‘It’s fine,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll just pass on this one – we’ll pick up the points on other questions.’
‘No, Valerie, she’s right. Let me pull out a different one – games are supposed to be fun, after all. What was Mark’s favourite TV show growing up?’ she asks.
‘She’s not going to know that one either, is she?’ he complains.
‘I do,’ she says again. ‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. You loved them. He still has so much Turtles stuff in his bedroom, you know,’ she tells me.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I assure Mark, squeezing his hand. ‘Honestly.’
As Mark backs down, he wraps an arm around me and holds me close.
I can tell when he’s in protective mode; it’s nice to have him looking out for me.
As we fire through rounds of questions, each of our competitors gains point after point for correct answers. I learn that Oscar’s favourite film is Pretty Woman. Ste didn’t learn the alphabet until he was seven. Alex is inexplicably scared of ducks. Valerie’s first crush was Donny Osmond, who, coincidentally, Oscar wanted to be when he grew up. Mel’s nickname at school was Melody Pop, because she was always whistling when she was a kid and, most surprisingly of all, Alex and Millie actually met in a nightclub – and she was there with her boyfriend. I’m all for true love conquering all, but if Mark had been with someone else when I met him, and I had stolen him from her, I would never rest, because I’d know that he was stealable. If you take in a stray dog that has run away from home, you’d be naturally cautious about getting too close to it, because the second you leave your front door open, that dog is going to bolt the first time it sees something it wants. Not that I’m comparing Millie to a dog.
Unsurprisingly, Valerie and Oscar are in the lead – but they’ve got thirty-five years of marriage on their side, so obviously they know each other very well – and both Mel and Millie are pretty much neck and neck with each other, along with their significant others. Mark and I, however, are absolutely bombing. We’ve only got a couple of questions right about each other because, so far, we’ve had way too many questions about each other’s lives before we met. We’ve hardly had any about our relationship, or what kind of things we like/don’t like now. Annoyingly, Bea has known the answer to every single question about Mark.
‘OK, Mark. Here’s a question for you about Roxie,’ Bea starts. ‘What annoys you the most about Roxie?’
Even though this isn’t yet another question about each other’s childhoods that we couldn’t possibly know the answer to, it’s one that’s impossible to get right. Sure, we might both give the same answer, but surely any kind of critique from your partner is going to be impossible to hear without taking it to heart. Is finding out exactly what I do to annoy Mark really worth a point?
‘Got it,’ he answers, a little too quickly for my liking.
‘Oh, OK,’ I babble, writing something down.
If there is one thing Mark is always telling me, it’s that I should worry less about things, and trust him more when he tells me that everything is going to be OK, so I write that down. Like when I was worrying about meeting his family, all day every day, from the second I found out I was going to have to meet them, to date. Mark was constantly assuring me that everything was going to be OK, and that I shouldn’t worry so much. I imagine when you have Mark’s easy faith in people that it must be really annoying to deal with a glass-half-empty kind of girl like me. Well, I say that, but it’s not so much that my glass is half empty, more like I dropped it, smashed it into a million pieces and tried to glue it all back together, but, hard as I’ve tried to mend it, it’s full of cracks and holes where water leaks out constantly, meaning I have to keep refilling it just to keep water in it at all – oh God, listen to me, I’ve definitely hit upon the right answer here.
‘So, what’s your answer?’ Bea asks.
‘It’s the fact that…’ Mark pauses a moment, obviously trying to refine his wording in the most tactful way possible. ‘Sometimes, I wish you wouldn’t say the first thing that pops into your head.’
‘Huh?’ I reply, blindsided a little by his surprise answer.
‘Sometimes, you say the first thing that pops into you head,’ he repeats, making his answer no clearer. ‘You don’t have the best filter.’
‘Example?’ I demand, cool and calm, but like a dog with a bone now.
‘The first time I introduced you to one of my colleagues, as you were shaking his hand you said: “Wow, you are the most ginger person I’ve ever met”.’
I cock my head as I think that day over.
‘So what? I told him it looked awesome.’
‘You told him that you found a ginger… hair on my body once, and that you named him Tony.’
I laugh. Fond memories of that night. I like how he paused mid sentence to try and make sure he worded it in a way that meant it could be anywhere on his body, but only making it even more obvious that I found it somewhere intimate.
‘Now who’s blurting out the first thing that pops into their head?’ I ask, proving that we all do it sometimes.
‘Now, now,’ Bea mediates. ‘Let’s not fall out over a silly game. The fact that you’re in last place is no reflection on your relationship at all.’
For a supposedly reassuring statement, it feels an awful lot like she is implying the opposite.
‘We all find things annoying about our partners. Like, do you remember, Mark, when we were together and you used to find it so annoying when I would buy you presents all the time? Like “oh my gosh, woman, stop spoiling me rotten, it’s so annoying”.’
‘Yeah, that sounds awful,’ I reply, deadpan.
‘I know that was supposed to be the last question, but come on, give them one more,’ Oscar reasons. ‘They have had bad luck with the questions.’
Awesome – Oscar is petitioning to get us a pity point. I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think one point is going to turn the outcome of this quiz around for us, somehow.
‘OK,’ Bea replies, mercifully. ‘One more question.’
As she lifts a card from the deck and turns to face me, I can just about make out the corners of her mouth twitching, a flicker of something in her eyes – like she’s pulled out the best worst question and she can hardly hide her satisfaction.
‘Roxie. Who was Mark’s first kiss?’
She holds eye contact with me, smiling as she waits for me to answer the question.
As has been the case with all of the other questions about Mark’s childhood that I’ve failed to answer (all of which she delighted in telling me she knew the answer to), I’m pretty sure, judging from her reaction, that I can make an educated guess that will be spot on. Is it really worth a point to have to say it to her face? No. But is it worth my saying it to her, rather than her trying to stab me through the heart with it? Yes.
‘It was you,’ I tell her, my face and voice both void of any kind of reaction.
‘Correct,’ she beams. ‘You guys got a point – good for you. But Valerie and Oscar, you are our winners. Congratulations.’
‘Thank you,’ Valerie replies. ‘I mean, we do have an advantage over all of you. We met when we were teenagers and we’ve been together ever since. When you know someone from a young age, and grow up around them, you have a bond you’ll never find with anyone else.’
A dig at me, or just an ugly truth? Either way, it doesn’t matter.
‘Mark, I’m not feeling so good, probably just tired. I might get an early night,’ I tell him.
‘OK, sure. I’ll be right behind you.’
As I leave the room, leaving the door open a crack behind me, I overhear Bea talking about me.
‘Some people take games way too seriously,’ she laughs.
Chapter Ten
I close the blinds on the windows in the study – not because I need the privacy, but because it’s pitch black and deserted out there. I should be so lucky that there’s some creep outside in the bushes spying on me – beca
use he might actually like me.
It’s safe to say that this evening has been a disaster, and I’m not even smug I predicted it would be dreadful. I was worried it was going to be awkward, or that Mark’s family wouldn’t warm to me, but it’s been worse than that. So much worse. As much as I want to adore his family, I share no common ground with them, which makes them see me as an outsider who doesn’t fit in around here, and it makes it hard to find things to talk to them about. I don’t want to sound like a moody, black-lipstick-wearing teenage girl, but I feel like everyone hates me. And, of course, the worst thing about all of this is the ex-girlfriend backdrop that this entire shit-shower soap opera is set around. At the centre of all of this is Bea. His family might not like me, but they love her. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t eat food I didn’t like, but she just loved it. And not only did I struggle to score a point when it came to answering questions about my fiancé, but she knew the answers to every single question. With her selfless job, cemented place in the family and unlimited knowledge of all things Mark, she has me beat on all counts.
As I slip off my clothes and put on the old Leeds United T-shirt Mark has given me to sleep in, I catch the reflection of my body in the mirror on the back of the door. I am smart enough to know that looks are not everything, and have very little bearing on who we are as people, but goddammit, it’s just so typical that Bea would be perfect in that department, too.
I take my phone from my handbag, only to see that I still have no signal. I don’t know why I keep checking, like maybe Vodafone have erected a mast at some point during the past two hours.
I skim my laptop with my hand, considering whether or not to try and write something, but I can’t think about anything but the past few hours. I don’t know what I could’ve done differently to make this play out better, other than not coming on this trip at all. Instead, I get in the pop-up bed and pull the covers right up to my chin, to try and keep out the cold. It must be freezing outside now. Still very cold, and even more pissed off, I kick off the covers defiantly and grab the faux fur coat I wore on the journey up here, slipping it on before getting back into bed, pulling the covers up high over my face.
‘Who is in there with you?’ I hear Mark laugh.
‘Piss off,’ I reply, moving the covers from my face so I can shoot him a filthy look. ‘It’s so cold in here.’
‘Well, give me a minute,’ he replies, whipping off his clothes before flicking off the light and getting in bed with me. ‘Right, cuddle up to me, steal my body heat.’
I do as instructed, feeling instantly warmed by his body. It never ceases to amaze me how warm Mark can feel, even when he’s down to just his boxers. He’s like a human radiator.
I sigh deeply.
‘You OK?’ he asks.
‘Is that a serious question?’ I reply.
‘Roxie, listen to me, there is no way I would’ve brought you here if I’d known Bea was going to be staying here, too. And, to be honest, there’s no way I would’ve come here myself if I’d known my ex was going to be staying here – she’s the last person I’d ever want to see. There was this kid, Leroy, at the caravan park we used to stay in when I was younger, who used to call me Mark the Shark because I had the tiniest snaggletooth for about three weeks one summer. This kid couldn’t even tie his own shoelaces and yet, year upon year, he would remember this nickname and tell all the other kids to call me it.’
‘Kids suck,’ I tell him, no stranger to hurtful remarks growing up. Well, with a surname like Pratt and a genetic tendency to be on the short, chubby side, you don’t need to be Edgar Allen Poe to work out the most obvious insult to rhyme with Pratt, do you?
‘Well, I would rather sit and have dinner with that numpty every day, for the rest of my life, than have to sit and watch you endure Bea one more time.’
Lying with my head on Mark’s chest, my arm draped across his body, I give him a tight, meaningful squeeze.
‘I know what Bea can be like, and sometimes she doesn’t even mean to upset people; it’s just the way she says things. I’m sure she wasn’t trying to rub our history in your face, and if she was, it’s because she’s as insecure as Leroy was. Bea and Leroy would actually make a pretty good couple; I mean, I’m sure he can tie his laces now.’
I can’t help but laugh, and when I do it makes Mark smile. The second I see his smile, I find it hard to feel sad about anything.
‘Listen, I had to put up with that guy once a year for at least a decade. Come tomorrow, Bea will have to stay here and you can forget she exists. I, however, will probably have to make peace with the fact you’ll be calling me Mark the Shark, to my face, just to tease me, for many decades to come.’
I can’t help but laugh wildly. My future husband knows my sense of humour so well.
‘You think this is funny?’ he laughs, and I nod. ‘Argh, I thought I’d successfully repressed that memory. I can’t believe bloody Leroy is still haunting me with his eagle-eyed, shark-based teasing. Thanks a lot, Leroy. Seriously, though, I feel truly awful about this.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I tell him, sincerely. ‘It’s not her fault I couldn’t answer any of those questions about you. It just doubly sucked that she could.’
Mark wiggles free from my squeeze, sitting up in bed.
‘Sit up for a second,’ he demands. I do as he says and he places both hands lightly on my cheeks, looking me straight in the eye as he talks to me. ‘Bea knows all that stuff about my past because she is my past. You’re my present and you know everything about me that there is to know now, and that’s all that matters. What do I yell at the screen when I nail a headshot?’
‘Boo-yah, bitch,’ I say with enthusiasm, my rubbish attempt at a Yorkshire accent not exactly hitting the mark.
‘How many sugars do I have in my coffee?’
‘Trick question,’ I laugh. ‘You hate coffee – weirdo.’
‘You hate tea, super weirdo. You’ll never be a northern lass.’
‘Can I get that in writing?’ I tease.
‘One last thing: do you think Bea knows what my most memorable date ever was?’
‘Oh, I imagine she assumes it’s one you went on with her.’
I roll my eyes theatrically.
‘Well, it isn’t. Remember that time, not long after we started dating, when we rode on the Emirates cable car across the Thames?’
‘Of course I remember,’ I laugh. ‘I was petrified being so high up. And you were laughing at me.’
‘You were so cute,’ he recalls. ‘When we got to the highest point, it was like we were on top of the world. I was on top of the world,’ he tells me. ‘Because at that moment, up there with you, where nothing else mattered, I knew for sure that I loved you, and that I was never going to let you go.’
‘That’s what was going through your head while you were sitting there eating Haribo, laughing menacingly as you purposefully rocked the car, while I just sat there freaking out, clinging on to my seat for dear life?’
‘Yep,’ he replies victoriously. ‘Right around the time you put your hoodie hood up, as though that would do anything to save you if we were to break loose and plunge into the river, I thought: I am going to marry this cutie.’
‘That’s weird,’ I tell him.
‘You’re weird,’ he corrects me. ‘But I love you.’
Mark pushes me back onto the bed, climbing on top of me to kiss me. Our lips part a few seconds later and Mark glances over his shoulder in surprise.
‘Did… did you just take off my boxers with your toes?’ he laughs.
‘I’m sorry,’ I reply innocently. ‘It’s like a reflex – muscle memory,’ I insist.
Mark slips a hand under my T-shirt, squeezing my hip tightly before slowly running his hand up my body.
‘I thought we said we weren’t going to get up to any funny business here?’ he reminds me breathlessly.
‘You’re the one on top of me with your hand on my boob,’ I remind him. ‘You want to stop, then
stop.’
‘You devil,’ he whispers into my ear. ‘I can’t resist you.’
‘So don’t,’ I reply. ‘Get on your back.’
Mark does exactly as I ask, so I take off my coat, whip off my T-shirt and slip off my underwear before climbing on top of him; but as I grind my body down on his with enthusiasm, the trusty pop-up bed that has been in his family for so long finally decides to call it a day and, as the legs buckle, the metal frame below the thin mattress hits the stone floor with a bang.
Lying on top of Mark on the floor, my body pinning his down, I can’t help but cackle with laughter. Mark is laughing so hard, his body is shaking mine.
‘So, we broke a bed,’ he laughs.
‘We did,’ I reply. ‘It was bound to happen sooner or later.’
‘I do not know how I’m going to explain this one to my mum,’ he says, running a hand through his hair.
‘I don’t know how we’re going to sleep on it,’ I reply. Having rolled off Mark and onto my side of the bed, with nothing but stone floor underneath the thin mattress, this bed is ridiculously hard.
‘It’s like I said before,’ Mark reminds me. ‘It’s just one night.’
‘It’s just one night,’ I repeat back to him.
Anyone can put up with anything for just one night, right?
Chapter Eleven
Waking up and being momentarily confused as to whose ceiling I am looking at is something I thought was a thing of the past now that I’m settled with Mark. When I was much younger and living with Gil, we would go out to wild parties and often we’d end up staying the night, waking up in one of the spare rooms, on a random sofa, or even on the bathroom floor on one particularly messy occasion. And if it wasn’t random parties, it was different boyfriends’ places, or the occasional (and, each time, entirely regrettable) one-night stand – I realise this makes me sound like I was some sort of wild child, but I wasn’t that bad. I just lived my twenties in a way that makes me feel comfortably delighted to settle down now. Mark, on the other hand, despite being in his early thirties, spent a large chunk of his twenties in a relationship (with the lovely Bea. So glad I can put a face to the name now – not), and ever since he moved to London he’s been so focused on his work that he hasn’t had much time for fun. I’m a strong believer in each to their own, but it does sometimes worry me that one day he might wake up to our bedroom ceiling – for the millionth time – and wish he’d checked out a few more ceilings before he settled down.
It's Not You, It's Them Page 9
