Page 3 of The Honeymoon Affair

However, we were back together again sooner than I expected, as Mum and Dad decided to move to the Dingle Peninsula for the summer, a place we’d often gone to on holidays when Adrian and I were children, and where they’d found a picturesque cottage overlooking the sea. I said I hoped they weren’t doing it on my account. Dad shook his head and said no, that he was taking advantage of his retirement package and they’d be back in Dublin as soon as the days got shorter and the nights longer.

So Steve moved back in and we settled into a happy routine together. With the possibility of both New Zealand and Dingle as potential retirement locations for my parents, I couldn’t help wondering if they’d consider selling the house in Dublin to me and Steve, but it wasn’t a subject I was ready to raise with them. I didn’t want them to feel obliged to say yes. Then news came from Napier that Cori was pregnant again, and that her baby was due in a few weeks’ time. We were all astounded, although apparently not as astounded as Adrian and Cori, who hadn’t realised for ages that she was pregnant. She’d decided not to share the news sooner because she couldn’t quite believe it herself. My parents booked return tickets to New Zealand for the birth, since Cori doesn’t have any close family and Mum thought she might need some support. Adrian agreed.

Baby Azaria was born shortly after they arrived, and Mum fell in love with her straight away. New Zealand was definitely trumping Dingle in the possible retirement stakes for my parents.

Meanwhile, everything was on track for our winter wedding. We’d explained to family and friends that we were trying to save money by having it alone in the White Sands, and even though I know Mum was disappointed that there wasn’t going to be a big day out at home, she was also pleased that she wouldn’t have to leave the twins and Azaria to head to the Caribbean in November.

When Steve delivered his hammer-blow rejection, I completely understood why Cori had kept the news of her pregnancy to herself for so long. It was as though by not saying anything to anyone, it hadn’t really happened. I told Celeste, of course, but begged her not to share it with Aunt Jenni and Uncle Paul until I gave her the go-ahead. I needed to tell my own parents first, but it took me a long time to feel able to break it to them.

Mum was shocked and upset for me, saying that he’d seemed such a nice young man she couldn’t quite believe it. Dad was furious. I had to assure them that there was no need to race back to Ireland to take care of me (or, in Dad’s case, ‘knock that young pup’s block off’). I said it was better that Steve had changed his mind now rather than later, and that although I was upset I’d get over it. I told Mum to concentrate on Cori and the babies and not to worry about me. She said that looking after her only daughter was as important as looking after her grandchildren, but I managed to persuade her that I was absolutely fine and that it was all for the best. I’m not sure how convinced she really was, but in the end she stayed put.

Of course I wasn’t absolutely fine. I hadn’t been from the moment Steve told me it was all off. Right then, all I wanted was to cling to him and say that I still loved him and would always love him and that I wanted to marry him whenever he liked and I’d do anything to make that happen. I thought of all the things I could do to change his mind, starting in the bedroom and ending up . . . well, probably in the bedroom too. But Steve doesn’t respond well to clingy women. So I took off my engagement ring and handed it to him, then told him to get his things and move out. I applauded myself even though it was a struggle to keep the tears from falling.

‘Right now?’ He looked alarmed. ‘I haven’t got my stuff together. I thought we could be grown up about this. I hoped we could be friends. After all, I want you to go to the Caribbean, have a good time, chill out.’

‘We can’t be friends,’ I told him, even though right then I was thinking that perhaps friends with benefits could lead back to what we had before. ‘If you don’t love me any more, you’ve got to leave. And I’d rather it was now.’

‘I see that. I do. But . . . well, I couldn’t start packing before I told you. Look, there’s no need for us to fall out over this. Just because we’re not getting married doesn’t mean we have to hate each other.’

‘Is there someone else?’

I had to ask even though I didn’t know how he’d have time for someone else, because when he went out with the guys it was always to sporting events, and the rest of the time he was working or with me. But men and women have managed to cheat on those closest to them for centuries, and I told myself, no matter how little I wanted to believe it, that Steve was no different.

‘No one else,’ he assured me. ‘Honestly. It’s the whole go to the Caribbean, have an amazing wedding, being married thing . . . it’s all so much and I’m not ready for it.’

‘It’s best you leave now, Steve.’

I didn’t trust myself around him. I didn’t trust myself not to throw myself into his arms and beg him to stay. He went upstairs and came down again ten minutes later, a black bin bag full of clothes in his hand.

‘What about the rest of my stuff?’ he asked.

‘We’ll arrange a time.’

‘OK.’

He left.

I cried.

Inside, I’m still crying.

‘You all right?’ Celeste’s voice, quiet and concerned, brings me back to the present.

I’m suddenly aware that the sun has almost sunk below the horizon and that the lights either side of the pathways from the individual two-storey blocks of the hotel are glowing gently. I can hear the chirp of cicadas above the distant sound of the waves breaking on the shore, and every so often a burst of laughter floats upwards on the evening air.

‘Just thinking,’ I say.

‘Don’t think,’ she tells me. ‘Enjoy yourself.’

‘I was supposed to be getting married this week,’ I remind her. ‘I’m not sure enjoying myself is an option.’

‘You came, didn’t you?’

‘Only because the insurance didn’t cover my fiancé becoming my ex-fiancé,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t going to cut off my nose to spite my face and stay home. Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.’

‘If you don’t enjoy it, you’ll definitely be cutting off your nose to spite your face.’ She grins at our use of one of my mother’s favourite sayings. ‘Come on, Izzy. We’re in the Caribbean. It’s warm, summery and lovely. It’s cold, dark and wintry back home. You’ve got to make the most of it.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

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