The Wedding Date (24 page)

‘So. Tomorrow.’ Mum’s fingers dig into my arm as we reach Ryan’s car. I wince but manage to keep from snatching my arm away and rubbing the finger marks away. ‘We’ll come over. See your new place. See how you’re settling in.’

‘That would be nice.’ I’m gritting my teeth against the pain now. ‘Ryan can cook us a nice lunch. Can’t you, babe?’ I smile as sweetly as I can when I’m sure my arm now resembles a bowling ball with five holes instead of three.

‘Yes. A nice lunch.’ Ryan is smiling too but I can see the panic in those blue eyes. I know for a fact that despite claiming he can cook, Ryan lives on a diet of ready meals, takeaways and Pot Noodles.

‘We’ll see you tomorrow then. One o’clock?’

‘One o’clock will be perfect.’ I kiss Mum on the cheek and wriggle my arm free. Oh, the blessed relief! I kiss Dad on the cheek before climbing into the car, taking one last look at my childhood home before we drive away and although I know I’ll be back very soon, I feel a lump in my throat as Mum and Dad disappear from view.

Chapter 28

A New Home

Text Message:

Lauren:
Met the guy who lives in the basement flat. He’s pretty cute and so funny!

Delilah:
Do I sense a little crush developing here?

Lauren:
I never poop on my own doorstep

Delilah:
Gross. Who said anything about pooping??? No wonder you’re single :P

Ryan lives in a two-bedroom terrace house on a quiet street lined with tall trees and immaculate grass verges. Where mill workers would have resided a hundred years ago, professionals and pensioners have taken over Devon Street and transformed the once-shabby century-old terrace with new roofs, double-glazed windows and shiny doors. There are window boxes and hanging baskets spilling colourful blooms and the tiny yards at the front of the houses could be mini exhibitions at the Chelsea Flower Show. Ryan’s tiny yard is by far the plainest on the street, free of water features, ornate benches or sculpted hedges. But it’s clean, with its cobble-effect paving freshly swept and moss-free.

‘Here you are.’ Ryan lugs my holdall and suitcase into his spare bedroom, which used to act as his office but now no longer houses the rarely-used desk and Ryan’s vast collection of sports-related magazines (and porn, I suspect). Now there is a single bed covered with a white bedspread with a pink and grey floral pattern (which is very pretty, actually. I’m surprised at Ryan’s feminine choice). There’s a small wardrobe and matching chest of drawers and a bedside table. Ryan has gone to frightening extremes for this sham relationship.

Wandering over to the window, I peer outside, looking down upon the paved garden at the back of the house. The back garden is almost as minimalist as the front with only a tiny green shed, a greying plastic table and chair set and a basketball hoop attached to a pole in residence.

‘This is nuts.’ I move away from the window and flop onto the bed. How have I got myself into this? And why am I still going along with it?

‘It isn’t that bad. Friends can live together.’

‘But they don’t pretend they’re living together romantically.’ I look up at Ryan and catch his eye and we both start to laugh. I don’t know where it comes from. One minute I’m seriously questioning my sanity, the next I’m clutching my stomach with laughter. It bubbles up out of me, filling the room and breaking the tension I’ve felt since I slipped into Ryan’s car with my belongings in the boot.

‘You’re right. This is nuts.’ For a moment I’m hopeful that Ryan is going to send me home. ‘But we’re here now. There’s no going back.’

Oh.

‘So we may as well have fun, yeah? Hang out like we used to when we were kids.’

I pull a face. ‘We don’t have to listen to Blazin’ Squad until our ears bleed, do we?’

Ryan groans as he flops down on the bed next to me. ‘What were we thinking?’ He shakes his head as he remembers our terrible taste in music back then. ‘Why did nobody stop us?’

‘To be fair, your mum tried.’ Eleanor wasn’t a fan of ‘popular music’ and would have preferred her son to listen to classical music. Or Cliff Richard at a push.

‘She banned the CDs from the house.’ Ryan grins, remembering the injustice we’d felt. ‘So I just listened to them at your house instead.’

‘And wore out my CD player.’

‘Hey, that wasn’t my fault. That CD player was an ex display model that your dad brought home from work. It was on its last legs before “Flip Reverse” even touched it.’

I rest my head on Ryan’s shoulder. ‘We were a couple of saddos, weren’t we?’

‘But we were happy saddos.’ Ryan stands up and reaches for my hand. ‘Come on, I have a housewarming present for you.’ Tugging me to my feet, Ryan leads me downstairs to the little kitchen tacked onto the back of the house. With both of us inside, the kitchen is full to the brim so it takes a bit of manoeuvring for Ryan to open one of the cupboards and pull out a box wrapped in pale pink ribbon and tied in what could resemble a bow if you squint enough.

‘Welcome to your new home.’ Ryan presents me with the box. Inside is a smoothie maker. ‘I know you miss the smoothies at the gym so now you can make your own.’

‘Thank you. I love it.’ With a bit more manoeuvring, I wrap my arms around Ryan and give him a squeeze. It’s a sweet, thoughtful gift and it almost – almost – makes this whole charade worth it.

The smoothie maker goes some way to soothing me, but the real treat is watching Ryan flap about the kitchen the following morning as he attempts to cook a Sunday lunch for the first time ever. There are pans bubbling over, smoke billowing from the oven and a stench of panic filling the tiny space. And it isn’t as though I can help him. I’ve been completely spoiled at home and have allowed Mum to keep me well fed.

And let’s be honest here, it’s much more fun to watch Ryan suffer.

‘Was that the door?’ Ryan freezes, oven glove in mid-air, tea towel mid-waft over the smouldering roasting tin. ‘Are they here? They can’t be here already. Can they?’

‘I’ll go and see.’ I’ve been standing in the kitchen doorway, a refreshing cup of tea in hand as I observe the freak show that is Ryan’s cooking but I leave him to it, depositing my cup on the dining room table as I pass. Ryan was supposed to have laid the table earlier but the only evidence is a mountain of cutlery dumped in the centre of the table, abandoned when the smoke detector screeched its warning that something was amiss in the oven.

‘Delilah!’ Mum falls on me as soon as I open the door, relieved that I’m still alive and well. You’d think that I’d moved across the world and she hadn’t seen me for months. In reality, I’ve moved a ten-minute walk away and she saw me less than twenty-four hours ago. ‘Let me look at you.’ Mum has been crushing me in a hug but she releases me, pushing me away just enough so that she can drink me in. ‘You look thin. Have you been eating?’

I shouldn’t laugh. I really shouldn’t. Mum is clearly struggling with my moving out. But I can’t help a tiny splutter at her words.

‘Yes, Mum, I’ve been eating.’

‘What have you had?’ Mum hasn’t even made it over the threshold and she’s already grilling me. What will she be like when I really do leave home?

‘I had lunch with you yesterday.’ I feel I have to remind Mum of this fact, to give her a bit of perspective. So she can get a grip. ‘And then Ryan and I shared a family bag of Doritos, ordered massive pizzas and had Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.’

‘And what did you have for breakfast?’ Mum finally steps into the house, allowing Dad to step forward for a hug.

‘Leftover pizza.’ Obviously. ‘Hello, Dad.’

‘Little Delly.’ Dad gives me a squeeze before joining Mum in the tiny hallway. Clara and Graham are here too, as well as Justin who is hovering by the gate and fiddling with his phone. I lead everybody through to the sitting room, bringing in some of the dining chairs so everybody has a seat. Once everybody is settled, I squeeze into the kitchen with Ryan to put the kettle on.

‘How’s it going?’ I ask Ryan, who is bouncing about the place to alternate between stirring pans and opening and closing the oven. His blond hair is sticking up in tufts and his face is washed in sweat.

‘Good. It’s good.’ Ryan looks like he’s about to cry. I almost feel sorry for the dude.

‘This isn’t looking like such a great idea, is it?’ I don’t mean to be smug (it’s an ugly trait, really) but I can’t help it.

‘It’ll be fine.’ I’m not sure if Ryan is trying to convince me or himself. ‘It’ll be great, in fact.’

I make the teas and coffees and take them through to the sitting room. Mum jumps away from the mantelpiece where she’s been busy examining the stash of envelopes stacked behind a football trophy.

‘It’s a lovely house, isn’t it?’ Mum sounds surprised. I’m not sure what she was expecting – a flash bachelor pad with red walls, black leather and stacks of porno mags, perhaps. ‘Needs a few more feminine touches, but you’ll soon take care of that, I’m sure.’

‘You need to put your stamp on it and fast,’ Clara says. ‘Otherwise it’ll always feel like Ryan’s place. That’s why Graham and I moved into a completely new apartment – so it was both of ours from the start.’

And because Graham’s ex-wife had kept the house in the divorce settlement.

‘I think it’s great,’ Dad says. He turns to Mum with a wry smile. ‘Do you remember that flat we had, before we found out we were expecting Clara? It was a real mess that place.’ Dad sighs, the kind of fond smile you can only have when you’re reminiscing about a time in your life you never have to revisit. ‘Damp, woodworm, a great sodding hole in the bathroom ceiling. Do you remember Herman?’

Dad laughs. Mum does not.

‘Who was Herman?’ Clara asks.

‘Herman was a bloody great rat that used to sneak into the kitchen.’ Mum shudders. ‘I asked your dad to hit it over the head with a shovel but he named the bugger instead. Treated him like a pet, the soft sod.’ Mum manages to smile, despite the rat-infested memory. ‘But your dad’s right. This place really is lovely. So cosy and homely.’

‘And rat-free,’ Justin adds. He’s had his nose practically pressed against the screen of his phone since he arrived, curling up in the armchair by the window. I’m shocked he’s actually been paying attention.

‘I’ll just go and see if Ryan needs a hand with anything.’ Leaving my family in the sitting room, I scuttle off to the kitchen, where Ryan seems to have miraculously pulled everything together. The lamb is a bit charcoaled around the edges but that’s nothing a bit of gravy won’t sort out. There are both roast and mashed potatoes as well as peas, carrots and broccoli and a jug of thick gravy. It smells divine now the smoke has dissipated.

‘Do you want to call everybody through?’ Ryan mops his brow with his tea towel before tossing it into the washing basket and smoothing down his hair. The panicked, rabbit-caught-in-a-headlight-and-is-about-to-be-squished-into-the-tarmac look has left his eyes and his shoulders have relaxed into their natural position again.

Somehow – and I suspect some sort of supernatural trickery – Ryan has managed to not only finish cooking a reasonable-looking lunch, he’s also tackled the mountain of cutlery and laid the table.

‘I can see you’re going to look after our Delilah,’ Mum says as we all gather around the table. There aren’t enough chairs around the table so Ryan has dragged the patio furniture in from the garden, throwing brightly coloured beach towels over them to cover the murky grey. The plastic chairs are quite wide, so it’s a bit of a squeeze but we’ve managed to all fit around somehow.

‘I promise I’ll look after her to the best of my ability.’ Ryan reaches across the table, dodging plates and cutlery and Justin’s gravy spillage to take my hand. I want to tell him to steady on, that he’s laying it on a bit thick. I was with Ben for three years and he never once uttered anything as mushy as that in front of my parents.

‘Oh, what a lovely young man you are.’

Well, shut my mouth, Mum seems to be lapping up the mush. Her eyes are sparkling as she gazes at Ryan and I suspect she won’t be fussing quite so much now she’s seen for herself that Ryan is more than capable of looking after me. I won’t starve of either food or affection.

‘Your mum should be very proud of you, you know.’ Mum’s a bit choked up as she says this to Ryan, her eyes now welling up behind her rapidly blinking lashes. ‘I shall be having words with her when I see her.’

‘No, Mum, don’t.’ I’m already cringing with embarrassment. Eleanor despises our fake relationship enough without Mum sticking her beak in.

‘No, please do.’ Ryan winks at me. ‘Tell her how happy Delilah and I are.’

‘I certainly will.’ Mum gives a nod of her head and picks up her knife and fork. ‘Now, shall we tuck in before this gets cold?’

Chapter 29

A Developing Crush

Text Message:

Lauren:
Talked to the basement flat guy again. My heart’s a-fluttering!

Delilah:
Now will you admit you have a crush on the dude?

Lauren:
Yes, yes I will. I HAVE A MASSIVE CRUSH ON THE BASEMENT FLAT GUY

I’ve been living with Ryan for a week now and I have to admit that the proximity to Brinkley’s is rather nice. There’s no need to catch a bus as I can walk there in ten minutes, so I’m saving on both bus fare and rent (Ryan has kindly waived any kind of payment for staying at his place. And rightly so, under the circumstances). I still think what we’re doing is completely ga-ga but silver linings and all that.

I haven’t told anybody at work about my move to Ryan’s as there doesn’t seem much point when I’ll be moving home again in a couple of months. Plus, our plan is beyond ridiculous so the less people that know about it the better.

‘How was your weekend?’ Adam asks as I drop into my chair and jab my computer’s on switch. Why is it that Adam arrives at work every day, bright eyed and bushy tailed – even on a Monday, for goodness’ sake – while I find it takes every single ounce of strength to walk through the doors of the Brinkley office? How must it feel to actually enjoy your job?

‘It was good, thanks.’ I don’t mention that I spent the weekend on Ryan’s sofa, watching my favourite musicals just to get on his nerves. Hey, if he wants me to live with him, he has to put up with my habits – good and bad – right? ‘How was your weekend?’