CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JESS
‘I know you’re the organized one in our relationship, but I have a Plan B all set up and ready to go.’
Luke opens the fridge door and pulls out a bottle of proper champagne, then also a series of trays and packets. A closer look tells me they’re canapés and party bites, but more of the adult gourmet kind than the sugar and sprinkles kind in the dining room next door. I vaguely remember that he was carrying a bag when I answered the door to him, but I had no idea he’d stashed all of this in the fridge. He must have done it when I was busy getting ready to do the makeovers that never happened.
I don’t know what it is, but I can’t resist anything that comes in a bite-size morsel. I would eat just about anything if you presented it to me as a canapé. And the fact that Luke has remembered this and been resourceful enough to go out and buy some of my favourites – duck spring rolls, tempura prawns, tiny Yorkshire puddings with a sliver of roast beef and a smear of horseradish – is eroding my decision to keep my distance from him.
While our feast is heating up, he pours us each a glass of champagne and leads me out onto the large deck at the back ofthe house. We stand at the railing, overlooking the neatly tended garden. His hand goes up to his hair and he gently presses a clip so he can take it out. There is a muffled ‘No!’ from somewhere behind us and we both spin round to see at least five small faces pressed against the French doors.
‘You can’t take it out!’ Constance mouths, looking almost desperate.
Luke shrugs and his hand drops to his side. The girls begin to cheer but then Lola catches them, shoos them away, and then with an apologetic smile, draws the curtains.
‘I couldn’t have done what you did back there,’ I tell him.
He frowns. ‘What? Put things in the oven?’
I laugh and punch him gently on the arm. ‘No … I mean letting those monsters loose on me with lipstick and hair accessories.’
He chuckles softly. ‘I know. You would have hated sitting there with them all touching you at once, not knowing what you looked like.’
‘But it didn’t bother you.’
‘People are different.’
I study him carefully. ‘Yes, we are.’
And I’m so used to seeing the differences between my husband and myself as frustrations that I’ve forgotten how marvellous they can be. I could never be that patient. But Luke … ? It didn’t faze him.Nothingseems to faze him.
But then I have a memory of a door slamming, the look of dejection, anger and pain on his face before he walked out of the house on a day exactly eleven years from now, and I know that’s not true. There’s one thing that rattles Luke to the core. Me.
‘But I like our differences,’ he says, smiling softly. ‘I thinkpeople are like jigsaw pieces … If we were all the same, if we were all squares instead of nobly asymmetrical shapes, life would be boring. And we wouldn’t connect. Straight edges just slide past each other – nothing there to help them grip onto each other. It’s the differences, the uneven edges, that not only make us interesting, but also lock us together.’
I don’t think I’ve ever heard Luke say something so profound. The intensity in his eyes as he waits for a response makes me drop my gaze to my glass and shift uncomfortably.
He moves closer, places in arm around my waist and pulls me to him. Unsure of what emotion to feel, I shift my focus to his chest. ‘A whole year since I first saw you standing on your own in that bar … ’ he whispers in my ear.
He said ‘bar’ instead of ‘restaurant’, which gives me another clue as to how this strange universe I’m inhabiting works. It’s clear what I did last year … yesterday … has become our history, rather than what I originally remember happening. I wonder what that means?
‘Do you think about what the next year might hold for us?’ he asks, and I detect a hint of nervousness in his tone.
I swallow. I don’t know how to answer. Yes, if this was my normal life, I would be thinking about that. We clicked together so fast, so hard, it would be weird not to. But I don’t want to think about that tonight. It’s too sad.
Even though our past has changed, it seems our future is less easy to direct. I tried my hardest to avoid him today, but here we are, together on the anniversary of the day we first met. Just as we were on May the fourteenth one year ago. Fate has us locked in its grip, and it seems reluctant to let us go.
But I suppose I have changed one thing. Last time Lukeproposed to me, it was very romantic. He booked a table atRive Gaucheagain. Or at least, I thought the table was in the restaurant, but when we arrived, Luke led me upstairs to the roof garden. Every table was empty bar one in the centre. It turned out he’d booked the whole rooftop out just for us, and then, just as dessert was being served, he got all nervous, and moments later, the words ‘Marry me?’ were spelled out in tiny fairy lights along the wall beside us and he got down on one knee. Tonight couldn’t be more different.
Some of the tension eases out of my shoulders and neck. He’s still wearing the wonky purple and blue eyeshadow the girls put on him and a smear of pale-pink lipstick that hasn’t been rubbed off by sipping champagne beside his mouth. He’ll save his big romantic gesture for a day when he’s not covered in glitter and plastic hair clips. I feel a pang of sadness when I think of the rooftop bar, all booked out but standing empty, the fairy lights unlit, but I’m also relieved that, tonight, I’m safe.
We eat our canapé picnic undisturbed. Lola had planned a movie for the girls and it’s not hard to guess they’re all glued toFrozen,because the muffled voices singing along to ‘Let It Go’ are just about audible out here on the deck. I look at the drawn curtains over the French windows and sigh.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Luke asks me.
We’ve been chatting easily, probably because I’ve been able to relax more, knowing the rest of our future isn’t going to be decided tonight. The champagne has also helped me let my guard down. My automatic response to this question – from anyone, not just Luke – is to bat it away and be vague, to say I was just daydreaming, but I find my actual thoughts spilling out of my mouth instead. ‘They’re so lucky.’
‘Who? The girls?’
