I took a swig of my prosecco and stared at the blank piece ofpaper in my lap. A lot of the other hens were giggling as they scribbled away; some were even gasping and pointing at each other, saying “I know what you should write!” and then whispering in the other’s ear, prompting hysterical laughter from both parties.
I guess I had quite a good one. Being dumped the day before your wedding in a broom cupboard was certainly outrageous and also ticked the box for a relationship disaster. But I’m not sure it really matched the tone of the afternoon. I decided it would be best for me to stick to the drunken-night-out idea and started thinking back on any funny stories I could use in this game.
And that’s when I got the first major wave of emotional nausea. Because as I racked my brain, I realized that, aside from my childhood, almost every single memory involved Matthew.
I met him when I was in first year and he was in second. Leo, Ruby, and I had already formed our little friendship gang and Ruby announced that she was going to join the drama club. She forced me to come with her to the audition, because she was so nervous. We were sitting outside the studio where the auditions were being held and she was reading through the script. There were a few people lined up down the corridor and it was eerily quiet as the acting hopefuls all read through the few lines they’d been given.
“Everyone here looks very professional,” Ruby whispered. “Maybe we should go home.”
“You look as professional as everyone else.”
“Yeah, but they all look edgy. They look like drama students. I’m not cool enough.”
“You’re very cool,” I assured her. “Stop being ridiculous.”
“What if they ask me about my music taste?”
“Who would ask that?”
“The third-year students holding the auditions,” she whispered, agitated. “They might ask some questions after to see if I’m cool enough to hang out with them.”
“If they do that, they’re wankers.”
The guy sitting next to me snorted into his audition sheet. He caught my eye and smiled. I remember thinking straightaway that he had really nice, long lashes framing his light green eyes. He was a lot more gangly then—it was a good few years before he started bulking up at the gym, something he does almost every evening now—and his mouse-brown hair was styled with too much wax. He had a spattering of freckles across his nose and an endearingly wonky smile.
He got Invisalign braces the year before he proposed. I never told him this because of the money he spent on them, but I preferred his smile before his teeth were straightened and whitened.
“Name an edgy band,” Ruby demanded as the person in front of her was called into the audition room. “Quick.”
I sighed. “I don’t know any edgy bands. I’m not sure I know what you mean by ‘edgy.’”
“Someone cool and non-mainstream. Someone no one else has heard of.”
“If you need someone that no one has heard of, why don’t you just make up a name?”
Ruby gasped. “Freya, that is ageniusidea.”
(It turned out to be a terrible idea. Although her music taste wasn’t asked about during the audition, the topic did come up when she got a small part in the play and they were all out for a cast bonding night. Apparently, one of the guys she was speaking to went home and set about googling, but couldn’t find a trace of this amazing singer-songwriter she banged on about all night, Elvis McGee.)
While Ruby was in the audition, the guy next to me asked me what role I was going for. I promptly informed him that I was merely there as moral support. He asked why I wasn’t interested in the stage. I told him I was not an in-the-spotlight kind of person.
He tilted his head at me when I said that and went, “Are you sure about that?,” with that unique smile that made my heart somersault. It was cheesy and ridiculous and wonderful.
That was how it all started; a couple of terms into my university education and I’d already met The One. I know some people think relationships can affect how much fun you have at uni, but it wasn’t the case for me. Matthew made my experience. All of my best memories involve him in some way. But we also weren’t stuck together like glue—I was very strict about not spending all our time together. I never wanted to become one of those couples who never saw their friends. I was intent on doing things “sensibly,” i.e., not moving in together too soon, making sure we kept up our own individual passions and interests, putting in time with friends without each other. I listened to all the warnings in movies and books about whirlwind romances, what happens when couples move too fast and isolate themselves from their friendship group—if everything falls apart, what happens then? Who do you turn to? People talk about “following your heart” as you fall madly in love, but I wasn’t the sort of person to throw caution to the wind.
And it worked.
Loads of couples we knew broke up after university, but not me and Matthew. We happily kept going, all the way through our twenties. We saw each other through everything; we were together for every milestone. I organized a huge party for his twenty-fifth birthday; he took me for a fancy dinner at the Ivy when I got the job at Suttworth; we’ve been on long weekends around the UK, trips abroad, family holidays. Everything was great; our relationship was calm, solid, and drama-free. I never questioned it. We were all set.
“Like a tortoise,” I told him after a couple of very strong cocktails celebrating our engagement.
“Sorry?”
“You and me,” I slurred, leaning into him. “We’re strong and steady, like a tortoise.”
“Is that right?” He took a sip of his beer. “How sexy.”
It was drunken silliness, but it was also true. We’d made it so far, it seemed impossible that we would fall at any hurdle.
