as there was a noise coming from upstairs. Beth started up the stairs but, before she got halfway, her tent appeared in the bedroom doorway. Doris had somehow managed to get inside the tent but now was unable to get out of it and looked as if she was wearing it as a fancy dress costume. She tried and failed repeatedly to get through the doorway but the springy tent frame bounced her back each time as she whimpered her frustration. Beth blinked hard; maybe this wasn’t going to be that easy after all.
Carly was waiting on the cobbles in Covent Garden. She and Fergus were having a date night. She froze when she saw the bouquet of pale roses coming towards her but relaxed as soon as she saw it was Fergus carrying them.
‘You okay?’ he asked, planting a kiss on her lips.
‘Yes. I wasn’t because, for a second there, I thought you were Nick.’
‘Whoops. I got the roses because you really liked the ones he bought you.’
She had to admit it was a lovely thought, even if it was borrowed from Nick. ‘Your bunch is bigger than his.’
‘I know,’ grinned Fergus, before handing them over and giving her another kiss.
Date night was another of Beth’s ideas and Carly hoped it would end better than the Minecraft tutorial. Carly and Beth had slipped into having long conversations on the phone on a Wednesday evening and it was definitely helping Carly’s state of mind. There were few people that Carly would listen to but Beth was one of them. She had suggested that the proposal was becoming a destructive obsession and that Carly needed to recognize this. It wasn’t what Carly had wanted to hear but she knew her friend was right. And now she was trying very hard to shove it firmly to the back of her mind.
Fergus had booked the restaurant so Carly was a little apprehensive, although she had said that they could pay for it from the bills account in the hope that it would steer Fergus away from fast food. Fergus was wearing trousers and a jumper. No jogging bottoms or lounge trousers in sight – it was a very good start.
They strolled around Covent Garden for a while, popping in and out of the stalls and shops. Covent Garden was always full of life but especially in the early evening when the theatre crowd descended. People were sitting outside making the most of the lack of rain and mild September weather. Music was coming from somewhere but, before they could investigate, Fergus took her arm and guided her away. They ambled along Garrick Street until Fergus stopped and opened the door to a small restaurant.
‘It’s new,’ he whispered, ‘but I’ve heard good things about it online.’
It looked as if a lot of other people had heard good things – the restaurant was heaving. Every inch of available space had a table in it and every table had as many chairs around it as possible but the jolly waiting staff seemed to squeeze through the awkward set-up with ease.
The menus arrived and, on realizing Fergus was deaf, their young waitress proceeded to shout at Fergus, ‘Can you hear me now?’
‘No, I’m still deaf,’ said Fergus, to the puzzled young woman. ‘I can lip-read but it’s easier if you don’t shout.’ She blushed and proceeded to go through the specials at a normal volume. Fergus had long since stopped getting cross with people who thought shouting at him would solve the problem; their lack of awareness wasn’t meant as a personal attack.
The food was incredible and, for the first time in too long, they signed to each other and had proper conversations in between courses. At first, Carly felt the intrigued eyes of other customers on them but they soon lost interest.
Fergus talked about them getting away to Ireland. There were places he wanted to show her, parts of his history he wanted her to see for herself. He brought to life the smell of the peat fires and the noise of the bars as well as the madness of his family. She had met his parents a few times when they’d visited London and she’d been to Ireland once but it had been a flying visit where she was wheeled round elderly relative after elderly relative before they attended his cousin’s wedding. On that trip she had got to know quite a lot of his relatives, the fun and overwhelming volume of an Irish wedding reception, and the effects of too much Guinness, but sadly nothing of County Westmeath.
At the end of the meal, they sat and sipped tea until one of the waitresses coughed and they noticed they were the only ones left in the restaurant.
Fergus took Carly’s hand across the small table. ‘Are you happy, Carls?’
She didn’t have to think. ‘Yes, I am.’ Things were looking better and, more importantly, things felt better. She wasn’t foolish enough to think everything was completely fixed but they were definitely heading in the right direction.
‘That’s good, ’cause I’m happy too. Just the way things are.’ Carly wasn’t sure what that meant. She tried to keep smiling but her brain was working overtime now. Was he trying to tell her something? She wanted to ask him but he was smiling at her and she didn’t want to turn the happy moment into a deep discussion or, worse still, a row.
The bill arrived, Fergus paid with his sole account card and they walked to the tube hand in hand and in silence. Carly tumbled his words over in her mind but the only way she could interpret them was that Fergus didn’t want anything to change and she assumed that included marriage because that would definitely change things.
‘So why didn’t you say something right then, at that moment?’ asked Beth, the irritation obvious in her tone as she tried to balance the phone between her ear and shoulder. ‘That was the perfect opportunity to raise the whole marriage question.’
Carly was pulling faces on the other end of the line. ‘I know, but then the bill arrived and the moment was gone and you can’t go back to a conversation later on, it doesn’t work.’ She’d been worrying about it all night and, thanks to fitful sleep, she felt wretched.
‘Yes, you can. How about saying, “I’ve been thinking about what you said in the restaurant and …” then you start talking about it again.’
‘Oh, that is rather clever,’ said Carly, ‘but still it was yesterday, he might not remember what he said.’
‘Then remind him. Jeez, you do make things hard sometimes, Carls.’ Beth was simultaneously unpacking what she’d bought from the DIY store.
Carly pondered her mixed emotions. ‘The thing is, I’m kippered either way because if I say I want to get married and he says he doesn’t, then …’
‘Then at least you’ll know … drop it, drop it now!’
‘What?’ Carly was shocked by Beth’s scolding.
‘Not you, sorry, Doris. Drop the mop, Doris. Good dog. Sorry, I’m dog-sitting.’
‘Dog-sitting? I didn’t know you even liked dogs,’ said Carly.
‘I’m not sure I do. It’s a long story. Anyway, carry on.’
‘Well, it’s even worse if Fergus says he does want to get married because he might just be saying it because I’ve said it and then he’ll only be asking me because I prompted him to and, worse still, he might opt for the “shall we get married then?” type of proposal which isn’t a proposal at all.’ Carly puffed out her cheeks. It was a conundrum and it weighed heavy on her.
‘Then I think you have to explain to him about your dream proposal.’
‘How
