But I Said Forever

by Jennifer Gilby Roberts

  Mel: He told me too. Well, not the perfect part. But what about other people? Teachers? Didn’t you ever go see the careers officer, Miss Ennis? She was brilliant; I don’t know if I would have even applied to university if it weren’t for her telling me that Dad was talking a load of crap. Well, not in so many words, but that’s what she meant.

  Brittany: But you wanted to do a degree. She wasn’t interested in girls who didn’t. She didn’t encourage me to explore my options and I didn’t have the courage to do it myself.

  I swallow hard.

  Brittany: You were the smart one. The brave one. I was just good at cleaning and cooking. The typical girl.

  Mel: Exactly what Dad wanted.

  Brittany: Sometimes that was a good thing, but not always.

  Mel: No, I suppose not.

  Brittany: How do I start to feel good enough?

  Mel: I don’t know, I struggle with it too. But don’t you dare chicken out. Listen to all Will’s advice, go and do your best. Even if it goes horribly wrong, at least you’ll know you tried.

  But what if the fantasy is all I’ll ever have?

  Chapter 26

  The day of the interview arrives and I find myself feeling very charitable towards Phillip. Were it not for all my lessons in poise, I would be physically shaking. I’ll have to add that to my list of positives that my book on parenting after divorce recommends writing about your former spouse. Right after ‘squeezes the toothpaste tube from the end’.

  Mel rings me while I’m forcing myself to eat breakfast (in between running to the loo as my bladder seems to have shrunk to the size of a walnut).

  “Have you definitely got the right bag and shoes that match?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re doing better than me, then. Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” I say, touched that she took the time to ring only for that.

  I get to Creative Cakes far too early, due to my terror of being late. I sit in the tiny reception, trying to look through their albums of past designs. There’s one other woman there and we exchange a few nervous words. A short time after I arrive, a man comes out of the door to the bakehouse and leaves, and the woman is taken in by Hannah, who flashes me a smile. No one else arrives. Is it only the three of us they’re interviewing?

  There’s probably more this afternoon, or tomorrow. Or yesterday. It could be the whole week and...

  Stop it. I can’t control anything except my own performance and I need to focus on that.

  Ten minutes before my interview is due to start (is that a good sign?), the other woman comes out.

  “Brittany, you can come in now,” Hannah says, holding the door open.

  I stand and follow her through. We sit at a table in the main bakehouse with three other women whose names I force my brain to memorize. They smile at me and I smile back as best I can.

  “To start off with, we’d like you to talk us through your portfolio. Explain what occasion each cake was made for, what techniques you used and how you learnt them. Begin.”

  I take a deep breath and open my mouth.

  An eternity later, I’ve told them everything I can think of that they might like to know about my work, stressing the efforts I’ve made to learn and improve. Then they ask about what personal qualities I can bring to the job and I do my best to remember everything Will and I brainstormed.

  I’m convinced that I’ve left out something vitally important and the more questions they ask, the more I’m certain that the other applicants will have been far, far more impressive than me. My confidence level drops lower and lower, but I force myself to keep smiling and trying.

  “Finally...” Hannah says.

  Oh, thank goodness.

  “... I’d like to ask about your long term ambitions in cake design, once you’re trained.”

  For a moment, I panic. I haven’t thought of anything further ahead than getting divorced.

  “I’m not quite sure yet,” I say, when the silence nags to be filled. “I suppose it depends on the opportunities available. Although I’m not from this area originally, I love it and it would be a wrench to move away. I’d prefer to work somewhere like this, rather than for myself, but I know jobs are scarce, so if it was a choice between leaving cake design and setting up on my own, I’d have to at least give it a try.”

  “The independent route doesn’t appeal to you, then?”

  “Not really. I’ve been at home full-time, looking after my little boy, and it doesn’t suit me. I like company and getting out of the house. Plus, I don’t think I have a head for business.” I give a sheepish smile. “All I really want to do is make beautiful cakes.”

  I wish they hadn’t smiled so much through the interview, because I’ve no clue if they liked that or not.

  “Well, I think that’s about everything,” Hannah says. She clasps her hands together. “Is there anything you’d like to ask us?”

  Oh, help. I can recite a list of things not to ask, but I can’t remember a single thing that I should.

  “If I don’t get this job,” I ask, “could I possibly do some work experience here? I’ve nearly built up a week’s holiday.”

  Glances are exchanged. Is that good?

  “I’m sure we could arrange something,” Hannah says. “Anything else?”

  “I can’t remember what was on my list of questions,” I admit. “Could I email you when I get home?”

  She smiles. “Of course.”

  We all stand and I shake hands around the table, feeling almost giddy with relief that the ordeal is over.

  “We’re interviewing again on Monday,” Hannah says, as she shows me out, “and decisions will be made then, unless we get a rush job in.”

  How in the world am I supposed to wait until then?

  I desperately want a busy few days to take my mind off things, but it’s agonisingly quiet. I clean everything that doesn’t object, and try not to watch the clock.

  Mum calls on Sunday night and I’m thrilled to have a distraction.

  “I wanted to check that you’re still coming for Christmas,” she says.

  “Of course we are,” I say, sighing inwardly. “It’s not that we don’t want to see you, we’re just happy living here. And we’re managing fine. We have food, heating, water and even internet access.”

  “I’m sure you are, darling.”

  I flop down on my bed. “Could you help me convince Dad of that?”

  Mum is silent for a minute.

  “Darling, have I ever told you about your grandmother? Your father’s mother, that is?”

  I shrug to no-one. “I don’t think so. I never met her, did I?”

  “No, she had already passed away when you were born, but knowing might explain a few things.”

  “Knowing what?”

  “I never met her, but by all accounts she was not a very practical or intelligent woman. She was left to raise your dad and your Aunt Freda alone, which she wasn’t equipped to do. Your dad took on responsibility for the family very early in life and I think it rather coloured his view of what women are capable of.” Mum sighs. “Brittany, he’s afraid for you, and he worries that James will end up having to take care of you like he had to take care of his mother.”

  “But I’m not her.”

  “I know, darling, but your dad is going to need a lot more time before he’s able to accept that. Over Christmas you can talk to him about your financial arrangements and help him see it.”

  I rub my fingers over the sofa arm. “I had an interview for a job yesterday. As a junior cake designer.”

  “That’s wonderful, darling. How did it go?”

  “I’m not sure. I keep thinking of things I didn’t say, or described badly. Carly says that’s normal, but I don’t know.”

  “You’ve always been good at saying the right thing, darling. I’m certain you did well. When will you hear?”

  “Maybe tomorrow, maybe Tuesday.”

  “You will call and let me know?”
/>   “Of course I will.”

  Mum’s voice drops almost to a whisper. “I’ve signed up for the course I told you about. The interior design one.”

  “That’s wonderful, Mum, well done. Have you told Dad yet?”

  “Not quite. I thought after Christmas dinner might be a good time. He’ll be so full and sleepy, he won’t be able to summon up the energy to make a fuss - and you girls will be there to help distract him.”

  I laugh. “Yes, that’s probably the way to do it.”

  “For the love of peanut butter, will you stay still?” Lauren slumps back on the sofa and closes her eyes. “I’m getting sea sick just looking at you.”

  “I can’t help it,” I say, catching myself going to bite my nails for the hundredth time in the past three days. “The phone could ring any second and decide my fate. This is torture, this is...”

  “Part of life and doing my head in. Go into the kitchen or go for a walk or something. Go to the shop; we need more cereal.”

  My phone, sat on the coffee table, suddenly blasts out “Young Hearts Run Free.” I don’t even tell Lauren off for messing with my ringtone, I just sit and stare at it in terror. Now I can sit still. In fact, I can’t move at all.

  “Oh, for the love of...” Lauren grabs it. “Brittany’s phone. I’m not sure she’s in. If you want to leave a message...”

  I unfreeze and grab it. “Hello?”

  “Good, you are there,” comes Hannah’s voice. “How are you?”

  “Fine. You?”

  “Decent enough. Terrible weather at the moment, isn’t it?”

  “Awful.”

  Yes or no, please.

  “Anyway, Brittany, we’ve finished interviewing now and we’ve had a chat between us. We’ve had a good look at everyone’s portfolios…”

  This is nothing but a legal form of torture.

  “... and we’ve decided to offer you the job.”

  I don’t know whether to scream, cry or dance round the room.

  “Thank you,” I say, clutching the phone so hard I’m afraid it will break. “Thank you. I... thank you.”

  Lauren rolls her eyes.

  Hannah laughs. “I assume that means you want it?”

  “Yes, yes, I do want it,” I say. “Thank you so much. When do I start?”

  “How much notice do you have to give at your current job? Is it a month?”

  “I... don’t know.”

  “Well, check that. I’ll get the contract emailed to you and, if you’re happy with that, you can give notice and start whenever.”

  “Wonderful,” I say, bouncing on my toes. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “Look forward to working with you.”

  “You too.”

  We hang up. “I did it!” I yell and start bouncing around the room.

  “Did what?” asks Carly, as she shuts the front door behind her.

  “I got the job!”

  She gives me a big hug. “That’s fantastic! Congratulations. I knew you’d get it. What you said about your long term plans will have been exactly what they wanted to hear.”

  “Yeah, that was a smart thing to say,” Lauren says. “Congratulations.”

  “I don’t believe it,” I say, beaming. “I’m going to have a career doing something I love. Does life get any better than this?”

  “I’m moving out,” Lauren says.

  It does!

  “I’ve picked up another temp job in London, so we’ll be out of each other’s hair.” She gives a half smile. “There you go, now your life is perfect.”

  It isn’t, but right now it feels pretty damn close.

  Chapter 27

  On the last Saturday before Christmas, Kristine takes the radical step of closing the bakery. Instead, Kristine, Zack, James and I all pile into Zack’s 4x4 to head to a little church about half an hour out of town.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

  Abby looks beautiful. She’s wearing a loose, peasant style white dress that should look all wrong for a bride and yet somehow works on her. Toby is standing by her side, looking like he might quite literally burst with pride and joy. He keeps stealing glances at her, as if he can’t believe she’s really marrying him. Every man should look like that on their wedding day. Phillip didn’t.

  “Is there anyone present who knows of any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony?”

  I glance at the flower girls, dressed up like Peppa Pig, and hold my peace. I’m not going to worry about them. With a bit of luck, they’ll make out all right. And if they don’t, then they’ll deal with it.

  “I love that cake!” Abby squeals, as soon as she sees it. She hurries over and starts examining my creation from every angle, calling various relatives - she has an astounding number of them - over to see it.

  I quietly beam with pride, blushing when Abby tells everyone that I’m about to go off and train to become a famous cake designer.

  “One day,” she says, “Brittany’s wedding cakes are going to be in Vogue, so I need lots of photos to prove mine was the first she ever did.”

  I get rather teary and give her a big hug.

  “Lovely job,” Zack says, appearing beside me. “Exactly what she asked for.”

  It’s a fairy princess castle cake. The kind that would thrill a six-year-old girl or any of the brides on My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. I cannot tell you how many hours I spent carving the stonework pattern and fashioning the turrets. I can tell you that only a tiny part of the cake is actually edible, since it had to be made of something solid to support the weight of the icing. But that’s okay. Zack made and plain-iced another cake for eating. We make a good team.

  “Do you fancy going outside for some air?” Zack asks.

  The temperature has dropped unnaturally low. Frost was nipping at my fingertips going from the house to the car.

  “Okay.”

  I grab my coat, hat and gloves - pausing to check on James, who’s been abducted by Abby’s cousins and doesn’t look likely to be returned anytime soon - and follow him out.

  “This is such a nice wedding,” Zack says, as we breathe in the frosty air outside the church hall. “Simple, relaxed. Exactly the kind I wanted.”

  “Did you get it?”

  “No, I got the full works. Down to the personalized favours. And I mustn’t forget the doves.”

  “Doves? Seriously?”

  “Yeah.” Zack breathes in deeply. “I let her have her way. After all, the wedding’s all about the bride, isn’t it? Now I think I should have put my foot down and insisted on having an equal say - at least in the things that were important to me.”

  “What do you think would have happened if you had?”

  Zack laughs. “I think I wouldn’t have got married.”

  I look over the fields next to the church.

  “Zack… do you think you’ll get back together with your ex-wife?”

  He starts. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Well, Penny said…”

  Zack shakes his head. “Penny is delusional. In the nicest possible way. She loves her daughter and believes the best of her - and she doesn’t know half of what happened. There is no way Melissa and I will get back together. We met a couple of times and cleared the air a bit, but we’re divorced. Period.”

  “Oh.”

  He rubs a finger over the back of my hand and I shiver.

  “So... are you going to be dating again?”

  I look down, heart suddenly beating wildly. “Not until I’m officially divorced.”

  “That makes sense.” Zack looks down at our now-joined hands. “It’s best to have a break. It takes time to move on from a relationship, even one that’s been over for a long time.”

  “Yes.”

  Yet we’re still holding hands.

  “I don’t think I’m ready, even now,” Zack says. “I think it’ll take a few more months by myself before I could give it a proper go with someone else. I wouldn’t wa
nt to mess it up with the one because we’d rushed into it.”

  “No, me neither.”

  I look over at him. Our eyes meet and I have a strange premonition that, whatever my future, he’ll be in it.

  We wave Toby and Abby off, the traditional cans and boots on strings rattling behind a battered Ford Escort on the way to a B&B ten miles down the coast. Hardly a dream honeymoon, but they don’t seem to mind.

  I’ve finally decided that I don’t regret getting married. In the last five years, I’ve learned a tremendous amount about the world and about myself, which I might never have done if I hadn’t married Phillip. Plus, I have James, and, although motherhood is tough sometimes, I wouldn’t give him back even if I could.

  No, I don’t regret my marriage. But I can’t imagine I’ll regret my divorce either.

  THE END

  Author Notes

  Thank you for reading But I Said Forever - I hope you enjoyed it. For more, please visit the free bonus features page on my blog.

  There are details of my other books on the following pages. The previous books in this series are Wedding Hells and The Dr Pepper Prophecies (although I warn you Brittany was the bad guy for most of the time). The next book is still being written (I know, I know. I’m working very hard, I promise).

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