Rory's Proposal (15 page)

‘Breastfeeding is terrible. I’ve only got to hear a baby cry and I’m spurting across the room. As for childbirth, don’t get me started. I screamed for bloody England I tell you.’

Oh dear. Luke hates any kind of fuss. I suppose he’ll want me to have silent childbirth like Katie Holmes, and without pain relief. Christ, eyebrow threading sounds like heaven compared to that. I’ll have to sneak my own painkillers into the hospital. I’ll be the only pregnant woman to have an epidural dealer.

‘Mum, I’m thirsty, really really thirsty.’

‘It’s those crisps,’ I say.

She gives me a dirty look, swings her leg and aims for my ankle. I look desperately around
for another seat but everywhere is taken. The baby loses the nipple and screams blue murder. My head throbs like it’s about to burst and to make things worse little Damien at my side has pulled a recorder out from her
I love Kitty
bag and is squealing it into my ear. At this rate I’ll be in no fit state to propose to Luke. She takes a deep breath, blows into the thing again and then
chokes cheese and onion crisps over me.

‘Oh shit, I’m so sorry,’ says Mum, yanking the baby off her nipple and spurting breast milk towards me.

I sigh and stand up.

‘If you’ll excuse me I need
some fresh air,’ I say.

I wander down to deck four and to Café Lafayette and trust me, trying to negotiate stairs on a moving boat after a night on the lash is no mean feat. I order a latte and find a table by the window and watch the sea spray splash onto the glass. I nurse my latte and go over my proposal speech.

‘Hello there,’ bellows a middle-aged man, making my head vibrate. ‘Is that a latte you’re drinking? You know caffeine is a killer?’

It’s Luke incarnate. He sits in the chair opposite me. It’s not only his voice that is loud. He’s wearing a bright green checked jacket over brown corduroys.

‘Mind if I sit here?’

Yes I do. I shake my head politely.

‘I use to drink twenty cups a day, probably more. My blood pressure was sky high. I’m lucky to be alive.’

What a shame you are. Now now Flora, just because you have a hangover there’s no need to be rude, even if it is just in your head.

‘I said to myself one day, I said, George if you keep this up you’ll be dead before you’re thirty.’

I stare at him. My God, if
he’s
thirty, what must I look like? The greying hair and shiny bald patch don’t help of course. His, that is, not mine. He must be forty if he’s a day, surely.

‘I’m George, but I just said that. Not George Clooney, easy mistake to make though, right?’

He’s surely joking.

‘Off to Dublin then are you?’

I bloody hope so otherwise I’m on the wrong ferry.

‘Yes, hopefully not much longer.’

‘At least two and half hours, why don’t you and I go to the cinema? Find two seats in the back row,’ he says suggestively.

I don’t believe this. Someone kill me, kill me now. If this is the best I can do, then I really don’t deserve to live.

‘That’s a nice offer,’ says a familiar voice behind me. ‘But I really don’t like my girlfriend sitting in the back row with anyone other than me.’

I turn, relieved to see Tom.

‘No offence matey, I didn’t know she was taken,’ says George, jumping up and backing away nervously.

‘I leave you on your own for five minutes and you’re pulling all the best looking men on the boat,’ he smiles.

‘He was hard to resist,’ I laugh.

‘How’s the hangover?’

I grimace.

‘Terrible. Everywhere is so noisy.’

‘Would madam like to join me in my private cabin? I can’t offer two seats in the back row of a cinema I’m afraid. He had one up on me there, but I can offer peace and quiet.’

He takes my hand.

‘Come on. I know you hate luxury but I think you’ll appreciate a cabin right now.’

I take his hand gratefully.

‘You have a cabin on the boat too?’

‘What’s the point of having money if you don’t enjoy it?’

I let him lead me along a corridor and into a spacious cabin with a lounge area and two beds in the corner. Not bunk beds this time I notice. I flop onto the couch and lift my legs up. He smiles and walks
to the door.

‘You rest. I’m going to have a walk around.’

The minute the door closes I lay my head back and relax. I know I should check my phone but all I can think about is the fact that today is my birthday and I’m all alone. Well, I’m with Tom but you know what I mean. I reach into my handbag and pull out my BlackBerry. There are missed calls and a list of text messages, the first four of which are from unknown numbers. I click into the first one.

Hey Flo thanks 4 a gr8 night and congratulations, we can’t wait to cu when we’re back in London. Wishing u lots of happiness 4 the future Love Rube and Gareth. Xx

That’s a bit over the top for a birthday greeting. Still they are probably well and truly hungover. It is nice of them to congratulate me
though and from what I can remember I did like them. I stretch out on the couch and click into the next text and the next, all from Tom’s friends congratulating me and wishing me every happiness for the future. How nice is that? Finally there are two missed calls from Devon and one from my parents. I listen to their messages wishing me a happy birthday and then phone Devon.

‘Hey chick, I was going to phone you but I’ve been in a photo shoot this morning. I thought I was never going to hear. Well, what did he say?’

I sigh.

‘I haven’t asked him yet. I’m still on the ferry. There was a tree on the track and we’re all behind. Luckily Tom had a cabin on the train so we could sleep, and he has a cabin on the ferry too. Can you believe it? The guy is loaded Devon. We had dinner with his rugby friends last night. I got a bit pissed and …’

‘Jesus, you and Tom didn’t did you?’ she gasps.

‘No silly, of course not, but I did call Luke a patronising git.’

‘You did? Well he is, let’s be honest. I mean, I think he’s great and all that but just recently he has become a bit, well you know.’

The truth is that yes I do know.

‘He hasn’t sent me a birthday text,’ I say.

‘He’s probably carried away with the golf. You know what they’re like.’

‘I suppose he’s cross,’ I say.

‘What’s Tom like?’ she asks hesitantly.

‘He’s fun,’ I say and realise that for the first time in ages that that’s what I am having, fun, apart from the hangover of course.

‘Mark said Luke’s doing well. Apparently, that Rory guy is playing. You know the one who’s after your salon?’

‘Yes, I know. How strange is that?’

‘Look I have to go, happy birthday. We’ll go out when you get back. Celebrate your birthday and engagement.’

I hang up and at that moment the phone bleeps with a text from Luke.

Happy birthday darling, hope you’re having a nice day. We’ll celebrate when I get home. Missing you. I’ll phone you later. Important match coming up so think of me.

I throw the phone into my handbag as Tom strolls in carrying two bags. He moves my legs and sits next to me.

‘I couldn’t let your thirtieth pass without a card and a little present could I? So, happy birthday and sorry they’re not gift wrapped. There isn’t a great deal of choice on a ferry I’m afraid.’

‘Oh,’ I say, taking the bags. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. You can open them now. It is your birthday,’ he says and grins.

‘You’re so generous. What do you do? Your job I mean,’ I ask.

He opens his mouth, hesitates, and says,

‘Do you mind if we don’t talk about that, at least not right now. I don’t want to spoil your present opening.’

I raise my eyebrows.

‘God, you’re not a drugs dealer are you?’

He smiles.

‘No, nothing that sordid,’ he nods at the bags. ‘Open your presents.’

I look into his eyes and feel a strange tingle run through me. How can he do that just by looking at me? How can I feel so much for someone I barely know? The vibration of the engine seems to run up my legs and into my stomach and I feel suddenly queasy. I lift my legs up and tuck them underneath me before opening the first bag. I pull out a bottle of Womanity perfume and body cream. This must have cost him over seventy quid.

‘I can’t possibly …’

‘Don’t start that again. I assure you that you can. It’s a big ‘O’ birthday.’

‘Don’t remind me.’

I slide my hand into the other bag and pull out a box of Belgian chocolates.

‘For your sweet tooth as I’m thinking that may be curtailed once you marry Luke.’

‘Thank you, it’s really nice of you.’

‘It’s not much.’

I open the card, which simply reads:
On your biggie, all the best love Tom x.
I lean forward and kiss him tenderly on the cheek and his hand strokes my face.

‘I’ve got some important calls to make. Why don’t you rest?’ He says and before I can answer he has left the cabin. It is then I know that I can’t possibly take advantage of his offer of a bed at The Gresham Hotel. I’m growing too fond of him and one more night with him could … the thought sends me into a whirl. Just his hand on my cheek had nearly driven me to an orgasm. If only Luke could produce one that speedily. In me, I mean. Luke has no trouble with speed when it comes to his own orgasms. Still, a woman can live without orgasms, can’t she? Oh God, don’t think about it, don’t think about it but how can I not think about it? Here I am, almost at Dublin, and about to propose to the man I love so that I will be engaged on my birthday and all I can think of is Tom and orgasms. But Tom is just a good-looking rich boy. There could never be a future with him, whereas Luke is reliable, sensible as well as successful and he’ll make a good father, I’m sure of it. I google
bed and breakfast
and after the fifteenth call I manage to get myself booked into one. All I have to do now is avoid Tom’s gorgeous body until we disembark. How difficult can that be? I scroll into the photo of Luke and me, taken on our holiday in Italy, and feel a little tingle of excitement at the thought of being engaged in a matter of hours. I close the phone as Tom walks back into the suite.

‘It’s nice on the promenade deck. Fancy a stroll,’ he says with a smile.

My headache has eased somewhat and the thought of fresh air is appealing. I nod and follow him. We stroll lazily around the ship. The sea is calmer now and the fresh air is invigorating.

‘I love this boat,’ Tom says looking out at the sea.

‘Do you go to Dublin a lot?’ I ask, feeling a need to know more about him.

‘My parents have a house in Dublin. They spend most summers there.’

He turns to face me and seems about to speak when a woman approaches and asks if he will take a photo of her and her husband. He agrees readily and spends some time getting the photo right. The woman takes the camera and looks excitedly at the picture on her camera screen.

‘Oh that’s lovely, thank you so much. Do you want me to take one of you and your girlfriend?’ she asks, smiling at me. I feel myself blush as Tom slides his arm around my waist.

‘Well, I’m not …’ I begin.

‘That would be great, wouldn’t it?’ he says, handing over his mobile. He takes my arm and wraps it around his waist and I feel quite faint at the touch of him.

‘Smile,’ he whispers in my ear.

The woman takes two photos and I feel Tom squeeze my waist before taking his phone back. He pushes it into his jeans pocket and points ahead.

‘Shall we carry on,’ he says and I follow like an obedient puppy.

We walk silently around the promenade and watch seagulls follow at the stern. I huddle close to him as we shelter from the wind behind the funnels.

‘So, in a few hours you’ll be proposing,’ he says suddenly, falling into an empty deckchair and pointing to the one at the side of him. I sit down carefully. It would be just my luck to flop into a deckchair and have the thing rip wouldn’t it? I mean that is just the kind of thing that would happen, especially as I’m starting to look quite good in front of Tom for a change.

‘Yes,’ I say, feeling stirrings of doubt. I am doing the right thing aren’t I? Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, but how can I not think about it? This is my whole life.

A stewardess approaches us.

‘Hello there, can I get you a drink before lunch?’

‘Two champagne cocktails,’ says Tom before I can speak.

I don’t like to admit that I’ve never had a champagne cocktail. That’s not to say I’ve never been offered one. It’s just Luke always got in before I could say yes. I wonder what we’ll have at our wedding. Surely he’ll allow champagne? It will be a bit embarrassing if we have to toast with grape juice. It dawns on me that this will be the last time I drink champagne, or any alcohol come to that, unless it is a very special occasion or the next Jacksons’ boring charity do. I’ll also be facing life without sugar and meat. I’ll have to give up everything. Christ, I sound like I’m entering a convent instead of getting married.