was pretty. Really pretty. A lovely engagement ring and only a miserable, ungrateful, shallow cow would have even thought they would have preferred a sapphire.
She looked up at Robert. He beamed.
‘Like it?
‘It’s … lovely.’
Even as she blinked back tears, one escaped making a lonely trail down her cheek.
‘So, what do you say? Monday?’ He grinned hopefully, mistaking her tears for something else.
Numb, she stared at him. ‘Monday? What, this Monday?’ Frantically she tried to think was she was doing on Monday.
‘Yeah. Twelve-fifteen.’ He pulled the crinkly great-isn’t-it face, as if chivvying along her enthusiasm.
‘But … but I’ve got work.’
‘Come on, Laurie. They won’t notice if you take an extra half an hour … and if they do, just tell them where you’ve been. That lot will think it’s so romantic … just like one of those Mills & Boons.’
‘I … I … This is all so …’ She sounded even more clichéd than him.
‘Not really.’ Robert had that let’s be reasonable face on now, ‘We’ve been living together for a while now. It’s the next logical step isn’t it? We’re not getting any younger. We’ve got a house. We’ve no mortgage. We’ve both got steady jobs. Why not?’
She frowned. Actually, her house and her ‘no mortgage’.
They’d not been going out that long when Robert moved in pointing out it didn’t make sense paying bills on two separate homes. He’d been such a rock when her dad died so unexpectedly, leaving her so stricken and lonely she was incapable of deciding anything.
A nagging headache gnawed her right temple as she stared down at the ring. She didn’t like green, never ever wore it. Her school uniform had been bottle green, enough to put anyone off.
This wasn’t what she’d thought getting engaged would be like.
Was she crazy? Most girls dreamed of this? A steady, reliable man who didn’t watch endless football, didn’t spend money foolishly, did his share of the cooking and was a dab hand with the washing machine. Even came to Sainsbury’s every Friday with her. Dependable, reliable, trustworthy.
Someone who wouldn’t up and leave her behind.
So it wasn’t the most romantic of proposals, but they weren’t like that were they? She’d had a few serious boyfriends over the years and Robert was the only one she’d lived with but still she couldn’t quite bring herself to say yes. This didn’t feel right but how could she articulate it without upsetting him? As excuses went it was pretty rubbish.
‘I … I don’t know Robert. It doesn’t feel right. The timing. Maybe because Uncle Miles …’
It was as good an excuse as any. Death in the family.
Robert gave her one of his tender smiles reaching for her hand. ‘Poor Laurie. I do understand.’
Had she ever noticed before how his lips looked slightly crooked when he did that? ‘I thought this might help. Losing family, it’s hard but we can start our own family. You and me. Have children. Our own little unit.’
Children! Plural. Was he serious? They’d never even discussed it. Having babies was big and grown up. Even though she’d just turned thirty and the old biological clock should be ticking, you had to be really, really sure before you had children. Before you had one, let alone two. If you split up … she deliberately shut out the memories. She wasn’t prepared to go there. It was a long time ago and she was over it. All grown up now … well nearly. Just not grown up enough for children. Did she even want any? Adults did so many terrible things to children.
No, she wasn’t ready and on a purely practical note − she glanced at Robert − what if they ended up with his nose? Long and a bit bulbous on the end.
Horrified by the unexpected thought, she stared at him. Where had that come from and when had she turned into such a cow? It was time to get a grip and stop being an idiot. She was nothing like her mother. This was just a silly, minor panic-attack.
Squeezing his hand, she took the ring out of the box, offering it to him. As he slid it onto her finger, he pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed each finger one by one very gently, his lips whispering across each knuckle.
It was a lovely gesture, even the waiter looked misty-eyed. Pushing her shoulders back, she ignored the small leaden lump nestling in her stomach and gave Robert a brilliant smile and asked, ‘Are you going to pour me a glass of champagne then?’
‘Stop it, that’s ticklish,’ she scrunched her neck up to her ear to try and stop Robert’s kisses.
They stumbled through the front door and he pulled her to him. ‘Bed, Mrs Evans-to-be?’
Mrs Evans! That was his mother, domineering, opinionated and disapproving of Laurie. Oh God, she’d be family!
His hands made a quick cold foray up under her shirt.
‘Oooh,’ she squeaked, pushing them away before they could hit their target. ‘You’re freezing.’
‘Let’s go upstairs and warm them up,’ he suggested rubbing his hands together, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously.
She fended him off again and pushed herself off the wall towards the kitchen. Everything seemed a bit wobbly. Lovely wobbly from the champagne. And not so lovely wobbly. Something nagged at her. Worry that she’d not done the right thing. The wine was discombobulating her brain, a whole bottle of champagne on a week night wasn’t conducive to straight-thinking, she needed to sink a few glasses of water otherwise her head would be in serious trouble in the morning.
Robert had already disappeared halfway up the stairs.
Staggering into the kitchen, she yanked open the kitchen cupboard and pulled out a pint glass, filled it to the brim and forced herself to drink the whole lot.
The room swam around and the lights bounced off the kettle which seemed to be moving up and down by itself. The evening had disappeared into a big blur, although she could feel the ring encircling her middle finger. Too big for her engagement finger, but Robert had wanted her to wear it. Guilt warred with confusion. Had she really agreed to get married on Monday?
It seemed so sudden and so out of character for Robert.
The dizziness increased and clutching a second pint of water to her chest she slumped into one of the wooden chairs at the scarred table. The fruit bowl in the middle was empty of fruit as always but there was a white envelope propped in it.
Miss L Browne. A proper letter. You didn’t get those very often these days.
From the wrinkled back of the re-sealable envelope she guessed with slight irritation, Robert had already opened it.
Peeling the letter out of the envelope, she looked at the smart headed paper. Solicitors. Sadness misted over her like a rain cloud bearing drizzle. Uncle Miles.
