by T. M. Logan
He nodded.
‘So,’ I said, ‘Abbie tells me you were in the army?’
‘A while back,’ he replied. ‘I did five years with the Royal Anglians.’
‘Do you miss it?’
He shrugged. ‘Sometimes. I miss the lads. But two tours of Afghanistan was enough for me.’
‘I bet that was tough.’
He shifted in his seat, seeming to weigh his next words carefully. ‘I saw a lot of . . . things. Stuff that put everything else into perspective.’ He paused, his eyes focused on Abbie. ‘Like you’ve got to make the most of every day, you know? Carpe diem.’
‘Seize the day,’ I said. ‘Sure.’
There was an awkward silence between us.
‘I just wanted to thank you again,’ he said slowly. ‘For inviting me here this evening.’
‘It’s fine, don’t mention it.’
‘I’m glad we’ve had a chance to talk, just the two of us.’
I turned to face him, a tightening in my chest. ‘OK . . .’
‘The thing is, I need to ask you something, Ed.’
And then I knew what was about to happen.
‘Ask me what?’ I said, my voice low.
Ryan leaned forward, clasping his hands together. He swallowed hard.
‘I’d like to ask your permission, actually.’
The bustle and hum of the evening receded – the shouts and laughs from the badminton game, the chirp of the birds, far-off music from a neighbour’s garden – all dying away as my attention focused in on this one singular point, on the face of the man opposite me.
I cleared my throat, hearing myself say the words. ‘My permission for what?’
‘I’d love to ask Abbie to marry me.’
3
‘Marry you?’ I repeated.
The words sounded far away, like an echo reaching me from another room. A rush of blood was pounding in my head. Surely not now, not yet? It was too soon, how long had they even known each other, seven months? Abbie wasn’t even twenty-five yet, it was all too fast. Much too fast. And I’d not had a chance to digest that first gut instinct Ryan had given me, to even begin to work out who he was.
Ryan’s dark, unblinking eyes never left mine. ‘Abbie is the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful girl I’ve ever met. I think your daughter is an amazing person and I want to spend the rest of my life with her.’
‘She is,’ I said, a strange chill creeping into my blood despite the warmth of the evening. ‘She’s amazing.’
‘And I didn’t want to come over all eighteenth century about it,’ Ryan said, breaking out into a nervous grin. ‘It seems so old-fashioned to ask for consent from the parents nowadays, but to be honest I don’t really know what the done thing is so I’m trying to cover all the bases.’
‘Wow, this is . . . it’s quite sudden isn’t it, Ryan?’
He shook his head earnestly. ‘Doesn’t feel sudden to me. To be honest I’ve known since the moment I met her at that house party. Love at first sight, I suppose you could say. Mad, isn’t it? Never thought it would be like this for me.’ He took a sip of his mineral water. ‘Sorry, I’m rambling. Nerves.’
It was an impossible situation, I realised. I could say no but how would I justify it, and would it even make any difference to Abbie? I didn’t want to say yes, either. Which meant there was only one thing I could do: stall, and play for time.
‘Do you . . . have the engagement ring already?’
Ryan nodded. ‘It’s a family heirloom, actually. Wasn’t sure whether Abbie would want something new or something that’s been handed down the generations – never been in this situation before, but I wanted to do it right.’
‘Of course. Wow,’ I said again. ‘Marriage.’
‘We don’t want to wait, that’s why I wanted to ask for your permission to make it official. I know it’s a shock but it’s what we both want.’
My head was still spinning. It seemed as if one minute we were getting Abbie ready for her first day at primary school, red jumper and shiny patent shoes, hair in bunches, her little hand clasped tightly in mine. And the next minute I was sitting here talking about love at first sight and the prospect of my daughter marrying a man I barely knew.
And not just any man. This man.
‘It’s a big step, a big decision,’ I said slowly. ‘It seems quite sudden; don’t you want to wait a little while until you’ve . . . until you’ve lived together for a bit?’
Ryan rubbed the stubble along his jaw, glancing towards Abbie and Claire, who were making their way towards us.
‘We have some news on that as well.’
‘News? What kind of—’
Abbie arrived at the table, arm-in-arm with her mother, both of them smiling. Claire had a flash of excitement in her eyes. Abbie planted a big kiss on Ryan’s cheek and turned to me with a huge smile.
‘Well?’ she said, looking from me to her mother, and back again. ‘What do you think?’
‘Engaged!’ Claire said. ‘Great news, isn’t it Ed? It’s hard to take it in!’
Abbie moved to hug us both at once, engulfing us in the soft clean scent of her perfume.
‘Dad? What do you think?’
‘Wonderful,’ I said stiffly, realising that Ryan asking for my permission had been more of a gesture than anything else. He’d already proposed, before tonight. ‘Congratulations, you two.’
Ryan took a small purple box from his pocket and handed it to Abbie. ‘I guess you can put this back on now,’ he said, smiling.
Abbie took the box in both hands, opened it gingerly and slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand, showing it to us with her fingers splayed. The solitaire diamond was huge. I knew almost nothing about rings, but even I could tell it was exquisite.
‘It was my grandmother’s,’ Ryan said. ‘She always used to talk about how my Grandad Arthur bet his whole month’s salary on Well To Do to win the Grand National. He knew nothing at all about horses but just liked the name and fancied being “well to do” himself. The horse came in at 14-1 and he blew most of his winnings on this ring.’
It was a good story, I thought. A nice little anecdote. And yet something about it didn’t quite ring true, the patter just a little too slick.
‘Are you sure,’ Abbie beamed, ‘that your Grandma Hilda would want me to have it?’
‘She’d be thrilled, Abbie. She’d have made such a fuss of you, as well.’
‘Isn’t it just amazing,’ she said, her voice brimming with excitement. She held out her hand again, moving it so the stone caught the light. It must have been a full carat at least, countless facets glinting and shimmering. ‘I can’t stop looking at it!’
She jumped up and hugged me and Claire again, laughing. Claire gave her a smiling kiss on the cheek, and I was surprised to see her eyes brimming with tears.
‘We should celebrate!’ she said, turning to head for the kitchen. She’d never liked people seeing her cry. ‘Won’t be a minute.’
Abbie sat down on Ryan’s lap, taking her phone out and snapping a picture of the ring on her finger, probably to post on Instagram.
‘I know it all seems quite sudden, Dad,’ she said as she typed. ‘But it doesn’t feel that way to us. It feels right. It feels perfect.’
‘The thing is, Abs, it’s all just . . . well, it’s a lot to take in. Out of the blue like this.’
‘Sorry, Dad,’ she said, glancing up, lines of concern creasing her forehead. ‘I wish you could have met Ryan before today, but with his job and everything, and him getting sent to New York for that project, there wasn’t really an opportunity. And then he proposed, and . . . here we are.’
‘Here we are,’ I repeated.
Engagements last for years now, and people break them off all the time. I grabbed on tight to this thought and wrapped my arms around it, like a drowning man clinging to a buoy.
‘Seems like it’s a day for announcements,’ she said, lacing her fingers int
o Ryan’s and giving him a little smile which he instantly returned. ‘So, has my fiancé told you our other news?’
‘There’s more?’ I asked.
‘I’m moving in with him,’ Abbie said.
‘What?’ I said, trying to corral my thoughts into some kind of order.
‘He’s got his own house, in Beeston. It’s much nearer school for me so I can basically walk to work in the summer, and it’s good for Ryan’s job too. He’s out on the road a lot, and it’s close to the M1 junction.’ She took a keyring out of her pocket and held it up, a little silver cat on a chain with a single key. ‘It’s a really nice house and a nice neighbourhood.’
‘Beeston,’ I said. ‘I see.’
‘It’s only a few miles up the road, Dad. Still in Nottingham. It’s really not that far from the city. Will you help me move my stuff in?’
A hollow feeling opened up in my chest. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘But you can stay here as long as you want, Abs, in the meantime. Take as long as you need.’
‘Thanks Dad, you’re the best.’
Her phone was pinging every few seconds now with a notification on Instagram or Facebook, another breathless response to the engagement photo she had posted. Every message brought a new smile to her face, a fresh burst of joy as she replied to her friends’ comments and relayed their messages to Ryan.
Claire reappeared from the kitchen, a bottle of champagne in one hand and her fingers laced around the stems of four glasses. We each took one and there was silence as she poured. She still wouldn’t look at me and for a moment I wondered if perhaps she wasn’t so sure about Ryan either, that her politeness was hiding distrust.
‘Isn’t this exciting?’ she said.
Ryan grinned. ‘We should make a toast! What shall we drink to?’
Abbie raised her glass, the champagne bubbles fizzing on the surface. ‘New beginnings?’
Claire and Ryan raised their drinks to hers.
Slowly, I did the same.
‘To new beginnings,’ Claire said.
We all clinked glasses and took a sip. Ryan put his down on the wooden table, pushing it away slightly as if he wasn’t going to have any more.
‘I just wanted to say thank you,’ he said. ‘To both of you, for being so welcoming.’
‘Not at all,’ Claire said. ‘It’s so lovely to have some good news in the family, isn’t it, Ed?’
‘Yes,’ I nodded stiffly. ‘Definitely.’
She caught my expression and squeezed my hand gently, which was her way of saying I know, I get it. Let’s talk later.
‘The truth is,’ Ryan said, ‘I’ve been waiting for the right person. And when I met Abbie I didn’t want to waste any more time. When you know, you just know, don’t you?’
I riled at this, waiting for the right person, as if he was waiting for a deal on a new car. The emphasis on ‘I’ bothered me too. Abbie wasn’t just another person, she was important and brilliant in her own right – and he didn’t deserve her.
‘So!’ Claire said, her cheeks flushed with the champagne. ‘Have you thought about when you might want to set a date?’
‘Well, we—’
‘It’s probably a bit premature,’ Claire continued, ‘but I just wondered what you’re thinking.’
‘Actually,’ Abbie said, twisting the engagement ring around her finger. ‘We have got a date.’
That stopped Claire in her tracks. She sat for a moment with her mouth slightly open. ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘A date already?’
‘We’re going for an early summer wedding, Mum. End of June.’
‘June? Wow,’ she said. She was struggling to smile now. I watched her take a breath. ‘We’ve got a show touring next June, it was finalised last week. Let me just check.’ She stood up and headed back into the house, her eyes not meeting mine as she passed.
In the silence, Abbie leaned down and whispered something in Ryan’s ear. He smiled, nodded, his eyes fixed on hers. I knew I should say something, but I couldn’t speak. I took a gulp of champagne instead. I had just over a year to figure this guy out: enough time to find out if he was hiding anything, to be sure if my instincts were right.
Claire returned to the patio holding her blue leather diary. It was pretty much our family Bible where all her work trips with the theatre, friends visiting, holidays, birthdays and other arrangements were scrupulously recorded and co-ordinated. Abbie had tried to get her to put it all on her mobile, in a shared calendar we could sync to our phones, but Claire had refused. She said she knew where she stood with her diary. But I had a sense it was more than this. Planning her life and writing it down longhand was her coping mechanism.
‘Here we go,’ she said, flipping to the inside back cover of her diary. ‘So . . . end of June, we probably want to be sending invites out nice and early – say this coming September or October – to make sure you catch people before they book next year’s summer holidays. What date are you thinking?’
‘The twenty-ninth.’
Claire ran her finger down the page of her diary. ‘OK, The Crucible tour should end on the twenty-third so that’s good, and the twenty-ninth is a . . . Tuesday.’ She looked up, frowning. ‘Are you sure it’s the twenty-ninth not the twenty-sixth? That would be the last Saturday in June.’
Abbie hesitated, a nervous smile curling at the corners of her mouth.
‘The thing is, Mum, Dad . . .’ she fidgeted with the sleeve of her top. ‘It’s not a Tuesday.’
‘Oh?’ Claire peered closer at her diary. ‘That’s what it says here.’
‘It’s a Monday, Mum.’
I looked from my daughter to her new fiancé, but his flawless face gave nothing away.
‘How do you mean, Abs?’ I said quietly. ‘What are you saying?’
‘The wedding date isn’t next year,’ Abbie said, swallowing hard. ‘It’s next month.’
4
Very carefully, I put the champagne flute down on the table and grasped onto the arm of the garden chair, anchoring myself, feeling the rough wooden edge dig into my palm.
Claire’s face was frozen, her pen poised in mid-air over her diary. ‘Say that again,’ she said finally.
‘The end of next month, Mum.’ Abbie’s voice was quiet, tentative. ‘June the twenty-ninth.’
I fought to make sense of what she had said, calculating dates in my head. ‘Abbie, that’s . . . it’s not even six weeks,’ I said. ‘How is that even possible?’
‘You have to give notice of marriage twenty-eight days before a ceremony can take place. That’s all.’
‘But it’s so soon, so fast,’ I said, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. ‘Why are you in such a hurry? We have to make arrangements, invite people, there must be a million things we need to do, and a lot of people might not be able to make it at such short notice.’
‘I know it’s soon, Dad.’ She clasped her hands together in her lap. ‘But I always said that when I got married, I wanted all of my close family to be there.’
‘Of course, Abs, but—’
‘All of them.’ She looked away. ‘Everyone that’s most important to me in the world. And if we wait until next year, or longer than that . . .’
She didn’t finish the sentence, rubbing at her eyes instead.
Claire said softly, ‘Oh, Abbie. Darling.’
The last slanting rays of the evening sun had become lost behind the sycamore trees, and, as dusk set in, the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. I shivered in my seat.
Abbie stood up, hands clasped in front of her. Her voice was so quiet now, it was barely above a whisper.
‘I can’t bear the thought of Nana Joyce not being there on my wedding day,’ she said.
Claire stood up and went to our daughter, wrapping her in a tight hug.
‘Oh, Abbie,’ she said again. ‘Mum wouldn’t want you to set a date just for her, you know. She’d want you to do what’s best for you.’
‘Th
is is what’s best for me. And anyway, I don’t want to wait.’ She disengaged from Claire’s embrace, trying for a smile. ‘We don’t want to wait. Work have given me a day and a half of special leave, because of the . . . circumstances. The short notice.’
‘What about your family, Ryan?’ I said. ‘What do they think?’
Abbie stood beside her fiancé’s chair, putting a hand on his shoulders. ‘It was Ryan’s idea,’ she said. ‘When I told him about Nana, about her diagnosis, he said we should do whatever we needed to do so that she could be part of our big day. Then he found out about all the legal and practical stuff, talked to the registrar and found us a date.’
Ryan nodded slowly, giving us a cautious smile. ‘It’ll be a civil ceremony at Bridgford Hall,’ he said. ‘Just really close friends and family – it’s not a huge venue but it’s close by and in a lovely setting right by the park. And then next summer we’ll have a big celebration with a full guest list.’
‘A “happy ever after” party, they call it,’ Abbie said.
The name made me wince.
‘Right,’ Claire said, rubbing her face. ‘Wow, OK, sounds like you have it all planned out.’
‘Not really, Mum, there’s still loads we need to get organised. I was thinking we could get started tomorrow, the three of us?’
‘Of course,’ Claire said, forcing a smile. ‘But the first thing you need to do is see if your nana is awake, so you can give her the news.’
5
‘Tell us how Ryan proposed,’ Claire said.
Ryan had left, shaking my hand again in the porch before walking out to an Audi convertible parked at the kerb. And now we were sitting in the lounge, just the four of us. Abbie was on the sofa with Claire on one side, Joyce on the other. She tucked her legs under herself and smiled almost shyly.
‘He took me out for an amazing picnic at Chatsworth House last weekend. We had champagne and he gave me this lovely photobook, full of pictures of us together.’ She held up the book, running a hand gently over the glossy white cover. ‘On the last page, there was a picture of a velvet ring box. When I looked up from the book, he was there holding the box in his hand and he went down on one knee, held my hand and asked me to be his wife. The moment he asked me, the moment I saw the ring, I was so surprised I burst out laughing.’
