15
The gym has become my refuge of late. It’s ironic, really, because I was terrible at sport at school. Always the last to be chosen for teams, I experienced humiliation and bullying because of my ineptitude to catch or hit a ball. And I never learned to swim properly. How ironic that is; perhaps it should have been me who died in our swimming pool.
Occasionally, I use the static bicycles in the gym, but today, as is normal, I am here for a yoga class. The inward focus, breath control and stretches always make me feel better. This afternoon, I got especially lucky, as there were only three of us in the class. Dee, our Aussie teacher, was remarkably good humoured and gave each of us extra attention. So now, as I pull on a sweatshirt, I feel as if I am floating on a zen cloud.
‘Lydia!’
I look up. It’s Fiona.
‘How are you?’ She leans in for a couple of air kisses.
‘I’m great, actually,’ I say.
She stands back and appraises me. ‘You’re looking fabulous! What’s been happening?’
I realise I haven’t spoken to her for at least a fortnight.
‘Something fantastic has happened,’ I say, unable to stop myself from beaming.
She nudges me. ‘Go on then, spit it out!’
I glance around me. Silly really, as no one is the slightest bit interested in me. ‘Patrick and I have got engaged!’
‘Oh my God!’ she says, her eyes wide with surprise. ‘Oh my God, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!’
‘But please don’t tell anyone. I have to pick my moment to tell the kids, and as the police still haven’t closed the enquiry into Adam’s death, I don’t think it’s something I should be shouting about from the rooftops.’
She nods. ‘I quite understand. But nevertheless, it’s so exciting!’ She moves as if to put an arm around me but then withdraws it. ‘Come on, I need to buy you a drink.’
I follow her to the coffee shop, where caffeine is the strongest substance on offer. ‘Tell me all. When did it happen?’
‘Two days ago. Saturday night. Patrick whisked me off to London.’
We’re at the front of the queue now. ‘What would you like?’ she asks.
‘An apple juice, please.’
She orders the juice for me and a peppermint tea for herself. After paying for the drinks, she picks up the tray and we walk towards an empty table.
‘So how did he propose? I want a minute-by-minute account!’
‘He whisked me to London. We stayed in a beautiful hotel just off The Strand, and then we went to a show followed by dinner at a fantastic restaurant. Le Goût de L’époque. It’s got–’
Fiona knocks over her cup of mint tea. I move away just in time to avoid the burning liquid scalding my legs.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, all flustered.
‘It’s fine,’ I say, grabbing some paper napkins and dabbing the spilled tea. ‘Let me get you another one.’
‘No, no. Don’t bother. I’m not that thirsty anyway.’
I frown. ‘If you’re sure.’
She nods, so I sit back down.
‘I interrupted you,’ she says.
‘Anyway, the restaurant has two Michelin stars, and it’s absolutely beautiful. The food was sublime. Then the dessert arrived, and it was a chocolate dome with a little jug of hot chocolate sauce. Patrick poured it over the top and the chocolate dome melted. Inside was a diamond ring. He then got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. It was the most romantic proposal ever!’
‘That’s lovely,’ Fiona says, but there’s something a bit off in her reaction. I suppose she’s envious. I guess I would be, too, if I had been dating without much success for five years, and then a friend came along and got engaged within seven months of her losing her first husband. I change the subject.
‘So what’s new with you?’
Fiona reaches for my hand. ‘Is that the engagement ring?’
I nod, holding out my left hand so she can admire the whopping diamond.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she says. Her smile is more natural now.
‘I know. I can’t believe I’m so lucky. But would you mind keeping it to yourself for a while, just until I tell the kids?’
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘What does Cassie think?’
‘Her reaction wasn’t quite as positive as yours.’ I think back to last night, when I rang Cassie to tell her my jubilant news.
‘You’re what?’ she exclaimed.
‘Getting married.’
‘But, Lydia, Adam only died a few months ago and you’ve barely known Patrick… for how long? Three months?’
‘Four.’
‘But that’s nothing. Why the need to move so fast?’
‘Because I want to, Cassie. We both want to. It feels right.’
‘Are you really sure?’ she asked.
‘Yes. I couldn’t be more positive. I love him, Cass. And he loves me. I know it sounds silly, but we’re meant to be together.’
‘Well, if you’re that positive, I’m happy for you. When are you planning on getting married?’
‘In four weeks’ time.’
‘What! Okay, ignore me, Lydia. Just so long as you’re really, really sure. But I still think you could hold fire for a few months, just so you can get to know him better.’
‘I do know him, Cassie. Anyway, will you be my maid of honour?’
‘Of course, hon. You know I’m always there for you.’
‘I do, thank you. Let’s catch up later in the week.’
Thinking about my conversation with Cassie again, it does feel right. The issues over money are behind us, and Patrick paid for everything during our weekend away, no expenses spared. The beautiful hotel, a massive bouquet of red roses, dinner, and the ring on my finger, which came in a Tiffany’s box and must have cost Patrick tens of thousands of pounds. It dwarfs the ring Adam gave me. I don’t remember feeling quite so in love with Adam. This feels fresh, exciting, very right. Besides, I may never get another opportunity like this. Both Cassie and Fiona have been single for ages.
‘Cassie’s just looking out for you,’ Fiona says, jolting me back to the here and now. ‘You’ve been through so much this year. I think you’re really lucky, and if love has come your way, you need to grasp it.’
‘That’s what I think, too.’
Of course, Cassie knows me better than Fiona does. And she knows that I have a tendency to be a bit of a bull in a china shop, certainly more impulsive than she is. But sometimes I wonder if that’s what has made me successful in business. I’m prepared to take risks – calculated risks, at least. But my relationship with Patrick doesn’t feel like a risk. He makes me feel wonderful, both in bed and out. I feel safe in his arms. But most importantly, I don’t want to miss this opportunity of happiness. Does that make me selfish or foolish even? I hope not.
As I’m driving home from the gym, I stop off at the supermarket to pick up some food for supper. The kids will be home on Saturday, and in the meantime, Patrick and I are spending as much time together as possible. I’m midway through making a risotto when the doorbell rings. It’s Patrick. He sweeps me into a big hug, and it isn’t until he releases me that I see his suitcase.