Erin left several messages on my mobile yesterday that I didn’t pick up.
Feeling much better today – although still wiped out by the migraine – I give her a call and she’s horrified by the whole Harrison story. But she’s determined I should see the break-up as a brand-new start. ‘You’re on the threshold of something really exciting with this catering business.’
I groan. ‘Except my first proper job has been a disaster.’
‘No, it hasn’t. It’s just life getting in the way. You couldn’t help your mum’s bungalow catching fire, or you and Harrison breaking up. Bob understands, I’m sure. It doesn’t take away from the fact that the meals you cooked were superb. Every last one of them.’
‘Even the vegetarian ravioli?’ I laugh, thinking how amazing it is that Erin always manages to make me look on the bright side. I guess I’ll need her more than ever now that Harrison has gone from my life.
‘Especially the ravioli. That lemon sauce was gorgeous.’
‘Listen, can I come over for a quick chat when you get back from work? I know Mark is cooking you a special meal tonight but I’ll be gone by the time he gets back home.’
‘Of course you can come over. You don’t have to ask.’
‘Great. See you later.’
I’m determined to finally get to the bottom of Mark’s weird behaviour. But first I need to get Erin out of the flat before Mark comes home so I can tackle him on my own. My plan is to look white-faced and miserable (I won’t need to act much) so that she’ll take pity on my plea for chocolate and leave the flat to buy some for me, at the exact time Mark is due home from work.
As it turns out, it all falls into place brilliantly.
‘So, a dark-chocolate Bounty?’ Erin sticks up her thumb. ‘No problem. Shouldn’t be long.’
‘Take your time,’ I call after her. ‘And could you go to the takeaway on your way back and get me some chips?’ That will buy me more time.
When she’s gone, I pace nervously around her flat, rehearsing what I want to say to Mark. My hope, of course, is that he’s completely innocent. I’d so love to be able to reassure Erin that Mark is here to stay, but it doesn’t bode well, considering we’ve both had our individual suspicions.
I’m relying on the element of surprise to root out the truth. If I ask him outright if he’s seeing someone else, I’m fairly sure I’ll be able to judge from his reaction whether or not he’s telling the truth. But I feel really sick at the thought of questioning him. Part of the problem – apart from my hatred of confrontation – is that I really like Mark. But I care about my best friend more, so it has to be done.
A car goes by in the street below, with some sort of classical music blasting out from its sound system. I wouldn’t normally mind but it’s so loud, I’m worried I might not hear Mark’s key in the lock. Of course, it’s typical that, far from passing by, the car seems to be parked right outside the flats, blaring what sounds like opera, and some man with a powerful baritone is singing his heart out like a poor man’s Pavarotti. Oh God, it’s probably some stunt for a council election. Or an advert for a theatre show. I’ll never hear Mark’s key over such a hullabaloo …
Then my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.
Someone is out there on the balcony! I can hear their footsteps on the wrought iron.
Oh my God, an opera-singing psycho has somehow managed to climb up onto Erin’s first-floor balcony and is even now attempting to break in under cover of darkness!
What should I do? Flee? Phone the police? Shout for help?
My options are limited due to the fact that I’m frozen with terror to the spot. The drapes are drawn across, so I can’t actually see onto the balcony but the doors will surely be locked.
Oh fuck, they’re not. He’s coming in! He’s fumbling with the door handle. The opera singing is getting louder …
My heart is pumping, fit to explode in my chest. Glancing wildly around, I grab Mark’s snooker cue that’s propped against the wall in the corner, and I brandish it as fiercely as I can, raising it to shoulder height, poised for action.
As the warbling burglar fights with the curtains, I take aim and whack him hard with the stick. The singing stops and is replaced by a string of indignant expletives. And someone bursts through the gap in the curtains.
Mark?
I stare in bemusement. ‘What the—?’
He glares at me, rubbing his arm. ‘What the—?’
Erin bursts in with a bag of shopping. ‘What the—?’
We all stare wide-eyed at each other.
It’s Erin who breaks the gob-smacked silence. ‘What’s that cherry-picker truck doing outside our balcony?’
Mark groans. ‘That would be mine.’
‘Yours?’
‘Well. Not mine exactly. It’s hired. For the day.’
‘Um … why?’
Mark sighs heavily. ‘So I could climb up onto the balcony with a bunch of flowers, sing some opera and ask you if you’ll marry me.’
Erin claps her hands to her mouth. And my heart does a giant leap. Mark produces some rather squashed red roses from behind his back and snarls at me.
‘Sadly your best mate here has just ruined the whole thing.’
*
It will no doubt go down in family folklore.
I turned a highly romantic proposal – inspired by Erin’s favourite film, no less, and executed with mind-boggling attention to detail – into the biggest farce ever.
When I realised what Mark had set up, I couldn’t believe I’d ruined it. He’d been planning it ever since he overheard Erin and me on the balcony that day, discussing how we’d like to be proposed to! I remember Erin saying she’d want it to be extra-special.
Mark is sitting on the sofa and Erin is lying with her head in his lap, gazing up at him adoringly.
‘I still can’t believe you dreamed all that up for me,’ she says with a happy sigh.
‘It didn’t take too much imagination,’ says Mark modestly. ‘It had to be along the lines of that end scene from Pretty Woman, where he climbs up and rescues her and she rescues him right back.’
‘Gosh, you’re word perfect.’ I giggle, feeling like the biggest gooseberry ever. ‘How many times has she forced you to watch it?’
He grins and plucks a number out of the air. ‘Seven-hundred and forty-two.’
His fiancée laughs delightedly and springs up off the sofa. ‘Champagne! We need champagne!’
I feel exhausted.
To my enormous relief, when Erin arrived back with my chocolate and it finally dawned on her what was going on, she burst into peals of excited laughter. She gazed at Mark wide-eyed and then slightly hysterically threw her arms around his neck and said yes – around fifteen times.
I was going to sneak off and leave them to it, but they insisted I stay and celebrate. Mark graciously conceded that since I’d played such a pivotal role in the proposal, I deserved a glass of something at least.
‘Who’s the strawberry-blonde girl?’ I ask, overwhelmed with relief that Mark isn’t a bad guy after all.
‘Louisa. Lovely girl. She’s the employee assigned to my case. From Mariella’s Matching Agency.’ He whips a business card out of his pocket and hands it to me. ‘The old-fashioned dating agency concept has apparently fallen on hard times. They were forced to diversify to survive. So they’ve branched out into organising marriage proposals for people.’
I suddenly remember something. ‘Was it Louisa’s frosted-pink lipstick, then? The one Erin found by the washbasin?’
He pulls a face. ‘That was a close call. I was quite proud of myself for coming up with that nonsense about Erin tidying out her toiletries bag.’
I laugh. ‘I was convinced you were up to no good. Was it Lousisa’s idea to rent the cherry picker from the salvage yard so you could get up to the balcony?’
‘Yeah.’ He grins, then his face changes. ‘How did you know about the salvage yard?’
‘Ah. Er … well, I just guessed.’ I shrug, really not wanting him to know I was spying on them that day. ‘I mean, where do you go if you need a cherry-picker truck? The salvage yard.’
He gives me an odd look but he’s clearly too enamoured with his own brilliant plan to waste time thinking about it.
‘I had to take operatic-singing lessons a few nights a week after work, and there was the hypnotist sessions as well, of course.’
‘You’ve been going to a hypnotist?’
He shrugs. ‘Fear of heights, remember? A bit of a bind if you want to get your leg over a first-floor balcony. Thankfully, he seems to have cured me.’
‘Wow. You really went to town getting it right. That’s so brilliant.’
He grins. ‘She’s worth it. And actually, I wanted to cure my fear of heights so I could go to the top of the Empire State Building when we’re in New York.’
‘Ooh, are you planning a trip there?’
‘Yup. Another surprise for Erin. We leave tomorrow afternoon.’
Glancing towards the kitchen, I murmur, ‘Oh my God, she’ll be thrilled! Have you told her yet?’
‘No. I’ll – er – leave it till later.’
I smile apologetically. ‘Until after I’ve gone, you mean. Don’t worry. As soon as I’ve toasted you with some champagne, I’ll be on my way.’
‘Thanks, Poppy. And by the way, I plan to bear you no ill will whatsoever for cocking up the proposal so spectacularly. As long as you provide me with a lifetime of free chocolate cake.’
I nod, pretending to consider his terms. ‘Done!’ We solemnly shake hands on it.
‘What’s going on? More shocks?’ giggles Erin, coming into the room with the champagne and three glasses.
‘Wait and see,’ says Mark mysteriously.
The champagne is lovely but I don’t stick around. Walking home, I have a wistful smile on my face the whole way. Thank goodness it all ended well. I am so delighted for my best friend. She so deserves having the man she loves make such a fuss over her.
It’s ironic, really. It should have been me planning my wedding to Harrison. I take a big gulp of frosty air and resolutely bat the thought away. I’m trying to accept Mum’s wisdom that what’s for me won’t go by me. Harrison did ‘go by me’ so he obviously wasn’t the right one for me.
An image of Jed flashes into my mind but I give my head a little shake. Jed is probably with Katerina now. And anyway, it’s going to take me a long time to properly recover from Harrison, and until then, there will be no romance. It wouldn’t be healthy to bounce from one relationship to the next, so for the next year or so, I’m going to devote myself to establishing my new career. Luckily, I have some savings, so I’ll be all right paying the rent and bills on my own for the first year. And by then, maybe I’ll be earning money from the business.
But I won’t have Harrison’s support.
The nagging emptiness inside ratchets up a notch and a tear slides down my cheek. But a second later, I think to myself: Would I really have had Harrison’s support for my new catering venture? I don’t think so. He made that very clear when he broke up with me. No, this is something that I will do on my own. And I have a feeling it will be the making of me.
When I get back from Mark and Erin’s, I’m feeling slightly better, so I phone Clemmy and tell her I’d be delighted to organise their New Year’s celebration buffet. Clemmy’s really pleased and we chat about everything. I even ended up telling her all about Alessandro’s letter and my desire to track him down, which, in true Clemmy-style, she finds terribly wonderful and romantic. She says Jed will be really pleased that I’ll be there on New Year’s Eve to do the food, and I somehow manage – with an enormous effort – to stop myself asking if he and Katerina are back together.
Not that it matters. Definitely no relationships – not even a chaste kiss – for at least a year. Possibly two.