A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright

HarperImpulse

an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Copyright © Maria Realf 2018

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Maria Realf asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008278960

Ebook Edition © March 2018 ISBN: 9780008278977

Version: 2018-01-29

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1: 13 Weeks to Go …

Chapter 2: 2 October 2002

Chapter 3: 12 Weeks to Go …

Chapter 4: 6 October 2002

Chapter 5: 11 Weeks to Go …

Chapter 6: 6 October 2002

Chapter 7: 10 Weeks to Go …

Chapter 8: 25 December 2002

Chapter 9: 9 Weeks to Go …

Chapter 10: 6 October 2003

Chapter 11: 8 Weeks to Go …

Chapter 12: 3 April 2004

Chapter 13: 7 Weeks to Go …

Chapter 14: 15 May 2004

Chapter 15: 6 Weeks to Go …

Chapter 16: 23 July 2004

Chapter 17: 5 Weeks to Go …

Chapter 18: 26 December 2004

Chapter 19: 4 Weeks to Go …

Chapter 20: 18 February 2005

Chapter 21: 3 Weeks to Go …

Chapter 22: 4 March 2005

Chapter 23: 2 Weeks to Go …

Chapter 24: 1 Week to Go …

Chapter 25: 4 Days to Go …

Chapter 26: 3 Days to Go …

Chapter 27: 1 Day to Go …

Chapter 28: 5 Hours to Go …

Chapter 29: 30 Minutes to Go …

Chapter 30: Here Comes the Bride …

Epilogue: Two Years Later

Acknowledgements

About the Author

A Q&A with Maria Realf

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Dedication

For Rob, my love,

Zac, my treasure,

And Stephen, my hero

1
13 weeks to go …

Finally, I’ve found The One! Lizzie Sparkes gazed at the full-length mirror in the changing room, hardly daring to believe that it was her own reflection staring back. The Grecian gown was perfect, with tiny beads twinkling along the asymmetric strap, and a delicate train skimming the carpet as though it was practising for the Oscars. It wasn’t too tight, it wasn’t scratchy and it didn’t make her look like a human doily. The only downside was the eye-wateringly expensive price, but she had decided to overlook that part. It’ll be worth it when Josh sees me walking down the aisle, she reassured herself, a lump rising in her throat. I look almost … beautiful.

She was afraid to step out from the safety of the cubicle, in case the look on her mum’s face – or Megan’s – betrayed the fact that they didn’t feel the same. They were both polite when it came to watching her try on wedding gowns, and had patiently sat through some 30 or so now, but she knew them well enough to read the signs. When her mum wasn’t keen on a dress, she blinked three or four times in quick succession, while Megan pulled a weird half-smile that made her look as though she’d had a dodgy facelift. It was a total giveaway, every time.

Lizzie drew a deep breath and swept back the purple velvet curtain. She took a slow step out into the centre of the boutique, her dark hair swishing loosely behind her like a glossy veil. ‘W-O-W,’ said Megan.

Her mum promptly burst into tears, which was a more confusing reaction.

‘Mum? Don’t you like it?’

There was a long pause while Lynda Sparkes rummaged through her overcrowded handbag, before pulling out a crumpled tissue and nearly poking herself in her right eye. ‘Oh, Elizabeth,’ she sniffed, mascara smudging into her crows’ feet. ‘You look like a movie star.’

Yep, this is definitely The One …

The store manager tottered over in her nude skyscraper heels, clearly anticipating a hefty commission. ‘That dress looks amazing on you,’ she gushed. ‘It fits so well, you’d hardly need any alterations. We could maybe just take it up an inch or two.’ She bent down and folded the hem with her hands by way of demonstration, though it didn’t seem to make a great deal of difference. ‘What do you think?’

‘I’ll take it.’ The words popped out of Lizzie’s mouth before she had a chance to peek again at the price tag.

‘Excellent!’ The manager clapped her manicured hands loudly and two blonde minions, one tall and one tiny, raced over. ‘Let’s open some champagne, please, for Ms …’

‘Sparkes. Soon to be Cooper.’

‘Of course. I assume we’re all having some bubbly?’

‘You assume right,’ said Megan. She was not the kind of girl to turn down champagne at any hour, especially if it was on the house.

‘Marvellous.’ Moments later the two blondes reappeared, one bearing a tray of glasses and the other carrying a bottle of fizz. The manager made an elaborate show of popping the cork and pouring it out with a flourish. ‘Well, congratulations!’

‘Thank you,’ smiled Lizzie, edging away from the drinks so as not to spill anything down the pristine white silk. After six long months of searching, she was still in shock that she had found the dress of her dreams. Everyone kept telling her that she would know the right one when she saw it, but she’d been starting to suspect that might be a bridal myth. Last week she’d had a nightmare that she arrived at the wedding in a gown made from loo roll, which began to unravel in front of all their guests. She’d woken up covered in sweat and couldn’t get back to sleep, but Josh thought it was hilarious when she relayed the story the next morning. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll still marry you if you turn up in Andrex,’ he joked. ‘And think how much money we’d save …’

It was easy for him to laugh, of course; he’d chosen his suit after just two shopping trips and looked like a male model in it, the slimline cut complementing his lean, athletic build. ‘You’re not supposed to upstage the bride,’ she’d only half-joked when he tried it on, feeling the pressure to pick an equally special outfit increase tenfold. It was a huge relief to have finally found something so perfect.

‘I can’t believe you’re getting married!’ squealed Megan, the bubbliness of the champers already kicking in. ‘And in that fabulous dress.’ She glanced over at Mrs Sparkes, who had finally managed to stop sobbing long enough to take a sip of her drink. ‘Mrs S, we’re really going to have to get you some waterproof eye make-up.’

‘Oh, I don’t think I can manage anything else today, love. I’m completely shopped out.’

‘Fair enough, but you’ll want some for the wedding. I’ll see what I can find at work.’ Megan was a journalist for a popular style website, and was sent so many samples that her bathroom was starting to resemble the cosmetics hall at Harrods. The retail worth of her monthly beauty booty was probably twice her modest salary.

She turned her attention back to her friend. ‘You’ll need to start thinking about bridal make-up too, Lizzie – plus there’s hair, underwear, shoes, not to mention my bridesmaid’s outfit …’

‘I think I’d better get out of this dress first,’ said Lizzie. ‘Can you give me a hand, Meg?’

‘Sure, no problem. As long as I don’t have to help you to the loo on the day.’

Just then Megan’s mobile squawked like a melodramatic duck, and they both burst out laughing. ‘What on earth is that?’ asked Lizzie.

‘It’s my new email alert,’ grinned Megan, reaching for her phone. ‘It quacks me up.’

‘Oh, please stop. I swear your jokes are getting worse.’ She waited for the witty riposte, but suddenly realised her friend was no longer smiling. In fact, all the colour had flooded from her face, leaving her skin whiter than the row of wedding dresses behind her. ‘Megan? What’s wrong?’

The sound of her name seemed to snap Megan out of her trance, and she shook her curly blonde bob. ‘Nothing. It’s not important. Now, where were we?’ She put on her most lopsided smile, and Lizzie knew she was lying.

‘You were about to stop being weird and tell me what’s going on. Is everything OK?’

‘Yes, everything’s fine. I’ll fill you in later.’

‘Please fill me in now. You’re starting to freak me out.’

Megan looked around nervously, as if hoping someone might interrupt this awkward exchange, but Mrs Sparkes was deep in conversation with the manager, waffling on about her own 1980s bridal gown.

‘Megan! What’s going on?’

‘Alright, I’ll tell you, but promise you won’t stress out, OK?’

‘Stress out about what?’

There was an uncomfortable pause. ‘Alex is back.’

It took all of Lizzie’s willpower not to vomit down the front of her dazzling new dress.

Lizzie tried to unlock the front door, her hand trembling so much she could barely insert the key. Megan’s words replayed on a loop in her mind: Alex is back. For years, she had wanted to hear that more than anything in the world, but as a decade had ticked by she’d slowly swept aside the shards of her old life, carefully filing all thoughts of him away in the archives of her past.

What the hell is he doing here?

He had been in such a dark place the last time she’d seen him. She wondered what he would look like now; whether she would recognise him if they passed one another on the street. Perhaps he had gained weight or gone prematurely grey; maybe his casually cool wardrobe had been replaced by corporate suits or skin-tight gym gear. I’d know those eyes, though, she thought, momentarily closing her own. I’d know them anywhere.

She finally managed to wrestle open the door, stepping quietly into the snug Surrey home that she and Josh had moved into six months ago. Her lips moved on autopilot to shout a loving greeting, but today her tongue felt as paralysed as her brain, unable to process the million questions those three little words had unleashed. She decided to head upstairs for the sanctuary of the bathroom, where she could take a moment to compose herself – or at least throw up the butterflies swirling around in her gut. But before she could creep past the bedroom, a strong pair of arms bundled her up from behind.

‘Trying to sneak past me, eh?’ said Josh. ‘And without even a kiss, too …’

Lizzie turned round and looked into his teasing brown eyes, her composure melting under the warmth of his unsuspecting smile. Confusion hit her like a right hook.

‘I … um … I’m not feeling so great,’ she said, taking a step back.

‘Was it the tacos?’ She shook her head. ‘Now you mention it, you do look a bit pale. Come here.’ He wrapped her tightly in a hug, stroking her hair rhythmically with his right hand. His skin smelled fresh, like mint shower gel, and she buried her face in his Diesel sweater, hoping to avoid further eye contact for a moment longer.

Half of her wanted to tell him the truth – the whole truth – but she didn’t exactly know where to start. They had not talked much about her ex before: it was a painful can of worms she had sealed tightly shut, and Josh seemed to have the good sense not to prise it open. He knew there had been someone else – maybe even heard the name muttered by old friends – but until now Alex was merely the whispered ghost of a boyfriend past.

‘Do you think it’s all this rushing around for the wedding?’ Josh unwittingly gave her an escape route, and she took it.

‘Maybe. I am feeling a bit stressed.’ She pulled back and rubbed her eyes. ‘There’s still so much to sort out with the flowers and invitations and everything. I think my Bridezilla hormones must be kicking in.’

Josh looked relieved. ‘Freddie said that might happen.’ His annoying best mate had only been married for nine months, but now acted like he was the world’s leading authority on weddings. ‘Maybe you need a bit of a break, like a spa weekend or something? I could do some invites, if you like.’

His concern only made her feel worse. Just calm down, she told herself. Alex being back doesn’t change anything. It’s going to be fine.

‘I’m OK,’ she said slowly. ‘I was having a funny five minutes, that’s all.’ She forced a thin smile. ‘But, actually, it would be great if you could help with the invites. Thank you.’ Wedding admin wasn’t exactly Josh’s forte, as she’d found out when it came to sending the save-the-date cards, so she appreciated the offer.

‘No problem.’ He kissed her gently on the tip of her nose. ‘Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do.’

She ran her fingers through his sandy hair, which was looking adorably ruffled. ‘Well, there is one thing while you’re here …’

‘Go on.’

‘Kiss me.’

He took her in his arms and grinned. ‘Honestly, woman, I thought you’d never ask …’

2
2 October 2002

Without warning, the bedroom door flew open and Megan flounced in, forcing Lizzie to look up from her well-thumbed copy of Wuthering Heights. ‘Here’s a thought,’ Lizzie suggested affectionately. ‘Perhaps you could learn to knock. I could have been naked or anything.’

‘Like I haven’t seen that before.’

‘Yeah, well, you should probably knock before entering the bathroom as well.’

‘Whatever …’ Megan tossed her hair, making her sparkly top shimmer like something out of a pop video. ‘I just wanted to tell you that I’ve had a great idea for this evening! Dominic’s asked me to this karaoke night at Ignition and he’s bringing his housemate, so I thought you could join us. Cab’s coming in 45 minutes.’ She beamed as though she’d just extended an invite to an all-expenses-paid cruise around the Caribbean.

Lizzie’s heart plummeted. Karaoke? You’ve got to be kidding. She stretched out on the blue and white striped bedspread and faked a large yawn. ‘I’m not really in the mood for another double date, Meg. No offence, but you know they never work out.’

‘They haven’t been that bad,’ said Megan, looking insulted. ‘Nathan seemed nice.’

‘He’s about 5ft 7.’

‘And? So’s Tom Cruise.’

‘Which is fine for you. But I’m 5ft 10, in case you hadn’t noticed. Without heels!’

‘Well, Eric was tall,’ she huffed.

‘True, but I’m pretty sure Eric’s gay.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘He gave his phone number to our waiter!’

‘Really? I don’t remember.’ Megan could conveniently forget anything if it didn’t further her current plans. ‘Anyway, this one will be different. You’ll see.’

‘I don’t know …’ Lizzie hesitated. ‘I was kind of looking forward to just chilling out tonight.’

‘Why? There’ll be loads of time for that when you’re old!’ Megan strutted over to the beech Argos wardrobe and started rummaging around inside. ‘You’ve got some gorgeous stuff in here, Lizzie,’ she said, rifling her way along the rail. ‘What’s the point of buying dresses unless you bother to show them off? You can stay in and read tomorrow – it’s not like Heathcliff’s going anywhere.’

Just then there was a noise from upstairs, and the sound of Tom Jones singing Sex Bomb began to echo around the landing. Lizzie immediately knew what that track meant: their other housemate, a cheeky Welshman called Gareth, had a hot date in his room, and any hope of a quiet night had now gone out of the window. A triumphant smile flickered across Megan’s face.

‘Fine, I’ll get ready,’ Lizzie grumbled, rolling off the bed and plugging in her hair straighteners. ‘But you’re going to owe me big time.’

Facing the wonky mirror in the bar’s dimly lit loos, Lizzie applied a slick of lip balm and frowned at her reflection. Two tired brown eyes glared back at her in annoyance. She could have bet a month’s rent before leaving the house that she wouldn’t fancy Dominic’s flatmate, and her instincts had been spot on. Though admittedly he wasn’t the worst-looking guy Megan had ever tried to set her up with, he was clearly a complete sexist, and when he’d started on the subject of women’s sport she’d had to make her excuses and escape to the ladies.

Give it one more hour out there and then you can leave, she promised herself. Hopefully by then Gareth will have stopped his Sexbombathon, and you’ll be able to go to bed in peace.

She slipped the balm into the pocket of her vintage red tea dress, a total bargain she’d snapped up at Oxfam, then smoothed her hair and strode out of the door – smack bang into a barman carrying a tray full of drinks. Lizzie watched in horror as glasses came crashing down around them, spilling their contents everywhere in torturously slow motion. A lone Bacardi Breezer just managed to stay on the tray, wobbling defiantly from side to side like a skittle.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she winced, wondering why she’d ever agreed to leave her cosy bedroom. Her left arm felt cold and sticky. ‘I … I didn’t see you there.’

‘Evidently,’ he growled, surveying the front of his soaked black T-shirt.

‘Are you alright? I’ll pay for the drinks.’ A surreptitious check of her dress revealed that he had borne the brunt of the spillage, which was both unfair and a big relief.

He set down the tray, glanced straight at her for a second, then surprised her with a wry smile. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said, his voice low and smoky. ‘There’s no point crying over … well, two pints, a Hooch and what I think might have been a Malibu and Coke.’ He sniffed the top of his T-shirt. ‘Yep … coconut.’

Despite her mortification, Lizzie found herself laughing. ‘If it’s any consolation, I’ve always liked coconut. But I still feel terrible.’

‘Don’t. It’s an occupational hazard.’

‘What, spilled drinks or clumsy girls?’

‘Both, I guess. Are you OK?’

‘Yes – well, apart from my rubbish eyesight, obviously. I swear I’m not as drunk as you must think.’

He smiled again, and Lizzie noticed that he was quietly attractive, with unruly dark hair that flopped into striking blue-grey eyes, and a jawline scattered with stubble; not the pretentious, landscaped kind, but the sort that suggested he had better things to do than shave every morning. He was tall – she guessed around 6ft – with broad shoulders, and his damp T-shirt clung just tightly enough that she could tell he was in good shape. She was beginning to stare now, she knew, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to look away.

In the end, he moved first, gesturing to the broken glass on the floor: ‘Well, I suppose I’d better sort this lot out before someone loses a toe.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She paused. ‘I really am sorry.’

‘You said that already,’ he teased. ‘Maybe we’ll bump into each other again sometime.’ And with that he disappeared into a room behind the bar.

Realising that she hadn’t even caught his name, Lizzie was surprised by the sudden surge of disappointment inside – but not half as surprised as when the karaoke compere made his next announcement: ‘Alright, now I’m looking for Lizzie Sparkes … Lizzie Sparkes, please come up.’ Lizzie looked round frantically, hoping by freak coincidence that someone else might share the same moniker, but then she spotted Megan and the boys howling with laughter.

‘Oh, there you are, Lizzie,’ shouted Megan, singling her out with an exaggerated pointing gesture. ‘You’re on.’

Lizzie tried frantically to get the attention of the chubby compere, wanting to let him know that it was all a stupid joke, but he interpreted her frenzied waving as a sign that she was coming and began to queue up the mysterious backing track. Blind panic set in. What have they picked? The contents of her CD collection flashed before her eyes. Britney Spears? Sugababes? S Club 7? There was only one thing for it: she would have to go up there and put a stop to this confusion.

Taking a deep breath, she jostled her way up to the makeshift stage, a blush creeping across both cheeks. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I think there’s been a mistake …’ she said to the host, but her voice was lost over the opening bars of the music as he thrust a microphone into her hand. Lizzie froze as she recognised the intro. It was Tragedy, a guilty pleasure she enjoyed playing on her Steps Gold CD – maybe a little too loudly if Megan had noticed – but would never dream of performing in the shower, let alone in public. The three cocktails she’d consumed earlier churned uneasily in her stomach.

Shit, shit, shit. I’m actually going to have to go through with this. The opening lines popped up on the ancient monitor in a garish shade of neon green, as if to further highlight her public humiliation.

Megan’s going to meet with some kind of tragedy when we get home, that’s for sure.

Mumbling along to the first verse, Lizzie tried to keep in time with the loud audio, her voice quivering almost as much as her legs. In desperation, she held out the microphone to the audience, encouraging her fellow students to sing along for the catchy chorus.

To her amazement, they did.

Seconds later Megan jumped up on stage beside her, tucking a straw behind one ear like a headset mic and belting out the rest of the lyrics. A group of girls near the front stood to perform the Steps dance routine in perfect unison, as though they’d been rehearsing for precisely such an occasion.

Just when Lizzie was starting to think that this karaoke business wasn’t all bad, the song came to an end and the audience went wild. ‘Good work, ladies,’ said the compere. ‘Well, who’s brave enough to come up and follow that? Looks like it’s going to be Tony, taking us back to the 80s …’

‘That was amazing!’ said Megan, sauntering off stage with rock-star swagger. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you.’

‘I didn’t exactly have much choice,’ replied Lizzie, not sure whether to hug her or slug her.

‘Don’t be mad. It was meant to be a joke. I never thought for a minute you’d actually get up there! I’d have stuck you in for two songs if I’d known you were going to bring the bloody house down.’

Lizzie smiled in spite of herself, still buzzing from the adrenaline. ‘I guess it was kind of fun, wasn’t it?’

‘Steady on, Kylie.’ Megan stopped and sniffed. ‘Can you smell coconut?’

‘I think that might be me. I knocked a tray of drinks everywhere just before you put me in for Pop Idol.’

‘Oh, so you’ve really outdone yourself tonight, then?’ They both cracked up and Lizzie realised she’d already forgiven her friend, though she wasn’t exactly sure when.

‘Yes, I have. So the next round’s definitely on you.’

Suddenly Lizzie felt a tap on her shoulder, and spun around to face the enigmatic barman from earlier. Damn, please say he didn’t just see me making a fool of myself … She could feel the hot blush seeping back, hoping the redness wouldn’t be visible beneath the bar’s crappy lighting.

He began to clap. ‘I’m impressed. You didn’t say you were going to sing.’

‘I didn’t know I was going to sing. My housemate stitched me up.’ She motioned to Megan, who raised a quizzical eyebrow as she backed away, no doubt already planning a full interrogation as to the identity of this mystery man. ‘I’ve never done anything like that before.’

‘Well, the crowd certainly seemed to enjoy it.’

‘Yeah, I suspect the alcohol might have had a lot to do with that.’ She wished she were better at accepting compliments from attractive guys.

‘So what do you do when you’re not pursuing your pop career?’ He leaned in to make himself heard as the karaoke kicked off again, and Lizzie could detect the subtle scent of leather, still imbued with a splash of coconut. The rest of the room blurred into the background.

‘I’m at uni, studying English. Second year,’ she shouted over the tinny backing track. Trying to chat in noisy bars was always tricky, but she wasn’t ready to give up on this conversation just yet.

‘How are you finding it?’

‘Good,’ she replied. ‘Most of the time, anyway. How long have you worked here?’

‘Only about six months.’ He moved closer, his lips almost touching her ear. His breath felt warm against her cheek. ‘I’m a student, too.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Scientology. With contemporary dance.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Oh, alright.’ He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Hospitality.’

‘So you work here for experience?’

He laughed. ‘Not really, more to pay the bills.’ Lizzie immediately wished she hadn’t sounded quite so naive.

Just then a bloke with a hairy beer belly protruding from his shirt interrupted their conversation. ‘Hey, mate, could we get the same again over here?’

‘Be right with you.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘Guess I’ve got to go. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?’

‘Maybe you could see me at the weekend,’ said Lizzie, surprised by the confident words spilling from her mouth. Did I just ask him out?

‘Sounds great. I’m free Sunday. I’ll give you my number.’ He pulled a pen from his jeans and jotted the digits down on the back of a peeling coaster. ‘I’m Alex, by the way. Alex Jackson.’ He held out his right hand.

‘I’m Lizzie,’ she whispered, a faint current coursing through her fingers as she pressed her palm to his. ‘Sparkes.’

3
12 weeks to go …

‘How much?’ Lizzie asked incredulously, fishing around in her wallet for more cash as the sales girl on the ticket desk drummed her long nails. ‘What does that include?’

‘That’s just the admission fee,’ the girl replied politely, taking Lizzie’s notes and handing back a few loose coins in change. ‘Everything else can be paid for inside the wedding fair.’ She slid two fancy white tickets across the counter.

‘What are these made from, real brides?’ Lizzie grumbled. The two women behind coughed impatiently. ‘Oh, alright, we’re going,’ she said, as Josh led her away from the queue by the elbow.

Stepping through the main entrance, Lizzie was struck by the sheer scale of the hall before them, which was filled with a seemingly endless succession of stalls: fairytale dresses floating on rails, chocolate fountains dripping with temptation, sweet bars bursting with candies of every colour, and travel agents barely visible behind huge piles of honeymoon brochures. The air hummed with the sound of thousands of brides and their entourages, all chattering loudly in chorus. It was an utterly surreal experience, as though one of her wedding magazines had sprung to life on steroids. She wasn’t sure whether to dive in or bolt for the emergency exit.

‘Remind me why we’re here again?’ she asked Josh. She had nearly passed out with shock that morning when he suggested they go along, and curiosity had compelled her to agree. She knew several of her friends had to bribe their fiancés with sexual favours just to get them within 50ft of a wedding fair.

‘Well, I know you were worried there was still lots to do, so I thought we could come here and cross off a bunch of jobs in one go.’ He reached for her hand, weaving his warm fingers through hers. ‘Then you can relax and just look forward to it.’

‘Ah, OK … makes sense, I guess.’ Lizzie tried hard to shake a disloyal seed of suspicion. Why’s he acting like Mr Wedding all of a sudden? Up until last week, Josh had shown zero interest in the finer details of the planning process. Sure, he was happy to get involved with the fun jobs, like booking the DJ and choosing a cake. But the moment she mentioned anything else – such as paying deposits or ordering stationery – he normally glazed over and went into lockdown. Then, since her little wobble at home last weekend, he kept asking if she was OK and if there were any jobs that needed doing. It wasn’t that she was complaining, really – she was grateful he was making an effort – but his sudden attentiveness was strangely disconcerting, like he’d been invaded by obliging aliens.

To be fair, it didn’t help that she seemed to have a defective bridal gene: she still couldn’t tell the difference between cream and ivory, she didn’t give a toss whether the chair bows were organza or satin, and something about those beady-eyed cake toppers was really starting to creep her out. Deep down, she had never pictured herself having the big, traditional wedding, but lately it seemed to be snowballing of its own accord. Back when she was with Alex, she used to imagine them tying the knot in a small, intimate ceremony, or eloping spontaneously up to Gretna Green. She wondered what he would say if he could see her now, knee deep in place cards and confetti.

‘So what should we do first?’ asked Josh.

‘I don’t mind,’ replied Lizzie, stepping to one side to avoid being spritzed in the face by a woman brandishing bespoke fragrances. ‘What do you think?’

‘Maybe flower arrangements?’

What did you do with my fiancé? Lizzie figured he must be keen to get that one crossed off the list so he could spend more time with the stag reps and car-hire companies. She had already told him that they would struggle to afford an Aston Martin, but she knew his James Bond dream would die hard.

‘Alright,’ she said.

Josh held on to her hand as they made their way across the huge hall, squeezing past gaggles of shrieking girls and pushy mothers. Watching him stride confidently through the crowd, Lizzie noticed that he attracted admiring glances from several women, including one trying on a wedding gown who really ought to know better. Window shop all you want, she thought, but I’m the one who’s marrying him. She felt a fresh rush of adrenaline. The events of last weekend might have thrown her momentarily, but now things were getting back on track. Who cares what Alex does? I’ve got Josh. This time, she had fallen for someone who would always be there – for better or worse.

They continued to head for the kaleidoscope of blooms in the far corner, encountering eager reps promoting stag and hen packages, glamorous ladies ladling out skincare samples, magicians performing card tricks, and even designers flogging ushers’ outfits for pets. ‘Can we get one of these for Freddie?’ Lizzie joked, picking up a sparkly dog collar and leash. ‘Then Megan could keep him under control …’

‘It’s Megan I think we should be more worried about,’ laughed Josh. ‘Anyway, perhaps you should stick that back. I don’t want the woman to think we’re shoplifting.’

‘Are you trying to say I look dodgy?’

‘Never,’ he said with a smile.

Finally, they came to the floral section, which was as overwhelming as it was colourful. Lizzie had assumed you simply chose your favourite stems and got a florist to arrange them prettily in posh vases, but now she could see that the options were endless: birdcages bursting with lush green foliage, centrepieces in oversized cocktail glasses, even topiary trimmed like hearts and bells.

‘Let’s keep this simple,’ she whispered to Josh, nudging him away from a man displaying a combination of gerberas, sparklers and citrus fruits who was frantically beckoning them over. ‘We don’t need anything edible.’

He grinned. ‘How about flammable?’

‘I’m thinking … nope.’

‘Spoilsport. What about over there?’ He gestured towards a white-haired woman in a powder-blue suit, surrounded by subtle yet stunning arrangements in tall crystal vases. Blush pinks and soft mauves mingled with creamy neutrals, looking as though they’d just been freshly plucked from a country garden.

Bingo.

The florist caught her gaze and waited for them to come closer. ‘Hello,’ she said warmly, extending her right hand. It was soft and crêpey, though her grip was surprisingly firm. ‘I’m Peggy Bloom. How are you today?’

Lizzie wondered if that was her real name or a clever marketing gimmick. ‘We’re good, thanks,’ she replied. ‘Just on the lookout for some wedding inspiration. I love what you’ve done here.’

‘Thank you. When’s your big day?’

‘Just under three months away, actually.’ Her heart began to beat faster, ticking rhythmically like a clock. The final countdown … The hit 80s anthem suddenly began playing in her head, and she realised she hadn’t caught Peggy’s last question. ‘Sorry, could you say that again?’

‘Is it a church or civil ceremony?’

‘Church.’

‘What kind of look are you going for?’

‘Nothing too fussy,’ said Lizzie. ‘Just something romantic and elegant.’

‘Do you have any particular flowers in mind?’

‘Yeah, cauliflowers,’ said Josh. Lizzie laughed out loud and tried to pretend it was a tickly cough.

‘I’m sorry?’ Peggy looked puzzled.

‘We’re open to suggestions,’ said Lizzie, steering the conversation back on course. ‘But I was thinking maybe lilies.’

‘Really?’ Josh seemed surprised. ‘They always remind me of funerals. How about roses?’

She gave him a bemused glance, trying to figure out if he was being serious. The aliens must be back again. ‘Don’t you think they’re a little, you know … clichéd?’

‘Not really, but I’m hardly the best person to ask.’ He held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Look Lizzie, if you love lilies, have the lilies. Far be it for me to deny my beautiful bride.’ She suspected that his attempt at feigning interest in flowers was already wearing thin. He snuck a sideways glance in the direction of the stag section.

She decided to cut him some slack. ‘Look, why don’t you go off and have a look round while I run through our options with Peggy? I’ll come and find you when we’re finished.’

‘Really?’ Josh looked unsure, as though he might be snared in some kind of wedding trap.

‘Honestly, it’s fine. I won’t be long. Go sort out your stag do or something.’

‘Well, if you think I should …’

‘I do,’ she nodded.

‘OK, then – just give me a call when you’re done. Nice to meet you, Peggy …’ He bounded off before he’d barely finished his sentence, his bright blue T-shirt disappearing into the crowd. Josh’s cheerful exuberance was one of the first things she had noticed about him, and probably explained why he was one of the most popular teachers at his school. That, and his cheeky sense of humour. The pupils knew a big kid when they saw one.

Lizzie turned her attention back to the florist. ‘Right, so lilies are out, roses are out … any other ideas?’

‘Why are they out?’ asked Peggy.

‘Yeah, I know he said he didn’t care, but I can’t exactly order lilies now knowing he doesn’t like them. After all, it’s his wedding too.’

‘Ah, but flowers are a little like marriage,’ said the florist sagely. ‘Sometimes the secret lies in the compromise.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Picture this: you walk down the aisle carrying a bouquet of pure white Calla lilies. Maybe eight or ten stems, very tasteful. At the front are two beautiful displays, with Oriental lilies nestled among Vendela and Sweet Avalanche roses. Then, for your reception, we could do miniature versions for the tables. It’d be like the best of both worlds.’

Lizzie could have kissed her. ‘That sounds perfect,’ she said. ‘How much would something like that cost?’

‘How many tables are you having?’

Hmmm, something else we still haven’t sorted …

‘I’m not totally sure yet. Probably about ten.’

‘OK, no problem. If you fill out this sheet with your contact details, I can go away and put a quote together. We can always fine tune it later.’

‘Great, thanks,’ said Lizzie. She scribbled her details down on the form and passed it back.

‘Gosh, that’s a pretty ring.’ Lizzie held out her hand so Peggy could see it more clearly, the square-cut diamond winking under the artificial lights. She had not expected Josh to choose something quite so showy, but it was undeniably dazzling, with two smaller diamonds in the platinum band flanking the main attraction. ‘You’re a lucky girl, dear. I’ll be in touch soon.’

Lizzie smiled to herself as she ambled off, reminiscing about the day Josh proposed. They’d spent a brilliant afternoon over in Notting Hill, pottering around the vibrant stalls of Portobello Market before catching Spectre at the cinema. They’d cosied up on the back row, munching sweets and missing more of the film than they saw as they kissed like teenagers.

Afterwards, Josh drove her back to her flat in Shepherd’s Bush and looked at her intently. ‘Are you coming in?’ she asked, wondering why she suddenly felt nervous.

‘I can’t right now,’ he said. ‘I wish I could, but I promised Freddie I’d go round to his to watch the game. Wanna come?’

‘No thanks. You know I’m not really into football.’ Or Freddie.

‘Yeah, I figured. But I’ll ring you later, OK?’

True to his word, he called at 10.30pm, just as she was about to get ready for bed. ‘Hey,’ he said, a faint crackle on the line. ‘How was your night?’

‘Fine. Quiet one. Megan’s out and I thought I’d have a go at some writing.’

‘What for?’

‘Just for fun. I actually had an idea for a short story.’

‘Uh-huh,’ he said distractedly. ‘So did you miss me?’

‘Of course. You’re very missable.’

‘Maybe we need to come up with a plan so that we miss each other less.’

‘What do you mean?’ She paused. ‘You practically live here anyway.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I was thinking we …’ She strained to hear what he was saying, but just then the front door buzzer went off and made her jump. Aaaargh. She hated that thing. It always felt like someone had taken a tiny drill to her brain.

‘Hold that thought,’ she said. ‘Meg’s forgotten her keys again. I’ll be back in five secs.’

Throwing the phone onto the bed, she rushed to open the door – only to find Josh on his knees carrying a huge bouquet of roses and a blindingly shiny sparkler.

‘So as I was saying, I’ve been thinking … Elizabeth Sparkes, will you marry me?’

Lizzie was still lost in her romantic reverie when a lady transporting a four-tier cake almost ploughed straight into her: a fate not entirely unappetising, but best avoided all the same. I’ve got to stay focused. In some ways it felt like an eternity since Josh proposed, and yet the past few months had gathered a momentum of their own, hurtling towards the marital finish line. For every task they managed to cross off the to-do list, another two sprang up to take its place.

First thing I need to do is find a fiancé in this haystack.

She pulled her mobile from her pocket and hit the speed dial. Josh didn’t pick up. He probably couldn’t hear his phone in the noisy hall, what with the giggling and the squealing and the super-jolly sales people. To her right, a string quartet struck up as if to really put the boot in. Lizzie sighed and shoved her phone back in her jeans. Guess I’ll have to go and hunt for him instead.

She strolled over to the nearest row of stands, but Josh was nowhere to be seen. Behind one table, a gangly lad with raging spots glared at her like she’d just walked into the men’s toilets. ‘Can I help you? This is the stag zone,’ he said, gesturing to a poster of two bikini-clad girls on a quad bike, which hardly seemed like the most practical racing attire.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I was looking for the hen section,’ she said sweetly. ‘Though I could use a second opinion … Do you think I should go for the pole-dancing party or the mud-wrestling weekend?’

As his jaw dropped, she turned and walked off in the opposite direction, hoping Josh hadn’t wandered too far. After passing a caricaturist, a cellist and a woman dressed in medieval costume (she didn’t stop to ask why), she finally spotted him emerging from what looked like a taxi.

‘Lizzie! Lizzie! Hey, you’ve got to see this.’ He pulled her inside and onto his lap, shutting off the outside world with a slam of the door. She could feel his belt buckle digging into her back, so she shuffled sideways into the space beside him. ‘It looks like a normal cab, but really it’s a photo booth in disguise!’

‘Is this part of your Bond man-crush?’

His laughter reverberated around the shiny interior. ‘I was thinking we could have it at the reception,’ he said. ‘Guests can pose for photos, then they get a copy to take home and we get one as a souvenir. We can get everyone to sign them instead of a boring old guest book. And …’ he rummaged around in a box of props on the floor, ‘you haven’t seen the best bit yet.’ He donned a pair of red heart-shaped glasses, and placed a sailor’s hat on her head. ‘What do you think? You on board?’

Lizzie couldn’t help but smile. It’s very … Josh. ‘I don’t know,’ she said diplomatically. ‘I mean, it’s cool and everything, but do we need it? We’ve already booked the photographer.’

‘Nah, this is totally different. We’ve got to do it!’

‘Why? Because the wedding will be doomed unless we all don fancy dress?’

‘Because it’ll be a laugh. Go on …’ He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. ‘Sometimes you’ve got to live dangerously.’

His words stung unexpectedly, as though she’d been jabbed again by his buckle. It had been more than ten years since anyone had said that to her, but suddenly she could remember it like it was yesterday. She rubbed the faint line on the inside of her wrist, as though that might somehow erase the memory.

‘You OK?’ asked Josh, for the hundredth time that week.

‘Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about something. So you really like the taxi, huh?’

‘Not as much as I like you,’ he said, cranking up the charm. ‘But I do think it’d be great.’

‘How much?’ She could feel herself relenting. After all, she had spent months trying to persuade him to have more input into the wedding, so it seemed mean to veto the first thing he’d asked for. And besides, it did look kind of fun.

‘Normally it’d be £500, but if we sign up today there’s 20 per cent off.’

‘Can we afford it?’

‘Yeah, I think so. Especially if we don’t hire the Aston Martin.’

‘Are you sure?’ Lizzie was happy to forgo the fancy car, but she knew that was a major sacrifice for Josh.

‘Yeah, we’ll find some other way of getting there. Or you’ll have to haul your arse on the bus …’

She slapped his arm playfully. ‘Hey, this bride doesn’t do buses!’

‘Fair enough. Maybe they’d let you hitch a ride in the photo booth?’

‘Stop it!’ Lizzie was giggling so hard now that her eyes began to water.

‘Well, there’s no need to cry about it,’ said Josh. He stared ahead at the high-tech screen. ‘Do you want to try it out?’

‘I guess we should.’

‘OK, when I press the button do happy face, sad face, poker face and scary face.’

‘Ooh, I like it when you’re bossy.’

‘Hey, do you want this to look good or not?’

She adjusted his oversized glasses, kissed his cheek and hit the flashing button.

‘I don’t think there’s much chance of that,’ she said.

4
6 October 2002

Lizzie took another sip of wine as she read the coffee-stained dessert menu. She was almost too full to think about a third course, but she was having such a good time with Alex that she didn’t want their date to come to an early end. Maybe I could squeeze in a scoop of gelato, she persuaded herself. Possibly even two.

Before she could make up her mind, a sticky dough ball came flying through the air and landed on the red and white checked tablecloth with a thud. She looked around the Italian restaurant, and noticed two small boys laughing hysterically in the corner. ‘Will you two stop it?’ hissed their mortified mother from across the table. ‘Sit down and behave yourselves!’ She looked over at Lizzie and waved both hands apologetically. ‘I’m so sorry, really I am. I don’t know what’s got into them today.’ She glared back at the boys, who were now pulling faces at one another. ‘When their dad hears about this they’re going to be in big trouble.’

‘It’s OK. No harm done,’ smiled Lizzie. She turned back to face Alex and they both burst out laughing. ‘Are we still getting dessert?’

‘Only if we can get it before those little terrors,’ he joked. ‘Otherwise we might end up covered in chocolate next.’

Lizzie tried hard not to visualise that thought, but for a split second her mind went off on a dirty tangent. Alex was looking even fitter tonight than she remembered, dressed down in a pair of faded jeans and a grey T-shirt, with a well-worn leather jacket strewn over the back of his chair. He was different from her usual clean-cut type, but there was something about him that she found intriguing, more than any of the lads she had briefly dated before.

The cheerful manager came over to take their order. ‘What will you like?’ he asked in loud broken English, the words resonating almost musically around them. ‘You have one of my speciale desserts?’

‘I’m pretty full,’ said Lizzie, patting the front of her cream fine-knit dress. ‘But I think I can manage some lemon gelato.’

‘Molto bene,’ he replied. ‘We have the saying, like there are two stomachs: one for the main and one for the dessert. Always little room for dessert.’

‘Quite right, too,’ said Alex. ‘In that case, I’ll have the tiramisu, thanks.’ The manager nodded approvingly and hurried off in the direction of the kitchen.

Alex turned his attention back to Lizzie. ‘So, where were we?’

‘You were telling me about your adventures.’

Though they were in the same year at university, Alex was 18 months older, and had spent his gap year in Australia taking part in all kinds of adrenaline-inducing activities. He’d been bungee-jumping in Cairns, climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge and gone sky-diving in Melbourne. Lizzie found his stories both fascinating and terrifying. She literally couldn’t think of anything worse than jumping out of planes. In fact, she hated even boarding the things ever since a particularly bumpy flight resulted in her barfing halfway across the Atlantic. She had forced herself to get on an aircraft a couple of times since, but could never fully relax, her heart thumping and her palms sweating before it had even taken off.

‘Yeah, that was a fun year. So, where’s the best place you’ve been?’

‘Oh, I … I’m not much of a traveller.’

Alex looked surprised. ‘You don’t want to visit other countries?’

‘No, I’d love to visit other countries, but … I’m not exactly a big fan of flying.’ Ha. That’s putting it mildly.

‘Like a phobia?’

Lizzie hesitated. She had never told anyone besides her family and Megan the full extent of the problem before, and she wasn’t sure if it was something she should confess to a globetrotting boy she really liked. But there was a quiet self-assuredness about Alex that made her want to trust him.

‘Yeah,’ she confided eventually. ‘I guess you could call it a phobia.’

‘Have you always had it?’

‘No,’ she sighed. ‘When I was about 15, we hit some terrible turbulence on the way to Florida and I spent half the flight throwing up. My parents saw the funny side – my dad still calls that plane the “chunder-wonder”. But I think it put me off for life.’

‘That must be tough,’ he said, nodding sympathetically.

‘It’s not the end of the world,’ she said, trying to shake off his pity. ‘There are plenty of other things I enjoy.’

‘Like what?’

‘Loads of things … writing. Reading. Swimming. Not all at the same time.’ Alex laughed, giving her an adrenaline rush of her own. ‘Oh, and I’m totally addicted to The West Wing. Have you seen it?’

‘No, but I heard it’s good.’

‘It’s better than good. Aaron Sorkin is like some sort of writing genius.’

Alex smiled. ‘I’ll have to check it out. What sort of writing do you do?’

Lizzie confessed she’d been trying her hand at fiction, but her efforts so far just made her want to cringe. ‘You’ll get past that,’ he said. ‘You’ve just got to keep putting words on the page. They’ll make their own sense, eventually.’

Now it was Lizzie’s turn to look surprised. ‘You write?’

‘Not really – not like books or anything. But I taught myself to play the guitar a while back, and now I’m trying to come up with some of my own stuff. I could spend all day doing that.’

Lizzie was intrigued. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but why study hospitality if your passion’s music?’

Alex leaned forward, his eyes lighting up. ‘Because what I really want to do, one day, is open my own bar,’ he explained. ‘Book some bands, host some cool gigs, be my own boss. That’s the real dream, I guess.’

‘So you don’t want to be a rock star, then?’

‘Nah, I wouldn’t last five minutes being famous,’ he said. ‘I’d hate the whole circus that goes with it. But that’s OK. It’s never been about playing at Wembley. I just wanted to learn the guitar, see what happens …’ He trailed off as a waitress returned with their desserts and plonked them down on the table. ‘So anyway, what about you?’

What about me? It was hard to focus while he was looking at her so intensely. His eyes were distractingly sexy. She dipped her spoon into the soft gelato. ‘Sorry, what?’

‘What do you want to do when you leave here? Write novels?’

Lizzie laughed. ‘Well, that would be amazing, but it’s not as simple as that. The odds of me getting published are pretty slim.’

‘Why?’ asked Alex. He took a bite of his tiramisu. ‘You’ve got as much chance as anyone else.’

She’d never thought of it like that before. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But if that doesn’t happen, there are still some other options I’d like to explore. I could go into journalism, or advertising, or—’

Just then she was interrupted by a shrill cry, which rang out across the restaurant like an alarm.

‘TOMMY!’

She whipped her head around to see the mother of the two boys on her feet, frantically slapping the taller one on his back. His hands were clutching tightly at his neck, and his face was beginning to turn blue.

‘Somebody help me!’ she screamed. ‘He’s choking – my baby’s choking!’

Alex pushed back his chair, leapt to his feet and ran over. He tried to give the boy five firm back blows between his shoulder blades, but the child continued to gasp for air, his eyes beginning to bulge from their sockets. ‘Is there a doctor here?’ shouted Alex. Lizzie looked around the room, her stomach lurching violently. None of the other diners replied, but simply stared on in horror.

‘Please, somebody do something!’ yelled the mother, gesturing to the manager, who had turned a sickly shade of green. ‘Call 999!’

There’s no way an ambulance is going to make it in time. What’s the drill for choking? Lizzie jumped up and ran across to Alex, racking her brain to try to remember the advice she’d been taught for children. She’d done a basic first-aid course while training for her lifeguard qualification, but administering help to a plastic dummy in a leisure centre and trying to do it on a writhing, petrified boy suddenly seemed like two entirely different prospects. Her heart was beating so fast she could barely breathe herself.

‘Let me see,’ she said, opening the boy’s twitching mouth to see if she could spot the obstruction. Nothing. The terror in his tiny eyes was unmistakable.

His mother was standing right next to her, wailing uncontrollably. ‘Please help him!’ she cried. ‘I don’t know what to do!’

‘I need some room,’ said Lizzie, moving behind the lad. She bent him slightly forwards and used the heel of her hand to slap him five more times between the shoulder blades. He made an awful rasping sound, his hands never leaving his throat, but whatever was stuck stubbornly refused to budge.

Shit.

Instinct kicked in and she threw her arms around Tommy’s small waist, forming a fist with one hand above his belly button, and wrapping her other hand over the top. Then she pulled sharply upwards and inwards, the child’s squidgy flesh feeling much softer against her hands than the Resusci Anne she had practised on.

One.

She could feel the boy squirming against her. Try again!

Two.

She gave another thrust, desperately hoping that she was doing it right. Come on, come on, come on, come on …

Three.

The boy made an unnerving noise that sounded like retching, and a half-chewed piece of dough ball shot out of his mouth and across the table. He inhaled loudly, sucking in air in noisy gulps, then burst into frightened tears. His mum rushed forwards and wrapped her arms around him, tears streaming down her face too. ‘Oh Tommy, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re going to be OK. Mummy’s here.’

The diners burst into a spontaneous round of applause, and Lizzie began to tremble. She couldn’t bear to think what might have happened if that hadn’t worked.

‘Hey, are you alright?’ Alex was peering at her closely with those piercing eyes. ‘That was unbelievable. How did you know what to do?’

‘I, er … I …’

‘You know you just saved that child’s life, right?’ His voice was a mixture of shock and awe.

Before Lizzie could speak, Tommy’s mother rushed over and hugged her tightly. ‘Thank you so much,’ she sobbed, her chest heaving. ‘You’re an angel. If you hadn’t been there …’ She couldn’t finish that sentence. ‘I want to do something to thank you both. If there’s anything at all that you’d like, anything you need …’ She pulled her purse from the back pocket of her jeans, her hands shaking.

‘Oh no, you don’t have to do that,’ protested Lizzie. ‘I’m just glad that he’s alright.’ The other diners were still gawping, which was making her feel more uncomfortable by the minute.

‘Well, at least let me buy your dinner,’ said the mother. Her face was all red and blotchy, make-up streaked across her cheeks.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Alex kindly but firmly, his eyes hardly leaving Lizzie’s face. ‘I would like to buy this amazing woman dinner.’

Just then the manager came over, the colour slowly trickling back into his face. ‘What you did was incredible,’ he said, pumping her hand vigorously. ‘Dinner is on the house! Pliss. Anything you want.’

Lizzie looked at Alex. He was still staring at her like she’d just walked on the moon. She nodded at the manger. ‘OK, that’s very kind of you. Thank you.’

‘Can I get you some more wine, Miss?’

She glanced back at their table where her glass and half-eaten dessert remained in situ, as if she’d simply stepped away to visit the ladies. The thought of consuming any more food or drink right now made her feel queasy.

‘Actually, I don’t think I could manage anything else,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the offer, though.’

Alex took her arm, his grip firm and strong. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine, but I could do with a bit of fresh air.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you think we could go somewhere else for a bit?’

‘Anything for the heroine of the hour,’ said Alex, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of his chair and retrieving her wallet. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’

Lizzie felt her sandals sink into Cliffstowe beach, enjoying the sensation of the cool grains tickling her toes. In the distance, the Dorset coastline was flecked with the lights from local houses, illuminating the night sky like tiny stars. A solitary seagull squawked overhead while waves crashed in the background, compiling nature’s own soundtrack.

‘How are you feeling now?’ asked Alex, as they set off along the shore.

‘Better, thanks,’ she said, inhaling that distinctive seaside scent as the wind tugged at her hair. The truth was she was feeling pretty strange: scared and relieved and alive all at once. It was as if she had stepped into the lion’s den and emerged the other side, exhilarated but also aware of how badly wrong things could have gone.

‘OK, good.’ His face relaxed a little. ‘That was way too much drama for a first date.’

‘I know.’ She exhaled loudly, shuddering at the memory. ‘It’s certainly not one we’ll forget.’

‘No, I guess not …’ His deep voice drifted off over the waves, and she could tell he was still shaken up, too. ‘You know, I really thought we were going to lose that kid for a minute there. I was smacking his back, and nothing was happening, and all I could see was that look on his mum’s face.’

‘Yeah, I know what you mean. I was totally starting to freak out.’

‘But you didn’t.’ He turned his head towards her, his eyes finding hers. ‘You kept calm and you saved him. How’d you learn to do that?’

‘I worked as a lifeguard the past two summers,’ Lizzie said. ‘I had to do a first-aid course as part of the training. I have to admit, though, I wasn’t really expecting to have to use it. The pool’s only about a metre deep.’

‘Lifeguard, eh?’ Alex smiled.

‘Yes, but don’t get too excited. We don’t run around dressed like we’re on Baywatch. We have to wear some pretty unflattering orange shorts.’

‘I bet you pull it off,’ he said.

Lizzie blushed and looked away, squinting at the darkening stretch of shore ahead. ‘Are you sure we can get back to yours this way?’ she asked.

‘Of course – I do it all the time,’ he replied, suddenly catching the inference of what he’d just said. ‘Not usually with company,’ he corrected himself. ‘But I prefer to go this way when the tide’s out. It helps me think.’

‘About what?’ asked Lizzie. She had been thinking about him non-stop since Wednesday, trying to work out how he’d got inside her head in a way that none of Megan’s blind dates ever had.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Nothing … everything. Sometimes I just like to get away from it all for a while.’

As they continued their walk, she stole a sideways glance at his profile in the moonlight, admiring his strong jaw and untamed hair. Just the nearness of him made her feel both excited and nervous. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but he had a worldly confidence that belied his age; she, on the other hand, had been living a pretty sheltered existence for the past 19 years, and had only slept with three guys ever, if those clumsy fumbles could technically count. She wasn’t planning to fall into bed with him tonight, but she was glad she’d worn her favourite undies, just in case.

‘What’s on your mind?’ he said.

‘Er, nothing really. I was just thinking that this evening’s gone fast.’

‘I know. It wasn’t exactly the date I had in mind, though. So I’m hoping you’ll let me take you out for another one?’

Her pulse began to race. ‘Yeah, I’d really like that.’

Just then the autumn breeze wrapped itself around her again, causing her to shiver. It had been a surprisingly sunny day, but the temperature had suddenly dropped and she was starting to feel chilly. She felt a light splash of rain land on her arm and wished that she’d bothered to bring a coat.

‘Are you getting cold?’ Alex asked. ‘Here, take my jacket.’ He shrugged his arms free from the sleeves and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her closer as he did so. She felt his thumb brush against the back of her neck, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough to stop her in her tracks. Every inch of her began to buzz with electricity.

‘Alex …’

He fixed those incredible slate eyes on hers, studying her face as though he might be tested on it later. Slowly, he ran one hand through her windswept hair, tucking several runaway strands behind her ear, his fingertips warm against her cool skin. Lizzie could barely breathe, afraid to even exhale in case it shattered the moment.

Just then an almighty rumble broke the spell, as the sky began to spew raindrops with surprising force. ‘We’re going to get soaked,’ yelled Alex. ‘Come on, let’s get back to mine.’ He grabbed her hand and they raced along the shore, running fast and free, not knowing what would happen when they finally stopped.

After minutes that felt like hours, he veered off to the right. ‘It’s just through here,’ he promised, leading the way along a dimly lit path.

Lizzie followed him up a flight of stony steps and watched as he opened a side door, the rain still pounding overhead like the beat of her heart.

5
11 weeks to go …

Irresistible. Sizzling. Orgasmic? Lizzie stared at her computer screen, trying to concentrate on the words floating around in front of her. She was writing a press release about a new cookbook by a top TV chef – the kind of project she usually enjoyed as PR manager for a small publishing house – but today her mind kept wandering mid-recipe, scuttling off to flowers and first dances and whether or not they ought to have favours on the tables.

‘Can I get you a coffee?’ interrupted Phoebe, the new marketing assistant, who had only joined six weeks ago and was still in that phase of sucking up to everybody. She seemed a nice enough girl, but she was a bundle of nervous energy, rushing all over the place and swivelling around on her chair every time she sat back down. It was knackering just watching her.

‘No, thanks,’ said Lizzie. ‘I think I’m alright for the moment.’

‘How about tea, then? Or some water? It’s good to stay hydrated in the office.’

‘Actually, Phoebe, I’d love a drink,’ piped up Naomi, who ran the company’s website. Blunt, ballsy and prone to bouts of swearing, she was by far Lizzie’s favourite person on the entire team, even if she did insist on having the radio turned up distractingly loud while she worked.

‘Of course!’ The youngster scurried over to the next desk, looking thrilled to be making herself useful. ‘What can I get you? Tea? Coffee?’

‘Do we have any fruit smoothies?’ asked Naomi sweetly. ‘Maybe banana and mango? Or some mixed berries? I’m doing a juice cleanse at the moment, you see.’

Really? If she was, it was the first Lizzie had heard of it, and Naomi didn’t usually keep much to herself.

‘Oh, er …’ Phoebe’s smile faltered. ‘I’m not sure we’ve got anything like that in the kitchen.’ Then she perked back up again. ‘Ooh, the café round the corner might have some, though. Do you want me to run down and see?’

‘Would you mind? Thanks so much.’ Naomi reached into her wallet and pulled out a crumpled tenner. ‘I’d prefer freshly blended anyway. Why don’t you grab yourself one, too, if you’re going to the trouble of walking round there?’

Phoebe beamed, like she’d just been tasked with an important assignment for the Queen. ‘That’s really nice of you. I’ll be back as soon as possible.’

‘No rush, take your time,’ said Naomi, watching her go as she trotted off towards the lifts, her auburn hair swinging like a shiny conker.

‘I didn’t know you were into juicing now,’ said Lizzie. ‘How long’s that been going on?’

‘Since about five minutes ago. She’s doing my head in this morning, all that flapping about. I reckon it’ll buy us a good ten minutes of peace.’

‘You’re mean!’ smiled Lizzie. ‘She’s harmless. Remember what it’s like when you start a new job and just want to impress people?’

‘Not really,’ said Naomi drily. She liked to give the impression that she couldn’t care less what anyone thought, but Lizzie knew there was a sensitive core beneath her spiky exterior. ‘Anyway, it’s alright for you. Don’t you have some sort of extended holiday coming up?’

‘If you’re referring to my honeymoon, then yes – yes I do.’ Lizzie couldn’t even try to hide the huge grin that broke out across her face.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Not sure yet.’ That was another thing they still had to finalise, largely because they couldn’t agree on a destination. Josh wanted to go somewhere far-flung and exotic, but Lizzie wasn’t sure if she could cope with a long flight. Even just the thought of it made her palms grow clammy. ‘We’re still deciding.’

‘How long are you off for?’

‘With the wedding as well? Nearly three weeks.’

‘Lucky cow.’ Naomi shook her head enviously. ‘I’d marry psycho Mel for three weeks away.’ Mel was Naomi’s on-off girlfriend. It was easy to keep track of their relationship status, because whenever it was off she always prefixed Mel’s name with ‘evil’ or ‘psycho’.

‘Sorry,’ Lizzie smiled. ‘I’ll miss you, if it helps.’

‘Yeah, well … you’d better bring me back something really good. And some duty-free fags.’

‘I’m not getting you those. I thought you were meant to be quitting?’

Naomi pulled a face. ‘Whatever,’ she said, cranking up her radio another few decibels. ‘Anyway, stop distracting me with all this talk about holidays. I need to upload this before Her Perkiness gets back.’

‘Fine by me.’ Lizzie glanced over at the laminated calendar on the beige wall to her right, counting with glee that there were only 51 working days to go before she could escape. She was desperate for a proper break. While other brides-to-be seemed to enjoy every second of wedding planning, Lizzie was finding the whole thing so stressful that she’d started waking up at 3am, her mind whirring so loudly she was sure it would disturb Josh.

‘Do you think it’s got anything to do with … you know who?’ Megan had asked last week, when Lizzie complained that she was having trouble sleeping.

‘What, Alex? What makes you say that?’

‘Well, you seemed kind of upset when I mentioned it at the dress shop.’ Megan pursed her lips. ‘I know you said you don’t care, but I just wanted to check you were OK about all that.’

‘About what? That he upped and left? Or that he’s back right before my wedding?’

‘Ah,’ said Megan, looking uncomfortable. ‘Do you wish I hadn’t told you?’

‘No, I’m glad you did,’ sighed Lizzie. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I guess I’m still a little freaked out. I just wasn’t expecting him to come home after this long.’

‘Look, I get it. I was pretty shocked myself when I heard. And I’m not the one who was madly in love with him.’

‘I’m not sure I was madly in love with him …’ replied Lizzie. Even as she started to protest, she knew it was a lie. ‘I mean, I thought I was at the time – but if our relationship was so great it wouldn’t have ended that badly, would it?’ She could still feel the hurt in her bones, all these years later, like a fracture that had never fully healed. Don’t think about it, she told herself. Josh would never leave you like that.

‘Guess not. I was worried about you back then. You were in a right state.’

‘Don’t remind me.’ The first few months after Alex disappeared had been, without doubt, the most miserable of Lizzie’s life. After the tears and the anger and the guilt subsided, all that was left was a strange nothingness, which in many ways was worse. It had taken the best part of two years for her to feel halfway human again. ‘I must have been a nightmare to live with. I’m so embarrassed.’

‘Stop beating yourself up,’ said Megan. ‘That was a rough time, especially after what happened with—’

‘Please, let’s not go there,’ said Lizzie. She wasn’t ready for a maudlin trip down memory lane, not even with the one person whose turbulent relationship with Alex almost rivalled her own. During university, he’d become one of Megan’s closest friends, the surrogate big brother she’d always wanted. But when it all came crashing down – with Lizzie’s heart among the wreckage – he’d been rebranded as public enemy number one.

By now, news of his return had prompted much gossip among their old crowd, but Lizzie still didn’t know why he was back in the country, or for how long. She found herself wondering whether everything was alright with his family, the not-quite-in-laws she’d once been so fond of.

I hope they’re OK. As if they haven’t been through enough already.

Her musings were cut short by the portly man from the post room, who thrust a huge bouquet of flowers under her nose. ‘Special delivery for you, Miss Sparkes,’ he said, his short fingers gripping the stems tightly.

‘Thanks, Bob. I didn’t know you cared,’ she joked. The arrangement was amazing: large white lilies mixed with yellow tulips and orange gerberas, the citrus shades standing out against the foliage like miniature suns. Their fresh scent reminded her of the displays from the wedding fair.

‘Well, you know you’re still my favourite, miss. But I think someone might be trying to steal you from me.’

‘Nah,’ she said with a smile. ‘That’ll never happen.’

Bob gave her a wink and set off for the rest of his rounds. ‘See you later, kiddo.’

Lizzie admired the bouquet again, which was almost bigger than her head. It’s so sweet of Josh to do this, she thought, especially when I’ve been kind of moody lately. I’ll have to make it up to him.

‘Nice blooms,’ said Naomi, nosily. ‘What’s he gone and done now?’

‘He hasn’t done anything,’ laughed Lizzie. ‘People can send flowers for other reasons, you know.’ Noticing that there was a card attached with twirly yellow ribbon, she ripped open the envelope, eager to read the romantic message inside. Instead, it simply said: Lizzie, I’m in town. Please can we talk? Alex x

A burst of adrenaline shot through her body. Has he been here? She looked around the office furtively, as if half expecting him to pop out from behind the photocopier, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Glancing back down, she saw that underneath the message was a sprawled mobile number, the last two digits of which were smudged. Lizzie dropped the card and leapt from her chair, chasing after Bob like a champion sprinter.

‘Bob! BOB! Where exactly did these come from?’

He spun around to face her, looking puzzled. ‘A bloke just dropped them off not long ago. I brought them straight up. Why?’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Hard to say, miss – tall, about your age. Nice chap. Could have been a courier, I suppose. Is something wrong?’

Lizzie ran past him down the corridor, almost knocking over Phoebe as she returned with the drinks, and hammered on the lift button as though her life depended on it. ‘Come on!’ she yelled, causing the mousy intern on her right to jump. The lift was being stubborn now, its green arrow flashing upwards in defiance.

She would have to take the fire exit.

Her heels clacked against the cheap lino as she raced down the dingy stairs, her palms sweating so much that she struggled to grip the chipped banister. Finally, after four hellishly long storeys, she burst through the door and out into the cobbled side street.

‘Alex!’

A startled pigeon flew past her, but otherwise the alley was deserted. She strode round the corner to the main entrance, half hoping that he would be waiting; half afraid of what would happen if he was.

‘Alex, are you there?’

Only the whistle of the wind came back at her, and she knew that once again he had slipped away without saying a word.

After sending a quick text to request an emergency summit, Lizzie rushed straight round to Megan’s flat after work, which proved easier said than done with a giant bouquet on the Tube. Not only did she have to squeeze into the crowded carriage, but the bald man standing beside her seemed to have severe hayfever, and proceeded to sneeze in her direction all the way to Shepherd’s Bush.

‘Need … wine … now,’ she gasped, as the front door finally swung open.

‘What’s going on?’ said Megan. She peered at the huge arrangement. ‘You look like you’ve raided the Chelsea Flower Show. Are these for me?’

‘They are now. Alex sent them.’

‘What the fu …?’

‘I know,’ Lizzie interrupted. ‘Have you got wine?’

Megan stared at her, highlighting the sheer stupidity of the question. ‘Red, white or rosé?’

‘I don’t mind, as long as you make mine a large.’

‘Coming right up. Then you have to tell me everything.’ She eyed the flowers again. ‘I suppose we’d better get these in water, if they even fit through the hallway.’

Lizzie stepped inside the bijoux apartment, noticing that it was pretty tidy these days, or at least a lot better than when the two of them moved in after uni. ‘The old place is looking good,’ she murmured, her mind still boggling from the afternoon’s events.

‘Thanks,’ replied Megan. ‘Lily’s a neat freak, so she’s been spring cleaning again.’ Megan’s cousin, a leggy model, had been renting the other bedroom since Lizzie moved in with Josh. The girl had a wardrobe to die for and was hardly ever around, so most of the time the deal suited Megan perfectly. ‘Sit down and make yourself comfy,’ she continued, taking the flowers through to the compact kitchen. ‘I’ll be with you in a sec. Wine is on the way!’

Lizzie collapsed into the soft, threadbare couch, now tastefully adorned with a scattering of gold cushions. A few seconds later, Megan returned with a bottle of Pinot Grigio and two glasses, and settled down beside her. ‘Right, have some of this and start from the beginning,’ she said, pouring a couple of sizeable servings. ‘When did the flowers turn up?’

‘Today.’

‘What, at home? Did Josh see?’ Her voice began to climb higher and higher.

‘No, at work. But obviously I can’t take them home. Not that I’d want to,’ Lizzie added hastily. She took a large gulp of Pinot, hoping the cool wine would soothe her frazzled nerves.

‘Did you talk to him?’

‘Who, Josh?’

‘No, Alex!’ Megan was dangerously close to soprano territory now.

‘No.’ Lizzie tried to adopt a nonchalant expression, omitting to mention that she had nearly set a new land-speed record trying to sprint down the fire exit.

‘Then how do you know they’re from him?’

‘Because he left a note.’

Megan’s eyes widened. ‘Saying?’

Lizzie put down her glass, retrieved the card from her purse and handed it over. Megan’s mouth flapped about like a fish deprived of water. ‘But … what …’ she paused. ‘He’s got some balls.’

‘I know.’

‘As if you’d want to talk to him!’

‘Exactly.’ Lizzie picked up her wine and necked another large mouthful. Megan sipped hers more slowly, looking deep in thought.

‘I wonder how he knew where you’d be,’ she mused.

‘What?’

‘Well, if he sent flowers to your office, how did he find out where you work?’ She wrinkled her nose suspiciously.

‘I’ve no idea. Maybe someone told him, or he looked me up online or something. You’re the one who’s always telling me you can find anything on the internet.’

Megan mulled this over for a moment. ‘It’s possible, I guess. But he doesn’t seem too into the whole social media thing. He’s not even on Facebook! My 90-year-old gran’s on there poking people, no problem. But Alex? Nothing.’

‘You tried to look him up?’ Now it was Lizzie’s turn to be surprised.

‘Only when I heard he was back. I was just going to check out his pictures, do a bit of harmless reconnaissance.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never tried to do that?’

Lizzie ducked her gaze. ‘Maybe once or twice,’ she muttered. Not that she’d ever found anything. Alex was very good at going under the radar. In another life, he’d have made an excellent secret agent.

‘If you say so,’ scoffed Megan. ‘Anyway, you’re missing the point. The important thing is what you do next.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Please tell me you didn’t phone him already?’

‘Course not,’ Lizzie spluttered. ‘I can’t read the number anyway. The last two digits are smudged.’

Megan peered at the card, then threw it down on the coffee table. ‘I think it’s a 6 and a 0. Might be an 8. Not that it matters, though. You definitely shouldn’t call.’

‘I won’t.’

‘In that case, I think we should get rid of it,’ she said. ‘Just so you don’t feel tempted to ring him later. You know, once we’ve polished off the Pinot.’ She set down her drink and went into the kitchen, returning with a large ashtray and a box of matches. ‘Here, we can set fire to it. It’ll be like it never existed.’

Like Alex for the past ten years, you mean.

‘You don’t need to mess around with all that, Megan.’ Lizzie shuffled uneasily in her seat.

‘Well, you can’t keep it! What if Josh sees it? How dodgy would that look?’

‘Why would he see it? I was going to bin it.’

‘Good. Because I’d hate to see you screw things up with Josh for that bastard.’ Despite their long-term friendship – or perhaps because of it – Megan still hadn’t learned to keep her opinions to herself.

‘Don’t say that.’

‘Why not?’

Lizzie didn’t have a good answer. It wasn’t like she hadn’t called him that – and worse – since the split. But somehow it sounded different coming from Megan.

‘Never mind. I should probably talk to Josh about all this though, right? Maybe tell him what happened with me and Alex?’ Not that she had much of an explanation. She still didn’t understand how two people could swiftly go from being inseparable to being continents apart.

‘What? Noooooo!’ Megan looked horrified. ‘That’s a terrible idea.’

‘Why? I’m sure he won’t mind. It was a million years ago.’

‘Yeah, I can hear that conversation now: “Hi darling, how was your day? Oh, by the way, the love of my life just waltzed back into town.” He’ll be thrilled about that.’

‘Alex isn’t the love of my life,’ said Lizzie, her head starting to throb from the strain of it all.

‘But still, it doesn’t exactly sound great, does it? And then poor Josh is going to spend the next couple of months worrying that you’re going to call off the wedding.’

‘Why would I call off the wedding?’

‘I’m not saying you would. I’m just saying that I don’t think now’s a good time to dump all of this on your fiancé.’ She raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘Look, at the end of the day, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.’

I hope not, thought Lizzie. I really hope not. ‘So what do you think I should do?’

Megan picked up the card. ‘I think we should destroy the evidence right now.’

‘You’ve been watching too much CSI: Miami again.’

‘I’m serious. Unless you’re having second thoughts about phoning …’ She shook her head disapprovingly.

‘Fine, you win. Let’s just get rid of it.’

Lizzie watched as her friend scraped the safety match against the coarse surface of the box, the sound grating like nails down a blackboard. The tip sprang to life, its golden head gently kissing the corner of the card, engulfing it in a sunset-coloured glow before it burned out with exhaustion and everything turned black.

Megan was right. There could be no going back.

6
6 October 2002

Lizzie stepped into the dark cottage, scattering a trail of watery drops as she took off Alex’s jacket, her hands struggling to grip the slippery leather. Her wet hair clung to her neck and shoulders, the rain trickling down her back and tickling her skin.

As her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light, she could just about glimpse Alex in the shadows, but then he switched on a table lamp, infusing the living room with a soft glow. The place wasn’t big, but what it lacked in size it made up for in character, with its exposed brick walls and dark wooden beams. It was not your typical student digs, but then she was beginning to realise that he was not your typical student.

‘You must be drenched,’ he said, kicking off his shoes with a thud. ‘That really came out of nowhere.’ His hair had been slicked back by the rain, but a few rogue strands fell forward and she wanted to brush them from his face. She did not move first, though, thrown by the wet and the cold and the sudden realisation that her dress had become almost see-through. Do I look a total mess? Alex had wanted to kiss her on the beach, of that she was sure, but the rain had extinguished the moment and now she felt self-conscious.

‘I’m OK.’

He took the dripping jacket from her. ‘Here, let me get you a towel,’ he said, disappearing for a second before surfacing with a large white one. She wrapped it tightly around herself, feeling the warmth flood back into her body, then bent down to remove her sodden sandals. ‘I’ll see if I can find you something to change into,’ he offered, striding towards what she assumed must be his bedroom.

He did not close the door fully behind him, and she couldn’t help but watch through the gap as he peeled off his T-shirt, revealing a muscular back. As he reached into his wardrobe, she could make out a jagged scar to the right of his torso, silvery and faded but noticeable nonetheless. I know nothing about this guy, she thought suddenly, and yet she wanted to find out more. She pretended to concentrate on towel-drying her hair while she kept one eye firmly fixed in his direction.

He threw on a black jumper and returned brandishing two large shirts in white and blue. ‘I don’t have much that’ll fit you, sorry. But you’re welcome to wear one of these. You can change in my room, if you like.’

‘Sure, thanks.’ She draped the towel over the back of a chair and took the white one from him, her heartbeat accelerating as she closed the bedroom door. Wriggling out of her drenched dress and into the crisp cotton shirt, its length barely skimming her thighs, Lizzie felt almost as exposed as she had a few minutes earlier. Not wanting to seem tarty, she fastened the buttons right to the top, but then that felt stuffy, so she undid the top two. She wished that her boobs were a size or two larger so she could really work the curvaceous angle.

Checking her reflection in the wardrobe mirror, she realised that her eyeliner was running halfway down her right cheek. As she scanned the room for tissues, she noted with relief that it was simple but clean, with a double bed covered in navy linen. The matt-white walls were peppered with posters of music icons – Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon – which were starting to look a little frayed around the edges. There was no sign of food-encrusted plates, like the ones she had to rescue from Gareth’s room, or mounds of dirty student laundry; instead there was just a small pile of magazines and textbooks, a guitar leant lovingly in the corner and a corkboard dotted with photographs.

She leaned in. The same faces cropped up in multiple snaps, including a middle-aged couple who she guessed must be his parents, a guy who looked a lot like Alex and a pretty blonde shaped like a swimwear model. Lizzie peered more closely at her and felt a pang in the pit of her stomach. I hope that’s a relative, she thought, trying to avert her eyes from the blonde’s ample cleavage.

She couldn’t spot any tissues, though, and in the end she had to settle for a lick of saliva on her little finger. Before their date, she had spent over an hour perfecting her outfit and make-up, yet now she was stripped of both. Not the best look, but it’ll have to do. She ran a hand through her damp hair, gave the shirt a final inspection and stepped back into the lounge.

Alex had lit a fire and was pouring two glasses of white wine. He passed one to her then sat down on the crinkled brown leather couch, which was barely big enough for two. Lizzie sank into the adjacent armchair, curling her legs up beside her.

‘This place is beautiful,’ she said, hoping her breezy voice wouldn’t betray her nerves. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Actually, I’ve been coming here since I was small,’ he said. ‘It used to belong to my grandparents, and when they died my mum couldn’t bear to sell it. Too many memories. I think she’s hoping to bring her own grandkids here someday.’

‘I can totally see why.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘I wish I’d had grandparents to go and visit.’

Alex leaned forward. ‘You didn’t see any of them?’

‘Not really. My dad’s parents were killed in a car crash before I came along, and my mum’s both died before I turned five, so I don’t remember them much. And I never actually met my real grandparents.’ She stopped, realising she hadn’t told him the full story. ‘I was adopted when I was a baby.’

She waited for him to get that look people got when she told them; that awkward not-sure-what-to-say-now kind of look. But he didn’t. He just looked interested.

‘Are you in touch with your birth family?’

‘No, never.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Mum offered to help me track them down last year when I turned 18. But, honestly, I don’t think I want to any more. As far as I’m concerned, my mum and dad are my real family.’

For a while, during her early teens, she had thought about her birth parents obsessively: what they looked like, where they might be living, whether they lay awake at night and wished they hadn’t given her away. Above all, there was this overriding sense of loss, as though she’d misplaced something but couldn’t remember what. Still, her adopted parents had always made her feel so loved that she refused to regret going to them. It could only have been a trade up, and she couldn’t bear to hurt their feelings by searching for two strangers simply because they shared some DNA.

‘I understand,’ he said, raising his glass to his lips. ‘They sound like great people.’

‘They are.’ She shifted her weight slightly. ‘What about you? What’s your family like?’

‘Can’t complain, I guess. There’s me, the folks, my twin Connor and my sister Andi.’

‘Oh, you have a twin? That must be so cool!’

‘Mostly. He has his moments.’

‘Do you see them much?’

‘As much as I can. They’re up near Windsor – close enough to visit but not so close they can turn up uninvited.’

‘Sounds perfect.’ She smiled. ‘So you live here by yourself?’

‘Yeah. I thought about renting out the spare room once, but I kind of like having my own space.’ He looked around the cosy cottage. ‘At least this way I can mess around on my guitar without disturbing anyone.’

‘Will you play something for me?’

He seemed surprised. ‘Like what?’

‘I don’t mind. Anything.’

‘Oh, I don’t play in front of other people. Trust me, it’s for your own good.’

She put her glass on the wooden floor. ‘Hey, I sang in front of you this week, remember? Not to mention half the uni.’

‘True,’ he smiled. ‘But perhaps we should leave the music to the pros for one night.’ He gestured to a tall, teetering pile of CDs in the corner, which resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. ‘I must have something you like. Though I’m pretty sure there’s no Steps.’

She extracted herself from the chair to inspect his collection, discreetly tugging down the shirt to what she hoped was a respectable length. ‘Alright, let’s have a look. Coldplay, Train – love them – Foo Fighters, Roxette …’ She paused. ‘Really?’

‘What’s wrong with Roxette?’

‘Nothing. I like Roxette. I just didn’t think they’d be your thing.’

‘What can I say? I’ve got eclectic taste. There might even be an S Club single lurking in there somewhere, you know.’

She continued to rifle through the mountain of discs, not quite sure what she was searching for. ‘Travis … The Ramones … ah, Oasis.’ She pulled the CD slowly from the precarious pile, hoping it wouldn’t topple like a giant game of Jenga.

‘Which track?’ he said. ‘Choose wisely.’

‘You’ll see.’ She took the disc out of its plastic casing and switched on his stereo, feeding the flash of silver into the hungry slot. The familiar opening of Wonderwall echoed over the speakers.

‘This is my all-time favourite song, you know,’ said Alex quietly, setting down his wine glass.

She held out a hand. ‘Then dance with me.’

‘What? You can’t dance to this.’

‘You don’t sing, you don’t dance …’ she teased. ‘What do you do?’

As if to answer her question, he rose slowly, strode across the room and kissed her with an intensity that made her knees buckle. She had been kissed before (by 12 different boys, in fact, if you counted those drunken snogs in Fresher’s Week), but this was the kiss to obliterate all others.

She gave into it completely, running her hand through his rain-soaked hair and down to his broad shoulders. He wrapped his strong arms around her back, pulling her in so deeply that she could hardly breathe; his lips were warm, with a faint taste of wine that was intoxicating, his stubble brushing against her skin.

‘Do you want to stay here tonight?’ he whispered.

His question caught her off-guard and she pulled back slightly. She had never done anything like this before – ‘Make ’em wait until at least the third date,’ Megan always said – and the sensible thing to do would be to slow down. She knew that if she didn’t leave in the next 30 seconds, she was going to lose a piece of her heart that could never be reclaimed.

Looking into her eyes, he gently undid three buttons on her shirt and traced the outline of her lacy bra with his finger. She did not want to leave: not now, not ever.

‘Yes,’ she murmured, pressing her lips hard against his, her hands finding the taut abs beneath his jumper. He did not say another word as he lifted her off the floor and swept her into the bedroom.

This time, he did close the door.

7
10 weeks to go …

As the DJ on the radio teed up yet another 80s power ballad, Lizzie glanced at the plastic clock on the office wall. It seemed to have been stuck at 5.05pm for the past ten minutes. How is that even possible? She hid a yawn behind her coffee cup. Josh had kept her up half the night fidgeting, convinced his recent sniffles were spiralling into full-blown flu. He’d called in sick today and stayed at home, curled up on the couch with the remote control for company, while she’d had to trek into town amid freak summer storms, cursing commuters who nearly decapitated her with their umbrellas.

She hadn’t been sleeping well for weeks, really, which was partly due to wedding stress but mainly Alex’s fault. The questions she was afraid to ask out loud ran through her mind at night: Why is he here? What does he want with me? She wished that he had never come back, so she could be kept awake by guest lists and seating charts like normal brides.

Her eyelids felt heavy, and she allowed herself to rest them for one peaceful moment.

‘Elizabeth? Elizabeth! Are you with us?’ The shrill voice of her boss, an imposing woman by the name of Ella Derville, jolted her back to attention. Tall and wiry, Ella always wore her hair in an immaculate topknot, which was slicked back so tightly it made her skin look eerily stretched. She had the eyes of a hawk and the stealth of a ninja. ‘I do hope we’re not overworking you?’

‘No! I mean, er … sorry. Thought I had an eyelash in there. Did you need me?’ Deep down, Lizzie had a quiet respect for the publishing director (though she knew that Naomi secretly called her Cruella de Vil), but right now she could tell that the woman was in no mood for pleasantries.

‘Yes, I want to review your campaign strategy before next week’s meeting,’ she said, peering down her nose. She paused expectantly just as the chorus of Don’t Stop Believin’ rang out in the background. Ella swivelled her long neck in Naomi’s direction. ‘Will someone turn that radio off? I am trying to have a conversation here.’

Naomi begrudgingly did as she was told, plunging the office into an ominous silence. The rest of the team tried to pretend that they were busy, shuffling papers or playing with their staplers, but Lizzie knew they were hanging on to Ella’s every word. Perky Phoebe wheeled her chair a fraction closer to the action.

‘Where was I?’ said Ella brusquely. ‘Oh yes. I need that plan.’

What plan? The semi-permanent knot in Lizzie’s stomach tightened another notch. ‘Er, I’m actually working on quite a few things at the moment,’ she said in what she hoped was her most polite, super-efficient voice. ‘Could you remind me which project you were referring to?’

‘The new yoga book.’

Aaaargh. It would have to be the one I’ve not started. ‘I’m just finishing that off,’ she said, not quite making eye contact. ‘I’ll move it to the top of my in-tray and have it with you by noon tomorrow.’

‘It was supposed to be on my desk yesterday!’

Lizzie didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t make much difference; the woman was on a roll now, her disapproval rushing forth like an unstoppable tidal wave. Naomi got up and walked behind her to the water cooler, rolling her eyes as she went.

‘And then there was that press release for the travel guide, which was so full of typos I had to re-do it myself. It’s not up to your usual standard at all. Is something the matter?’ She placed one hand on the desk and leaned in. ‘Because if there’s a problem, you know, perhaps you should talk to me.’

Lizzie couldn’t imagine anything more excruciating than telling the boss about her complicated private life. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she whispered, her mouth drying up. ‘I’ve just been under quite a lot of pressure lately. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again, I promise.’

‘Please do.’ Ella stood up sharply, pulling herself to her full height. ‘We’ve got a busy month ahead.’ And with that she slinked off, no doubt preparing to pounce on some other poor unsuspecting underling.

Lizzie was mortified. A rush of heat surged up her neck and spread contagiously across her face. She had been working for the company for more than four years and had always considered herself an exemplary employee. Now she was suddenly being cast as the office slacker. I’ve really got to get my act together – before I get my P45. She looked around at her colleagues in stunned disbelief, but most of them refused to meet her eyes. Naomi gave an embarrassed shrug and trudged back to her seat.

Seconds later, an email alert pinged up in Lizzie’s inbox.

Hey, Sleeping Beauty! Cheer up. If you can stay awake for another 15 minutes, let’s get out of here and have one for the road. I’m buying.

N x

Lizzie glanced out of the window, where the sky looked grey and miserable. Another storm cloud rumbled overhead.

Sure, why not? she replied. Assuming I’m not fired first …

Naomi jostled her way through the after-work crowd, plonking a tray down on the wonky table. ‘Fuck me, this place is getting pricey,’ she said, offloading two glasses of house white and a small bowl of dry roasted peanuts. ‘Since when did nuts cost nearly a fiver? It used to be alright in here.’

Lizzie glanced around the dingy pub, which looked about 100 years old, and tried to envisage a time when it was ever alright in there. ‘That’s London for you,’ she said. ‘You sure you don’t want some cash?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ said Naomi. ‘I’ll get this lot. You get the next one.’

‘OK, thanks. It might have to be next week, though. Josh isn’t well today so I thought I’d go back and make him a decent dinner.’

‘Well, aren’t you a regular Nigella?’ teased Naomi. ‘I wish there was someone at home to cook for me. I’m sick to death of ready meals.’

‘So, how are things at home these days?’ Lizzie asked tactfully. She took a large swig of wine and immediately wished she hadn’t. It tasted like vinegar and needed another hour in the fridge.

‘Not great.’ Naomi ran a hand through her platinum blonde hair and shuffled uneasily on the rickety stool. ‘I think evil Mel might be seeing other people.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘She keeps posting selfies with all these other girls.’

‘Maybe they’re friends?’ said Lizzie helpfully.

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Did it occur to you that maybe she’s posting them to make you jealous?’

‘No,’ she said glumly. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m not sure I want to date someone who knows that many hot women. It’s not good for my ego.’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous. You hardly fell out of the ugly tree.’ It was the truth. Naomi looked like an urban rock chick, with her short, choppy bob and edgy dress sense. Even Megan thought that she had style, and she never said that about anybody.

‘Anyway, let’s not talk about that psycho,’ said Naomi. ‘How’s the wedding stuff coming along?’

‘Fine, I guess.’ She took a smaller mouthful of the warm wine and tried not to pull a face.

‘Well, don’t sound too enthusiastic …’

Lizzie debated whether to tell her about the whole Alex saga, but decided against it. She didn’t really have time right now, plus she knew from experience that Naomi could be a bit indiscreet when she had a few drinks in her – and she didn’t want her getting smashed at the wedding and recounting the tale to other guests.

‘No, it’s all good. I’ve just had a lot on my plate this month.’

Naomi nodded. ‘I noticed. What was all that about earlier?’ She leaned in curiously, and Lizzie wondered if this was the real reason she’d offered to take her out and buy the drinks. Either she’s feeling sorry for me or she’s fishing for gossip. She didn’t know which was worse.

‘It’s nothing. I’ve been juggling several projects and I forgot to submit something on time. Then Ella went a bit … you know. Like she does.’

‘Batshit?’ Naomi popped a handful of peanuts into her mouth and washed them down with wine.

‘More like … disappointed. But I get where she’s coming from. It was my fault.’

‘Oh, don’t do that,’ she groaned.

‘Do what?’

‘Act all reasonable about it. How many times have you handed in something late since you started here?’

‘Hardly ever. Why?’

‘Well, she needs to give you a break. Everyone knows you’ve got the wedding coming up. You’re bound to be a little preoccupied.’

‘It’s not just that,’ said Lizzie quietly. ‘I’m not really sure my heart’s in it any more.’

‘In what? The wedding?’ Naomi looked shocked.

‘No! I meant PR.’ She had never confessed that to anyone before, and if she’d thought it through properly, Naomi wouldn’t have been her first pick to keep a secret. But it felt good to finally admit it.

‘Oh, right.’ She leaned in closer, beckoning Lizzie to do the same. ‘If I tell you something, can you keep your mouth shut?’

‘Of course,’ she replied. Better than you, I’d imagine …

‘OK.’ She tapped her hands on top of the table to mimic a drum roll. ‘I’ve decided to quit!’

‘Smoking?’

‘No! Don’t start that again. Work.’

‘What? Are you serious?’ Lizzie almost fell off her seat. ‘When?’

‘I’m going to wait three more months, just to make sure I’ve saved up enough. But if everything goes to plan, I’ll hand in my notice while you’re on your honeymoon. That’s assuming I don’t explode first. Everyone’s on my case this week.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then I’m going to set up my own web business. It’ll just be me to start with, but at least I’ll be the boss!’

Lizzie toyed with the rim of her glass. ‘Won’t that be a big pay cut?’

‘Ha, now you sound like my mum. That’ll be the first thing she says.’ Naomi reached for another handful of peanuts. ‘I don’t think it’ll be so bad. I’ve been saving up for a while and my old roommate reckons she can put some work my way.’ She threw a nut in the air and caught it in her mouth. ‘Anyway, my mind’s made up.’

‘Whoa. This is huge.’ Lizzie was quiet for a second, allowing the news to sink in. She was going to miss Naomi horribly, but she admired her guts. Maybe it’s time I moved on, too. She’d only meant to take the job for a couple of years before writing a book of her own, but now her five-year work anniversary was creeping up fast, and she was becoming part of the office furniture. ‘Don’t get me wrong, though; I think it’s amazing. I’d love to do my own thing.’

‘Like what?’

She hesitated. ‘Don’t laugh, but I’d really like to write a novel.’

‘Why would I laugh? You’d be a great writer!’

‘Really?’

‘Definitely. You should totally do it.’ She grinned. ‘You only live once, right?’

Lizzie was tempted. Naomi’s got a point. If I never give it a go, I’m always going to sit there wondering, aren’t I?

‘Let me think about it for a while. I need to talk it over with Josh.’

‘You should tell him tonight!’ Lizzie had never seen her friend so excited.

‘Maybe,’ she smiled. ‘Depends what kind of mood he’s in when I get back. He’s a terrible patient.’ Josh was normally so active that he couldn’t cope when he was laid low. ‘That reminds me, I should probably head off soon and pick up some stuff for dinner. It’ll take me a while to get home.’

‘Not so fast,’ said Naomi. ‘Let’s have a toast before we go.’

‘To what?’

Naomi looked thoughtful. ‘To taking the plunge,’ she said with a cheeky grin. ‘And to your future bestseller, of course.’

‘I like the sound of that,’ said Lizzie, raising her glass. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers,’ said Naomi, clinking hers against it. ‘Oh, and there’s one thing you have to promise me before you go.’

Lizzie was curious. ‘Go on …’

‘When you’re a famous writer, can I run your website?’

Lizzie hurried up the front path, desperate to set down the two carrier bags that were digging painfully into her left palm. One had a large split in the side and was threatening to burst open at any second, spilling its contents everywhere. Just … one … more … minute. She opened the door with her other hand and squeezed into the hall, promptly tripping over Josh’s mud-caked trainers in the process. The bag gave way and two tins of chopped tomatoes tumbled out, almost landing on her toes.

Aaaargh.

She bundled up the food as best she could and lugged it towards the kitchen. The sound of the fridge door being slammed made her jump.

‘Josh, I’m going to make spag bol tonight. You hungry?’

A figure stepped out from the shadow of the kitchen doorway into the hall. ‘Hey, Lizzie, got any more beers?’ said Freddie. ‘I can’t find any.’ He had, however, managed to find the tortilla chips that she’d been saving for movie night with Megan. He fished one out with his stubby fingers, overloaded it with salsa and licked it. Then he double-dipped it back into the jar, before crunching it loudly between his big teeth. Gross. Lizzie tried not to gag and pointed him in the direction of the bottom cupboard.

‘There’s usually a few more in there. They won’t be cold, though.’

‘Shame. Never mind.’ He shuffled back into the kitchen and shoved the half-eaten salsa in the fridge. As if we’d want it now! Then he bent down, his ill-fitting jeans giving her a view she’d rather not have seen, and retrieved two cans of lager.

‘Got any bitter?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ What do I look like, a pub?

‘OK, then, we’ll take a couple of these …’ It didn’t seem to occur to him to ask if she might like a drink.

‘Want some pork scratchings with that?’ she asked sarcastically.

‘No thanks, I’m alright,’ said Freddie.

That’s debatable.

She changed the subject. ‘How’s Josh feeling now?’

‘You what?’ Freddie blinked gormlessly.

‘He wasn’t feeling well today. He called in sick.’

‘Oh. Dunno. He didn’t mention it.’

Probably because he couldn’t get a word in edgeways. Freddie liked the sound of his own voice way too much, though most of the time he didn’t say anything worth listening to. Whenever he and Josh met up, it was like they were sucked back to their sixth-form days, where they’d bonded over sport and beer and immature banter – which, to be honest, was pretty much still the glue that kept their friendship together. Lizzie had started to dread him showing up at their place, and would have stayed out with Naomi if she’d known he was coming over. Still, at least she could send him home afterwards. She pitied his new wife Fran, who was stuck with him for good.

She followed him through to the lounge, where Josh was looking decidedly more lively, shouting at the footballers on the TV. The only sign of his illness was the trail of used tissues scattered on the sofa beside him.

‘Hi, gorgeous. Freddie’s here,’ he said, stating the obvious.

‘Yes, we were just chatting,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling now?’ When she’d left for work that morning, Josh made out that he was practically dying, blowing his nose loudly and speaking with a rasp that could have impressed Darth Vader.

‘Much better, thanks. It seemed to shift once I got up.’

‘That’s good.’ She gave him a big smile. ‘Don’t suppose you managed to write a few invites then, by any chance?’

‘What?’ He forced a cough. ‘No, I mean I’m on the mend, but I’m obviously not 100 per cent yet.’

Obviously.

‘Alright. Well, I guess we could do them on Saturday.’

‘That was never a foul,’ interrupted Freddie, oblivious to the fact that another conversation was taking place. ‘Did you see that? Unbelievable.’

‘Er, no, I didn’t,’ said Josh. ‘Rewind a minute and we’ll watch it again.’

‘The ref’s a twat,’ said Freddie.

‘Takes one to know one,’ Lizzie muttered under her breath.

Josh turned his attention back to her. ‘Sorry, hon, what were you saying?’

‘I was just saying we need to sort the invites. But it can wait till the weekend.’

‘Oh. Does it have to be this weekend?’

She was starting to lose patience now. ‘Well, it has to be soon. It’s not like your Christmas cards, Josh – you can’t send them out the week before. People need a bit of notice, you know.’

‘Isn’t that what those other things were for?’

‘What? No, they were just save-the-dates. They don’t give any of the details.’ She took a deep breath and tried again. ‘Could you please help me out for a couple of hours on Saturday? It’s not exactly my idea of fun either, but it won’t take long if we do it together.’

Josh looked sheepish. ‘The thing is, we’ve managed to get a couple of tickets for the match now,’ he mumbled.

‘It’s a big game,’ chipped in Freddie.

They’re all big bloody games. ‘How about Sunday?’

‘Sunday’s the kids’ tournament, remember? I’m ref for that one.’

‘The referee’s a wanker,’ chanted Freddie, pointing at Josh.

Lizzie wanted to throw a cushion at both their heads. ‘Let’s talk about this later,’ she sighed.

‘Alright,’ said Josh. He gave her his widest don’t-be-mad-at-me eyes. ‘I’ll make it up to you. Maybe I can do a few this week after work instead?’

‘OK. Are you hungry?’

‘I’m famished,’ said Freddie. ‘What time’s dinner?’

I take it you’re staying, then? ‘About half an hour.’

‘Oh.’ Freddie turned his attention back to the telly and whacked the volume up. ‘What the hell is he doing? I’ve seen parked cars go quicker than that …’

Lizzie couldn’t listen to them any more. She went back into the kitchen and began to prepare the food, taking her frustration out on the mince as she jabbed at it with a wooden spoon. No one had ever told her that planning a wedding would feel like this much hard work. The bridal magazines made it all sound so glamorous and fabulous.

Her mind drifted back to the relaxed wedding she’d once dreamed of, without any of the fuss. She couldn’t help wondering how different things might have been if she’d been doing all this with Alex. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe he was already married, or engaged, planning an elaborate extravaganza of his own elsewhere with some spreadsheet-wielding fiancée. It wasn’t a vision she could easily picture, or perhaps she just didn’t want to. Still, she was pretty sure he’d have hated a big, conventional bash.

She threw a tin of chopped tomatoes into the pan and squished them forcefully against the sides. Alex’s return had wound her up in a way she hadn’t expected. He couldn’t have picked a worse time, could he? Like he was waiting for me to be happy again, just so he could come back and spoil it. The more she thought about it, the more she began to burn with anger. Who does he think he is? The heat from the hob made her temperature surge even higher, until she felt she was at boiling point.

For a split second, she wished she could run away, just as Alex had done all those years ago. Quit her job. Leave town. Tell Freddie where to stick it on her way out. The thought was incredibly tempting, but even as she savoured it, she knew she was kidding herself. That sort of thing only happened in trashy soaps and Hollywood movies, not suburban Surrey.

Besides, I do love Josh. I’d miss him a lot.

‘Hey Lizzie, can you grab us a couple more cans, please?’ Freddie yelled from the front room. She gave the mince a violent stir.

Him, not so much.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.