A few years later, when the novel was turned into a blockbuster movie, things had changed somewhat for my father. I’d been born, for a start, and my mother had died. Plus he’d been struck by a chronic case of writer’s block, so he was nowhere near producing the brilliant second novel that was more or less expected of him.
His initial experience of being in the limelight, which he’d naively accepted without question as a young author, grateful to be published, had been draining and intrusive.
For all these reasons, plus the fact he wasn’t mad about the film, he withdrew from the spotlight, refusing to give further interviews or do any publicity at all.
Of course, at the time of my first day at school, I didn’t know any of this about my father. I was vaguely aware of the fact he’d written a book, but only from things my nana and other people had said. Dad himself had yet to discuss it with me and I’d never brought it up with him because I simply wasn’t interested. What four-year-old genuinely cares how their parents earn a crust? And it wasn’t like I’d ever seen him do any writing. As far as I was concerned, his main job was looking after me. I assumed most children’s parents had probably written a book and it was nothing remarkable.
So why did I think the other parents were staring at us? A small part of me suspected it might be something to do with my mum not being around, as by that age I’d already picked up on this not being the normal state of affairs. But as getting to know the other kids was such a big deal to me, I also thought they were weighing me up, wondering whether I’d make a good friend or not. So I stood tall and beamed my biggest smile, catching the eye of everyone I could, regardless of age.
We must have made a strange pair, the two of us: me desperate to connect with new people, and Dad only interested in his daughter. He was probably counting down the seconds until he could get into the car and head home, hopefully without being recognised.
If he did feel that way, though, he didn’t let on to me when the doors opened and it was time to say goodbye and head inside. Instead, the picture of calm, he took my hand and knelt down in front of me so we were eye to eye. ‘Rose,’ he said, winking as my actual name left his lips rather than my nickname. ‘This is a special moment. Look at you. You’re such a grown-up girl now; I couldn’t be prouder of you. I hope you have a wonderful day.’
He kissed me on the forehead before adding: ‘Off you go. I’ll be right here waiting for you at home time.’
And so he was, joined by Nana. I ran out into the playground and leapt into his arms, not because I’d missed him or had a bad day. To the contrary, I’d loved every minute; I was high on life and couldn’t wait to tell the pair of them all about it.
‘Well?’ Nana said as I bounced from Dad’s embrace to hers. ‘How was it?’
‘Super, fantastic, amazing! I made lots of new friends. Do you want to know their names?’
‘Absolutely,’ she replied.
Breathlessly, I reeled off as many names as I could remember.
‘Wow,’ Dad replied. ‘That’s a lot.’
‘That’s not even everyone,’ I said. ‘And guess what!’
‘What?’
‘You’re meant to guess.’
‘You met a friendly badger on the school field?’
‘Daddy! Don’t be silly.’
‘What? That was my guess.’
‘Well, it’s wrong.’
‘You’ll have to tell me, Rose.’
‘Fine.’ I lowered my voice. ‘One boy weed himself during story time.’
‘Oh dear,’ Dad replied. ‘Never mind. These things happen. I hope you were nice to him about it.’
‘I didn’t laugh,’ I said. ‘Some of the others did and the teacher was cross. She says we have to be kind koalas, like in this book she readed to us. Koalas are so cute. Could I get one for Christmas, Daddy? I promise I’ll feed it every day.’
He flashed a look at Nana before turning back to me with a patient smile. ‘Christmas is a while off yet, darling. Plus, I don’t think real-life koalas make good pets. I know they appear soft and friendly, but they’re actually wild animals with very sharp claws. It’s also a bit cold for them here in Britain. The only place they can live safely is somewhere like a zoo. We could always go and see some, though, if you like.’
‘At a zoo?’
‘Yes, I’m sure there must be one with some koalas nearby.’
I turned to my grandmother. ‘Have you ever stroked a koala?’
Nana shook her head. ‘No, love. I did ride on a camel once, though.’
‘A camel?’ This sounded ridiculous to my little girl’s mind. ‘Are you telling fibs, Nana?’
‘No, really, in Morocco. It wasn’t very comfortable. Come on, I’ll tell you all about it in the car on the way home.’
‘Yes, yes, yes!’ Waving to some of my new friends on the way out of the school gates, I called: ‘Bye, bye. See you tomorrow!’
Primary school was a happy time for me. I wasn’t always quite as enthusiastic as on that first day, but I really enjoyed it. I never dreaded returning after the holidays, even during the final years, when there was quite a lot of real work and tests to do. Such was my enthusiasm, in fact, that I ended up being head girl, which was a huge honour for me at the time.
It meant I got to represent Oakfield Lane at various external events and, when things were going on at the school – sports days, concerts and the like – it was my job to help the teachers and greet visitors, etc. I was in my element and, when the time to move on to secondary school came along, I was genuinely sad to leave.
It probably didn’t help that I went to a different secondary school from the majority of my classmates. Most of them went to the nearest comprehensive. However, I’d fallen for the ivy-clad, scholarly charms of Riverside Grammar School. Having attended an open day with Dad and being really impressed, I took the entrance exam and passed. So that was where I headed to start the next major chapter in my life.
Ironically, considering my enthusiasm to make new friends at Oakfield Lane, the only person from primary school that I’m still in touch with today is Cara. And she doesn’t really count, seeing as we were already friends before attending. Plus she followed me to Riverside. The lack of continued contact with others, however, is no reflection on my classmates. With the odd exception, they were lovely. If I bumped into one of them tomorrow, assuming we recognised each other, I’d relish the opportunity to catch up. We just went down different paths in life. It happens.
As for my secondary school friends, several of us are still in good contact via social media. We also have occasional in-person reunions that usually involve getting a bit tiddly in a pub and recounting amusing shared anecdotes from the old days. There will be quite a few of them at the wedding. Ryan, my fiancé, went to Riverside too, you see. That’s where we met. And shared friends are, in my experience, easier to manage as a couple than separate ones. You know where you are with them. There’s less room for misunderstandings.
Female friends from secondary school also made up the majority of those on my hen do, which was in Manchester just over a month ago. I had told Cara I didn’t want one, having convinced myself they were corny and unnecessary. However, she went ahead and organised it regardless. She did manage to rope in a few of my uni friends, bless her, and I enjoyed it in the end, despite them making me wear L plates and a tutu.
‘Kelly sends her apologies,’ Cara told me in the minibus on the way there.
‘Sorry?’
‘Ryan’s mum: your almost mother-in-law? I invited her, but she already had some do on that she couldn’t get out of. She said she’d have loved to come otherwise and wished you a wonderful time.’
‘Ah, that’s nice of her.’
‘Probably as well she’s not coming,’ Cara said with a cheeky wink and a giggle. ‘She might have cramped your style.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Whatever happens, no karaoke.’
‘Don’t worry, Rose,’ she told me, arm wrapped around my shoulder
s. ‘I think I know you by now. You’re going to love what I’ve got planned. Trust me.’
Cut to a few hours and countless cocktails later.
The pair of us were having the time of our lives belting out Taylor Swift’s ‘Shake It Off’ in a large private karaoke room, surrounded by our friends.
‘Best idea ever!’ I slurred into her ear as we embraced afterwards. ‘I love you so much.’
‘I love you too,’ Cara replied. ‘And I’m so glad you’re having fun. It really is an honour to be …’ She paused to hiccup and giggle. ‘You know, your maid of honour. Do you think that’s why they call it that?’
‘It could be.’ I winked. ‘Although the maid bit suggests you ought to be cleaning up after me. That might come true if I keep on drinking cocktails at this rate and end up spewing my guts everywhere.’
‘Anything for my BFF,’ Cara replied, unfazed. Tugging my arm, pulling me in really close, she locked eyes with me before adding: ‘We’ve known each other basically our whole lives and I’ve always looked up to you, admired you so much. I love you like a sister. More than I love my actual sister, or brother, for that matter. But that’s our secret.’
‘Totally. I feel the same, sis.’
‘This feels like the end of an era,’ she said, tears appearing out of nowhere. ‘Do you think you being married will change things between us?’
‘No, of course not, Cara. Why would it?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, half-laughing, half-sobbing. ‘Getting married sounds so grown-up. I’m still a student; I feel like a child most of the time. I worry you’re leaving me behind.’
‘Never.’
‘Sorry. I can’t believe I’m doing this to you on your hen do. I’m drunk. Ignore me.’
‘No need to apologise. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me, for making it harder than necessary for you to organise things. Well done for ignoring my wishes, especially with it being Ryan’s stag do this weekend. I’d have been miserable sitting at home wondering what he was up to in Brighton.’
‘That’s what friends are for, right? Have you spoken to him today?’
I shook my head. ‘No, I told you earlier: we agreed to leave each other to our own devices.’
‘Oh, yeah. See, I told you I was pissed.’
I leaned forward to wipe away the remains of Cara’s tears from her cheeks. ‘Are you all right now?’ She nodded in reply. ‘Good. Come on, then. Let’s get back to the others.’
CHAPTER 7
I’d better tell you some more about Ryan, seeing as I’ll be marrying him in a week’s time. His surname is Thorne, believe it or not. You couldn’t make it up, could you? I’ve already specified that there’s no way I’m taking it as my own once we’re husband and wife.
I’ll be sticking to Hughes, my maiden name, rather than having to put up with people making jokes about what I’m called for the rest of my life.
It still shocks me how many people are surprised when I say I’m not going to take Ryan’s surname.
‘Really? Can you do that?’ I’ve been asked more times than I can remember. ‘How does it work?’
‘You just don’t change it,’ I usually reply. ‘Simple. It’s not a legal requirement. Husbands and wives can have different surnames.’
Why is this still considered unconventional in a modern, supposedly progressive society?
‘Okay,’ Ryan said with a shrug when I first told him. ‘It’s only a name. Whatever you’re most comfortable with. You do definitely want to marry me, though, right? This isn’t some kind of weird hint that—’
‘No, absolutely not,’ I replied, giving him a reassuring kiss. ‘I’m simply not prepared to put up with all the jokes and comments that Rose Thorne would inevitably have to face for the rest of her life. Come on, you know what I’m saying. You remember how it was at school.’
He chuckled. ‘Fair enough.’
‘You could always become a Hughes if you’d really like us to share a surname.’
‘What?’ he said, a perplexed look knotted into his face. ‘You’re kidding, aren’t you? How bizarre would that be? My parents would never forgive me, I reckon. Surely it’s not even possible.’
‘Of course it is,’ I replied. ‘Also, you can change your name by deed poll to whatever you like. We could create a whole new shared surname if we wanted to. How about Hughorne?’
‘Now I know you’re winding me up.’ He poked me playfully on the end of my nose. ‘Why would either of us want to be called something so ridiculous?’
‘You’ve got me,’ I said, holding my hands up.
I definitely wouldn’t want to be called Hughorne. That sounds almost as ridiculous as Rose Thorne. I was half serious about him taking my name, though. If he hadn’t been so against it, I might even have attempted to cajole him into doing so. However, I figured it was better to quit while I was ahead.
I suspect Ryan hasn’t said anything to his mum and dad yet about me not taking his name; they’ll probably have something to say on the matter, to him at least. They’re pretty conventional, so I don’t doubt it will come as a surprise. But on the other hand, I know they like me, viewing me as a good influence on their son. I’m sure they’ll manage to get their heads around it. They’ll have to.
As for what happens when we have children, ideally, I’d like them to be called Hughes; another discussion for down the line. Perhaps we could reach a compromise via middle names or going double-barrelled. Mind you, Ryan wasn’t particularly keen on the latter idea when I suggested it as another option for the two of us.
‘Hughes-Thorne?’ he said, wincing with distaste. ‘No, it’s too much of a mouthful. Plus it sounds pretentious.’
‘What about Thorne-Hughes?’
‘Yeah, that’s so different, Rose. No, thanks.’
He might soften with time. At least we’re agreed on having babies. We’re young to be so sure, but we’ve always seen eye to eye on wanting a family one day, probably due to us both being only children. The debate is how many kids would be the perfect number. He thinks two or three; for me, it’s three or four. Hopefully, we’ll settle on three. That would be wonderful. Fingers and toes crossed that we don’t have any issues conceiving. All the more reason to start young!
When people ask a couple how they met, there’s usually an anecdote. The best we’ve got is that I initially didn’t remember meeting Ryan for the very first time. We weren’t in the same form at school, so we didn’t have any lessons together at the start. That only happened later when options were chosen, sets formed and so on; even then, we only ever had a few shared classes.
It was in one of these – year nine, set two maths – that I first noticed Ryan. I honestly had no prior recollection of him. The boys generally were little more than an annoyance to me before that. Most of them blended into one with their farting, football talk and pathetic attempts to be funny. But when he and I were instructed to sit next to each other each lesson by our waspish maths teacher, who was fastidious about keeping friends apart to avoid ‘chitter-chatter’, I remember not minding.
I was just starting to view certain members of the opposite sex through fresh eyes and he looked really nice: tall, athletic build, chiselled jawline, big brown eyes and short, stylishly ruffled hair. He wasn’t quite as perfect as that might sound. We were teenagers, so both of us had our share of zits; he had this pathetic, downy part-moustache and his teeth – later fixed with braces – were all kinds of wonky. But I didn’t notice any of the negative stuff at the time. I was more interested in how he smelled. Not in a weird way. He just didn’t stink of sweat or cheap deodorant, like most of the lads did. On that first occasion, at the beginning of term, he was wearing some kind of subtle but alluring aftershave – an aquatic, musky smell. It was probably something he’d nicked from his dad. I don’t remember him smelling quite so amazing again, so maybe I’ve over-romanticised it; it certainly helped him make an impression.
I decided on the spot that I wanted to get to know him bet
ter, but it took me a few weeks to build up the courage to strike up a conversation that wasn’t to do with maths.
A month or so later, following lots of hair twirling, giggling, and little ‘accidental’ touches on my part, he got the message and asked if I wanted to hang out after school sometime. I agreed, obviously, and so we ended up back at his house, which was a twenty-minute walk from school. To my surprise, his mum was there. Kelly and I were briefly introduced as the kettle boiled and Ryan made all three of us a cup of tea. Then, having grabbed us some crisps and a bag of Maltesers, he led me upstairs to his bedroom.
Does that sound seedy? It wasn’t. Far from it. We were only thirteen! He still had posters of Transformers and football players on his wall. We just had a good laugh together, giggling about teachers, classmates and so on. We didn’t even kiss. I kind of hoped we might. There were a couple of moments when I thought it was about to happen, but there was no way I was going to instigate it. I wasn’t confident enough, having never properly kissed a boy before, other than the odd playground peck at primary school.
It took another week for him to make the move, pouncing on me, so to speak, in an empty classroom one lunchtime, when no one else was around. And yes, it was worth the wait. I was walking around in a daze for hours afterwards, drunk on lust and already yearning for my next fix.
Back in his bedroom, though, on our first date of sorts, when locking lips with Ryan was still a fantasy, I teased him about meeting his mother so soon. ‘Does your mum vet everyone who comes around?’ I said with a wink, sitting across from him on his bed. ‘Especially the girls.’
Ryan blushed. ‘Of course not.’
‘Joke!’ I said, not yet knowing his limits. ‘She seems lovely.’
‘She’s okay,’ he replied, ‘when she’s not getting on my back about doing homework and stuff. She loves threatening to take away my Xbox if she thinks I’m not working hard enough. And she’s forever telling me to read a book, which just isn’t my thing. I read magazines sometimes, but that’s not good enough for her. She loves novels – always has her head in one. They feel like school work to me. I don’t get the appeal.’
The Daughter's Choice Page 5
