I clutch my phone to my breastbone, not sure if I want it to buzz or not. I’m angry with Luke for making the dramatic exit. Maybe I even wish I’d thought of it first. After all, I’m the one with the reason to be upset tonight. What didIdo that was so awful? It’s not wrong to be upset he crossed a firm boundary I’d set down. I’m so confused.
That’s when I spot the gift bag on the side table. I slide into the chair, put my phone on the cushion beside me, pick up the bag, and carefully rummage inside.
There’s a small box, the kind jewellery – possibly even diamonds – comes in. It’s old, made of good quality navy blue leather with a tiny brass button for a clasp. Faded gold lettering is stamped on top, possibly the name of the jeweller, but too much is rubbed off for it to be legible.
Feeling sick in the pit of my stomach, I ease the lid open. Inside is an Art Deco eternity ring, a circle of delicate foliage. Each white-gold leaf is filled with two diamonds and in between sit tiny, deep-green emeralds.
I close the lid and stare at the wall. This ring doesn’t belong to me, but I’ve seen it before.
It’s Luke’s great-great-grandmother’s legendary engagement ring. Great-great-grandpa Joseph bought the ring in Paris then served as a soldier in the trenches, miraculously surviving the Battle of the Somme – all the while with the ring stitched into his pocket – to come home and present it to his sweetheart, Millicent, and they were married within a month. She always said the ring was her lucky charm, because it brought Joe home from the trenches to her safe and sound.
It was a true love match by all accounts, cut tragically short when, not much older than I am now, she died during an airraid in the Blitz. And the ring got passed down to her oldest son and then his oldest daughter after him, and everyone who wore the ring seemed to have an idyllic marriage, leading it to become part of family folklore. The only reason Luke’s mum isn’t wearing it is because his gran was still alive when she tied the knot with Ed. Since Luke is the oldest child, I could have been next in line to wear it, but I chose not to.
The tiny diamonds and emeralds glint in the light of the table lamp beside me. Luke was going to give this to me? Tonight? A cold swirling starts up deep in my stomach. Have I got this all wrong? Have I just made a horrible, horrible mistake?
As much as I’ve sensed a distance between us recently, it doesn’t mean I don’t love Luke. I love him with my whole heart and soul, more than I’ve ever allowed myself to love anyone else. And that’s because I told myself this would never happen. With good reason! Luke always said he’d never give up on me and, stupidly, I believed him.
What do I do now? The thing I’ve feared most has happened to me. I don’t know how to react, how to feel. I don’t even know how tobreathe.I ease the ring from its velvet cushion and slide it onto my left ring finger. I might not deserve its luck, but maybe I can borrow some, just for tonight.
Please don’t let this be true,I whisper silently to any deity that might be listening.Please give me a second chance. I’ll do anything.
And then I haul myself upstairs, fall into bed fully clothed, and cry myself to sleep.
CHAPTER SIX
LUKE
The park gates are closed. Crap. He stares at the vast metal railings for a few seconds. What the heck? He shoves his foot on the crossbar for leverage and vaults over, nearly catching his jacket on one of the spikes on top but just getting away with it.
He just needs some space, some fresh air, to help him think. All these houses squashed together make him feel claustrophobic. He knows Kelsey Park well. It’s a common route on his runs. He prefers wild hills and rocky cliffs if he really needs to think and this is all manicured lawns, carefully tended flower beds and play areas, but in the bustle of South East London, it’s the best he can manage within walking distance of home.
He makes his way down a tarmac path flanked by towering rhododendrons and then crosses a small bridge over a man-made stream. Once across, he turns left, joining the main path that weaves through the length of the park.
He passes a waterfall made with concrete blocks doing their best to mimic natural rocks. There must have been a natural stream running through this valley once, but sometime in the last century it was dammed and diverted to create a large pond,and then released again via the waterfall to continue its journey to the Thames, maybe seven or eight miles north.
He keeps walking along the path that traces the edge of the pond and onto a wide paved area with railings. During the daylight hours, small children stand at the edges, throwing handfuls of bird food into the water for ducks and geese with abandon. He always wondered if he’d be one of those dads, holding a plastic tub for a toddler wrapped up in a puffy coat, bobble hat and mittens, but it hasn’t happened yet. Another thing Jess has had iron-clad control over. It took her so many years to be ready to talk about starting a family, that now he wonders if they left it too late.
Near the railings is a trio of benches. He picks the farthest one, sits down and closes his eyes, listening to the gentle slap of the water against its artificial banks, the rustle of wind in the mature horse chestnuts.
How does he go back to that house? How does he go home and pretend something inside him hasn’t changed? He doesn’t know what, and he isn’t exactly sure how or why, but he felt it shift, like tectonic plates releasing tension after years of seismic build-up.
For more than twenty minutes, he sits in the darkness, playing the events of the night over and over in his head. Jess is being totally unreasonable but she’s so stubborn and blinkered that she won’t let herself see it. Her life would be better if she could find some peace with her mum; he’s sure of it.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. He knows she’s calling him, but he doesn’t pick up. The next few minutes are punctuated by shorter beeps. He pulls his phone out and turns it onto silent, ignoring the handful of messages from his wife. He’ll read them later.
But just as he’s about to put it away again, another message arrives. He almost ignores it, presuming it’s Jess again, but his lock screen says otherwise. He presses on the notification to open up the message.
Hey. Everything okay?
He hesitates. No. No, it’s not.
A few moments later, a second message arrives:I saw Jess leave the party and I couldn’t see you anywhere either. Has something happened?
He’d like to reply, but he knows he probably shouldn’t, not in the mood he’s in. He’s about to lock his phone when another one lands.Do you need to talk?
He lets out a loud sigh. He really does. But should he? Jess is very sensitive about them discussing their relationship with outsiders. It would be the worst thing in the world if anyone thought that their marriage was anything less than perfect, apparently, because thenshewould be less than perfect, and that’s just not an option in Jess’s eyes.
But he’s over it. Over all the pretending. Maybe he needs to think about his own needs, be a bit selfish, rather than always trying to do what’s best for Jess? She doesn’t seem to have any trouble putting herself first.
