One Day in December(72)
She isn’t ready to soften yet. ‘What was that crock of shit about big footprints?’
‘I was being metaphorical.’
‘You said she was wonderful.’
I check there’s no one else in the corridor, then press Verity against the wall. ‘You’re more wonderful.’
Her hand snakes round and grabs my backside. She doesn’t mess about, Verity. ‘Don’t you forget it.’
I kiss her, if only in an attempt to stop that conversation going where it was heading. In response she bites my lip and starts tugging my shirt out of my trousers.
Laurie
‘It was good of Jack to step up for Sarah.’
I smile at Oscar, even though his words have sharp edges. ‘It was.’
We’ve retired to our suite to freshen up in that lull between the wedding breakfast and the evening reception. I think ‘freshen up’ is supposed to be a polite term for having sex, but that isn’t what Oscar and I are doing. He’s been tense since the speeches, and I’m desperate to work out how to clear the air because we should remember today for ever for the right reasons.
‘Where’s Sarah again?’ Oscar frowns and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he’s struggling to remember the details of her absence. That’s probably because I didn’t provide him with many, a bad attempt to minimize the lie.
‘Back in Bath.’ My tone is deliberately flat, and I turn away because my cheeks are flaming. I don’t want to argue, so I cast around for something to distract us and spot a gift bag standing on the hearth of the grand fireplace. Everything about our honeymoon suite is grand, from the size of the sunken bathtub to the four-poster bed that has a boarding-step beside it because it’s so ‘Princess and the Pea’-like.
‘What’s this?’ I read the tag on the gift bag aloud. ‘To the happy couple, with love and gratitude from Angela and all of the wedding team. We hope you’ve had the day of your dreams.’ I turn back to Oscar. ‘Ah, that’s lovely, isn’t it?’
He nods as I take a seat in one of the armchairs in the window and unpick the ribbons. ‘Come and look?’ I say, trying to ask him other things with my eyes too: Please don’t push the issue about Sarah. Please don’t overanalyse Jack’s speech. Please let’s concentrate on what’s important today, each other. His eyes hold mine for a few seconds from across the room, and then his expression softens and he comes to kneel beside me.
‘Open it then.’
I run my hand lightly over his glossy blue-black hair and smile. ‘Okay.’
Inside the paper and tissue, we find a delicate glass Christmas bauble, hand-blown and engraved with our names and the wedding date.
‘Isn’t that gorgeous?’ I say, swallowing the lump in my throat as I place it carefully down.
‘You deserve gorgeous,’ he says, kissing the back of my fingers. Then he draws in a breath. ‘Are you happy, Laurie?’
I’m surprised by his quietly spoken question. He’s never asked me before. ‘Do you even need to ask?’
‘Just once.’ All of a sudden he looks deadly serious.
I take a breath too and look into his eyes. I know that our marriage hinges on my answer to this question.
‘I’m so very, incredibly happy to be your wife, Oscar. I thank my lucky stars you walked into my life.’
He looks up at me, silent and impossibly handsome, and his eyes tell me there are things he’d like to say but isn’t going to because today is our wedding day.
He stands and tugs me to my feet. ‘And I thank mine for you.’
He kisses me slowly, deeply, his arm round my waist, his hand on my jawline, and I allow myself to melt into it, into him. I hope and pray that we’ll always be able to find each other like this, like we did in Thailand, like we do in bed at night. My love for him is distinct from everything else in my life, clear and simple and straightforward. I cling to it, to the idea of us on the steps of the beach shack. Oscar’s lips are sealed about where we’re going on honeymoon, but I hope with all of my newly promised heart that it’s Thailand.
We stand in front of the tastefully decorated Christmas tree that has been placed in our suite, and I hook our bauble over one of the empty branches. Oscar is close behind me, his mouth warm on my neck as we watch the bauble spin and catch the light.
‘Jack was right,’ he whispers. ‘I am a lucky bastard.’
2014
* * *
New Year’s Resolutions
1) Sarah. Just writing her name fills me with shame and desolation. I need to find a way to make her believe that I’m sorry. That I was in an impossible situation, that I didn’t just allow myself to fall in love with her boyfriend. That I tried as hard as I possibly could not to. Somehow I need to make her forgive me because I can’t imagine life without her.
2) Oscar. My husband! I just want us to stay as happy as we are now and enjoy our first year as smug marrieds. Not that I think we’re smug. But there is a security to being Mrs Ogilvy-Black, especially when all the other rocks in my life seem to have disappeared. My resolution is that he’ll never again have to ask me whether I’m happy with him.
3) Work. I’m in desperate need of a career change. Since the wedding I feel as if I’ve outgrown answering teen questions on love and heartache; after all, I’m officially no longer the world expert on unrequited love. Now the wedding mania is over I find I’m craving a new challenge; perhaps I will find something more in line with my life now. Good Housekeeping or The Lady, maybe. Ha! If nothing else, seeing my name in her favourite magazines would give Lucille something new to dislike me for.