by Sue Roberts
I do need to try to be more positive. It’s been a good week so far: I’ve sold two of my paintings online, not for an awful lot of money, but I was thrilled to sell them all the same. One was of some tall ships at the Royal Albert Dock, the other was a painting of the Metropolitan Cathedral set against an orange sunset, which was one of my favourites. I rarely do portraits of people, as I never feel that I’ve quite captured their likeness. Unlike Ria, who can sketch a perfect likeness of someone even with an ordinary pencil, which I consider to be a real talent.
Arriving back at work, I find the rest of the day passes quickly as I ring up a couple of purchases of some black and white city prints (painted by yours truly) and an assortment of gifts and wrapping paper. As I serve a customer with some crystal champagne flutes, my thoughts turn to my wedding dress, which is currently hanging in Boutique Brides of Crosby, which is in a nearby village. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was the one and was thrilled when I tried it on and it fitted like a glove. It’s a long, ivory, off-the-shoulder number with a slight fishtail. Mum came dress shopping with me and preferred a fuller, meringue style that I’d tried on, calling it ‘a proper wedding dress’, but I stuck to my guns. I was pleased that she’d been with me that day and hadn’t had to dash off somewhere. It had ended up being a really lovely outing and we had even enjoyed lunch together at a vintage tea room close by. But, for some reason, thinking about wearing that beautiful dress in front of a room full of people all staring at me now fills me with anxiety that I force myself to shake off.
My fiancé Max runs his own financial advice business in Formby village, a suburb of Liverpool, which is also where we live. We bought our three-bedroomed home last year at a bargain price as it needed a lot of modernising. When I say ‘we’, Max put the deposit down although the mortgage is in both our names. I’ve regularly saved a little money from a young age and I offered to contribute to the deposit, but Max wouldn’t hear of it. I think he’d heard me talk too many times of one day having enough money to open my own gallery. I love him for his generosity and how he supports my ambition, yet I still have to shrug away a feeling of things being unequal sometimes.
I use one of the bedrooms as my painting studio, when I’m not at work, as it overlooks a small park and lets in beautiful natural light. Sometimes I get lost in my work and Max has to remind me to eat as the hours slip by.
The village centre has lots of restaurants and trendy coffee bars, flanked by streets full of beautiful houses. There are currently no art galleries so, who knows, maybe one day I might fulfil my dream of having a small place of my own.
Max Jenkins’ Financial Planning Solutions opened its offices in a converted Victorian building in the village centre two years ago and with Max’s driving passion and business acumen, it wasn’t long before serious investors were placing their money in the company. I’m so proud of Max, who has no trouble attracting clients, as his warm, genuine personality would gain the trust of any prospective client. Unlike me, he thrives under the attention of a room full of people.
I’ve remembered that we have a reservation at a swanky restaurant tomorrow evening, and I guess that Max has probably nipped into town to buy something new to wear, which is why Ria saw him in the city centre earlier today. If I’m honest, I don’t know how I feel about spending what could be a week’s salary to some people on an evening out, but Max has persuaded me that we both deserve it. ‘What’s the point in earning all this money if you can’t spend it?’ he’ll say every time I appear a little cautious. We didn’t have much money when we first got together so we’d favoured middle-range Italian restaurants or even the local Indian. As things have taken off for Max, he’s really been splashing the cash.
‘It’s so hard to get a reservation at this place since they won Best Restaurant in the North. You’ll love it there, I promise, and it’s on me so no worrying,’ Max told me a few days earlier, before heading off to work.
‘I bet they’ve put the prices up since they won Best Restaurant, that’s for sure,’ I said.
‘Why would they do that?’
‘Keep the riff-raff out. In fact, do you think they’ll even let you in now?’
Max grabbed a cushion from our huge corner sofa and threw it at me, quickly ducking out of the room, laughing, before I could retaliate.
‘We’ve got to enjoy the good life before any kids come along. Have some fun, live a little. No one likes a party pooper,’ he said over his shoulder, as I followed him out to where he retrieved his keys from the hook in the Victorian tiled hallway. Then he turned and gave me a kiss goodbye.
As he left, I looked at his brown, slightly floppy hair and huge grin, which remind me of a young Hugh Grant, and thought how much I loved him.
Maybe that’s exactly what I was being: a party pooper. Most women would dream of being wined and dined in a Michelin-starred restaurant with their husband-to-be, and having their hen party at a swish hotel, wouldn’t they? Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy having a good time as much as the next person. It’s just that, well, let’s just say I’ve seen how being foolish with money can leave you with nothing.
Two
We’re seated in the sumptuous yet cosy surroundings of the restaurant, as the waiter presents us with the first course.
‘What do you think then? It’s pretty special here, isn’t it?’ says Max as he forks some duck liver parfait and beetroot meringue into his mouth.
I glance around at the softly candlelit space, which has exposed brick walls hung with forest prints, and dark wooden tables glowing beneath orange pendant lighting. ‘It’s lovely. Modern but cosy.’
At the next table, there’s a party of eight people surrounded by several large foil balloons emblazoned with the number sixty. Looking at the group, it’s impossible to tell whose birthday it is, as people look so youthful these days.
‘I’m thinking maybe one weekend we could spend a couple of days in Cartmel in the Lake District. I’ll see if I can get a table at L’Enclume, although there might be a waiting list,’ Max says in between mouthfuls of food.
The fact that we haven’t even finished our meal here yet and Max is already thinking of his next culinary experience makes me smile. As I look across at my handsome, smartly dressed fiancé, I suddenly remember what Ria told me at lunchtime.
‘Ria said she saw you in town yesterday, shopping. I thought you might have been after a new shirt for this evening, but that’s not new, is it?’ I say, gesturing to his blue designer shirt.
‘No, but I wasn’t shopping for myself. I was collecting something. A surprise for you, actually.’ Max puts his fork down and smiles broadly.
‘A surprise? But it’s not my birthday.’ This is typically generous of Max.
‘It doesn’t need to be your birthday. I don’t need an excuse to give my beautiful fiancée a present.’
‘Well, in that case, when do I get it?’ I clap my hands together in excitement.
‘Tonight, actually. I was about to order some champagne, but now you’ve gone and ruined the moment.’ Max pushes his bottom lip out.
‘Really? Oh, I’m sorry Max. I had no idea.’
I’m wondering what on earth Max is up to. He’s usually rubbish at keeping secrets so he’s done well to hide any sort of surprise from me.
‘It’s the third anniversary of the date we first met tomorrow. But as it’s a Sunday, I thought we’d celebrate tonight instead.’
‘The day you doused me in ketchup.’ I smile at him.
I feel embarrassed that I’d forgotten the exact date of our first meeting in Sefton Park, but I’m not surprised that Max has remembered it. I also feel slightly anxious that I haven’t bought him a gift.
‘The luckiest day of my life.’ He takes both of my hands in his with a huge smile on his face. ‘I knew as soon as I saw you that I would marry you.’
‘You mean you fancied me. You can’t really know if you’re going to marry someone before you get to know them. I might have been a complete nightmare,
’ I point out, but I can’t help but smile at his words.
‘Nobody’s perfect.’
But if anyone is close to perfect then you are, Max, I think to myself. Handsome, generous, funny and kind just about covers it. I think I’m the lucky one. In fact, sometimes I wonder what he sees in me, as I’m sure he could take his pick from the entire female population.
As our plates are cleared away, Max orders a bottle of vintage Veuve Clicquot champagne, which the waiter goes off to retrieve.
‘Vintage? Pushing the boat out, aren’t we?’ I say, thinking the champagne probably cost nearly as much as the taster menu we’re currently savouring.
‘You deserve it. Besides I wanted something special to complement this.’
Max takes something from his pocket and I immediately recognise the eggshell-blue box.
‘This is for you.’ Max flips open the lid of the Tiffany’s box and I gasp at the huge diamond ring nestling on a velvet cushion.
He takes my hand and slides my engagement ring from my finger and replaces it with the Tiffany’s ring. The enormous diamond glints softly in the candlelit restaurant.
‘I thought you deserved an upgrade,’ he says, beaming.
It feels so heavy compared to the delicate single solitaire he presented me with at the restaurant in Crete and, if I’m honest, slightly ostentatious.
‘Max, it’s stunning. Thank you so much.’ Despite the generous gesture, I find myself forcing a smile on my face before leaning across the table to kiss him.
My mind roams back to the restaurant in Greece, the two of us sitting together beneath the vine-threaded pergola, where Max had slipped the original engagement ring onto my finger. I remember the guitarist walking through the flowered archway, serenading us, and the round of applause from the other diners. The whole day had been simply perfect.
‘You do like it don’t you?’ Max asks, probably noting the slightly faraway look in my eyes as I reminisce about that holiday.
‘Like it? Of course I do! Who wouldn’t? It’s absolutely beautiful. I’m just a little surprised, that’s all. Thank you, Max.’
For a second, I worry that Max thought I wasn’t content with my original ring, but nothing could be further from the truth. He was just starting out with his business then and money was a little tight, which for me made the ring even more special.
Two waiters arrive at our table together. One with the next course of turbot and the other with the bottle of champagne, out of which he pours us each a glass before placing the bottle in an ice bucket.
‘Who’d have thought it, eh?’ Max says, with a contented sigh. ‘Two years into the business and making this kind of money. I could only have dreamt of living a life like this.’ He raises his champagne glass. ‘To us.’
It’s two months until the wedding and each time I talk to Max he’s splashing out on something else, as his level of excitement seems to be reaching fever pitch.
‘To us,’ I repeat, as we clink our fine-stemmed crystal glasses together.
It’s testament to Max’s drive and determination that he’s doing so well and I feel a sudden surge of pride. I can hardly believe we’ve been together for three years. And he’s right, of course. Things have gone incredibly well with his business. Things aren’t too bad for me either really. I’ve moved in to a beautiful home with the man of my dreams and, although I’m not selling quite as many paintings as I would like, I still have my ambitions.
I’m tucking into the next course when my phone vibrates on the table beside me. It’s my mother. I ignore it.
‘Aren’t you going to get that?’ Max enquires.
‘No, it can wait. It’s Mum. She knew we were going out tonight. Not that it would put her off phoning.’
Max takes another glug of his champagne and regards me closely. ‘Are you still mad at her for cancelling the spa weekend?’
‘No,’ I reply, a little too emphatically.
‘Really?’ He raises an eyebrow and grins.
‘Yes, really. I’m used to her cancelling arrangements if she has a better offer, that’s just Mum.’
Which is true, by the way. And it’s something that I tell myself doesn’t upset me any more. That’s just the way things are and I’ve got used to it.
‘Anyway, tonight is all about us. Thank you for bringing me here and for this wonderful ring.’ I stretch my hand out and admire the sparkle of the diamond on my finger. ‘You spoil me.’
‘You deserve it.’
It’s almost eleven o’clock as we finish our evening with dessert wine and coffee before heading outside. It’s an unusually warm evening for early June and we stroll contentedly arm-in-arm to a local taxi rank. The summer season is almost upon us and I am determined to make use of the picnic basket Max bought for me and organise some picnics for us at the park. Max is always so busy with work that it would be something to look forward to on a Sunday afternoon.
‘Maybe we should walk home. Lose some of the calories.’ Max pats his stomach.
‘It’s eight miles away,’ I say, laughing. ‘I just won’t eat for the next week. You were right about that place though; the food was wonderful.’
We stop a few yards from a taxi point and Max puts his arms around my waist and pulls me to him. I can feel his heart beating next to mine. He still makes my head spin when he’s this close and I hope we can have this feeling forever.
‘I can think of a very pleasant way to burn off those calories,’ he says before leaning in and kissing me slowly, running his fingers up and down my back. I’m meeting his passion with my own when my phone rings. It’s my mother again, so this time I think I’d better answer it.
‘So you do answer your phone occasionally, do you? What’s the point in having a mobile, Alice, if you don’t answer it?’ I can imagine the roll of her eyes and her pursed lips.
‘Hi, Mum. Sorry, I was in a restaurant. I told you Max and I were out this evening. Is everything alright?’ I say brightly, while wondering exactly what the latest drama might be.
‘No, everything isn’t alright. I’m at the hospital. It’s Rex. I thought he’d had a heart attack. He’s just had an ECG and in fact, thank goodness, it wasn’t a heart attack after all and possibly—’ Mum gives a little cough. ‘Just indigestion. He’s still not himself though. Can you come?’
Rex is my stepfather, and given his penchant for rich food and gallons of red wine, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened to him before now. I’m glad to hear he’s okay, but it must have been scary for him and my mum, and I feel a stab of guilt for not answering my phone earlier.
‘Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll be with you shortly.’
I mouth ‘sorry’ to Max, who shrugs his shoulders.
‘We’re just waiting on a taxi. Is Lexie with you?’ I try for a reassuring voice.
‘No, I didn’t want to bother your sister. She’s out on a date tonight.’
I shouldn’t be surprised. Mum would like nothing better than for Lexie to settle down with a nice man, but Lexie is having fun dating guys until she meets the right one and I don’t blame her. I want the best for my little sister and hope she settles for nothing less than the man of her dreams.
‘I mean… I knew you were out with Max,’ she explains. ‘But your life’s all sorted, isn’t it? Lexie has been so unlucky in love. I didn’t want to spoil her evening in case things were going well. The bloke she’s meeting is a solicitor from Cheshire, you know.’ She says this with a hint of pride in her voice.
I suppress a sigh of exasperation. Either she was worried enough to need us or she wasn’t. ‘We don’t mind, we’ll be with you soon.’
I swear Mum has an innate ability to ruin any joyous moment in my life, which may sound like an exaggeration until you examine the facts. Out shopping for my high-school prom dress, she was bumped into by someone on one of those motorised scooters. She took a taxi home straight away, leaving me all alone with an overly helpful young assistant in John Lewis, who steered me in the direction of a s
himmering blue dress, which, looking back on, I really could have done with someone talking me out of buying.
She turned up late to my graduation ceremony, actually missing me being presented with my certificate, because she had a flood in her kitchen. You get the picture. I couldn’t really get mad, because I knew none of it was her fault. Yet somehow she always manages to make me feel like a secondary priority.
Her most recent cancellation was that weekend at a spa, which ended up coming second to a weekend in London watching Blood Brothers with my auntie Cathy after her friend cancelled. ‘We couldn’t let those tickets go to waste, love, but we’ll have other times, won’t we?’
I thought it would have been a nice bonding experience for us to spend a weekend at a spa and remember feeling a crushing disappointment, but I managed to hide it from her and tell her to enjoy her time in London.
‘Thank goodness it wasn’t a heart attack,’ Max says when I fill him in about Rex. ‘My mum thought the bloke next door was dying when an ambulance blue-lighted him to hospital last year, but it turned out to be wind. He waited on a hospital trolley for three hours just to be told that. I’d have been fuming.’
‘About it not being a heart attack?’
‘About having to wait that long to be told to take some Wind-eze.’ He laughs.
We arrive at the hospital twenty minutes later to find Mum standing outside, smoking and talking on her phone. She’s wearing a beige trench coat and her blonde hair is scrunched up on her head, held in place with a claw grip.
‘Hi, Mum, how’s Rex?’ I ask, surprised that she’s not inside with him.
