Surprise Me(6)

‘Talk what out?’ Dan feigns innocence.

‘Don’t give me that!’ I erupt. ‘I know you’re thinking: Bloody hell, how the hell are we going to last that long? I mean, it’s wonderful, but it’s …’ I circle my hands. ‘You know. It’s … it’s a challenge.’

I slowly slide down the kitchen cabinet I’m leaning against, so I’m on my haunches. After a moment, Dan does the same.

‘It’s daunting,’ he agrees, his face relaxing as he admits it. ‘I feel a bit … well … freaked out.’

And now, finally, it’s out. The honest, deep-down truth. We’re both shit-scared of this epic, Lord-of-theRings-scale marriage we suddenly appear to find ourselves in.

‘I mean, how long did you think we’d be married for?’ I venture after a pause.

‘I don’t know!’ Dan throws up his hands as though in exasperation. ‘Who thinks about that?’

‘But when you stood at the altar and said “till death us do part”,’ I persist, ‘did you have, like … a ball-park figure in mind?’

Dan screws up his face, as though trying to cast his mind back. ‘I honestly didn’t,’ he says. ‘I just envisaged … you know. The misty future.’

‘Me too.’ I shrug. ‘I was totally vague. I suppose I imagined we might reach our silver wedding one day. When people reach their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, you think: Wow. They’ve done it! They’re there!’

‘When we reach our silver wedding anniversary,’ says Dan, a little grimly, ‘we won’t even be halfway there. Not even halfway.’

We’re both silent again. The ramifications of this discovery just keep on coming.

‘Forever is a lot longer than I thought,’ says Dan heavily.

‘Me too.’ I slump against the cabinet. ‘So much longer.’

‘It’s a marathon.’

‘A supermarathon,’ I correct him. ‘An ultramarathon.’

‘Yes!’ Dan looks up in sudden animation. ‘That’s it. We thought we were running a 10K and now suddenly we’ve found out we’re in one of those nutty hundred-mile ultramarathons in the Sahara Desert and there’s no getting out of it. Not that I want to get out of it,’ he adds hastily, at my glance. ‘But nor do I want to … you know. Collapse with a stroke.’

Dan really knows how to pick his metaphors. First our marriage is a mortgage. Now it’s going to give him a stroke. And by the way, who’s the Sahara Desert in all this? Me?

‘We haven’t paced ourselves properly.’ He’s really warming to his theme. ‘I mean, if I’d known I was going to live that long, I probably wouldn’t have got married so young. If people are all going to live until a hundred, then we need to change the rules. For a start, don’t commit to anyone till you’re at least fifty …’

‘And have babies at fifty?’ I say, a little cuttingly. ‘Heard of the biological clock?’

Dan is drawn up short for a moment.

‘OK, that doesn’t work,’ he concedes.

‘Anyway, we can’t go back in time. We are where we are. Which is a good place,’ I add, determined to be positive. ‘I mean, think of your parents’ marriage. They’ve been married for thirty-eight years and counting. If they can do it, so can we!’

‘My parents are hardly a good example,’ says Dan.

Fair enough. Dan’s mum and dad have what you might call a tricky relationship.

‘Well, the Queen, then,’ I say, just as the doorbell rings. ‘She’s been married for a zillion years.’

Dan just stares at me incredulously. ‘The Queen? That’s all you can come up with?’

‘OK, forget the Queen,’ I say defensively. ‘Look, let’s discuss it later.’ And I head to the front door.

As the girls burst joyously into the house, the next sixty-eight years or whatever suddenly seem irrelevant. This is what matters. These girls, right now, these rosy-cheeked faces, these fluty high-pitched voices calling, ‘We got stickers! We had pizza!’ They both drag at my arms, telling me stories, and firmly pulling me back towards them when I try to say goodbye to my friend Annelise, who’s dropped them off and is waving cheerily, already heading back to her car.

I hold them to me, feeling the familiar squirm of their arms and legs, wincing as their school shoes trample on my feet. They’ve only been on a two-hour play date. It was nothing. But as I clasp them to me, I feel like they’ve been away for ages. Surely Anna’s grown? Surely Tessa’s hair smells different? And where did that little scratch on Anna’s chin come from?

Now they’re talking in that almost-secret twins’ language they have, their voices overlapping, strands of their blonde hair meshed as they gaze reverentially down at a sparkly seahorse sticker on Tessa’s hand. From what I can hear, I think they’re cooking up plans to ‘share it forever, till we’re grown-up’. Since it will almost certainly disintegrate as soon as I take it off, we’ll need a diversion, or there’ll be howls. Living with five-year-old twins is like living in a Communist state. I don’t quite count out the Shreddies into the bowls every morning to make sure things are equal, but …