Taking a Chance on Love

by Erin Green

  ‘And, we’re in no rush. From this point onwards we can take our time getting to know each other,’ I add, glancing up to catch his eye.

  ‘But Dana – that was one strange question you posed about elephants. Was that your plan all along?’ asks Jennifer, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

  ‘No, not at all. My aim was to complete the three dates and to be honest . . . I’m as stunned as anyone by the outcome of this evening.’

  ‘Especially as you originally chose Connor for your final dinner date,’ interrupts Jennifer with a giggle.

  ‘Exactly. I feel bad about Connor but we both felt awkward tonight, and, thankfully, we were honest with each other. I think his mind was elsewhere, if I’m honest.’

  ‘Yours certainly was! But hey, Connor’s misfortune is your lucky day,’ swoons Jennifer, turning to Brett. ‘So tell me, what are your immediate plans?’

  We briefly exchange a look of surprise.

  ‘I think we’ll be making arrangements to meet up tomorrow and have a second first date in private. There are lots of things we need to discuss and I need to explain about a very special person in my life.’

  Jennifer nods eagerly. Brett hasn’t a clue why I asked about elephants but I sense he trusts my judgement.

  ‘I totally agree. I fully appreciate your need to ask about elephants – it shows your devotion to others. Anyway, I’m being told that social media has gone crazy tonight as our audience try to keep abreast of the action. I think you need some privacy now to open up to your families and enjoy each other’s company. Though promise you’ll come back for an update in a few months?’

  We both laugh and nod as Jennifer turns to address the camera.

  ‘I’m hoping you’ve thoroughly enjoyed our week following Dana’s journey to find love in the modern age and, fingers crossed, they’ll be joining us in the near future, but for now, I’m delighted that together, they are “taking a chance on love”! Good night!’

  Epilogue

  Saturday 18 April 2020 at St Peter’s Church

  Polly

  ‘Cody, have you got the rings?’ I ask for the umpteenth time, as we gather outside the church.

  ‘Are women always such worriers?’ he says to his father, pulling two gold rings from his right suit pocket.

  ‘Get used to it, lad,’ teases Fraser, looking towards my father for confirmation, who duly nods.

  ‘I’m just checking. Having got this far, I don’t want any calamity detracting from our vows, that’s all. Is it too much to ask?’

  ‘Fraser, are you and Cody going in any time soon?’ calls my mother, who, despite the peace agreement with my father, is standing a few feet away, beside Helen. It is not quite the parental pact I’d hoped for but if the two can be civil and polite for one day, my wedding day, I’ll be happy. I’ll take my parents truce any day over my mother’s obsession with her friend Derek. Though I fear my father did more than his fair share in the negotiations to pull off today’s ceasefire. I’m simply relived that Derek isn’t present.

  ‘We’re all here, Pauline, so there’s no rush. We might as well take our time and enjoy the sunshine,’ says Fraser.

  My mother’s hat accentuates the tiny nod she makes, unimpressed that Fraser isn’t following her orders. I know her impatience has more to do with Fraser’s mother, Olive, standing close to her in silence.

  Helen gives me a fleeting smile, fully understanding all sides of the situation. She’s grown stronger in recent months. Her weekly counselling sessions have provided professional support for her to gain an equilibrium in her life. She’s not forgiven Marc, but she no longer blames herself for his shortcomings. She hasn’t found it easy coping amidst the debris of what happened but every day she’s grateful for a new dawn. Had Marc been a little later arriving home that night, things would be very different. I don’t take her for granted any more, Helen is Helen, and I love her as she is. Some episodes in life bring sisters closer together; sadly, it took her overdose to make us tight.

  Marc stands tall at her side. Their obsessive hand-holding and constant connection has ceased – Helen now acknowledges you can’t keep hold of people in that way. He’s apologised profusely for his dalliance and vowed to make amends. I’m not entirely convinced, but I’m not the one he needs to reassure so I simply let him be. I’m sure time will tell.

  This is exactly as I’d imagined all those weeks ago. Us two, standing in beautiful spring sunshine, with just our family in attendance to witness our vows. My mum had tried to talk me into going the whole hog, and Fraser would have happily obliged, but this is what I wanted. We three, my sister’s family and my parents, and Fraser’s parents and his brothers, Rory and Ross. No one else.

  I know that equates to thirteen guests but nothing, not even superstition, is going to overshadow our day. Fraser has waited long enough to make me his wife.

  The church clock strikes midday, our allotted time.

  ‘Come here,’ he whispers, pushing a stray hair back from my forehead. ‘I’ll see you inside. I’ll be waiting.’ His lips gently touch mine for the last time before our vows.

  ‘See you in a while,’ I whisper.

  ‘Mum,’ says Cody bashfully, then he strides off beside his father, heading for the front pew of the church. Both my boys look smart in their navy suits and new haircuts.

  Dad and I stand, arm in arm, gleefully nodding as each of our party dawdle past to follow the groom and best man. Helen looks better than ever, more flesh on her bones. Marc is more attentive, ushering Evie and Erica into the church. My mum enters on her own, refusing to walk between her two granddaughters, so bringing up the rear of that small group. Fraser’s parents glide past, as always pristine in their appearance, though I can’t quite hold Olive’s gaze; I know this isn’t what she’s dreamt of for a family wedding, but she still has her two other sons to give her the Cinderella-style extravaganza. Rory and Ross are the last to enter – unsurprising given their reluctance to attend – in matching attire to Fraser and Cody.

  ‘And then there was us,’ says Dad, once we’re alone.

  ‘I know, it feels strange . . . Having made all the plans in such a short time . . . here it is.’

  ‘You look beautiful, Polly.’

  ‘Thank you, Dad . . . This is what I wanted.’ I’d hailed simple and elegant as my style, and Carmen had found me the perfect dress. An understated gown in ivory, it fitted well and suited my frame. In my hands, a tiny bouquet of lily-of-the-valley tied with a straw binding reinforces the simplicity, thanks to Dana’s talents. Today, Fraser and I are making our vows, which is the most important thing. Not the dress, the flowers or the people in attendance – but Fraser and I reinforcing our love for one another just like we have every day that we’ve chosen to be together.

  Saturday 1 August 2020 at St Peter’s Church

  Carmen

  We stand in the opening of the church doorway. The Reverend Harris waits patiently as I wrap my shaking hand around my father’s offered forearm, each of us taking a deep breath and smiling at the other. This is the moment we’ve both been waiting a lifetime for, knowing how much it means to the other.

  ‘Ready?’ asks Reverend Harris, clutching his Bible in his large hands.

  ‘Ready,’ I say, to both men. I am determined not to cry. How can I cry on a day I’ve looked forward to for so long? And I don’t want to ruin my make-up, which the artist spent an entire hour layering on my face for a glowing look. Though if it’s a choice between perfect make-up and tears of happiness, I know which I’ll prefer.

  Reverend Harris takes a backwards step inside the church doors and gives the nod to the organist. Instantly, the gentle music which had previously filled the church as the guests arrived changes to a dramatic blare of ‘Here Comes the Bride’. It’s not my personal choice to accompany me up the aisle – I think it’s too chocolate-box and twee – but, still, this
is the only time in my life when it will be played for me.

  I try my hardest not to look at the camera crew as I enter the church and begin to walk up the aisle. Again, it wasn’t my choice but after Connor’s participation in the dating programme, it seemed only fair that Happy Productions TV should be given the opportunity to record a follow-up episode outlining his own journey towards true love. Our relationship was the unexpected outcome from their filming of Taking a Chance on Love, and given that Dana and Brett have delayed their wedding plans until next year, we were willing to oblige the production company’s request.

  As I prepare to walk the length of the rose-petal-strewn aisle, I take a deep breath and view the sea of familiar faces warmly smiling at me. It’s a different mix of friends from those I’d once imagined. I didn’t invite Elliot to witness the proceedings, although we have remained friends after my failed proposal. He couldn’t commit and was entirely honest about that. I’m grateful that he was, though it hurt at the time. Elliot’s schoolfriends, Magoo, Monty, Steve and Andrew plus their wives, have been replaced thanks to my rekindled friendship with Dana. I’m certain that the crowd didn’t regard ours as a true friendship, just an association because I was Elliot’s girlfriend. I haven’t heard from any of them, much like Dana didn’t once she and Andrew had split up.

  We’d settled on a fair agreement regarding the house we’d shared – he bought my half at the market value. Which made sense given that I’d moved into Connor’s home, and I could plough part of my newly gained capital into my new venture. It was a privilege to book our own wedding using all the services involved in my new business – and it reinforced my faith in their products and services. The business is just six months old and already a success story. I could burst with pride.

  As I look around, my gaze meets that of an unexpected guest: Elliot’s mum, Sally. Standing alone near the back of the church, she gives me a warm smile. I accept her presence as a gesture of kindness that she wishes me well.

  No one is more surprised than me to think I spent eight years loving and living with Elliot only to fall back in love with Connor when he met me at the airport the day after Elliot’s rejection. None of us knows what the future holds, but I never expected that one failed proposal would result in another so soon afterwards. The only difference was that Connor did the proposing and I gave an immediate answer: a resounding ‘yes’.

  Monday 31 August 2020 at the Royal Hospital

  Dana

  Brett takes my hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze as we sit in hard-backed chairs in front of the midwife’s desk. She smiled warmly on welcoming us into her room but hasn’t said much whilst flipping through our notes.

  My free hand is lightly draped across my stomach, stroking my bump.

  I’m nervous. More nervous than I was when I was expecting Luke.

  I’m nervous for me and possibly a little scared for Brett. This is his first child and, whatever the result, I want it to be right for Brett. I don’t want him to feel pressure or that he can’t speak up.

  I’ve been here before. I know what it feels like to sit in a quiet room such as this and receive a result that wasn’t the one I’d hoped for. I went into shock, I think. Later, I listened to Andrew’s careful explanation. He had his reasons – he made his own choices based on his beliefs. Deep down, we all know what our limitations are.

  I love my Luke. I wouldn’t change him for the world. If the truth be told, if I was offered the chance to wave a magic wand, I probably wouldn’t take away his extras – that might sound very unfair of me but my boy is definitely my boy. If Luke didn’t have the extras, he wouldn’t be my Luke; he’d be a James, a Thomas or even a Benjamin. But he’s not, he’s my Luke, a unique little boy who I’m learning to share with Brett.

  Maybe one day, as time goes by, my Luke will become our Luke, shared and equally loved by two adoring parents.

  Nothing would give me more pleasure – well, apart from not needing this particular test result.

  But I’ll accept that whatever will be will be. I’ll cope.

  We’ll cope.

  I give Brett’s hand another reassuring squeeze. It’s the smallest gestures which make life bearable. Like the moment Brett met Luke for the first time. He didn’t treat Luke as some others do. Brett looked past his condition and greeted the little boy in front of him with big smiles, a contagious laugh and an open heart. If I hadn’t connected with Brett beforehand, that would have been our moment, the moment Brett connected with Luke.

  We’ve only been together for a matter of months but still, time doesn’t define everything in life. Sometimes just one moment is all you need, for others an entire lifetime fails to deliver the experience of knowing love. For us, a basic knowledge of elephants helped to ease our path. For the past seventeen weeks, Brett’s been as delighted and as nervous as I have. He’s been at my side every step of the way, doing everything he can to support our little family and help me raise Luke.

  Luke’s thriving at the moment. I managed to discuss my concerns with the head teacher, Mrs Huggins, who was clearly embarrassed by the lack of humility from members of her staff. She immediately intervened and helped to secure an individual appointment with the speech therapist once a week. I’d like him to have more sessions but for now, he’s happy and progressing. I want him to remain in mainstream school because he’ll need a role in mainstream society in the future. I’ll only consider a specialist school if it is right for Luke, no one else.

  The midwife coughs, flicks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks up, glancing between us before speaking. She’s experienced, mature – she’s done this before, I’m sure.

  ‘OK, so the result is positive.’ Her sentence is rushed, a telling sign.

  She falls silent and waits, continuing to glance between us as her fingers play with the edge of the paper on her desk. I can almost predict her thought patterns and the conversation which she’s preparing to have with us. It can’t be easy confirming news such as this.

  We don’t say a word. I look at Brett: he gives me a cheeky wink. His grey eyes never fail to entice and engage me.

  I gently rub my thumb against my small bump as the midwife shuffles in her seat.

  ‘Any questions?’ she asks, breaking the stifling silence.

  ‘Do you know the gender of the baby?’ asks Brett.

  ‘Yes, would you like to know?’

  ‘Please,’ says Brett, giving my hand a comforting squeeze in return. I give a tiny nod.

  ‘You’re expecting a female,’ she says; her voice is deadpan. I don’t like her choice of words: a female. I know she’s trying to be professional, unbiased given the medical results but it sounds so unnatural.

  ‘A girl? We’re having a girl?’ Brett’s delighted tone fills the small office; his wide smile says it all.

  The midwife’s brief nod confirms Brett’s joy, then she watches him as intently as I had watched Andrew years ago.

  ‘Dana, we’re having a girl!’ he says, kissing my hand.

  ‘And the results . . . ?’ she whispers, tapping our file.

  Brett shrugs.

  I watch as her sombre expression slowly fades towards one of relief as she understands the family before her.

  ‘And nothing – we’re having a girl!’

  This moment suddenly becomes a precious memory. I have never loved Brett more. I know that our pregnancy will deliver a unique human being unlike any other, whatever difficulties she and Luke may encounter, whichever direction our path in life takes us – we will be absolutely fine as a secure and happy family of four. Always taking a chance on love.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my editor, Kate Byrne, and everyone at Headline Publishing Group for encouraging my fascination with leap years and giving me the opportunity to flex my imagination in relation to tradition and marriage proposals.

  To Da
vid Headley and the crew at DHH Literary Agency – thank you for your continued support. I couldn’t ask for a more experienced or dedicated team to champion my career.

  Thank you to my fellow authors/friends within the Romantic Novelists’ Association – you continue to support and encourage me every step of the way. I promise to repay the generosity and kindness received in recent years.

  Thank you to Jo Pickering and Alan Pearse – teaching colleagues who answered my author questions regarding French and science.

  Thank you to Hipparchus of Nicaea, Greek astronomer, geographer and mathematician, whose book Peri eniausíou megéthous (‘On the Length of the Year’) first determined that a year on Earth is approximately 365¼ days long (an additional 5 hours and 55 minutes longer than originally believed), resulting in an additional day every four years. Since primary school, when the principle was first explained, I’ve been fascinated with 29 February and how it keeps us perfectly aligned with the solar system, the equinoxes and solstices, the sunset, the sunrise and our seasons. Plus us romantics added a little bit of love for good measure! So, don’t ignore 29 February – it deserves our respect!

  Happy memories of Johnny Long, a family friend, who loved his newspaper cuttings, his elephants and his knotted zuzz (a handkerchief).

  Loving thanks to my mum for always supporting my efforts and spreading the word about my books.

  Heartfelt thanks to my husband, Leo. I appreciate your support whilst I’m AWOL in Narnia. Apologies too, as I always seem to have a thousand urgent questions when you’re watching the football.

  And finally, thank you to my wonderful readers. You continue to thrill me each day with your fabulous reviews and supportive emails. I’m truly humbled that you invest precious time from your busy lives to read my books. Without you guys, my characters, stories and happy-ever-afters would simply be daydreams.