‘You’re lucky I’m not sensitive,’ she said last week, before patting him on the top of his head. ‘And how’s the switch to solar power going?’
Touching his crown gently, he had flown off the handle about her being nasty, gone running for two hours and given her the silent treatment for the rest of the day.
Amy knows she’s slim but squidgy. But to change that, she’d have to go to the gym, and she’d rather step on a Christmas decoration than a cross-trainer. Jamie had bought her a gym membership for her birthday last year. Not for the one he went to.
Jamie squeezes his arms around her and addresses item one on their sexual order of business: kissing the back of her neck and giving her goosebumps as she nestles into his chest. Yes, Jamie can be a bit self-centred. Yes, this routine hasn’t changed in six months. And yes, she is rarely the star of this show. But at least he still turns her on. At least he doesn’t have bad breath, like Jane’s Pete.
Just as Jamie moves on to item two, where she gets a bit of action with a borderline-painful nipple pinch, his phone rings loudly and makes them both jump. When he takes the call, she stares at him in disbelief and he puts his finger on his lips and waves her away. Nice. She huffs, gets up and goes to the bathroom.
It’s peaceful in there by herself.
Amy spends the next hour with her holiday essentials. She blew the whole of last week’s salary on waxing, soaking, scrubbing, exfoliating, firming, fake-tanning and tinting. Two hundred quid literally down the drain. Probably the same price as a week-long stay in a beach hut in Phuket.
As she tries to master the impossible art of crying and looking pretty at the same time while perfecting her Yes! face in the mirror, she spots an eyebrow on the run. Her face falls. ‘Thanks, Dad,’ she sighs, yanking out the stray hair. She’s blessed with her mum’s lips and cursed with her dad’s monobrow. Despite his insistence, the only character it adds bears a striking resemblance to Miffy, the family poodle. Miffy is not welcome on this holiday.
Jamie has given her one clue about their mystery destination. No coats required. Amy has translated this to mean an island in South East Asia, and so she’s spent hours, days, truthfully weeks investing in her travel-beauty-fashion blogger look, complete with oversized floppy hat, rose-gold mirror sunglasses and a pair of toddler-sized ripped denim shorts, which she knows she’ll be too embarrassed to wear anywhere. Her suitcase also includes five new bikinis, three of which fitted her when she was packing and two of which will definitely, absolutely, one hundred per cent fit her by the time she gets there. She’s strategically saving those for the last few days, in case he hasn’t asked her yet, and they show off more flesh than the cast of Geordie Shore combined. She’s secretly hoping for a safe, but highly effective, tropical stomach bug.
Just as she grabs a triple-savings pack of Imodium, Jamie appears in the bathroom door in a crisp white shirt, pale blue chinos and trademark navy loafers. He gives Amy a long stare as she slowly puts the pills in her toiletry bag, hoping to God he can’t see what they are.
‘Is Miffy joining us?’
Amy darts back to the mirror.
‘I’m joking.’ He grins and opens his arms. ‘Are you ready?’
‘If we’re off to Bali, yes. If we’re off to Siberia, no.’
‘You’ll see soon enough, but you look fine to me. That call was important,’ he says, by way of apology, giving her his wiggling come-here fingers.
‘Did it go well?’ she asks, as she steps towards him for a rare hug outside of the covers.
‘Weller’s on board. Another one bites the dust for those pricks at Simon Watts.’ He whistles as he looks at himself in the mirror.
‘Aren’t those pricks your friends?’
‘Not when it comes to money, little Piglet.’
If this was a film, Amy thinks, Jamie would be the caricature villain that everyone wants to see fall. Her guilt grabs her by the gut again. Jamie’s ambition is an asset, not a flaw. It’s business, and he has to be ruthless at times. It’s a streak that could secure their future together.
She should feel proud. Lucky, even.
As she watches Jamie lock up the flat, Amy stares at the front door and lets out a sigh, wondering if she will ever see it in the same way again. She smiles as she imagines him sweeping her into his arms and swooping her over the threshold. Then she makes a mental note not to overindulge on waffles at the hotel breakfast buffet.
‘I couldn’t find my keys this morning. Do I need them?’ she asks Jamie as they walk down the stairs.
‘Nope.’
There’s no doubt in her mind that she left them on the hall table, so this must be part of his big plan.
‘Shall I get an Uber?’
‘Nope, that’s covered, too.’ Jamie nods towards a shiny black stretch limo rolling up to the pavement.
‘Oh my God.’
‘After you, Piglet.’
Jamie is extravagant with his watch collection, whisky library and Egyptian cotton sheets, but he’s never done anything like this before. Especially not for her. This can only mean good things. For the first time since forever, he is desperate to impress her. He wants this proposal to be perfect, from the first minute to the last.
Amy beams as she slides into the soft leather seats with their brand-new car smell, while Jamie reaches for a bottle of champagne resting in an ice bucket between them and pours them each a glass.
‘Chin-chin, Piglet.’ He smiles.
She tilts her head to one side. ‘Very funny. How about to us, instead?’
Ever since Jamie had walked in on her doing neck-cercises in bed at the start of their relationship, he’d used ‘chin-chin’ to poke fun at her complex.
He looks at her as he sips his champagne slowly and reaches to tuck her hair behind one ear.
‘I’ve been planning this for a while.’
It’s a perfect moment for a kiss, but just as she moves towards him he turns his head to look out of the window. She takes out her phone to text Sarah.
I’m in a limo.
Is there champagne?
There is.
It’s so on.
I think so. He just said he’s been
planning this for a while …
Why does the bride emoji
look scared?
She found a chin hair.
Hope you waxed your left hand. Have an
amazing time x
Thanks pooch x
The car is quiet as they cross the river at Hammersmith.
‘The Apollo!’ Amy puts her hand on Jamie’s leg. ‘Do you remember our first gig together?’
He shifts in his seat and catches the eye of the driver.
‘Muse?’
‘No, not Muse. Did we see Muse together? That Thai DJ, it was amazing.’
Jamie draws a blank but says, ‘Yeah, he was cool.’
‘She.’
‘Right, she was great.’
Jamie keeps glancing in the rear-view mirror. Checking his own reflection isn’t unusual, but what’s different is that he isn’t looking at himself. He’s looking at the limo driver, and the limo driver is returning his gaze.
Out of the blue, the limo driver speaks. ‘It’s time, Mr O’Connor.’
Amy looks at Jamie, confused, as he takes her phone out of her hand. She panics inside, scared he might read her messages. Instead, he reaches forward and takes a long piece of black fabric out of the central compartment.