by Erin Green
‘I can believe it, Carmen. You haven’t stopped this week . . . you’ve juggled the boutique, the proposal planning and the preparation for the meeting about the new venture,’ says Trish. ‘But stop worrying – it’ll come together, sweetheart, so don’t panic.’
‘But what if it doesn’t?’
‘But it will, trust me.’
‘What if he doesn’t get the time off work? I can hardly go it alone come Friday evening and leave Elliot behind . . . he might be able to catch a flight on Saturday afternoon, I suppose, but it wouldn’t be the same, would it?’
‘Hardly appropriate to attend a couple’s mini break alone on night one.’
‘Can you imagine it!’
‘Carmen, please stop it!’ Trish’s voice has edge; she’s serious.
‘Tell me how, Trish.’
‘Stop thinking so negatively, focus on the fabulous weekend ahead. You’ll ruin the experience for yourself if you carry on as you are. Everything is going to be just perfect, I can feel it.’
‘I wish I could,’ I mutter, feeling calmer but still very concerned that my weekend dream might fade.
‘You need to calm down, take some time out for yourself. Can’t you book a massage or something while Elliot’s away?’
‘I could do with some quality “me” time but with so much going on . . .’
‘Oh, who’s this?’ interrupts Trish, as an adult male leans against our bay window, shading his eyes with his hands to peer inside. I can just make out his actions beyond the bridal gowns in our window display.
‘We’ve an hour before our next appointment is due,’ I say, watching the figure make his way to the entrance.
As soon as the door opens, my heart sinks. It’s Adrian, Elliot’s older brother.
‘Hello, what brings you to these parts?’ I call as cheerfully as I can. My heart races – which seems to be normal for this week.
‘I was passing and thought I’d drop by,’ he mutters, looking awkward and very uncomfortable as he walks through the bridal wear towards the reception counter where I am perched, staring and shocked. I turn my to-do notepad over and push it aside.
‘Really?’
Eight years I’ve been dating his brother and I’ve never had this pleasure before. I know where this is going. I imagine he’s spoken to his parents, who have told him of my intentions, and he’s here playing the big-brother role and acting as official spokesman for the Cole clan.
‘Mmmm.’ Adrian surveys the boutique in an inquisitive manner.
‘Have you never been in here before?’ I ask, unsure how to proceed but wishing he’d just say what he wants to say.
‘Nope. Never. I’ve passed it many times but I don’t think this was here when we got married so . . . Tara went elsewhere for her wedding dress.’
He gives a polite smile, as if I might be offended by her choice of bridal boutique despite my company not existing at the time. I’m not sure whether he’s impressed or not by his little brother’s partner’s tiny empire, but I daren’t ask.
‘Pity . . . but should you ever renew your vows or if Tara ever gets married again, she can drop in, I’ll help her choose something special,’ I tease, trying my hardest to remain calm and light-hearted.
‘Phew! Chance would be a fine thing,’ retorts Adrian.
Come on, man, say what you’ve been sent to say. I’ll take it on the chin, I’ll explain the best I can and when you’ve finally gone, I’ll probably burst out crying at the lack of support I’m getting from the Cole family after eight years. We don’t see Adrian and Tara much these days; we did when Elliot and I first met, but they were already married, settled and planning babies so drunken nights out as couples soon fell off their social agenda. They had more important nights to consider. Within a year of us starting dating they had baby number one; baby number two followed quickly, but not as swiftly as babies three and four arriving in the same pregnancy. So we’ve had plenty of christenings and soft-play birthday parties to attend but very few opportunities for the couples’ nights out to resume.
‘Anyway . . .’ he says.
‘Yes, anyway.’
‘How’s Elliot?’
‘He should be harassed at the moment; he needs to get out of working this weekend, but yesterday he and the guys headed off to Cardiff for some rough-terrain mountain-biking experience, part of Monty’s stag do.’
‘Wow, that’s come around quickly.’
‘Yeah, just the five guys are going. Monty didn’t want a big bash kind of a night,’ I add.
Adrian nods. I can see he’s struggling, stalling the conversation, almost laying the foundations on which to proceed. I have a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that this conversation isn’t going to go well.
‘My mum phoned to say you’d popped around.’
Finally.
I nod, my eyes fixed on his, though his gaze flutters about my face and the nearby tiara display that Trish is dusting. For a moment the silence feels icy cold and uncomfortable, until he resumes speaking.
‘She mentioned that you intend to propose at the weekend, and she said that Dad had been a little . . . aggressive in his remarks and that maybe you got the impression that his ideas . . . remarks represented both of them.’
I nod again, not wishing to interrupt his flow.
‘Well, they don’t. Mum thinks our Elliot should have done the decent thing by marrying you before now, so she’s quite happy with your intentions. My dad’s probably feeling somewhat patriarchal – you know what he’s like with his idea of gender-assigned roles. He doesn’t mean to sound so gruff, but he’s old-fashioned through and through.’
I’m instantly relieved. Sally’s never been overly friendly towards me but she’s always been fair and treated me like one of the family, even if it’s a tad stifled. Bless her for taking the time out to call her eldest and ask him to come round. She obviously gets where I’m coming from about the whole marriage time-window, which gives me a warm flush of emotion towards her, as if she’s got my back too.
‘I get it. I wasn’t offended by his remarks, more taken aback that he seemed to suggest that he knew Elliot had a reason for not proposing to me. That did make me feel a little uneasy. I know Elliot is close to your father but he’s never explained to me why we’ve not got married yet and so, yes, I was upset by Jim’s suggestion. It was as if he knew something I don’t.’
‘Mum did mention that. Look, Carmen, Elliot has never spoken to me about marriage . . . we haven’t got that kind of brotherly relationship, have we? We were close as youngsters and teenagers – as thick as thieves back then. I suppose we’ve drifted over the years, what with me being with Tara and the kids, Elliot focusing on his career and you – but, believe me, he’s never suggested to Mum that he’s no intention of marrying you, OK?’
‘Thanks, Adrian, I appreciate you dropping by and please let your mum know I’m grateful for her concern too.’
‘Does that alter your plans? Are you happy to wait a little longer for Elliot to propose or are you still hell-bent on doing the leap-year thing?’
‘Oh, I’m doing it. I heard what your father said, and I respect his opinion, but, no, I’ve planned it all. Come Saturday, I’ll be asking Elliot to marry me . . . Let’s just hope your father hasn’t ruined my moment and told him about it.’
‘I don’t think he will – he’d see that as interfering, which is probably why Mum phoned me rather than speak to you herself,’ says Adrian.
‘And you?’
‘Me? Carmen, does it matter what I think?’
‘Kind of . . . you’re his big brother, after all,’ I tease, hoping I might have another supporter alongside Sally.
Adrian shuffles from foot to foot, scratches his head.
‘If the truth be known, I was a little shocked when Mum said. I proposed to Tara after two years – there
was never a doubt in my mind that I’d marry her. Would I have accepted if she’d asked me first? Yes, I suppose I would have.’ He pauses and smiles. ‘But, and here’s the father in me coming out, I want my two daughters to receive proposals . . . which seems like double standard, doesn’t it?’
I laugh heartily.
‘I like your honesty, Adrian, if nothing else.’
‘See, us men, we want it all our own way, don’t we?’
‘You certainly do, that’s true enough.’
‘Anyway, I’d best be going. But I’m sure we’ll be seeing you soon.’
‘Say hi to Tara and the children for me; it seems ages since we got together.’
‘We’ll make a date in the coming weeks, eh?’
Within seconds, he’s planted a gentle kiss on my cheek and left.
Trish and Anna peer at me from across the boutique.
‘Adrian, Elliot’s older brother, come to smooth the waters,’ I say.
‘He doesn’t look a bit like Elliot, does he?’ says Trish, shaking her head.
‘He looks like their dad, Elliot looks more like his mum,’ I say. ‘Well, at least I know where everyone stands in relation to my plans.’
‘That’s funny, because their opinions don’t actually count!’ teases Trish, shaking her head at Anna.
‘But it’s nice to know his mother understands where I’m coming from.’
‘Sure, and it’s better to have her on your side than not, in my opinion.’
Dana
‘Flight attendants, please prepare for gate departure, doors on automatic, cross-check and report . . . thank you,’ comes the nasal announcement over the tannoy system.
I am bewildered beyond belief. I find myself sitting in seat D3 of an aeroplane, waiting on the tarmac and preparing for take-off – all within an hour of Jez hailing, ‘Onwards, crew!’
Everything has happened so fast.
A procession of sleek executive cars and transit vans met up outside the hotel’s plush entrance and flew along the motorway. Before I knew it, we were checking-in, handing over passports and being escorted across a windy runway to this plane, of which we have filled the first seven rows. I’ve fastened my seat belt and am watching an attractive brunette wildly gesturing towards the exit doors at the front, sides and rear of the plane.
Someone pinch me. Surely this can’t be happening?
I sit back and prepare for take-off. My mind buzzes with excitement as I’m informed that we have just forty-five minutes until we land. Where are we heading?
‘How are you finding the experience?’ asks Jennifer, the relationship and dating expert, leaning across the aisle to speak to me.
‘Oh, I’m fine. It only hit me last night that other people have watched how I behave on a first date, which feels weird.’
‘And your family, how did they react?’ she asks in her deep Aussie drawl, peering at me over her specs.
‘Oh, I didn’t tell them. I chickened out,’ I blurt, due to my nerves.
Instantly her face falls. ‘Why did you feel the need to do that? Haven’t you a strong bond with your family?’
‘Yes, but I simply couldn’t find the words to explain what I’d applied for. They both loved the idea once they’d watched the episode, but they didn’t know beforehand.’
‘They weren’t upset or disappointed?’
‘Not in the slightest. They tend to respect my decisions in life and so . . .’ My words fade as the memory of my announcement of the Down’s syndrome test result fills my mind. ‘I knew they wouldn’t have an issue.’
I didn’t doubt for one minute that my parents would go along with whatever I decided on hearing my baby news. They knew that I’d had the result and knew that I would share the details when I chose to. I’m lucky. So very lucky to have the support of a strong loving family, unlike others I know whose parents still treat them like children despite their fortieth birthdays dawning. I might be their child, even be seen as their baby still, but my parents fully respect my choices as an adult; this is the kind of relationship we’ve nurtured since I was a teenager. I’m hoping it’s the template for my relationship with Luke when he’s older too.
A sense of pride wells inside as I remember my announcement in their front lounge.
‘I’ve received another positive result and I’m delighted to announce I’m having a beautiful baby boy.’ I didn’t even mention his condition because it was of little consequence to me. Instantly, I had been swamped with hugs and kisses of congratulations.
I return to reality to find Jennifer staring at me across the aisle, the beginnings of a smile on her red painted lips. I know she witnessed my regression into a beautiful memory.
‘Oh no, I can assure you I have the best of family support . . . They can’t wait for Saturday . . . my mum’s already joking about buying a new hat!’
Her wide smile breaks across her face.
‘That is good news, great to hear,’ she adds, before the force of the aeroplane’s take-off pushes us both into our seats.
‘Welcome to Edinburgh! The temperature is eight degrees centigrade – an unusually warm afternoon for this time of year.
‘Edinburgh!’ I look around the neighbouring seats; various crew members stare back as if surprised that I hadn’t been told.
‘Male B requested the location as part of his interview process,’ calls Tamzin, once a crew member points in my direction.
‘Is he Scottish?’ I ask, intrigued to find out as much as I can beforehand.
‘Ooooh, now that would be telling,’ teases Tamzin.
I secretly watch her for the next five minutes, hoping to pick something up from her body language, spying on any details she might leak to the passenger seated beside her. My Tamzin-watch doesn’t provide me with any new information, just a few uncomfortable smiles when she spotted me staring.
Scottish.
Male.
I envisage fiery red hair, a wiry unruly beard and a Fair Isle knitted jumper. I immediately chastise myself for such stereotypical thinking; it irks me so much when others make assumptions about Luke and his abilities.
My Luke. Mum says he’s being such a good boy about this week’s arrangements. Though he has demanded fishfingers and beans for tea tonight; this week’s lack of fruit and vegetables might play havoc with his digestive system, which doesn’t bode well for little accidents at school. My heart feels heavy. I’ve missed out on some bath times, a few farewell kisses at the school gate and story times because of this dating adventure. I promise myself I’ll make it up to him with extra cuddles next week and maybe a trip to the zoo the following weekend.
Parents’ evening! My brain screams at me. I haven’t given Mum the specific questions I wanted answers to.
I grab my mobile, open my notes app and begin compiling a list.
Parents’ evening questions for Mrs Salter –
Thursday, 27 Feb, appointment time: 3:10 p.m.
What strengths have been observed in his learning?
What weaknesses have been observed in his learning?
I’ve noticed his confidence growing when interacting with other children. Have you witnessed this in the classroom?
Is he still being a little too boisterous in the dining room when it comes to food?
Is there any improvement in his acknowledgement of needing the toilet?
I quickly read through the list; if I can’t attend, I’ll at least have the answers to my most important questions. The school offered me a telephone appointment with Mrs Salter, but I declined. I’m happy enough for my parents to attend and view Luke’s work on my behalf. I want to add a sixth point to the list but I don’t want to be seen as being pushy, especially as I have sent a couple of stand-ins to parents’ evening. But the mistake or rather the oversight in the classroom’s weekly rota won’t be addressed unt
il I confront it.
I add the extra item.
Please add Luke to the daily tidy-up rota as he is a very capable child.
I’ll message the note to my mum as soon as I land, then they’ll be prepared for tomorrow afternoon’s meeting. Plus I’ll email it to the school office for the attention of Mrs Salter, giving her notice of the questions before the appointment.
It takes seconds for the production crew to be whisked through the airport and baggage collection, after which we are escorted towards another line of executive cars and transit vans to whiz into Edinburgh. I’m not remotely aware of who is who any more, the crew and the experts have merged into a mass of bodies which move as one, like a football crowd.
I stare from the tinted window at the passing sights: Murrayfield Stadium, the zoo and, finally, Princes Street. I’ve never been to Scotland before so the twenty-minute journey feels special despite my pre-date nerves. I wasn’t this nervous meeting Alex so maybe it’s a good sign. Maybe not. Maybe I’m simply talking myself into a fairyland to make myself feel better, but surely a positive mental attitude is a good thing.
‘Where’s Dana?’ calls Jez, marching frantically up and down the line of parked cars when we eventually stop.
‘She’s in here,’ calls Tamzin, opening the automatic window.
The car door swings wide and Jez’s smiling face appears.
‘You good to go?’
‘Of course.’ I grab my coat and handbag, then attempt to shuffle out of the car but the heavy door takes some opening so I fall rather than step out of the executive vehicle. I look up to see the camera crew capturing every moment. I must look like a right sight if my date is watching from a hiding place.
‘Can we do that again, please?’ shouts Jez. ‘Maybe the driver can assist her?’
I’m quickly ushered back into the car and the door is slammed shut.
Take two captures the driver elegantly opening the door for me and supporting my hand as I step from the vehicle, and unceremoniously trip over my own bloody feet, dropping my handbag and its contents on to the pavement. I crouch down to scramble about the driver’s feet for my belongings – lipstick, mascara and tampons – before they roll into the gutter.
