There was a momentary silence and I was half tempted to glance across at him. I heard him sigh and the sound was a small, sad sound.
‘Perhaps a little. Sometimes . . . ’
He tailed away and I held my breath, waiting for more.
‘I worry, about Lottie and me,’ he admitted, ‘that we have changed. That we want different things now.’
It was my turn to fall silent.
‘Things seemed to have got so much better recently, old Lottie was back, all these outings we went on together, the dates, but . . . ’
He tailed away again and I scuffed my toe into the grass, desperately wanting to say the right thing.
‘She can be’ – I scuffed at the grass again, not wanting to be disloyal or critical – ‘I think she can forget sometimes what makes her truly happy. She is so incredibly clever and ambitious and talented but I want her to be sure that she is living the life she really wants. I suppose that was why the old-fashioned courting idea so appealed. A way to get her to focus on something else for a while, on your relationship. I thought it was working . . . ’
Luke settled back, looking out across the water glumly, ‘I thought so too.’
We both sat like that for a while.
A small bird dipped into view, hovering for a second before skimming the surface of the water and leaving as quickly as it arrived. It seemed to have woken Luke from his thoughts.
‘Thanks, Tedd— Oh my God,’ he said, sitting up with a jerk, twisting in his chair, ‘I think something’s biting.’
I stared at the mallet, my stomach turning over, ‘Oh . . . great,’ I said, watching him turn the reel. ‘That’s excellent.’
The things I do, Cora, honestly. I’ll have nightmares for weeks . . .
Teddy x
Chapter 19
Love is . . . enough
MAX, 80
I should have been desperate to see Amy. I needed my best friend, needed to spill out my worries about things at the moment. Ask her about work and stress and Luke and listen to her advice. Instead, though, I was dreading seeing her. Somehow I still hadn’t told her about the brooch. Every time we’d texted or spoken I had distracted her with excited, wedding-related squealing: ‘Soooon’, ‘Future Mrrrrrsssss’, ‘NOT LONG NOOOOOOOW’, cutting her off like a bridesmaid on speed. She didn’t seem to suspect and I felt worse as we worked each other up into a fever of hysterical excitement. Maybe I could get her so excited she wouldn’t remember at all? Brooch amnesia?
Even on the way to meet her, the supposed handing-over of the beautiful antique family heirloom brooch, I didn’t have a plan. Like I somehow thought the brooch might magically appear in my hand, as if I was suddenly a character in Harry Potter and could just summon it from the air. I closed my eyes and muttered, hoping when I opened them to see it lying on the chewing-gum-spattered pavement, twinkling. ‘Hello, Lottie,’ it would sparkle, ‘you haven’t screwed up completely: here I am to save the day.’
I had also spent way too many hours trawling Etsy believing I might be able to somehow pass off any old antique brooch as the antique brooch, taking it along with me and then practising my best surprised face, ‘What do you mean, this isn’t the one? This is what the woman gave me. I am disgusted, appalled, nay, horrified’ (pause for dramatic hand to chest). I knew that lie would be busted the moment ever-efficient Amy tracked down the poor woman back from visiting her family to bawl her out. And she could always tell when I was lying anyway. Like the time I told her I hadn’t snogged Garry Peel outside the men’s loos of a nightclub, or when I told her I’d never eaten foie gras. She just knew.
I stood outside the glossy John Lewis store, breathing slowly in and out. Stay calm, Lottie. Stay calm. You are here to help Amy choose her wedding presents. This is exciting. Just keep talking to her about presents, constantly distract her with sandwich-makers and crystal jugs in different shapes. Ask her a lot of questions about the thread count she wants in a summer duvet. Maybe she won’t ask. Maybe she won’t remember. Maybe by the end of today she’ll still like you.
I felt too hot in my jeans and cotton shirt as I pushed my way inside, weaving round prams, people clutching bags of shopping, others pausing to browse the make-up counters. I headed to the lift, feeling my palms dampen with every step. My bag was hideously, horribly empty. I regretted not buying something from Etsy. Anything seemed better than producing nothing.
Amy was, of course, already in situ, looking relaxed and lovely in an orange shift dress which made her dark skin look even smoother and more gorgeous. Her hair was glossy under the lights and she gave me an enormous grin as the lift doors opened, holding up a small white plastic item. ‘It’s for bleeping stuff. I can’t believe Will didn’t want to do this with me,’ she said, stepping across to give me an enormous hug and then stepping back to bleep me.
I swallowed, all ready to break down in confession. I was a terrible person, I would do anything I could to fix it, I really was desperately sorry, I was still leaving messages for the woman in the shop in an attempt to salvage things . . .
Before I could say anything, however, a glowing, impossibly skinny woman with a strawberry-blonde ponytail descended on me, her straight white teeth flashing as she welcomed me to the store. ‘You must be Amy’s partner— Oh, I’m sorry’ – she held up a manicured hand – ‘my colleague is calling me back, hold on.’
The shop assistant moved away so I had time to turn to Amy, a perplexed look on my face, other thoughts fading.
Amy shifted her weight from one foot to another. ‘Oh, I was a bit embarrassed that Will didn’t want to come, so I panicked and said you were my partner . . . just go along with it, all right?’
The lady was returning and I hastily nodded before tucking my arm into Amy’s and resting my head on her shoulder. ‘I am.’
‘You are . . . ?’ The lady tipped her head to one side in question.
‘Amy’s partner,’ I announced in a loud voice, following it up with a strange giggle I had got from somewhere. ‘She’s wonderful. I’m so lucky,’ I gushed. ‘I never thought I would find someone who would just get me, you know . . . ’
I could just hear Amy whispering, ‘Too much,’ as I stroked her forearm with one finger.
I trailed off.
‘I’m . . . glad,’ the lady said slowly, straightening her skirt. ‘As I’ve told Amy, the process is pretty simple. We can edit anything you like at the end so don’t worry too much, just enjoy our selections. And I will be nearby if you need any assistance.’
‘Thanks again,’ Amy said, smiling and clearly wanting to get on and start shopping. ‘We’re going to head to Homeware.’
‘Something for the bedroom,’ I chirruped, the weird giggle back.
‘Er . . . fabulous,’ she nodded, moving to a safe distance.
‘Do you do that stroky-arm thing with Luke?’ Amy asked.
‘Why, you like it?’ I asked, resting my head on her shoulder again for show.
‘It tickles. Right, come on, life partner, let’s furnish our marital home . . . ’
Half an hour later and we were just having too much fun for me to go and ruin things. In fact, as the minutes passed it really did seem possible that Amy just wouldn’t ask. Any time we had a lull in conversation I would direct her attention to another candlestick, coaster set or teapot.