jack doubled back to the sink.
‘Zo, you do realise that I literally just finished doing the washing up, don’t you?’
‘Um … thanks?’
‘You just dumped your teabag and teaspoon in here – it would have taken you five seconds to wash that spoon.’
‘And it’ll take me five seconds to wash it once I’ve actually sat down for five seconds too. It’s not going anywhere.’
‘I know it isn’t! Unless I wash it up.’ He looked exasperated.
‘Jack, I really didn’t leave it there for you to wash up. I’m knackered and I just want to sit down with you for a little while. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.’ I sig
hed.
‘I know you don’t mean anything by it. That’s the problem.’
‘Jack! Please don’t be a dick about it?’
Jack rubbed his face with his hands. ‘I’m pretty sure if you’d just spent an hour on a boring chore you’d be delighted to hear me calling you a dick.’
‘I didn’t call you a dick! And I thought you liked washing up.’
Jack almost laughed. ‘I don’t like washing up! This isn’t the hugest flat in the entire world, and I like living in a clean and tidy house, so I make sure there’s not dirty laundry and dirty plates and dirty cutlery piled up everywhere! It’s hardly a disorder. So no, I don’t like washing up. I just understand that it needs to be done, and that, unlike some people, I don’t have a magical fairy who comes and does it all while I sit on the sofa and reflect on my day.’
‘Please, I’m sorry,’ I said, feeling sick at how this argument was rolling out of my reach. ‘Didn’t we say we wouldn’t still bicker about chores once we were married?’ I didn’t want to get into a lifetime habit of debating my teabags being dumped in the sink.
‘No one’s waved a wand to make housework go away, Zo. It still needs to be done. It just depends on how much you’re willing to pay attention to that. Because I hate living in a pigsty.’
‘Our flat is always tidy! It’s never a pigsty!’
‘Because I never let it get that bad!’
‘We can’t keep arguing about this for the rest of our lives!’ I yelled.
Neither of us said anything, letting my last comment echo around us.
‘Right,’ Jack said, washing up my spoon. ‘I’m actually pretty tired so I’m going to go to bed now. Are you coming?’
‘I … I need a bit of time to unwind. I’ve only just got in.’
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