My mum, ever the actress, is obviously embellishing – but with perfect comedic timing, as usual. Growing up with actor parents was interesting, to say the least. For one thing, their poker faces were flawless. When I was misbehaving, and they would pull up alongside the local children’s home saying they were going to give me away, I believed them! They really sold it, and I would instantly cease whatever I was doing that was causing them stress. Their easy confidence wasn’t always my favourite thing either, especially when it came to having friends around or school events. It was like they were always performing, always the centre of attention, always cracking jokes. It did have its plus points, too, though. They definitely told the best bedtime stories when I was younger, often working together to put on a performance at the end of my bed, and they were the ‘coolest’ parents a teenager could hope to have.
‘So, what did Gil make of the news?’ my mum asks.
Gil, a serial player, has never been big on the idea of monogamy, and he couldn’t hide his disappointment when I ‘caught it from Mark’ as he so beautifully put it. While he does adore Mark, and has always been happy for the two of us, we might have a problem…
‘Shit!’ I exclaim. ‘I forgot to tell him.’
‘You didn’t tell your best friend?’ Mark laughs. ‘That makes me even for not telling my parents.’
‘You haven’t told your parents?’ my mum echoes. ‘Why ever not?’
‘I want to surprise them,’ he replies, that cheeky smile of his more persuasive than ever. I don’t know if it’s the cute dimples planted perfectly on his handsome face that just give him this look, like he could get away with murder exclusively because you forgave him, just because he smiled at you. Mark’s smile will be my downfall, I’m just weak for it.
‘Well, that will be a nice surprise for your future mother-in-law,’ my mum tells me. There’s a smug look of warning in her eyes.
I metaphorically bite my lip.
‘I need to call Gil and tell him,’ I say, grabbing my phone.
‘Call him on loudspeaker,’ my dad insists. ‘We miss him.’
As instructed, I call Gil on loudspeaker so that everyone can talk to him, because everyone loves Gil. I find this especially hilarious, because other than me, my family, his family and a very small percentage of his friendship circle, Gil hates everyone. Perhaps it’s an actor thing – and, if it is, it’s very telling of how talented he is – but Gil has the ultimate fake smile, and he uses it to get away with saying whatever he wants, straight to a person’s face, and it confuses them so much, they don’t even realise he’s offending them. I remember when I lived with him, and I was dating this guy who had a bit of a body odour problem, and Gil just couldn’t keep quiet about it. He would spray him with deodorant, that big smile plastered across his face as he did it, asking him if he liked the way it smelt – multiple times, just to make sure he got an informed opinion from him. One time the smelly guy (as Gil has always referred to him behind his back) said that he was tired, so Gil told him to go home and have a nice, long bath. An insult, if you really think about it, but coming from Gil everything sounds charming. I guess you should never underestimate the power of a good smile.
‘Hello, stranger,’ Gil answers.
‘Hey, mister, how are you?’ I ask, holding back my exciting news as best I can for as long as I can.
‘Same old, same old,’ he tells me. ‘You?’
‘Mark asked me to marry him,’ I squeak.
‘Roxie, that’s amazing,’ he replies. ‘You said yes, right?’
‘Erm, obviously,’ I laugh.
As I exchange glances with Mark and my parents, I can not only tell that Gil is sincerely happy for me, but that everyone else that matters to me is happy too. Nothing could ruin this perfect moment.
‘I should’ve known you’d say yes,’ Mark continues. ‘Remember that time you called me up and said he’d made you orgasm, like, eight times in a row? I knew then that you’d never let him go. Plus, when you told me how well-endowed he was…’
I quickly hit the button that takes my phone off loudspeaker, cutting Gil off, but still very much shutting the stable door after the (well-hung) horse has bolted.
I laugh awkwardly.
‘Anyway, call you later,’ I babble, hanging up.
Mark, bless him, looks mortified, but my parents see the funny side. Not only because they’re used to Gil, but because – I told you – they’re cool.
My dad slaps Mark on the back playfully, laughing wildly.
‘I can’t believe you find this funny,’ Mark says, his body still looking a little stiff with fear. ‘Shouldn’t you be punching me in the face?’
‘Why?’ my dad laughs. ‘You clearly make my daughter very happy.’
I laugh, but I still find this embarrassing. I should’ve known the loudspeaker was a terrible idea.
‘Man, you guys are great,’ Mark says, relaxing. ‘My parents aren’t like you guys at all.’
I feel a pang of panic. I’ve been brought up around my parents; they’re the only kind of parents I’m used to.
‘Why? What are you parents like?’ I ask. I can’t believe I’ve never asked, but you know what it’s like when you start dating someone. As fast as things were moving, I still didn’t want to seem like a psycho, asking loads of weird questions.
‘The opposite to yours,’ Mark laughs. ‘You guys are so cool and easygoing. The way you laughed about what Gil said – my parents would not find that funny at all. They’re quite traditional, they don’t swear – I don’t swear when I’m around them. My dad would blow his top if he heard me swear, even now.’
I wouldn’t say that I swore excessively, but I do swear both often and casually – on autopilot, really.
‘So I shouldn’t swear in front of your parents,’ I reiterate.
‘It would be better if you didn’t,’ Mark laughs. ‘Don’t look so worried, you’ll be fine. You have a real adult job where you function perfectly,’ he reminds me.
‘Except I don’t,’ I tell him, anxiously. ‘I know I’ve had a good day at the office if I’ve written some fire dick puns. And I don’t need to worry about swearing in front of my boss because, one time, she genuinely shouted across the office at me to demand I write a top five list of things to put up your butt during sex.’
‘I’d be interested to read that,’ my mum whispers softly, leaning over to me – see what I mean about her perfect comic timing?
‘You don’t need to worry,’ Mark stresses, grabbing a biscuit from the table.
I think for a moment. If he isn’t worried, then why am I? Because he knows what his parents are like, and he knows what I’m like – better than I know myself – and if he thinks I’ll be fine around them, then I’m sure I will be, right?
So why am I still so worried?
Chapter Six
I wake up suddenly, cold, starving and disorientated – and with a pain in my back from sitting in a car for too long; but as I look out of my window and take in all the greenery, I have to admit that Yorkshire is beautiful. Despite it being a cold December day, I can still appreciate the scenery.
‘So this is Yorkshire…’ I say, stretching my aching back.
‘No, this is the M1. We haven’t been on the road for an hour yet, Roxie,’ Mark informs me with a chuckle.
‘You’re kidding?’ I reply. ‘Oh, my God, I’m so bored. Car journeys are so boring. And I’m so hungry!’
‘You’re so like a child,’ Mark replies. ‘You ate maybe six chocolate digestives little more than an hour ago. You can’t be hungry.’
‘Well, I am. Hungry and bored. Are we going to stop along the way?’
‘Well, I was going to try and make the entire journey without stopping, so that we had longer to spend with my parents today, but if we do stop, the plan was to be at least half of the way there by then.’
I pull an unimpressed face, tapping my nails impatiently on the dashboard. Ergh, this journey is going to be so long. And what i
s Mark even listening to? He’s got Radio 4 on; it’s so boring.
I lean over and change the station to Radio 1, but the latest X Factor winner’s single isn’t doing much to lift my mood either.
‘Hey, I was listening to the weather forecast,’ Mark informs me.
‘They’re only talking about how cold it’s going to be – it’s depressing.’
‘Come on, what’s up? Are you still anxious?’
‘I’m very anxious,’ I reply honestly. ‘I’m just so freaked out by all of this.’
‘Maybe it will help if I tell you more about my family. I know I’ve told you bits and pieces before, but I’ll give you a recap. How does that sound?’
‘That would be good, thank you,’ I reply.
‘So we’ve got my mum and dad, Valerie and Oscar, and my two sisters, Millie and Mel.’
‘Millie, Mark and Mel,’ I giggle.
‘Erm, Mildred, Marcus and Melody,’ he corrects me with a laugh. ‘And you thought Roxie was bad.’
‘Will anyone else be there?’
‘Yeah, Millie’s husband, Alex, and Mel’s boyfriend, Ste. Alex is cool – a bit boring, but you don’t worry about the sister that marries a boring doctor, you worry about the one who winds up with twat after twat… which brings me on to Ste.’
‘You don’t like him, do you?’
‘I don’t. I’ve only met him once, but he was too confident, too familiar… He and my sister don’t seem to have all that much in common, but she’s the baby of the family, typical youngest child. She can’t stand to be single; she’d rather have the wrong person than no person at all. The opposite of me, really.’
Mark and I have never really spoken too much about our love lives before we met – well, what’s the point? I know he had a serious girlfriend in Yorkshire, before he moved to London, and he always tells me that before he met me he was way too busy for any kind of a love life. When he used to tell me this when we first got together, I didn’t believe him. I’ve seen how women throw themselves at him. But as I’ve got to know him better and fallen in love with him, I’ve realised that he takes things seriously when they are important to him. I can imagine him putting his job first, and he’s so loyal that, when he says he isn’t into one-night stands, I believe him. Who is into one-night stands, anyway? They’re horrible.
‘I’m the only member of the family to have left the county – the village, actually. Everyone else still lives there and no one has any desire to move. You know how we love city living? The fact that the city never sleeps, the bright twinkling lights, Deliveroo?’ he laughs. ‘My parents would hate it. They like peace and quiet, early nights and good home cooking made with locally sourced ingredients.’
‘I see,’ I reply.
Each to their own, but I couldn’t imagine living outside the city centre.
‘Would you ever want to move back there?’ I ask him curiously.
‘Nope,’ he replies quickly and firmly. ‘My mum would love me to – she talks about it all the time – but I’d miss the city. I couldn’t do my job from the village, and I’ve got a thing for foul-mouthed southerners.’
‘I’d better fucking be your favourite,’ I reply jokily.
‘My one and only,’ he laughs. ‘Feeling any less worried now?’
‘No, I’m still terrified,’ I reply honestly.
‘So, plan B is to just distract you, until we get to a service station and I can get you something to eat, thus fixing “bored” and “hungry” – how does that sound?’
I feel my body melt into my chair a little.
‘That sounds great,’ I tell him.
‘OK, so what’s a good distraction?’ Mark wonders out loud.
I clap my hands excitedly.
‘We should play “Would You Rather”.’
‘Really?’ Mark laughs. ‘That’s what the lady wants? OK, sure. You go first.’
‘OK.’ I think for a second. ‘Would you rather… give up football or video games?’
‘Ouch!’ Mark jokes. ‘Going in for the kill straight away. Let me think about it for a second…’
Mark does indeed think this one over for a while. I don’t think I could’ve asked him a more difficult question.
‘Right, I’d have to give up video games,’ he concludes. ‘Because I love football, and I love going to games with my family, and you just never know what’s going to happen. With video games, I know I’ll always dominate.’
‘Nice,’ I reply.
‘OK, my turn,’ Mark starts excitedly, like he’s got a good one for me. ‘Would you rather give up having sex or wearing make-up?’
‘Ah, well, that’s a catch-22 situation right there, because if I gave up wearing make-up, no one would want to have sex with me…’
‘You know I’d rather you went without it,’ he reminds me.
‘Sex or make-up?’ I joke, raising my eyebrows, but I know what he means. ‘OK, well, with that in mind, I’m going to have to say I’d give up make-up – because at least you’ll still have sex with me.’
‘Ah, the winner by default,’ he laughs. ‘Next question?’
‘Would you rather… have a Disney Princess-themed wedding, or only be allowed to drive hot-pink-coloured cars for the rest of your life?’
For five seconds Mark doesn’t say anything, until…
‘Disney Princess wedding,’ he says sheepishly.
I laugh wildly.
‘Buddy, did you pause for just long enough to make it seem like you’re not totally into this Disney Princess thing, when in fact you’re mad for it?’ I tease.
‘OK, OK, if we’re on to the big, life-changing questions – would you rather live in a house decorated by a Star Wars fanatic, or name your first baby Yoda?’
My heart skips a beat. He’s never mentioned wanting kids before.
‘Erm,’ I stall for a moment because I don’t know what to say. Well, I do – it’s that I don’t want kids. But if he’s asking a question like this then he obviously does, right? ‘Probably the second one.’
‘Really?’ he laughs. ‘You’d give our poor first baby that as a name before you’d put up with a bit of geeky wallpaper and a few light sabres on the wall?’
Well, we’re not going to have one, so obviously picking that option is pretty low risk.
I shrug my shoulders casually.
Does Mark want kids? It’s not something we’ve ever spoken about. I guess we were so busy with our whirlwind romance, focusing on how in love we are right now, that we never really thought about our future. I mean, Mark’s proposal was definitely a surprise, but I knew I wanted to marry him – and of course, he asked, so it’s not like neither of us has thought about our future together. We’ve just been too busy being the perfect couple to discuss the details. Perhaps I don’t know Mark as well as I thought I did. I guess I just always figured I’d learn all the things I didn’t know as we spent more time together. All I know is that now is definitely not the time to talk about it.
‘I’m a bit tired, actually,’ I lie. ‘Do you mind if I have a snooze until we hit a service station?’
‘Yeah, sure. You sure you’re OK?’
‘Maybe it’s just low blood sugar,’ I lie again.
‘It’s definitely not low blood sugar given how many biscuits I saw you smash at your parents’ house, but OK,’ he laughs. ‘I’ll wake you when we get there.’
Lying back a little, closing my eyes, I try my best not to think about Mark wanting kids. Well, of course he does; all normal grown adults do, right? Apart from me. The maternal instinct just skipped me, for some reason. It’s not like it’s just the thought of having to take care of a small human for at least eighteen years, what it does to your career, or your social life, or the expense – the thought of carrying a baby for nine months before giving birth actually makes me feel sick. I just can’t handle the thought of it, being ill all that time, irreparably ruining my body, going through the excruciating agony of labour. I have the upmost respect for anyone w
ho chooses to do it, but I choose not to.
I cannot think about this right now. I just need to try and get some rest and concentrate on the task at hand. Getting through a night at my country-bumpkin future in-laws’ place.
I feel my body jolt forwards before my fast-acting seatbelt snaps me straight back into place.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Mark yells at the vehicle in front of us.
‘What’s happening?’ I ask, rubbing my chest under my seatbelt. That’s the thing about boobs and seatbelts; the seatbelt doesn’t stay over your chest so you have to decide between putting it under or over them. I opted for over.
‘I was pulling into the service station when this lorry driver pulled out in front of me. We nearly crashed – it’s a good job my brakes work.’
We pull into the service station safe and sound.
‘There’s the prick who nearly made us crash,’ Mark points out, as a man hops out of a lorry not too far from us in the car park.
Maybe it’s because I’m anxious, stressed or just pissed off, but before I know what I’m doing, I’m getting out of the car and marching over there.
‘Roxie, what are you doing? Come back,’ Mark calls after me, but I’m too far gone. I march over to the bright-yellow lorry. On the side of it the name ‘Starr Haul’ is printed in huge black letters, so I take out my phone and begin googling it to try and get a number to call up so I can report this reckless driver to them.
‘Oi, what are you doing?’ the driver calls out, having glanced back just in time to see me making a note of his registration number.
‘I’m reporting you,’ I inform him. ‘You could’ve killed us.’
‘Could I fuck,’ he snaps. ‘Get on yer way.’
‘What’s your name?’ I ask him.
‘I’m nae telling you,’ he replies firmly in his strong Glaswegian accent. ‘Here you, Jimmy. You want tae control yer lassie.’
Mark takes me by the arm and whispers into my ear: ‘Look, I only understood maybe every fourth word of what he just said but I can tell he’s mad, so let’s just go.’
It's Not You, It's Them Page 5
