Mum butts in. ‘It was nineteen seventy-nine. Our final year at high school. Another world, wasn’t it Malcolm?’
In my head I’ve already pre-empted this. Recollections of their early romance always take place in ‘another world’. Next it’ll be the bus stop and ‘poof!’ Just listen.
‘Sandra Bowler had been drooling over your father for months, hadn’t she, poor girl? But I was hoping he’d ask me out, and you never did, did you, Malcolm?’
‘No, I never did,’ he says fondly, shaking his head at his younger self. It’s adorable, but I’ve seen this a lot, remember.
‘Your father was walking us both to the bus stop one night after school. It was the coldest winter we’d had in years and there was a terrible storm, coming down in buckets it was. When suddenlypoof! Sandra Bowler was struck by lightning, poor girl. A zillion volts straight down the brolly handle and into her body.’
I widen my eyes because they’re expecting a reaction.
Satisfied, Dad takes over. ‘Well, the sight of her lying in the rain in a puddle, hair sticking up like a porcupine, was enough to have one of my pals, Jamie Field, running for her. Do you know, he knelt in that puddle by her side, he did, and clasped her hand.’
That’s new. Porcupine is new. Nice detailing, Dad.
‘And she came to in his arms,’ says Mum. ‘The pair of them left together in the ambulance. And you’ll never guess?’
Just say what. ‘What?’
‘They were married the following summer. We gave them a rubber bath mat as a wedding present, didn’t we, Malcolm?’
This story gets stupider and more far-fetched every time they tell it.
‘That’s lovely.’ I say with a nod of finality, topping up our coffee cups.
‘No, it isn’t. At least it wouldn’t be lovely if it weren’t for what happened next,’ says Mum, a bit annoyed that I’m trying to wriggle out of the familiar Happy Ever After ending to this daft romantic caper. ‘You see, it took your dad weeks to ask me out after that, even though the lightning had put paid to Sandra meddling in our after school walks to the bus stop. Eventually, I said to him, “Malcolm Magnussen, are you going to take me to the end of term disco, or aren’t you?”’
‘And I said, “I was just building up to asking.”’
‘And so he did ask.’
‘I did.’
‘That’s lovely. I should probably be heading off now, it’s getting late…’
But Mum’s not done. ‘My point is, Sylvie, love, if you don’t take a chance and grab what you want with both hands and make it take you to the disco, you might end up missing out on the best things that could ever happen to you.’
I watch my parents smile at one another. Dad pats Mum’s hand.
‘I can’t believe I’m being Mr Miyagied by my own mother.’
‘Well, I don’t know this Mr Miyagi, but I do know that lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, so you need to grab hold of the one you love and make sure they know it!’
Chapter Thirty-One
I trudge back to my flat in the increasingly heavy snow. Castlewych’s streets seem apocalyptically deserted, but I can see the lights from the tellies flickering behind blinds as I walk along and I remember that everyone’s indoors because English people don’t make Unnecessary Journeys in snowy weather.
They’re probably inside watching news reports about the snow instead of actually setting foot in it. I’m willing to bet that across the country right now there are at least eight meteorologists standing in front of blustery motorway gantries pointing the cameras towards slow-moving traffic below and warning of black ice and treacherous conditions. Funnily enough, I didn’t see a single weather warning or snarled up road the whole time I was in easy-going, stoic, snowbound Lapland.
My ersatz Christmas day at Mum and Dad’s has left me exhausted, so I head straight to bed when I get in, and the last thing I think of as I fall asleep is my parents’ love story.
It was all right for them, I think, last century. They were in the same class at school, for heaven’s sake. They took the same bus every day and lived on the same street. Love was bound to come for them.
But now, it’s more complicated than that. We’re all studying abroad, travelling overseas, chatting with people from the other side of the world at the touch of a button. And with dating technologies that can match you up to your perfect partner or let you swipe away potentially unsuitable men like you’re swatting flies, we’ve got a whole planet of people to choose from. These days, your husband’s just as likely to be in an office in Casablanca as he is to be waiting at the bus stop in Castlewych.
And as for me, the only man I’ve ever really loved is somewhere in the wilderness right now, and no amount of lightning strikes and longing will send him running to kneel by my side in this storm. We’re worlds apart.
I’ve been asleep for a while when I hear it.Ping!A notification. I’d left my phone on in case Nari wanted to chat, but it must be the middle of the night now. Peering at my phone in the darkness, I sit up and read in bed. It’s from Nari’s blog. She’s posted something new.
