I Heart London

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘Whatever you want to do, we’ll do.’ She squeezed her fingers together very slightly and gave a curt nod. ‘I love you.’

  If I hadn’t been completely and utterly overwhelmed before, I certainly was now.

  ‘I love you too,’ I said, having a little cry. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been a shit daughter.’

  ‘Oh, hush.’ Mum was dangerously close to getting emotional − I could see it in her face. ‘We’re ridiculously proud of you. How many of your cousins have gone off to America and started their own magazine and found a husband?’

  ‘Three?’ I wasn’t entirely sure but it seemed unlikely.

  ‘Very funny.’ She gave me a serious look. ‘We’re so proud of you. Me and your dad.’

  All I wanted to do was give her a hug and go back to bed, possibly with some crisps. Definitely with a cup of tea. But that wasn’t on the cards.

  ‘Angela?’ Without even knocking at the front door, my next nightmare barged right into the kitchen. ‘Angela? I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Mark?’ My mum sounded considerably more surprised than I was. I was just waiting for my Year Nine maths teacher and our postman to show up. Neither of them liked me much either. ‘You’re either half an hour early or about two years too late.’

  Ha. My mum was funny.

  ‘Mrs Clark,’ he said, nodding at her awkwardly. ‘I need to have a quick word with Ange, if that’s OK.’

  ‘She’ll do what she wants,’ my mum said, giving me a cautious look. ‘Whatever she wants.’ And with that she excused herself politely and went to sit in the conservatory, watching us like a well-dressed hawk.

  ‘What do you want, Mark?’ I asked, running another glass of water and wondering what my make-up looked like by now. I didn’t feel so much like I’d been for a light jog as a sweaty marathon, and I could only imagine my make-up said the same. ‘I haven’t got a lot of time.’ I gestured down at my frock. ‘Getting married and stuff.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about.’ He took a deep breath and straightened his tie. I looked at my hoodie and bare feet. At least one of us was properly attired for a wedding. ‘You can’t get married.’

  ‘Is that right?’ I asked. I was tired. Was it too late for a nap? ‘Well, thank goodness someone let me know before I made a right cock of myself.’

  Mark grabbed my wrist. The fact that I had a glass of water in the other hand was the only thing that stopped me swinging for him. ‘I’ve been thinking about it ever since I saw you the other day, and you can’t do it − you can’t marry this bloke.’ He looked so sincere I almost laughed.

  ‘Any particular reason why?’ I asked through gritted teeth.

  ‘I just can’t stand by and watch you make a mistake,’ he said, stepping towards me and putting both of his hands on my shoulders. He got a palm full of baby sick for his trouble.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s not mine,’ I said as he held his hand up and pulled a face. I tore off some kitchen towel and wiped it off for him. Maybe I would make a good mum after all. ‘Do carry on.’

  ‘I’ve known you a long time, Angela,’ he carried on, starting what sounded very much like a prepared speech. ‘And I know I made a mistake and that cost me my future with you, but I can’t sit here and watch you do this. Watch you throw your life away over some silly rebound crush.’

  And now I was mad.

  ‘Silly rebound crush?’ I repeated quietly. ‘Can you hear yourself? You can’t mean it, surely.’

  ‘We were together for ten years,’ Mark replied. ‘And yes, I know I cocked up, but just because I broke your heart doesn’t mean you should mess up your life.’

  Just because he broke my heart? Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear indeed.

  ‘Right. I haven’t gone mad or fallen into a coma or woken up to find out the last two years have been a dream, so I’ll assume this is actually happening,’ I said, taking his hands off my shoulders and dropping them right back by his sides. ‘So I’ll be brief and, if I may, blunt. Mark, are you here to declare your undying love for me?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ he stuttered. ‘But I, um, there are still some feelings there, aren’t there?’

  ‘And so you think, what − I should call off my wedding to the American loser and move back to England for you?’ I asked, using every ounce of self-control I had to manage my rage.

  ‘You’re going to come back eventually,’ he said, starting to look a bit less sure of himself. Which was a first. ‘And I’m not saying we should get back together, but maybe we should, you know, see what happens?’

  ‘You want me to come home and be your bit on the side while you decide whether you want to drop your other bit on the side and get back together with me?’ Anger rising, control slipping. ‘Jesus, Mark − you were so much better at cheating on me than you are at the grand romantic gesture. In case you were wondering, this is neither grand, nor romantic.’

  That was the push he did not need. For the second time that week, Mark lunged at me with an ill-advised kiss, catching me off guard. But this time I didn’t have a bag in my hand. I had a shoe. And I was lethal with a shoe.

  ‘Fucking hell!’ he shouted as I grabbed my Louboutin heel and flattened his knuckles with the heel. ‘You’ve broken my fucking hand!’

  ‘And I should have done it two years ago,’ I shouted back. ‘You owe Tim an apology. Now fuck off home.’

  ‘Angela, Alex is here! He cannot see you in your dress! Get out of the kitchen,’ Jenny yelled down the stairs. ‘Now!’

  My choices were behind the settee or into the garden. Lady that I was, I chose the garden. With one last seething glance at Mark, I took off. Running across the only glass-free part of the lawn, I headed straight for Dad’s shed, snatched open the door and slammed it shut behind me. I was breathing hard and heavy, my hair was now coming loose, and I still had my shoe in my hand. People could say whatever they wanted about the price of Louboutins, but you could not argue against the fact that they made a fabulous weapon.

  The shed was far more inviting in daylight than it had been a few nights before. Dad had done a nice job of kitting it out. If the worst came to the worst, I could probably hide out in here for what, a few months? The first thing I did was open the contraband drawer. I ignored the tin of terror and instead grabbed the little bottle of whisky he had hiding in there. Just in case.

  I watched Mark emerge from the conservatory, presumably looking for me, clutching his shattered hand. I shrank away from the window and waited for him to leave. But he didn’t leave. He just stood in the middle of the garden like, well, like a spare prick at a wedding. It was apt. But he didn’t stand there on his own for very long. A couple of seconds later Graham appeared. Followed by Craig. Followed by Alex. I wished I could have been distracted by how handsome Alex looked on his wedding day, because he did. His suit was the perfect shade of blue and fitted him perfectly. Graham and Craig were equally well put together, both wearing sunglasses, both laughing. Only Alex wasn’t laughing. Alex was too busy staring at Mark.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked, walking over to my injured ex. Alex cocked his head to one side, letting his hair fall out of his eyes to get a better look.

  ‘Please don’t recognize him, please don’t recognize him,’ I whispered, gripping the windowsill with one hand, the flask of whiskey with the other.

  ‘Um, I was just … well now,’ Mark blustered, doing his very best Hugh Grant impersonation. ‘You must be Alex.’

  ‘Mark, right?’ Alex pointed and smiled. ‘Angela’s ex.’

  ‘That would be me.’ He held out his hands and laughed.

  Alex laughed too. And then he punched him in the face. Mark fell to the ground and stayed there. I jumped up from my hiding place and flung open the shed door.

  ‘Alex,’ I shouted, legging it across the lawn. ‘Jesus Christ.’

  ‘Angie.’ Alex looked at me and then looked away, covering his eyes. ‘I’m not supposed to see you before the wedding.’

  ‘And neither of u
s is supposed to be punching people,’ I pointed out. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What am I doing?’ He turned away from me while he was yelling. ‘What was he doing here?’

  ‘Yo, Angie.’ Craig raised a hand in greeting. Graham did the same before I could answer. ‘Great dress.’ They grabbed the prostrate Mark under the arms and dragged him back into the house without another word.

  ‘It’s all just such a cock-up,’ I said, poking a bit of glass with my foot. ‘And now someone is unconscious. Amazing.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He still had one hand over his face. ‘Shit. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s just that you didn’t need to.’ I waited for him to uncover his eyes. ‘I’d already done him once.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Alex pulled a half-smile. ‘You hit him?’

  ‘Broke his hand with my shoe.’ I waved my shoe in the air with embarrassed triumph. ‘It’s officially my signature move.’

  ‘That’s my girl.’ He stuck his hands in his pockets and squinted. ‘Is that whiskey?’

  ‘Oh.’ I hadn’t realized I was still holding it. ‘Yeah.’

  Alex held out his hand and I tossed it over. ‘So what’s going on?’

  ‘Um, my dress is broken, the lights exploded, the speaker system blew up, the cake is a big fuck-up, the caterers have gone AWOL and my mum only wanted us to get married because she thought I was pregnant.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  We stood in the garden looking at each other for a moment.

  ‘Why is there a man asleep on the kitchen floor?’ I heard Jenny yell from the kitchen. ‘I quit! OK? I quit. I can’t do this.’

  ‘And Jenny quit,’ I added.

  ‘So it’s not total smooth sailing?’ Alex asked, looking around the garden at the glass in the grass. When the sun caught the shards, it really was quite pretty. Shame it would probably kill someone.

  ‘When you thought about our wedding before we came to London …’ I said.

  ‘Uh huh?’ Alex threw the bottle of whiskey back to me.

  ‘Is this how you imagined it?’

  ‘I don’t think I had you in an NYPD sweater,’ he shrugged.

  ‘Seriously.’ I tried not to smile. ‘How did you imagine it?’

  ‘Seriously, I guess not like this.’ He gestured towards the building site of a garden. As if on cue, the brass band kicked in with a curious version of something I believed was SexyBack. Justin Timberlake would spin in his grave. If he was dead.

  ‘It’s not really what I’d imagined either.’ I looked at my shoes and frowned. ‘Maybe the shoes. The rest of it not so much.’

  Alex took a step closer and held out his hand. ‘Hey, Angela,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Wanna get out of here?’

  I paused, looked back at the garden, looked into the house.

  Click. Flash.

  I took his hand.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I nodded.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Three months later …

  The aisle looked really, really long.

  Can you put weight on around your ankles? I wondered. Have I got muffin-top on my toes? My shoes really hurt. Should have worn flip-flops.

  But it was a pretty day for a wedding.

  The heat wave we’d had for the last couple of weeks had broken and New York had given me the gift of perfect seventy-degree weather. I stood in the doorway blowing out cool, calming breaths and switching my weight from foot to foot. I never wanted to take these shoes off, no matter how painful they might be.

  ‘You doing OK?’ Jenny looked at me with a soft smile and straightened a curl. ‘Need anything?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I shook my head. ‘Got everything I need.’

  ‘Well, you look pretty good,’ she laughed. ‘And that’s really all that counts.’

  ‘You look OK yourself,’ I replied, squeezing my bouquet. ‘You both do.’

  ‘I’m just glad that dry-cleaner could get the baby sick out,’ Louisa said, pawing at a non-existent stain on her dress. ‘I have to find out what they used to remove it − that stuff is like tar.’

  ‘I’m just happy my dress fits.’ I looked down at my brand new, made-to-measure Sarah Piper dress and gave a little shimmy. ‘No jumper necessary.’

  ‘No jumper, no ex-boyfriends, no fucked-up lights, no giant cupcake and no absent caterers,’ Jenny confirmed. ‘I’m on top of it this time.’

  ‘I still think that cake was pretty brilliant,’ Louisa said. ‘And, quite frankly, delicious.’

  ‘It was delicious,’ I admitted. I would know. I had eaten a lot of it. I will accept that no one was expecting to spend that afternoon sitting cross-legged on my mum’s living room floor in formalwear eating a cocked-up wedding cake, but as Saturday afternoons went, it was actually one of my favourites. After Mum and Jenny had turned all our guests away, using the delightful excuse that I had food poisoning and ‘it was coming out of both ends’, we all managed to calm down a little bit. Uncle Kevin was heartbroken, but everyone else was terribly English about the whole thing. I didn’t imagine I’d be on a lot of Christmas card lists in December, but I didn’t imagine I really cared.

  Once we’d seen everyone off, Delia and I had toasted the magazine, Graham and James had got along far too well for boys that already had boyfriends, Sadie demonstrated her secret talent for the trombone, and she and my dad treated us to a little duet of some of my favourite show tunes. Jenny and Craig made sure someone made the most of the honeymoon suite, while Louisa and my mum kept everyone up to the eyeballs in hot tea. They were in their element. Which just left Alex. He and I had spent a couple of hours bonding with Grace, and I had to admit it had gone some way towards recharging the batteries in my biological clock.

  ‘Are you girls finished gossiping?’ My dad knocked on the door with a smile. ‘I think they’re ready for you.’

  I nodded, suddenly lost for words. This was it. It was happening. I felt nervous and scared and almost certain that Alex was going to dive into the East River at the last minute. Dad held out his arm and I took it, trying not to cry. If I messed up my make-up now, Jenny would kill me. The girls went out ahead, Louisa with Grace in her arms, Jenny with a skip in her step. Their escorts, Graham and Craig, were waiting outside and I tried not to notice Craig slapping Jenny’s arse as they went by.

  ‘Saucy,’ my dad commented. I had not inherited my sense of blind denial from him. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘We shall,’ I nodded, taking my first step into the sunshine. ‘Um, Dad, thanks for all this.’

  ‘All of what?’ he asked.

  ‘Coming out here, being OK with the whole abandoned wedding thing. Not bringing the rest of the brass band.’

  ‘I’ve got my trumpet back at the apartment.’ He patted my hand and led me out. ‘Don’t tempt me, madam.’

  ‘Noted.’

  ‘But you know your mum and I are just happy you’re happy,’ he went on as we walked towards the music, towards the water. ‘That’s all that matters to us, love.’

  ‘And happy I’m not pregnant,’ I added. ‘Yet.’

  ‘Maybe in a couple of years, eh?’ he replied as we reached the small group of friends gathered around the aisle. ‘Here’s your man. The future Mr Angela.’

  ‘Can’t imagine he’d appreciate being called that.’ I blinked into the light and wished I had the balls to be one of those wanky city brides who wore sunglasses. ‘But he’ll get used to it.’

  Everything was perfect. Under the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, I locked eyes with Alex and all my nerves went away. Part of me saw my friends and family lining the aisle I was about to walk down − Erin and Thomas and their tiny baby. Sadie, James, Mary, Delia, Uncle Kevin, Vanessa, Alex’s manager and his creepy old roommate − but they could have been complete strangers at that moment. All I saw was Alex. Part of me saw the Manhattan skyline behind them, the Statue of Liberty waving her torch to try and get my attention. She was failing. I could only concentrate on not falling over and getting
to the end of the aisle.

  ‘Hey.’ Alex looked as happy as I’d ever seen him as we reached him. ‘You look nice.’

  ‘You look all right yourself,’ I said, relieved that my voice was still working. ‘Bit overdressed, maybe.’

  ‘I was going to say the same to you,’ he whispered.

  The sun bounced off his hair until it shone almost blue, and he already had pink spots on his pale cheeks where he’d forgotten to put on his sunscreen. I was almost surprised how strongly I felt as I took him in. I woke up next to him every day, he was mine already, surely? But it felt as though I’d been holding him by the edges, just pinching the corners and hoping he wasn’t going to blow away. Here, now, it felt like I was holding on to him with every ounce of myself and he was doing the same.

  ‘This old thing?’ I couldn’t manage more than a choked squeak. ‘Had it ages.’

  ‘Bloody kids.’ Dad gave me a kiss on the cheek and shook Alex’s hand. ‘You’re a pair, that’s the truth.’

  ‘Thanks, David.’ Alex was solemn for a second. ‘It means a lot to us that you’re here and that you’ve been so welcoming. I feel like I’m not just getting Angela, I feel like I’m getting a family that I never had before.’

  ‘For the last time, Alex,’ he said, slapping his arms round his back in a big manly hug, ‘it’s Dad.’

  And that was when I started crying.

  ‘Alex and Angela have asked you all to be here today to witness their wedding,’ the officiant declared to the crowd. ‘Because you have been part of their story. You have been there for them in the good times and the bad.’

  Alex gripped my hand and squeezed. I nodded, biting down on my lip, destroying my gloss job and trying not to sniff too loudly. Sniffing wasn’t hot. I also hoped this guy wasn’t going to dwell on the ‘bad’ part. Move on, already.

  ‘I love you,’ Alex whispered while the officiant went on.

  ‘And I quite like you,’ I whispered back, getting a slap on the arm for my cheek. ‘Fine,’ I tutted. ‘I love you too.’

  ‘Today they start their adventure as husband and wife, promising to stand by each other, to care for each other and to love each other. Today they start a new chapter of their story together here with you, here in New York.’