committed.’
He grunts.
‘I am.’
He turns, taking a long suck on the cigarette before letting it drop into the alley.
‘I love you. I’m committed to you.’
He snorts and turns his back on me, looking down into the alley. ‘There’s a tramp down here asleep under your window.’
‘My last suitor. Waiting for me sent him mad. He now thinks he’s a dog.’
‘Marry me, Summers, before I go the same way.’
‘He’s not exposing himself again, is he?’
Max looks out into the alley. ‘It’s hard to tell. Oh no, it isn’t – it’s fucking obvious.’
‘Memories are all he has,’ I say dreamily.
Max slides the window shut. ‘Just marry me,’ he says.
‘Why, though? Can’t we just stay as we are? We’re happy. We’re having a baby.’
‘No. Marry me today,’ he says, pacing.
‘Too soon.’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Too soon.’
‘In five years.’
‘Too soon.’
He laughs. ‘Marry me next Valentine’s Day?’ he says, spinning round and pointing.
‘Too obvious.’
‘Marry me on the anniversary of Elvis’s death.’
‘What?’
‘Or the anniversary of John Lennon’s death?’
‘Not on someone’s death day.’
‘Marry me on Midsummer’s Day.’
‘When is it?’
‘Well, love, it’s mid and it’s summer.’
He lies beside me on the bed and I curl towards him. How can I explain I just don’t want to get married? I love him fiercely. I want to hang out with him for the rest of my days. I just can’t face the idea of a wedding. After obsessing over three weddings with my ex, and planning the minute details of Lucy’s wedding, the whole scene seems a bit tired, a bit over and done with. I literally could not bear to choose a venue or a bridesmaid’s shoe, a cake decoration or a ceilidh band. I’m done. I’m having a baby and that seems the most important thing and all I can cope with.
‘See this baby, Max? I’m actually growing it inside me, and I’ll push it out of me. That’s committed, and you can’t tell me otherwise.’
He kisses my hair. ‘It is. Rather you than me.’
‘So that’s enough, right? Ask me to marry you after I’ve done it.’
He thinks about this. He sighs. ‘Just wear the ring.’ He leans across me and grabs the box, ‘be engaged to me.’
‘I hate long engagements.’
‘Wear it for me. Look like someone loves you.’ He balances the box on my tummy.
‘Okay. But will you ask me again after?’
‘I’ll ask you again every day for ever.’
M y second meeting with Rainey happens that morning by accident. I’m walking towards the row of shops near my flat when I see her. My eye is drawn to the shape of her. I feel a kind of silent shout in my chest as I recognise her hair, and her style, the long scarf, turquoise and green like a swirl of sea. I call to her and she turns with a knowing look on her face as if we’d arranged to meet. I jog over to her across the road, and as I get close, she opens her arms and pulls me into a jangling silver and rose-scented embrace.
All my words fall over themselves with relief that she’s still here and I offer to buy us breakfast. She wants a gluten free muffin and coffee, so I get them to take away and we walk into a little square park.
‘It’s amazing to bump into you like this. I only came out to get breakfast,’ I say. She smiles into the air. ‘We’ve started this bad habit on Sundays, getting croissants from the café,’ I jabber.
‘I like this area,’ she says.
‘So expensive. I live in the scruffy bit.’
‘Alone?’
‘With Max.’
‘The father of your child. I’d like to meet him,’ she says. She places her feet down like a dance, her toes spreading in the sandals. Step, pause, sway, step. I dawdle beside her.
‘Oh, well, I’d like you to meet him.’ I smile at the thought of Max.
‘Why do you live with him?’
‘Er, I love him. He makes me happy . . . It’s the usual thing, et cetera.’ I smile at the side of her face, looking for her meaning.
She
He grunts.
‘I am.’
He turns, taking a long suck on the cigarette before letting it drop into the alley.
‘I love you. I’m committed to you.’
He snorts and turns his back on me, looking down into the alley. ‘There’s a tramp down here asleep under your window.’
‘My last suitor. Waiting for me sent him mad. He now thinks he’s a dog.’
‘Marry me, Summers, before I go the same way.’
‘He’s not exposing himself again, is he?’
Max looks out into the alley. ‘It’s hard to tell. Oh no, it isn’t – it’s fucking obvious.’
‘Memories are all he has,’ I say dreamily.
Max slides the window shut. ‘Just marry me,’ he says.
‘Why, though? Can’t we just stay as we are? We’re happy. We’re having a baby.’
‘No. Marry me today,’ he says, pacing.
‘Too soon.’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Too soon.’
‘In five years.’
‘Too soon.’
He laughs. ‘Marry me next Valentine’s Day?’ he says, spinning round and pointing.
‘Too obvious.’
‘Marry me on the anniversary of Elvis’s death.’
‘What?’
‘Or the anniversary of John Lennon’s death?’
‘Not on someone’s death day.’
‘Marry me on Midsummer’s Day.’
‘When is it?’
‘Well, love, it’s mid and it’s summer.’
He lies beside me on the bed and I curl towards him. How can I explain I just don’t want to get married? I love him fiercely. I want to hang out with him for the rest of my days. I just can’t face the idea of a wedding. After obsessing over three weddings with my ex, and planning the minute details of Lucy’s wedding, the whole scene seems a bit tired, a bit over and done with. I literally could not bear to choose a venue or a bridesmaid’s shoe, a cake decoration or a ceilidh band. I’m done. I’m having a baby and that seems the most important thing and all I can cope with.
‘See this baby, Max? I’m actually growing it inside me, and I’ll push it out of me. That’s committed, and you can’t tell me otherwise.’
He kisses my hair. ‘It is. Rather you than me.’
‘So that’s enough, right? Ask me to marry you after I’ve done it.’
He thinks about this. He sighs. ‘Just wear the ring.’ He leans across me and grabs the box, ‘be engaged to me.’
‘I hate long engagements.’
‘Wear it for me. Look like someone loves you.’ He balances the box on my tummy.
‘Okay. But will you ask me again after?’
‘I’ll ask you again every day for ever.’
M y second meeting with Rainey happens that morning by accident. I’m walking towards the row of shops near my flat when I see her. My eye is drawn to the shape of her. I feel a kind of silent shout in my chest as I recognise her hair, and her style, the long scarf, turquoise and green like a swirl of sea. I call to her and she turns with a knowing look on her face as if we’d arranged to meet. I jog over to her across the road, and as I get close, she opens her arms and pulls me into a jangling silver and rose-scented embrace.
All my words fall over themselves with relief that she’s still here and I offer to buy us breakfast. She wants a gluten free muffin and coffee, so I get them to take away and we walk into a little square park.
‘It’s amazing to bump into you like this. I only came out to get breakfast,’ I say. She smiles into the air. ‘We’ve started this bad habit on Sundays, getting croissants from the café,’ I jabber.
‘I like this area,’ she says.
‘So expensive. I live in the scruffy bit.’
‘Alone?’
‘With Max.’
‘The father of your child. I’d like to meet him,’ she says. She places her feet down like a dance, her toes spreading in the sandals. Step, pause, sway, step. I dawdle beside her.
‘Oh, well, I’d like you to meet him.’ I smile at the thought of Max.
‘Why do you live with him?’
‘Er, I love him. He makes me happy . . . It’s the usual thing, et cetera.’ I smile at the side of her face, looking for her meaning.
She
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