‘It happens to us all at some point.’
‘I know you’re right. I guess I’ve been lucky so far.’ Kate struggled to keep a lump from her throat.
‘It’s great that you’ve got Ian by your side to help you through it.’
Kate made a little noise of agreement. There was no point telling Matt that Ian would rather be at the football than lend her his support that weekend.
‘You know you can call me anytime you like to ask questions about the things Mr Calil has said. If you want, next time your parents are in the hospital, I could even go along to an appointment with them if you give me some notice.’
‘Would your colleagues like that? I mean, wouldn’t it look as though you were interfering?’
‘Possibly, yes, but it’s you and your parents I care about. If it would make you feel more comfortable to have my “expert” opinion, I’m there.’ He put a heavy jokey emphasis on ‘expert’ that made Kate remember how much she had liked his self-deprecating humour when they first met, twenty years before.
‘That’s kind of you. Really, it’s made a difference to be able to talk to you about it.’
Matt took her hand across the table. He squeezed her fingers.
‘I am so glad you came here tonight. All the time that’s passed. You’re getting married. I’m getting divorced. But I feel as though underneath we’re still the same people, don’t you? I’ve missed you over the years, you know.’
Kate nodded.
‘But now we’ve found each other again. Promise you’ll keep me up to speed with your mum’s progress, and promise you’ll call me next time you’re in town.’
‘I promise,’ said Kate.
What did you do tonight? Ian texted just as she was going to bed.
Stayed in and watched TV with Dad, Kate lied.
I miss you, Ian told her.
I miss you too, texted Kate.
But did she? Back in her parents’ spare bedroom right then, it was hard to imagine that Ian even existed in her life. Perhaps it was the nostalgia kick. Her brain was confused by going back over old times with Matt. So much so that when Kate woke up the following morning, she had the distinct impression that she was back in her old room in college and at any moment Matt would be hammering on the door, asking if she was ready to go down for breakfast.
That intense moment of recollection was followed by a rush of guilt when she discovered that another text from Matt was waiting on her phone alongside Ian’s habitual ‘Good morning.’
Would be really nice to see you again, Matt had written.
Yes, Kate replied. Hope to introduce you to Ian soon.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Elaine was allowed home a few days later. Kate had the distinct impression that the hospital staff tried to get rid of as many patients as they could before Christmas to help them arrange holiday leave. She wasn’t convinced that her mother was ready to leave the ward, but Elaine said she couldn’t wait to get home. Her recovery would be much faster, she was sure, if she could do it in her own front room. She had to get strong again ahead of the radiotherapy she would have in the new year.
When she saw how much happier her mother seemed to be back in her own bed, Kate felt guilty for having tried to persuade her to stay at the hospital. Kate was aware it might have been more to do with her fear that John would not be able to cope with her care than that Elaine wasn’t well enough to be moved. Both John and Elaine insisted that it was time for Kate to return to London, to work and her fiancé.
Back in London, Kate was faced with the usual round of last-minute Christmas chores and social obligations. She attended Ian’s company party. He accompanied her to a dinner at the firm she would be joining the following February. Neither evening was a glittering success, with the party catering reflecting the strict austerity budgets that both companies had adopted. Plus, Kate felt a lingering resentment towards Ian for having avoided the whole business of the hospital. She didn’t say anything, but she had to bite her tongue when, while making small talk at his office party, he inadvertently let slip, in front of Kate, that he had been at the West Ham home game that Saturday. Just as she suspected. Kate smiled at the revelation. At least it made her feel a little less guilty for not having mentioned seeing Matt. She hadn’t even told Helen about their catch-up drink.
But there were more frustrations. In Kate’s absence, Ian had run down the supplies in the flat. Not only was there just half a loo roll left, Ian had started on the food that Kate had stashed in the freezer for Christmas and – this was the real kicker – he had cancelled the Ocado order in Kate’s absence because he ‘didn’t know what to do when the van arrived’.
Meanwhile, the bad weather meant that the supermarkets had been hit by panic-buying. There was a real danger that they would have nothing festive to eat come Christmas Day. Kate’s resentment went up another notch as she pushed a trolley around Waitrose. Why was Ian so clueless when it came to running a home? How had he survived before he met her? Kate fumed as she restocked the freezer when she could have been doing 101 more useful things. Why was filling the freezer her job, anyway? She hoped it was just because she was on gardening leave that Ian seemed to assume she would play housewife. He definitely shouldn’t get used to it.
Kate ranted to Helen via text. Welcome to my world, was Helen’s deadpan response.
While Kate had been in Washam, Trudy, the photographer, had sent Kate and Ian a link to the private members’ area of her website, so that they could see the results of the engagement shoot. When she finally found a moment, Kate clicked through and tapped in their password, which was ‘Eiffel’, their password for all things wedding-related.
Trudy had suggested that Kate and Ian might like to use one of the photos from the engagement shoot on their wedding stationery. Her site provided a link to a website where they could turn the photos into calling cards. Kate wasn’t sure that was her sort of thing, but in the event, there wasn’t a single picture from that engagement shoot she would have wanted to send out in any case.
Kate grimaced at the first three shots, taken sitting on that rickety log. She and Ian looked like strangers who had just been dragged out from a supermarket and told to pose together. Ian had his eyes shut in one of them. The ‘walking along the beach’ shots were not much better. Kate and Ian were holding hands, but their bodies were miles apart. They looked as though they would have preferred to be holding on to two ends of rope for a little extra distance.
The Titanic shots were the worst of all. Kate remembered how physically uncomfortable that pose had been, with the railings digging into her belly, but she was surprised to see how anxious both she and Ian looked. Was it just the thought of the drop behind them? Despite his brag that he had landed like a cat, Ian had had to hold off on his habitual Sunday run because his ankle hurt too much.
We don’t look right together. Kate was shocked by the thought that popped into her head. Once she had acknowledged it, she couldn’t help comparing in her mind these pictures with the photographs she had taken over her time with Dan, for example. She and Dan had looked right with each other. In fact, when they were breaking up for the last time, Kate had shown some of those photographs to Tess for confirmation that two people who looked so good together couldn’t possibly be splitting up for real.
Kate knew that Ian was a very different man to Dan. He was by no means as vain. Ian had lived for years without even having a mirror in his bathroom. If Kate hadn’t insisted he bought one so that she had something to look into while doing her make-up whenever she stayed over, she suspected that Ian might never have got around to buying one. Likewise, when he was shopping for clothes, Ian had two criteria: does it fit, and is it comfortable? Kate had often told him that it was a good job he came to their first date straight from work. If she’d seen him in his weekend clothes before she got to know him, they wouldn’t have got past date one.
Given that he paid so little attention to his appearance, perhaps it was unreasonable to
expect Ian to look as though he was having a good time at a photoshoot on a beach in front of members of the public, for heaven’s sake.
Still, Kate couldn’t silence the little voice in her head that held some store by how comfortable a couple looked when they were photographed together. Somehow, the digital images of Ian holding her as though she were a small child who might pee on his shoes at any moment had made tangible Kate’s suspicion that he really didn’t feel connected to her at all. His decision to stay in London and go to the footie while she was dealing with her mother’s operation certainly didn’t seem like a connected thing to do.
Was Ian just getting married because he felt it was time to? Had he chosen her simply because she was a suitable girl: good job, no obvious baggage, similar background? Was there any passion there at all? Lately, Kate was starting to think that Ian was marrying her because it would be cheaper than getting a housekeeper.
‘What do you think of the pictures?’ Ian asked when he called to say what time he would be home that night so that she knew when to start cooking dinner.
‘They’re OK,’ said Kate in a guarded way.
‘I think they look fine,’ said Ian. ‘I think Mum would like the first one from the series where we’re sitting on the log.’
‘Not a Titanic shot?’ Kate asked.
‘She didn’t like that film,’ said Ian, taking it literally, as always.
‘OK,’ said Kate. ‘I’ll email Trudy. I’ll get the same picture for my parents as well.’
She couldn’t imagine it being on their mantelpiece for ever, she realised with a jolt.
Something had definitely shifted.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Diana was delighted with all the photographs in her online engagement album. The effort she had put into her hair and make-up had definitely paid off. She clicked the tick of approval next to almost every shot. Of course, she would incorporate one of the photographs into the wedding stationery. It was hard to choose just one. In the end, she chose the first of the ‘royal’ photographs. So, they weren’t the Testino shots, and Ben didn’t look exactly comfortable, but Diana had never seen her hair look quite so good. Also, her expression was just right. She looked remarkably like the princess in waiting.
‘Please,’ Ben begged her, ‘don’t tell me that we’re going to have one of those royal photos on our invitation.’
‘Oh, Ben,’ Diana wheedled, ‘everyone will love it.’
‘No way.’
‘Fine,’ said Diana. ‘Then we’ll have this one instead.’
She picked out a photograph of herself in a floor-length gown and Ben in a rented tux.
‘Why do we have to have a photo of ourselves on the invitation at all?’ Ben asked. ‘Isn’t it classier to have something plain?’
Diana considered that thought for a moment. She consulted one of her half-dozen wedding-etiquette books before admitting, ‘You’re probably right.’
Still she was determined that as many people as possible should see the engagement pictures. What was the point of having them otherwise? She ordered a dark-brown leather-bound album to be made of all the shots she had approved of. She ordered copies of the album, in a slightly less expensive finish, for her mother and Ben’s mum and all four sets of grandparents. She ordered two framed photographs for her father. They would make perfect Christmas presents. That really didn’t spread the news of Diana’s triumph far enough, though. While Ben was in the sitting room, watching Match of the Day, Diana fiddled around with the wedding-stationery options on the photographer’s site. She chose a picture of herself and Ben dressed up as the royal couple and set it on a white card with a fine silver border. She played with the typesetting, choosing a swirling, extravagant font that looked like the very best calligraphy. The card she created, complete with matching silver-tissue-lined envelopes, was surely oozing with class.
But in a rare show of deference to her future husband’s wishes, Diana did not press the ‘order’ button on her wonderful invitation design. If Ben wanted plain wedding invitations, then that was what they would have.
Christmas cards, however . . .
Three days later, Diana was very pleased to see how good her favourite photograph from the engagement shoot looked on the custom-printed Christmas card. On the inside of the card, she’d had printed, ‘Merry Christmas and happy New Year from the other couple getting married in 2011.’ Nicole and Susie thought the cards were great fun. Very witty. Ben could hardly believe his eyes.
‘Tell me we are not sending this card to anybody I know.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because we look like a pair of idiots, that’s why. Is it supposed to be a joke card?’
‘No,’ said Diana, ‘of course it’s not a joke card.’
‘That makes it even worse. I’m not sending this card out. I’ll get another box from Tesco.’
‘We have to have a joint card. We’re engaged.’
‘You can send it to anyone you like on your side of the family, but I don’t want my friends to think I’ve gone soft in the head.’
‘Oh, Ben, it’s just for a laugh. Here . . .’ She reached under the chair and pulled out an enormous envelope. ‘I haven’t forgotten. This is especially for you. I had it made at the same time.’
‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘You can put it up now if you like. Did you get me one?’
‘What?’
‘A card.’
‘Hang on,’ said Ben. ‘It’s upstairs.’
He returned with an envelope. Diana ripped it open. Her face fell. Her lip curled as she took in the picture of a robin sitting on the handle of a spade. ‘What’s this?’
‘It’s a Christmas card.’
‘I can see that.’
‘And?’ Ben was confused.
‘Couldn’t you have made a bit more effort? I’m your fiancée, Ben. This is the only Christmas in my entire life that I will get to spend as someone’s fiancée. They do make fiancée Christmas cards, you know.’
‘They do?’
‘Yes.’ Diana sniffed. ‘Open my card.’
Ben opened the card Diana had designed for him. On the front, two teddy bears with their faces cuddled under a piece of mistletoe. Above them were printed the words ‘Happy Christmas to my wonderful fiancé.’
‘I thought we could put our cards side by side on the mantelpiece to make a special focal point, but this is just like something you would have given somebody at the office. In fact, you probably did give a certain somebody at the office exactly the same card!’ Diana snorted into her handkerchief.
‘I haven’t given her a Christmas card,’ said Ben, knowing at once who Diana was referring to. ‘I swear.’
‘You better not have. Is she going to be at your office party? I don’t think you should go if she is.’
‘She’s not going to be at the party. She’s already gone back to Australia for the holidays, to see her family. She’s taking two weeks off.’
‘How do you know in such detail what her plans are?’ Diana’s eyes narrowed.
‘I’d hardly say that was detailed knowledge. I work in the same office as her. Of course I know when she’s not coming in.’
‘Can’t they get her moved?’ Diana asked. ‘I hate the fact that you’re still working alongside her, after what she did to me.’ Diana took a deep breath through her nose. Ben recognised it as the precursor to a bout of sobbing. He couldn’t face it.
‘She’s leaving,’ Ben lied. ‘She’s going freelance.’
Diana’s face brightened. ‘Well, that’s the best news I’ve had all day.’
Later that day, Ben called his future mother-in-law to see whether she had any idea what Diana really wanted for Christmas.
‘She needs new tyres for her car,’ he said. ‘I thought I could get that sorted out.’
‘Oh, Ben,’ said Susie.
‘She said she was going to put them on her Christmas list.’
‘She didn’t mean it, you doughnut. You
don’t get your fiancée tyres for Christmas. Not unless you don’t want to get married.’
Ben was tempted to click straight through to the Kwik Fit website.
Susie chuntered on. ‘You’ve got to get a girl something sparkly for Christmas, something in a Tiffany box. Get her a charm for her bracelet at least.’
That bracelet. Ben hated it. He hated the way it jangled around. He especially hated the way it got caught in his hair, which he wore longer than he liked just to please her, when she grabbed hold of his head in moments of passion. Not that there were many of those any more. Ben had almost choked when Diana told him that she was ‘renewing her virginity’ by swearing off sex until the big day. What was that about? Ben had mentioned that to his best friend, Ed.
‘Well, don’t think you’ll be getting any on your wedding night either,’ Ed told him. ‘My missus told me about some statistic that says nine out of ten brides are too exhausted by the big day to put out until halfway through the honeymoon.’
It seemed that none of the married people Ben knew had a good thing to say about it, but then he would see an old couple holding hands across the table in the café in Marks & Spencer, which is where everyone in Ben’s office went for their lunch, and the sight of such enduring love would fill him with a sense of warmth and contentment. That was what he was getting married for, so that someone would want to hold his hand when he got old. But could he stand the rest of it for long enough to get there?
Chapter Thirty
That Christmas, Ben’s office party was a pretty scaled-down affair out of respect to the colleagues who had lost their jobs earlier in the year. Still Ben expected a very eventful evening.
He had lied to Diana about Lucy having left to go back to Australia. In fact, Lucy had decided that it wasn’t economically viable for her to go Down Under that Christmas, not when she would have to be in Australia the following May for her big brother’s wedding. As a result, Lucy was still very much in Southampton and she was very much intending to be at the office party. When he overheard her telling one of the secretaries that she had bought a ‘knockout’ dress for the occasion, Ben got the distinct impression that he was the intended recipient of any fatal blow, but Lucy was not at the party when Ben first arrived. He accepted a glass of some cheapo fizz from his boss and toasted their continued success as a department.
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