tell me he’s a psychic?’
‘No, he’s a TV producer, as you know – not just anyone can make a top TV show, he’s got tons of experience.’
‘What’s this TV show about, then?’
I squirmed; the last thing I wanted was for them to pick up on any insecurities about going to New York on my part, and ‘a show about an underwear company’ didn’t exactly sound like something that would impress one’s parents. I casually wandered out of the kitchen and into the sitting room so Rob couldn’t overhear the half-truth I was about to tell.
‘It’s about a top company out there, it’s kind of an American institution. Rob will be telling the inside story on how it works.’
‘Anyway, Amber,’ Dad interrupted me, ‘we wondered if you’d like to bring Rob to dinner at home next Sunday? Especially now that you’re practically eloping, we’d like to meet him properly.’ I almost choked on my tea.
‘If you’re disappearing off to the other side of the world with this fellow, we’d better get to know him,’ Mum added. ‘My parents have invited you over next Sunday, if you can bear it.’ I broke the news as I re-entered the kitchen, to find Rob serving up scrambled egg.
‘You’re not exactly selling the opportunity,’ he said, smiling. ‘But your folks seemed lovely when I met them the other week.’
‘You met them for precisely fifteen seconds,’ I reminded him. They’d dropped me off at Rob’s one evening on a detour after we’d been to visit my sister. He’d politely come out to shake my dad’s hand. Dad didn’t bother getting out of the car and shook it through the window. Bit rude, I thought at the time.
‘I don’t remember him having a hook for an arm,’ he said, teasing me. ‘But,’ a hesitation, ‘my mum has invited me over next Sunday too, along with Dan and Florence, and, well, I was going to see if you fancied joining us?’
I took a large swig of tea from the mug in my hand, wishing it contained something stronger. ‘If I’m not mistaken, Robert Walker, are you asking me to meet your family? Not only your mother but your brother and his scary-sounding fiancée, too?’
‘I am, Miss Green, now will you please accept because I want to eat my breakfast before it goes cold?’
I leaned over and ran my fingers through his unkempt bed hair. I smiled into his lips before kissing them.
‘I’d be honoured.’ And I texted Mum the bad news before flying out of the door to work.
‘A sabbatical?’ Joseph repeated the words back to me, then he sat back and pushed his curls behind his ears with both hands. ‘No one’s asked for a sabbatical before.’
‘Just three months – it will fly by,’ I pleaded, desperation no doubt showing in my face. ‘I absolutely promise I’ll come back.’
‘But what if everyone wants a sabbatical?’ he asked, looking around us to check no one was eavesdropping. We were sitting at a table in the Selfridges food hall. ‘It won’t be easy to find cover for that amount of time. What if Shauna wants one too – what then? I’ll have to speak to Jeff, find out what the company policy is.’
‘But it’s not a no?’
‘Not yet,’ he smiled. ‘Listen, babe, I’ll see what I can do, because I’d like to keep you, but you’d better come back, and don’t tell anyone, for now.’
‘I will, I promise. Let me buy you a Krispy Kreme Deluxe Donut as a thank you – in advance.’
And I got up before he could change his mind.
I was looking forward to spending time with Rob’s mum, but for some reason I was even more excited about meeting Dan’s fiancée, the infamous Florence. On Boxing Day evening, Rob had moaned about how his mother, Marian, was like a lap dog around Florence – she thought she was the best thing not just to happen to Dan, but to their entire family.
‘She hasn’t met you yet, though,’ he qualified, though he had polished off a number of glasses of mulled wine.
From what I could glean, without turning into an A grade stalker, Florence was a high-flying PR executive for a boutique agency in London with a roster of clients across the luxury world – from London’s hottest restaurants and spas, to art galleries and high-end fashion and beauty launches; Rob gave the impression she knew everyone worth knowing in the whole of London. Unfortunately, her Instagram account was locked, so I couldn’t carry out the full extent of my desired snooping, but hopefully, after we’d met, we’d be tagging each other in photos from fashion parties and I’d be on her VIP guest list. In my role as a window designer for Selfridges, I hoped she would see me as someone worth knowing in London too.
Rob had decided we should break the news about New York to his mum together, the thought of which was making me feel sick with nerves as the day drew closer.
‘Are you sure this won’t make me come across as the girlfriend who’s stealing her precious son?’ I quizzed Rob on the phone on Sunday morning. ‘I’ll be like, “Hi, I’m Rob’s new girlfriend – by the way, we’re off to America, so you won’t be seeing him for a while. Thanks for dinner!”’
‘Course not. I think our delivery will be a bit more tactful than that. Anyway, it’s no biggie – besides, Mum loves to travel, we’ll invite her to visit – she’ll be thrilled.’
‘Have you told Dan yet?’
‘No, we’ll tell them together and it will be fine. Dan will support us, and I bet Florence will think it’s the coolest thing. Mum will go along with whatever Florence thinks anyway. Relax.’
Relax, I tried. I ironed a silky blue Zara dress bought especially for the occasion, had a long soak in the bath and then, in a move I hoped would make me feel empowered for this family meeting of meetings, I decided to try out a new method of curling my hair. It involved heated rollers borrowed from Vicky’s room and an upside down blow-drying technique I’d seen on a YouTube video. What could go wrong?
Plenty. The resulting hairstyle – Scary Spice, electrocuted, times ten – was so terrifying my eyes nearly burst when I caught sight of myself in the mirror. There was no way of relaxing it so I had to take another shower. Consequently, I was running late for dinner and there were sweat patches on the silky dress.
I jumped off the bus and headed down Westbourne Grove, half walking, half running, feeling far too hot. Plus, a strap broke on my bag and I was clutching it in an ungainly fashion under my arm, trying not to let the contents fall out. I was carrying all my overnight stuff for staying at Rob’s and didn’t particularly want my best knickers to end up in a puddle. As I dashed past the shops – Heidi Klein, Tom’s Deli, Joseph – I thought how much I loved this part of London, just walking the streets felt like being in a Richard Curtis film. Perhaps Rob and I might get a place around here one day.
I turned left off the main road and reached Rob’s mum’s house. Glancing at my phone I realised I was a whole forty-five minutes late. Rob had texted: You ok? x. I needed to turn on a full charm offensive this evening.
It was a tall, impressive, white-fronted family house, complete with black metal railings and well-tended geraniums on the steps. The epitome of Notting Hill chic. Walking back a couple of paces to be out of sight, I swapped
