copywriter.
Like a formally dressed kidnapper, Julian edged nearer, eager to whisk her away. He trailed his fingers down her lace sleeve and Kate’s arm shivered with excitement.
Whispering in her ear, his breath tickling, Julian said, ‘Are you happy, darling?’
‘Very,’ she whispered back, seeing only him in the midst of the crowd.
The pivot of the past few years – more significant than Kate and Charlie’s schism or Julian’s appearance at Kate’s front door – was Becca’s pregnancy.
By the time the blue line firmed up, Charlie had dropped out of university and the wedding date was nailed down, a year ahead of the original timing.
A wedding planner was enlisted. White frocks were tried and found wanting: ‘Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I have to
look
pregnant!’ Caterers were
tormented, florists publicly flogged. All for this one day, a day which had worn Kate out.
‘We did it, cuz.’ Becca extracted Kate from Julian’s grasp, taking her firmly by the shoulders. ‘We really did it.’ Her gaze, even under false eyelashes, whisked
Kate back to childhood, or rather to some formless ageless state where it was just the two of them, sharing perfect understanding.
Which was not the same as perfect happiness, but was profound all the same.
‘We did it,’ agreed Kate, suddenly tearful. She hesitated, then folded Becca down to her level, finding her ear to whisper, ‘You can try again.’
Becca squeezed Kate brutally tight. ‘Oh Kate,’ she whispered.
Kate had been holding Becca’s hand when the sonographer couldn’t find a heartbeat.
‘Come, wife!’ Julian asserted himself with a kingly shout.
Becca pulled away, apparently recovered. ‘Time to drag my Charlie to the bridal suite.’
Even after the hymns and the speeches and enough quiche to sink a battleship, that ‘my’ sounded all wrong.
In the taxi, her ears ringing, Kate turned to Julian. ‘As weddings go,’ she said, ‘it was a brilliant wedding. But,’ she leaned in, found his lips, ‘I’m so
glad we don’t have to do it ever again.’
‘I don’t believe in the millennium bug,’ shouted Kate to Julian, as he moved about the living area, setting out glasses, tipping ice noisily into a chrome
bucket.
‘That’s because you’re a wise woman, darling.’ Julian dimmed the lights. ‘It’s crazy to think planes will fall out of the sky and all our emails will go
haywire just because computers can’t recognise the date 2000.’
‘I read somewhere that all hospitals will have power cuts on the stroke of midnight.’ Kate confronted the slab of tuna with a feeling of doom completely unrelated to the millennium
bug. ‘And radio alarm clocks will rise up and take over the world.’
‘I like this part of entertaining best.’ Julian moved into the kitchen area of their open plan apartment and handed her a perfect martini. ‘When it’s just us before the
guests arrive. In fact, let’s call and cancel, so I can ravish you among the raw fish.’
‘That’s a tempting offer.’ Kate shimmied out of the scope of his arms. ‘But I have
loads
to do, Julian. What made me say I’d make sushi?’
‘We should have bought in.’
Sometimes Kate forgot they were well off. She waited for buses in the rain as taxis raced by. She bought economy mince for Julian’s beloved shepherd’s pie. When he airily booked
first class air fares or ordered the most venerable claret on the wine list her tummy contracted. ‘Home-made’s nicer.’
‘Not sure that applies to sushi.’ Julian eyed the lumpen California rolls lying like casualties of war on the marble worktop. He was a veteran of Kate’s cooking fads, manfully
trying her goulash and her sea bass and her stir fries. ‘Can we cancel? I want you to myself tonight. It feels historic.’
‘That’s why we’ve invited Becca and Charlie. That’s why I’m going to smell of fish tomorrow.’
‘Just one phone call and it’ll be you, me, a movie.’
Like a formally dressed kidnapper, Julian edged nearer, eager to whisk her away. He trailed his fingers down her lace sleeve and Kate’s arm shivered with excitement.
Whispering in her ear, his breath tickling, Julian said, ‘Are you happy, darling?’
‘Very,’ she whispered back, seeing only him in the midst of the crowd.
The pivot of the past few years – more significant than Kate and Charlie’s schism or Julian’s appearance at Kate’s front door – was Becca’s pregnancy.
By the time the blue line firmed up, Charlie had dropped out of university and the wedding date was nailed down, a year ahead of the original timing.
A wedding planner was enlisted. White frocks were tried and found wanting: ‘Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I have to
look
pregnant!’ Caterers were
tormented, florists publicly flogged. All for this one day, a day which had worn Kate out.
‘We did it, cuz.’ Becca extracted Kate from Julian’s grasp, taking her firmly by the shoulders. ‘We really did it.’ Her gaze, even under false eyelashes, whisked
Kate back to childhood, or rather to some formless ageless state where it was just the two of them, sharing perfect understanding.
Which was not the same as perfect happiness, but was profound all the same.
‘We did it,’ agreed Kate, suddenly tearful. She hesitated, then folded Becca down to her level, finding her ear to whisper, ‘You can try again.’
Becca squeezed Kate brutally tight. ‘Oh Kate,’ she whispered.
Kate had been holding Becca’s hand when the sonographer couldn’t find a heartbeat.
‘Come, wife!’ Julian asserted himself with a kingly shout.
Becca pulled away, apparently recovered. ‘Time to drag my Charlie to the bridal suite.’
Even after the hymns and the speeches and enough quiche to sink a battleship, that ‘my’ sounded all wrong.
In the taxi, her ears ringing, Kate turned to Julian. ‘As weddings go,’ she said, ‘it was a brilliant wedding. But,’ she leaned in, found his lips, ‘I’m so
glad we don’t have to do it ever again.’
‘I don’t believe in the millennium bug,’ shouted Kate to Julian, as he moved about the living area, setting out glasses, tipping ice noisily into a chrome
bucket.
‘That’s because you’re a wise woman, darling.’ Julian dimmed the lights. ‘It’s crazy to think planes will fall out of the sky and all our emails will go
haywire just because computers can’t recognise the date 2000.’
‘I read somewhere that all hospitals will have power cuts on the stroke of midnight.’ Kate confronted the slab of tuna with a feeling of doom completely unrelated to the millennium
bug. ‘And radio alarm clocks will rise up and take over the world.’
‘I like this part of entertaining best.’ Julian moved into the kitchen area of their open plan apartment and handed her a perfect martini. ‘When it’s just us before the
guests arrive. In fact, let’s call and cancel, so I can ravish you among the raw fish.’
‘That’s a tempting offer.’ Kate shimmied out of the scope of his arms. ‘But I have
loads
to do, Julian. What made me say I’d make sushi?’
‘We should have bought in.’
Sometimes Kate forgot they were well off. She waited for buses in the rain as taxis raced by. She bought economy mince for Julian’s beloved shepherd’s pie. When he airily booked
first class air fares or ordered the most venerable claret on the wine list her tummy contracted. ‘Home-made’s nicer.’
‘Not sure that applies to sushi.’ Julian eyed the lumpen California rolls lying like casualties of war on the marble worktop. He was a veteran of Kate’s cooking fads, manfully
trying her goulash and her sea bass and her stir fries. ‘Can we cancel? I want you to myself tonight. It feels historic.’
‘That’s why we’ve invited Becca and Charlie. That’s why I’m going to smell of fish tomorrow.’
‘Just one phone call and it’ll be you, me, a movie.’
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