about being his lover – but this was different; odd. Almost a forced show of solidarity, as though marking out his territory, but also showing that we were A COUPLE. Maybe his parents weren’t as cool about us getting married as they made out. Maybe they were waiting to be convinced in some way that I wasn’t simply the rebound girl, and that he wasn’t rushing into this. The twirling in my stomach intensified. Jack not knowing my name was hardly a ringing endorsement about our knowledge of each other.
‘Tea, Elizabeth? I baked some scones this morning. Hector is desperate to try them with the clotted cream he brought back from a business trip to Devon last weekend. I think I also have some homemade strawberry jam left. Last year we had such a wonderful crop of strawberries that I managed to make pots and pots of it. Which was a good thing because this year’s crop wasn’t quite as successful. Can I tempt you?’
‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ I said.
‘Make it a coffee instead of a tea, please,’ Jack said as his mother turned towards the door. ‘Libby only drinks tea in the evenings. And she’s not that keen on strawberries, she finds them too tart on her palette. But you’ve got some marmalade, haven’t you? She loves that. Even though it’s not really done with scones. I’ll have the same, if that’s all right.’
I’d always known that Jack noticed the details, but this was astounding.
How does he know all that? I’m sure I’ve never told him those things explicitly
.
Harriet beamed at her son, saying, ‘Of course, darling. Oh, Elizabeth, you should have said. We don’t stand on ceremony here. Hector, can you come and put the coffee machine on? Is filter OK for you?’
‘Perfect, absolutely perfect,’ I replied, quickly.
‘Right, what’s the matter?’ Jack asked sotto voce the second his parents were out of earshot.
‘What do you mean?’ I replied.
‘Every time one of my parents says your name, you tense up.’
My eyes widened in alarm.
‘No, my parents haven’t noticed, I can just feel it. I know you, don’t forget. And I can feel when things aren’t right with you. What’s wrong?’
‘My name isn’t Elizabeth.’
‘Oh, my parents are old fashioned, they’ll get used to calling you Libby in time. I’m sure your parents do the same.’
‘No, Jack, you don’t understand. Libby is short for Liberty. My birthday’s the sixth of March, which is Ghana Independence Day, so my parents called me Liberty.’
‘Oh,’ Jack said, thinking the same thing as I was: we were getting married and he didn’t even know my real name.
‘Do you want to tell them when they get back?’
‘
No
!’ I said. ‘I’m actually going to change my name by deed poll on Monday so I never have to admit to them that when I became engaged my fiancé didn’t know my real name.’
Jack laughed and a multitude of stars started to light up in mychest. That was why I was marrying him – he could do that to me with something as simple as laughing. Did it really matter if he didn’t know my full name?
‘If you can bear it, I’ll put my mother straight when we get home.’
I shrugged. ‘Fine by me, although Elizabeth isn’t such a bad name – just in case you don’t get around to telling her.’
He grinned again and I smiled back at him, happy that we were in this together.
‘Will you be OK if I nip to the bathroom?’ Jack asked.
‘Of course,’ I said, relaxed now that someone else was in on the secret.
‘Right back,’ he said and pecked a kiss on my mouth before leaving. I took the chance to look around properly. Their living room, although big and impersonal, was crammed with photos of their family. They weren’t the kind you’d stereotypically expect a rich brood to have on display – all stuffy poses and formal dress – they were happy images, showing many, many moments of the private, contented life they shared. My parents had a few photos on display, but most were in
‘Tea, Elizabeth? I baked some scones this morning. Hector is desperate to try them with the clotted cream he brought back from a business trip to Devon last weekend. I think I also have some homemade strawberry jam left. Last year we had such a wonderful crop of strawberries that I managed to make pots and pots of it. Which was a good thing because this year’s crop wasn’t quite as successful. Can I tempt you?’
‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ I said.
‘Make it a coffee instead of a tea, please,’ Jack said as his mother turned towards the door. ‘Libby only drinks tea in the evenings. And she’s not that keen on strawberries, she finds them too tart on her palette. But you’ve got some marmalade, haven’t you? She loves that. Even though it’s not really done with scones. I’ll have the same, if that’s all right.’
I’d always known that Jack noticed the details, but this was astounding.
How does he know all that? I’m sure I’ve never told him those things explicitly
.
Harriet beamed at her son, saying, ‘Of course, darling. Oh, Elizabeth, you should have said. We don’t stand on ceremony here. Hector, can you come and put the coffee machine on? Is filter OK for you?’
‘Perfect, absolutely perfect,’ I replied, quickly.
‘Right, what’s the matter?’ Jack asked sotto voce the second his parents were out of earshot.
‘What do you mean?’ I replied.
‘Every time one of my parents says your name, you tense up.’
My eyes widened in alarm.
‘No, my parents haven’t noticed, I can just feel it. I know you, don’t forget. And I can feel when things aren’t right with you. What’s wrong?’
‘My name isn’t Elizabeth.’
‘Oh, my parents are old fashioned, they’ll get used to calling you Libby in time. I’m sure your parents do the same.’
‘No, Jack, you don’t understand. Libby is short for Liberty. My birthday’s the sixth of March, which is Ghana Independence Day, so my parents called me Liberty.’
‘Oh,’ Jack said, thinking the same thing as I was: we were getting married and he didn’t even know my real name.
‘Do you want to tell them when they get back?’
‘
No
!’ I said. ‘I’m actually going to change my name by deed poll on Monday so I never have to admit to them that when I became engaged my fiancé didn’t know my real name.’
Jack laughed and a multitude of stars started to light up in mychest. That was why I was marrying him – he could do that to me with something as simple as laughing. Did it really matter if he didn’t know my full name?
‘If you can bear it, I’ll put my mother straight when we get home.’
I shrugged. ‘Fine by me, although Elizabeth isn’t such a bad name – just in case you don’t get around to telling her.’
He grinned again and I smiled back at him, happy that we were in this together.
‘Will you be OK if I nip to the bathroom?’ Jack asked.
‘Of course,’ I said, relaxed now that someone else was in on the secret.
‘Right back,’ he said and pecked a kiss on my mouth before leaving. I took the chance to look around properly. Their living room, although big and impersonal, was crammed with photos of their family. They weren’t the kind you’d stereotypically expect a rich brood to have on display – all stuffy poses and formal dress – they were happy images, showing many, many moments of the private, contented life they shared. My parents had a few photos on display, but most were in
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