It's Not You, It's Them

by Portia MacIntosh

  I shrug him off. As I peer around the front of the lorry, I can see that the driver has a number plate in his window with his name on: Tommy.

  ‘Tommy, is it?’ I say victoriously. ‘Jog on, mate. I’ve got all I need to report you.’

  ‘You’ll shut yer gob, or I’ll heid yer fella through that windae,’ he warns.

  ‘Again,’ Mark starts, ‘not a clue what he’s talking about, but I’m pretty sure he just threatened me, so let’s go.’

  ‘Aye, do as yer told,’ the big, burly, bald driver says victoriously.

  ‘I ain’t doing shit, Shrek,’ I snap back, and as I see the anger bubbling up in his brain, I suddenly realise that I’ve maybe let my temper get the better of me.

  Luckily, Mark takes matters into his own hands, picking me up, throwing me over his shoulder and hurrying me into the service station, presumably because he thinks this guy won’t kill us in front of people.

  Mark plonks me down on a bench.

  ‘Roxie, what is going on with you?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m sorry, I know I’m acting out today,’ I start. ‘I just… I’m so stressed out, I can’t think straight. Everything is annoying me.’

  ‘I can tell, but you need to relax. Nothing is worth getting this stressed over.’

  ‘You are worth getting this stressed over,’ I tell him honestly. ‘I just want your parents to like me.’

  ‘They will love you,’ Mark tells me again, pausing between each word to kiss me on the forehead. ‘It’s a shame we’re not at home; having sex with you is the fastest way I know to chill you out.’

  I feel my eyebrows shoot up my forehead.

  ‘Which toilets, the ones by KFC or the ones by Greggs?’ I ask.

  Mark laughs for a few seconds.

  ‘Oh, God, you’re serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘Very,’ I reply, biting my lip because I know he can’t resist me when I bite my lip.

  ‘Oh, my God – fine. If that is what it’s going to take to make you normal again before I introduce you to my parents then I’ll do it; I’ll have sex with you in the toilets.’

  ‘Aw, babe, you’re so romantic,’ I tease sarcastically. ‘OK, follow me.’

  I grab Mark by the hand and lead him over towards the loos. The entrances to both the gents’ and ladies’ are quite busy so, thinking fast, I quickly push Mark into one of the disabled/baby-changing loos next to where we are standing.

  ‘This is so dirty,’ he tells me as I start kissing him.

  ‘I know, right? So hot,’ I reply breathlessly.

  ‘No, I mean literally. It’s so dirty in here; there’s a used nappy on the floor.’

  ‘Ignore it,’ I demand.

  Mark does as I ask, lifting up my dress before picking me up and pinning me against the wall. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist and do my best to keep as quiet as possible – something I always struggle with.

  As I feel myself letting go of everything that is making me feel stressed, I feel like myself again. Sadly, along with my stress, I let go of my sense, and as I lean one hand against the wall to steady myself, it gets caught in the orange string hanging from the ceiling. As I absentmindedly shake it off, I pull on it a little too hard, setting off the help alarm.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ I blurt.

  ‘Oh, God, what have you done?’ Mark asks, his brain realising a second later. He quickly puts me down and we both begin wrestling our clothes back into the right place as two members of staff burst through the door.

  ‘It’s not what it looks like,’ I tell them.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Ten minutes and we’ll be there,’ Mark tells me.

  The latter half of our journey has been a little on the quiet side.

  ‘Good,’ I reply. ‘I cannot wait for this drive to be over.’

  ‘Is that because you got us banned from a service station?’ he asks.

  ‘Erm, I think blame is divided 50/50 on that one,’ I insist.

  ‘We’re lucky we didn’t get arrested,’ he starts, before softening, his face melting into that handsome smile of his. ‘It was pretty funny, though.’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ I laugh.

  ‘But, seriously, my parents aren’t as cool as yours. We can’t be behaving like horny teenagers in front of them.’

  ‘I know,’ I reply, keeping my cool. I swore to myself that I would calm down and expect the best from people, so that’s what I’m going to do.

  ‘So, now that we’re actually in the Dales, what do you think?’

  ‘I think I have no signal,’ I reply, as I lock my phone screen in frustration. But then I look up from my screen and truly take in my surroundings, and it’s beautiful. It’s starting to get dark now that it’s late afternoon, and there are bare trees and frost is creeping up the dry stone walls that line the windy roads.

  ‘Nice, right?’ Mark says with a smile, obviously seeing the sense of wonderment on my face. ‘And it looks even better in the summer. One minute you can see for miles, the next you’re surrounded by trees in the depths of a valley.’

  ‘You were right, it is beautiful.’

  ‘And this, right here, at the top of this driveway, is the house I grew up in.’

  It’s more like a private road than a driveway; my parents have a driveway and it’s just about big enough to fit a Ford Focus on it – not that either of them drives. That’s probably why I never learned. We’re true Londoners, fully able to zip around our little bubble on public transport.

  The Wright family driveway is a long stretch of road lined with trees so tall, I feel dizzy glancing up out of my window to try and see the top of them. They’ve lost all of their leaves but the thick trunks are covered with ivy creeping up and around them.

  At the top of the driveway, when I finally clap eyes on the house, the picture-perfect scene is complete. Like something fresh out of a rom-com, the large cottage looks like it’s made up of maybe two or three terraced houses knocked into one. It is situated in a large garden that I can imagine full of flowers in the summertime, but as it’s December the only green to see is from the evergreen trees and the ivy creeping up the stone walls, framing the Georgian windows. I can still make out the green of the grass, but things are looking increasingly frosty, and as we step out of the car, the cold hits me like sharp knives all over my body. My black skirt (the longest one I own, because I’ve never been a fan of long skirts – I just feel like they make my chubby thighs seem ten times as wide) is cut just above the knee, so I pull at it in that way I always do to adjust my clothing when I’m self-conscious, in some sort of pointless attempt to try and keep myself warm. Thankfully, I teamed it with a black (yes, you’ve guessed it, black again), off-the-shoulder jumper and a pair of black (are you starting to notice a pattern here?) over-the-knee boots. I realise that, with a four-and-a-half-inch heel, these boots seem impractical, but the fact that they come up to my thigh does mean they keep my legs warm. Anyway, I’ve been wearing heels for so long I can walk in them steadier than I can with bare feet. From the second I slipped on a pair of my mum’s shoes when I was younger, trotting around the house in her size sixes that were much too big for me, I perfected the art, and then, as I grew up, got some pairs of my own and found myself frequently having to dash for trains in them or try to stay upright when I was tipsy, I really refined the skill. I feel like I could compete in the Olympics in them and totally kick everyone’s arses – my complete lack of athleticism aside, obviously.

  Outside the house four cars are already parked. As we’re taking our overnight bags from Mark’s car, a woman rushes out of the house, runs up to Mark and wraps her arms around him.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, come here,’ she insists, squeezing him. ‘I haven’t seen you in so long. Are you even more handsome than the last time I saw you? Is that possible?’ she asks with a big grin.

  ‘Nah,’ Mark says modestly.

  ‘And this…’ she starts, clapping eyes on me. ‘This must be Roxie. I had no idea he was bringing you. An
d look at those boots! I love them.’

  As Mark’s mum grabs me for a hug, suddenly all of my worries disappear. I should’ve known that there was no way a kind, funny sweetheart like Mark could have come from a family that was anything less than lovely. It’s just such a huge relief.

  Finally, releasing me from her warm hug, she turns her attention back to Mark.

  ‘I just popped up to borrow some batteries. This house is always stocked and prepared for whatever the elements have to throw at us; I suppose you have to be like that living in the middle of nowhere. Not that we’ve ever been so prepared at the pub, but when times get tough, there’s always alcohol,’ she laughs. ‘You heard about the bad weather heading this way?’

  ‘Not really,’ Mark says. ‘Someone turned the weather forecast off on the drive up here.’

  As Mark shoots me a cheeky glance, I feel my face muscles tense up with puzzlement. Luckily, Mark spots that I’m confused straight away, and explains the situation to me.

  ‘Sorry, Roxie, I didn’t even think to introduce you. This is my auntie, Gail. She and my uncle own the pub/B&B up the hill.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ I tell her honestly. She may not be his mum, but she’s lovely. ‘So you’re Mark’s mum’s sister?’

  ‘Actually, I’m married to Mark’s dad’s brother,’ she explains, giggling to herself. ‘This family stuff is confusing, isn’t it? Just wait until you step inside there and meet everyone. There’s a real houseful; the whole gang has got together, ready for Christmas.’

  ‘Will you be at dinner tonight?’ Mark asks.

  ‘Not tonight, love, sorry. Your Uncle Malcolm and I have a lot of guests at the B&B – what with the weather forecast apparently not being so good and all. But maybe you can swing by the pub for lunch tomorrow before you guys head home?’

  ‘That would be great,’ Mark tells her, hugging her one last time before she hops in her car and heads off down the driveway.

  ‘So that’s my auntie,’ he tells me. ‘How are we doing do far?’

  ‘Great,’ I smile.

  ‘And she loved you!’

  ‘I hope so,’ I reply, puffing air out of my cheeks. ‘So there’s a house full of people… OK, let’s do this.’

  Full of confidence, we grab our bags and head for the front door.

  Stepping inside, the first thing I notice is the large, oak staircase that is situated in the centre of the house. If possible, it seems even bigger now that I’m inside and can see that there are rooms to the left, right and back of the staircase deeper into the house. It’s got a nice, homely feel to it, with framed photos all over the walls, shoes lined up neatly in the hallway, coats hung on a rack. You can tell this is a family home, used to accommodating lots of people. It’s got such a warm feel to it – and not just because it smells like they’ve got a nice, warm fire on the go.

  ‘Hello,’ Mark calls out. ‘I’m home.’

  ‘Marcus, darling,’ a thin, pristinely dressed sixty-something lady calls out as she rushes into the room. Realising that she’s just as warm as her sister-in-law only goes further in putting me at ease – until she claps eyes on me, and her face falls.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ she says, in a much more subdued tone.

  ‘Mum, I want you to meet Roxie. Roxie, this is my mum, Valerie,’ Mark says, making the introductions.

  With Valerie not offering me the same hug as Mark’s auntie, I offer her a hand to shake, which she politely accepts.

  ‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ Valerie says. ‘Unexpected, but lovely.’

  ‘Yeah, erm, Mark never told me he was surprising you with me,’ I add with an awkward laugh.

  ‘Well, I’m certainly surprised,’ she says coolly.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ Mark asks him mum.

  ‘Family room.’

  ‘OK, well let’s take this conversation through there. I’ll introduce everyone at the same time.’

  Mark ushers me into the family room where I’m greeted by an audience of people who all look equally surprised to see me.

  It’s a beautiful, cosy room, with a roaring fire and comfortable-looking corner sofas covered in cushions. Everyone was talking among themselves as we walked into the room, although I can’t help but notice there’s a football match on the TV. Now, all eyes are on me.

  ‘Everyone, this so Roxie,’ Mark announces. Everyone greets me at once before Mark gets on with the introductions.

  ‘So you’ve met Valerie, my mum, already,’ he begins, starting to his left before working his way clockwise around the room. ‘Next up is my big sister, Millie, and her husband, Alex. And those two cheeky faces are their twins, Lisa and Louise.’

  Alex is wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and he has his jumper tied around his waist for some reason. Sitting there, lounging on the sofa, you’d never guess he was a doctor. Millie, on the other hand, looks very prim and proper, and is dressed much older than I’d imagine she is. She has her shoulder-length, dark-brown hair in a ponytail, and if she’s wearing make-up, I can’t see it. She’s either nailing the natural look or she’s just not wearing any. I’d guess the latter, as she has spectacular dark circles under her eyes.

  Sitting on the floor are the twins, dressed identically, with identical bows in their hair, playing with identical dolls. I give them both a wave but they just stare at me for a moment. It’s weird, but I don’t find twins cute, I find them creepy. Especially when their parents insist on making them a mirror image of one another. They’re strange-looking girls; I don’t quite know how to describe them. They have very miserable faces, like they take no joy from the world. They’re almost frowning, although I don’t know if that’s just because they don’t think much of me.

  ‘Nice to meet you all,’ I say.

  ‘Then we’ve got my little sis, Melody. And her boyfriend du jour, Ste.’

  ‘Oi, be nice to your sister,’ a man I’m going to guess is Mark’s dad ticks him off.

  ‘And my dad, Oscar, obviously,’ Mark laughs, slightly embarrassed to have been told off, despite being thirty-two years old.

  Mark’s dad is an interesting character. Even though he’s sitting down I can tell that he’s tall and slim. He’s surprisingly well-groomed for a sixty-something gentleman, with his dyed dark hair blown back, his beard neatly trimmed, and his outfit of chinos and a shirt looking great, so I’m going to assume his wife dresses him.

  If I thought Millie looked like she hadn’t been getting enough sleep, then Melody, Mark’s little sister, is giving her a run for her money with the dark circles. She’s wearing eyeliner and a smoky eye shadow, but I can still tell. She’s a skinny girl, with long brown hair that has natural, beachy waves in it. Something my hair, too, does naturally, but ever since I had my lob cut, my hair isn’t heavy enough to get away with it, and without the use of heat, I look ridiculous. Ste, her boyfriend, looks older than she does – probably about my age. He’s scruffy, and I can tell why Mark didn’t give him the warmest introduction. His shaggy brown hair could be described as neither long nor short, just messy and in desperate need of a wash, some dry shampoo or, preferably, some clippers. He’s wearing what I’d guess is a band T-shirt, but it’s a band I’ve never heard of, and jeans cut off below the knee. His look is finished with a pair of Vans that look older than the twins, who I’d guess were about six-ish.

  ‘So, all ten of us are staying here tonight?’ Mark enquires excitedly. Even before I met them, I could tell he adored his family, and I think sometimes living so far away from them gets to him.

  ‘Well, give or take a few surprise guests,’ his mum jokes, but there’s something strange about her that I just can’t put my finger on. Despite the warm fire, the room feels positively frosty.

  ‘Well, Roxie coming with me isn’t the only surprise we have for you, Mark teases, placing a loving arm around me.

  Mark’s mum jumps up from her seat.

  ‘Oh, my God, you’re pregnant,’ she shrieks. It’s definitely not a happy shriek, it’s a distressed one.


  I instinctively place my hands on my stomach. I know I had a big dinner last night, but I didn’t think I looked pregnant.

  Melody drops her empty mug to the floor and the twins both stare at me, suddenly interested in the grown-up conversation.

  ‘What? No!’ Mark laughs. ‘We’re engaged.’

  ‘What?’ his mum snaps.

  OK, this is neither the reaction I hoped for nor expected. Not one person seems happy about this news. Mark doesn’t really take their disappointment on board, but I can see it in their eyes and hear it in their voices.

  ‘Congratulations,’ his dad chirps up. ‘Is there a ring we can all gush over?’

  I offer my hand to his dad to examine.

  ‘Good God, son,’ he gasps. ‘Spending your inheritance so soon? It’s a beauty, though.’

  Mark ushers me towards a space on the sofa so we can sit down. It’s weird, to have the entire room’s attention, but for no one to be saying a word.

  ‘Well, thank you for having me,’ I tell them, to try and hit home just how well-mannered I am.

  ‘Well, we didn’t know we were having you, but you’re here now so we’ll make the best of it,’ Valerie tells me.

  ‘The best of it’? Surely she means ‘the most of it’? ‘The most of it’ sounds like taking the opportunity to get to know their future daughter-in-law, but ‘the best of it’ sounds like she’s just going to try and make the best of a bad situation.

  ‘Are you both staying for Christmas then?’ Val asks.

  I feel my eyebrows shoot up a mile above my forehead.

  ‘No, mum, I told you I was spending it in London, and that this was just going to be a flying visit.’

  ‘I just thought with your bringing Roxie here, maybe you were both spending it here.’

  ‘No, we’re going to travel back home tomorrow. Is my bedroom ready?’ Mark asks, oblivious to any weirdness. ‘We might go dump our stuff in there.’

  ‘Erm, actually, your bedroom is taken,’ his mum informs him. ‘So we put you in the study.’