Page 42 of Sassy & Sixty

Lisa stared at Gerald, her eyes wide. "Marry you? But... the press, your career..."

Gerald shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "Lisa, I'm the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Do you really think I care what the tabloids say about my love life? Besides," he added with a chuckle, "my approval ratings have gone through the roof since this all came out. Apparently, the public loves the idea of a politician who can balance the budget and still find time for romance."

Lisa's face broke into a radiant smile. "Oh, Gerald," she said, stepping into his arms.

Rosie felt a wave of emotion wash over her. She looked around at her friends – Emma pretending not to cry (and failing miserably), Julie already sketching out designs for wedding centrepieces, Catherine and Maria hugging each other and jumping up and down like schoolgirls.

“Wait,” shouted Lisa. “I haven’t said anything.”

The women stopped and stood still, waiting for the formal acceptance of the proposal.

“I’m sorry,” said Lisa. “I love you, but I’m not ready to marry you.”

Gerald looked crestfallen. The women didn’t know where to look.

“Can we carry on seeing one another? I want to know you better before we get married. I don’t have completely great memories of married life. I’d like us to proceed slowly.”

“But if we got married it would look so much better…I mean – I would be happier,” said Gerald.

Lisa looked at him. “It would look better?”

“No. That came out wrong. I mean that it would take the pressure off. There wouldn’t be all this judgement from everyone.”

“Yeah, because this is all about us making sure you’re judged properly.”

“No, Lisa. You’re completely missing the point.”

“OK. But the fact remains that I’m not ready to get married. Not yet.”

Rosie slipped away to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Some occasions, after all, called for a proper cup of tea.

She was just pouring the water when she heard a knock at the patio doors at the back of the house. If it was a journalist, she’d lose her mind. They were filling the street at the front but so far hadn’t trespassed on her back garden. She peeped through the closed shutters to see Mike standing there, a bemused expression on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"Rosie," he said as he saw her peeping through. "Why’s there's a throng of photographers and a news van parked outside your house?”

Rosie opened the patio door and looked at Mike, took in his twinkling eyes and the warm smile that made her heart flutter, and smiled. “Come in,” she said.

As Mike kissed Rosie on the cheek and handed her the flowers, Gerald walked into the kitchen.

“Ah,” said Mike. “Well, that answers one question, but it throws up a hell of a lot more.”

"THE PUB PREDICAMENT"

Rosie smoothed down her blouse for the umpteenth time, scrutinising her reflection in the hallway mirror. She'd opted for a soft blue number that brought out her eyes, paired with jeans that she hoped made her look more "casually chic" than "desperately trying to recapture her youth."

"It's just a quiet drink with Mike," she muttered to herself. "Nothing to be nervous about."

Her phone buzzed with a message from Emma: "Go get 'em, tiger! And remember, if all else fails, you can always fake a heart attack. I'll be your alibi."

Rosie chuckled, shaking her head. Trust Emma to have a contingency plan that involved hospitalisation.

She opened her front door and was immediately relieved to see that the news crews who’d been camped outside all week had finally gone on to report on something else. They didn’t seem remotely interested in the fact that Rosie was going on a date with a handsome doctor.

The walk to The Red Lion pub felt both interminable and far too short. With each step, Rosie's mind raced with potential scenarios. What if she spilled her drink? What if she had spinachin her teeth? What if Mike took one look at her and realised he'd rather date someone whose back didn't make alarming creaking noises every time she stood up?

As she approached the pub, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed open the door. The familiar sounds and smells washed over her - the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation, the faint aroma of beer and decades-old carpet.

Scanning the room, she spotted Mike at a corner table, looking as handsome as ever in a crisp blue shirt. Her heart did a little flip as he caught her eye and smiled, raising his hand in greeting.

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