The bluff works. Martin goes a very satisfying shade of white.
‘You feeling alright, Martin?’ Aamir asks when he comes back. ‘You look a little pale.’
‘Maybe something I ate,’ Martin mumbles back.
It’s good to see that the old maxim of bullies being the biggest cowards is still true…
The meeting concludes with a deal that won’t completely cripple me financially and I bid goodbye to Aamir and Nipple King with relief.
Aamir has left a load of free samples which I hand out to the slow trickle of customers that come in over the rest of the day.
By five thirty I’m knackered and ready to go home.
‘Are you doing anything for your birthday this evening?’ Tilly asks as we close up. She’s bought me a lovely card and a voucher for The Body Shop that I intend to waste on as many stress relieving products as I can.
‘Not tonight. My friends are around on Sunday, so we’re headed out for a curry then.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame. It’s always nice to do something on the actual day,’ she says and pats me on the shoulder. ‘Have a nice evening anyway Laura.’
Great.
Pity from an eighteen year old.
‘Night Tilly,’ I reply, sounding brighter than I feel.
The drive home doesn’t improve my mood.
The incessant autumnal rain has caused an accident on the main road, so I get stuck in a tailback for half an hour. This gives me plenty of time to reflect on getting a year closer to being thirty… which is always a fun thing to do.
By the time I pull up outside the house, my mood can best be described as thunderous.
The birthday girl really isn’t feeling the occasion, Mum.
My fingers are slippery with rain by the time I get the door keys out of my handbag, so I fumble around trying to get them in the lock, allowing the heavy rain to drench me thoroughly.
Luckily, the door opens from the inside.
‘Thanks Charlie,’ I say to my flatmate. ‘The keys were - ’
It isn’t Charlie.
It’s Jamie Newman.
He gives me a little wave. ‘Hello.’
I forget about the rain. ‘What are you doing here? Where’s Charlie?’
‘She’s out. I asked her to give us some time alone.’ He peers out into the gloom. ‘Er, hadn’t you better come in? You’re getting wet.’
Still a bit stunned, I cross the threshold.
Jamie shuts the door behind me. He’s got a nervous look on his face.
‘What are you doing here, Jamie?’ I repeat.
‘Well. It’s your birthday and I thought… look, just come through to the lounge with me, ok?’
‘Okay.’ I have no idea where this is going. This is the first time I’ve seen Jamie since our bust up. If our genders were reversed I’d be worrying he was about to tell me he was pregnant.
I follow him through into the lounge.
My jaw drops.
The entire room has been turned into an Italian Piazza.
There’s a wrought iron café table (complete with parasol) and chairs where the Ikea dining room set usually lives. On the table are two wine glasses and a bottle of top end Pinot Grigio.
An enormous free standing photographic fresco of the Piazza Navona in Rome covers most of one wall. It’s huge – easily seven feet high and fifteen feet across. Navona is considered by many to be the most beautiful piazza in the city.
There are four grape vines in a long, low planter against the other wall, giving off a pleasant leafy aroma.
Smooth Italian bistro music comes from the stereo. I’m pretty sure it’s Dean Martin singing.
‘I know it’s all a bit clichéd,’ Jamie says, pulling out a chair for me to sit on, ‘…and I’m not completely sure the grape vines were a good idea.’ He gives them a doubtful look. ‘But anyway… happy birthday, Laura!’
I sit down, my jaw still agape.
‘I brought in a cook, because, well… you know my track record. We’re having pizza… obviously.’ He pours me a glass of wine.
‘Why have you done all this?’ I ask in a faraway voice.
‘It’s your birthday!’
‘But you called me a bitch.’ I feel it’s important to point this out.
‘Yeah. I know. Went a bit overboard there. Sorry.’
‘Why have you done all this?’ I sound like a broken record, but I’m still in a state of shock and can’t do anything about it.
‘You told me about that trip you took with your Mum? The one on your twenty first birthday?’ He points at the fresco. ‘I know it’s not quite the same thing, but you said it was the happiest time you can remember, so…’
Tears prick my eyes.
He’d remembered.
A fat man in a white apron comes into the room. I know he’s going to speak in a broad Italian accent before he even opens his mouth.
‘Pizza is ready, sir!’ he tells Jamie and sees me. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Miss Laura!’ he says, taking one hand and kissing it.
‘Thanks Georgio,’ Jamie replies, pouring himself a glass of wine. ‘You hungry?’ he asks me.
‘Um… yes?’
‘Excellent. I know you don’t like spicy so you’ve got a four seasons.’
Georgio returns from the kitchen and plonks two delicious looking pizzas in front of us.
I look at it. Then I look at Jamie. Then I look around the room.
‘How much did all this cost?’ is all I can think to say.
Jamie smiles. ‘Tuck in!’
It takes most of the pizza and two glasses of the smoothest wine I’ve ever tasted to get my wits about me again.
‘Thank you for all this Jamie. It’s lovely.’
‘My pleasure.’
‘I can’t believe you remembered about the trip I took with my mum.’
‘You sounded so happy when you told me about it. Your face really lit up. Not something I’d forget in a hurry.’ He throws back a huge gulp of wine, puts the glass back on the table and looks at me. ‘I’m sorry about this, but I have to tell you something. I love you Laura.’
No-one has ever apologised for being in love with me before.
‘I shouldn’t have stormed off the way I did when you told me about Mike - ’
‘No! Don’t apologise,’ I say, stopping him in his tracks. ‘It was my fault. I… I was confused… mixed up.’ A bit like how I feel right now, to be honest. ‘You love me?’
Jamie goes red. ‘Yeah. I missed you so much. Knew I had to do something.’ He looks round at Rome-In-Miniature. ‘When Charlie told me you weren’t seeing Mike, I was even more determined to get things right.’
‘Charlie told you?’
‘Yep. She’s been dead helpful.’ He grimaces. ‘I did have to pay her to go to the cinema tonight, though.’
‘And you love me?’ There’s the broken record impression again.
‘Have from the first second I lay eyes on you… though I guess it could have been concussion from the doll’s house.’ The cheeky smile is back. The one I never thought I’d see again.
‘I love you too.’
…and there it was. So easy to say, so hard to admit.
‘You do?’
Tears didn’t just prick my eyes now. ‘Yeah. Thank you for coming back.’
Jamie gets up, walks around the table and bends down to kiss me.
He hesitates. ‘Are you sure you don’t want Mike?’ he asks uncertainly.
‘Absolutely not.’ That didn’t seem enough. ‘I punched the arsehole in the face,’ I tell Jamie matter-of-factly, before putting my arms round his neck and kissing him for all I was worth.
Hands down, that was the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.
Any lingering resentment I may have had about being poisoned and called a bitch was now well and truly gone.
Charlie didn’t come home until gone eleven, and Georgio left shortly after dinner with a smile on his face and a large tip in his pocket, so J
amie and I had plenty of time alone to do lots of exciting things that would have got us arrested instantly if we’d actually been in a Roman piazza.
Afterwards, we lay together on the couch in an exhausted state of bliss.
‘I think those vines are setting off my hay fever,’ Jamie said and sniffed.
‘It was a nice touch.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So was the fresco.’
‘You should have seen the girl’s face in the printing shop when I told her what size I wanted it.’
‘Where did the table come from?’
‘Let’s just say I’m glad Ryan is the assistant manager of a garden centre and leave it at that.’ He frowned. ‘Anyway, stop asking questions, you. You’re ruining the magic.’
‘Relax Newman. Your efforts have paid off… thoroughly.’
‘Thank God for that. I considered learning some Italian as well, but decided it might be going overboard.’
‘I’d say you got it just about right.’ I kissed him, and managed to get my head out of the blast zone just before he let out a tremendous sneeze.
…and there you have it, Mum.
From a depressing, lonely birthday morning, to a wonderful, blissful birthday evening.
Who says the world can’t change in a day?
Love and miss you, as always.
Your twenty nine year old daughter, Laura.
xx
Jamie’s Blog
Monday 26 December
The only problem with a huge romantic gesture that wins the heart of the fair lady (and costs a bloody fortune to boot) is that you then have to think of something to top the bugger…
I knew I wanted to ask Laura to marry me, but had no idea how to do it in a way that’d compete with last month’s Roman effort.
I wanted to pop the question on Christmas Day, so I spent the previous three weeks wracking my brains trying to think of a clever way to do it that’d tie in with the festive season. Nothing sprang to mind that wasn’t cheesy as hell or just plain ridiculous.
Hiring a sleigh and four reindeer was right out, as was getting a choir to stand outside the front door expressing my undying love in rhyming couplets.
Sky writing wouldn’t have been a good idea in the middle of a cloudy December day, and I couldn’t take the embarrassment of being rejected at a major sporting event in front of thirty thousand people.
Frankly, my girlfriend budget was more restricted than it was last month anyway.
Creating Rome in someone’s living room sounds like a wonderful idea, but you try telling that to my overdraft.
It was going to have to be something on a much smaller scale… and therein lay the problem.
Grand gestures may cost a lot and take time to arrange, but they’re usually quite easy to think up in the first place. Throw enough cash and time at a project and the chances are you’ll impress somebody – for the effort you’ve gone to if nothing else.
The small, subtle, heartfelt stuff is where I come a cropper.
I’m a man, and therefore subtlety isn’t my strong suit.
Unfortunately, the one person I’d have asked for advice about this kind of thing was Laura - which would have defeated the object somewhat.
While planning the proposal stressed me out, I have to confess it was a problem I was actually glad to have in the first place.
My gamble on Laura’s birthday could have gone horribly wrong.
She could have hated me for reminding her of her mother’s death, and she might never have wanted to see me again after the argument we’d had. Then there was the issue of Mike.
I needn’t have worried… especially about the ex-boyfriend. Laura told me about their trip to the lakes and the assault charge she’d narrowly avoided.
I’ve made a mental note not to be standing within punching distance the next time we have an argument.
I searched the internet looking for inspiration on how to propose. This wasn’t the most romantic way of going about things, but needs must when you’re up against it.
It wasn’t helpful.
The idea of putting the ring into a Christmas pudding was out the window the second I read the story of a girl who’d nearly choked to death when her boyfriend had tried much the same thing.
Wrapping the ring in a present was more clichéd than a Michael Bay movie, and going down on one knee dressed as Noddy The Naked Christmas Elf didn’t really seem in keeping with the importance of the occasion.
On Christmas Eve I still hadn’t thought of anything.
Laura and I spent the evening together in her flat. Charlie had once again covered herself in glory by going away for the festivities.
Laura asked me why I looked so pensive a couple of times, but I managed to brush it off, saying I was just tired from the long days at work in the run up to the holidays.
In truth, it was the problem of the proposal making me on edge.
Before proper panic had a chance to set in, I decided to throw caution to the wind and play it by ear the next day.
After all, you can plan a proposal any way you want, but ultimately it comes down to a simple question and an even simpler answer. There’s no point in gilding the lily, is there?
God (or the heavenly entity of your choice) seems to agree with this train of thought as Christmas Day dawns beautifully, with soft snow falling from the sky.
Perfect!
There’s a small, picturesque garden at the back of Laura’s flats, which is now covered in a pristine coating of white snow. What better place could there be to ask the woman you love to marry you?
‘Shall we go and play in the snow?’ I say to Laura nonchalantly as she tidies away the last of the torn wrapping paper. ‘It looks lovely out there.’
‘That’s a great idea. Let me go and throw some warm clothes on.’
By the time we walk out of the flat and along the path to the garden my heart is pounding.
Is this too quick?
Am I jumping the gun?
What the hell do I do if she said no?
Christmas dinner round my parent’s house will be ruined, that’s for certain. Rejection tends to put me off my pigs in blankets.
Laura sits on the small bench in the middle of the snow covered grass. She tilts her head up to the sky and pokes out her tongue, giggling when the fresh falling snow touches it.
Right then all my doubts disappear.
Whether she says yes or not, I know I have to propose.
‘What?’ she asks, seeing my expression.
‘Nothing,’ I mumble as I sit down next to her.
‘What’s the matter, Jamie?’
This is it.
This is the moment.
This is the point where our lives irrevocably change.
‘Laura. I just wanted to ask you…’ I can’t speak. The nerves steal my voice.
Laura takes my hand in hers. ‘Ask me what?’
‘I just wanted to ask you if you’d - ’
‘MITTENS!’
Fuck me!
Laura’s Diary
Monday, December 26th
Truth be told Mum, I had a fair idea Jamie was going to ask me to marry him.
I know we’ve only been together a couple of months but I’m already learning to read his face and body language. I know when he’s worried. In the lead up to Christmas he seemed particularly fraught and I knew it had something to do with me.
I was pretty sure he wasn’t planning on dumping me, so the only other option was right at the other end of the relationship spectrum… so to speak.
I was going to say yes, of course.
I wish I could have told Jamie that to save him fretting so much.
It was evident on Christmas Eve that he was building up to popping the question.
You could tell by the way his little face would crumple into a look of indecision and angst every half an hour or so.
I had no idea what he was planning, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be a grand, rehearsed e
vent. Asking someone to spend the rest of their life with you should be an intimate experience, as far as I’m concerned.
I had to suppress a smile the next morning when Jamie casually suggested we go out into the snowy garden at the back of the flats. It was perfect.
I spent a good ten minutes deciding on what to wear. I figured that’d give him time to rehearse.
Besides, this was a momentous occasion. I wasn’t about to let it pass in a pair of jogging bottoms and a parka coat three sizes too big for me.
I picked out a cute ensemble of blue jeans, blue cashmere sweater and the cream Eskimo coat I’d bought from M&S a week earlier, and went back downstairs to lead my nervous boyfriend out into the crisp winter morning.
Things didn’t go according to plan.
To be fair to Jamie, he managed to control his temper fairly well - during what I’m sure we’ll come to refer to as ‘the second Mittens incident’ in the years to come.
He didn’t physically assault anyone, which was a pleasant surprise.
…and I’m sure little Astrid’s Christmas Day wasn’t completely ruined by the crazy man next door screaming at her over the garden wall.
I’m also positive she was delighted when the same crazy man found Mittens (having spent a good twenty minutes searching in the snow for the little blighter) and delivered the creature back to her doorstep with the greeting ‘there’s your bloody cat. Lock him inside in the future. Otherwise I’m going to eat the little bastard.’
It was midday before Jamie had warmed up enough to unwrap himself from the king sized duvet and get off the couch.
He looked miserable.
His planned romantic proposal was ruined and he evidently wasn’t happy about it.
I, on the other hand, was trying my hardest not to laugh my butt off.
Love... From Both Sides (A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy) Page 16