‘I think I want whatever you want. There’s no right or wrong decision for you to make here, only what is right for you.’
I nodded because he was saying exactly what I’d told myself a thousand times over.
‘I’m still not committing to anything. I just want to talk it through with a counsellor andthenmake an informed decision about what I want to do, rather than follow my knee-jerk one of saying no one should ever know their own future.
‘But what Ididn’twant,’ I said, taking the letter from Nick’s hands and sliding it back into its envelope, ‘was for you to think that I’d made this appointment because of what happened today. That’s why I wanted to show this to you now, so that you knew you hadn’t forced my hand. I’d already decided to do this.’
He looked at me then with more admiration than I deserved.
‘I still might not have the test. Only forty per cent of those who go to a geneticist actually go through with it.’
Nick shrugged, as though nothing could be of less importance. If it was possible to love him even more than I already did, it happened right there in that moment.
‘I’d like to come with you – if you want me to, that is.’
I nodded just as the sound of tyres crunching on gravel came from the driveway. Our guests had arrived.
While Nick was busy taking coats and relieving Amelia, Mum and Tom of a ridiculous number of Christmas presents, I took a moment to slip the diamond ring from my finger and transfer it on to a long silver chain hung around my neck. I dropped it down inside my jumper and smiled when the ring settled right next to my heart. A spot already claimed by the man who’d given it to me.
*
‘I couldn’t manage another mouthful,’ Tom declared, even as he rummaged through the tub of Quality Street for his personal favourite.
Christmas lunch had been an enormous success, thanks to Nick’s assistance and several glasses of champagne, both of which seemed to make everything far less stressful. With unheard-of restraint, Mum hadn’t attempted to take over and had even claimed that sprouts taste better when you overcook them andeveryone’sgravy has lumps in it.
Now, with the dishwasher humming through its first cycle, Nick got to his feet and laid his hand on Holly’s shoulder. ‘Feel like keeping me company on a dog walk?’ he asked, managing to sound impressively casual.
I held my breath, not sure I was capable of holding in our secret much longer if Holly decided the book I’d given her for Christmas was more enticing than a walk with her dad. Thankfully, she didn’t.
‘Are you okay?’ Amelia asked when they’d been gone for about twenty minutes. ‘You seem awfully on edge.’
‘Probably because I’ve just lived through the Yuletide equivalent of theMasterCheffinal,’ I said, my glance going to the settee where Mum was now quietly snoring.
Amelia’s frown told me she didn’t entirely believe my reply.
‘Have you had a good day?’ I asked her, because when all was said and done, that was all that really mattered. It was all for Amelia.
‘I have. You’ve made it absolutely perfect,’ she said, swivelling on the settee to face me. ‘If this is the last Christmas I ever properly remember, then I can’t think of a better one to go out on.’
Tears stung my eyes, but her fierce glare stopped them from falling.
‘None of that. Not today. Today is only for making happy memories.’
My ears pricked up when I heard the sound of the back door opening, followed by the skitter of Mabel’s claws on the tiled floor. They were back.
I didn’t need to ask Nick if he’d spoken to Holly. The answer was right there in her ear-to-ear grin and the way she positively skipped into the room. I matched her smile with one of my own and gave her a secret wink.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ I said, ducking into the kitchen where Nick was already pulling a bottle of champagne from the fridge. ‘I thought we might want to toast our news with something a little stronger than PG Tips,’ he said with a grin.
I loaded a tray with glasses and then pulled the silver chain out from its hiding place beneath my jumper. For the second time that day, Nick slipped the diamond ring on to my finger.
‘Let’s do this,’ he said.
Mum was now awake but so engrossed in her conversation with Tom she failed to spot the extremely unsubtle way I flaunted my left hand as I set the tray down on the coffee table.
‘More fizz?’ Tom queried. I suspected he’d have preferred a bottle of stout or a glass of rum.
‘I thought we should,’ Nick said, his eyes going to his daughter, who looked as though she was in serious danger of exploding.
