Page 41 of The Wake-Up Call

“We can leave if you would prefer,” I say as Shannon puts the finishing touches on her cake.

“No. I want to stay. Ollie’s expecting to cover the whole day anyway,” Izzy says, and then stands on tiptoe to plonk a hat on my head. “I need cheering up. And I’m pretty sure anyone we work with would say that you and I could do with a fresh start.”

•••••

I now see why Shannon was so keen to get the ring back today. We are gathered around a man wearing goggles and heavy-duty gloves, setting up mysterious pieces of equipment on the floor of Shannon’s living room. In the centre is a large slab, on which rests the wedding ring.

“Shannon, if you would like to say a few words first,” the man says, gesturing for her to take his spot.

“Thank you,” she says, stepping forward in a pair of Perspex goggles. “We are gathered here today to celebrate a union, not of two people but of a whole community.” She smiles. “You have all been here for me for every step of the last five miserable years. You are the ones who told me that it’s not failing to give up on a love that isn’t healthy—because that’s not love. Without you all, I wouldn’t be standing here today.”

Everyone claps. A small, curly-haired woman beside me wipes away a tear with the back of her hand. There are couples here, too, and they seem just as moved as everybody else.

What a strange event. I don’t know how I feel about this. I want to believe that marriage is forever. WhenIchoose to marry, that’s what it’ll be.

But there is something undeniably special about this, too, and as I glance at Izzy, I see how completely this has captured her. By nature, she is much more open-minded than I am. Usually thattendency strikes me as over-idealistic, but right now I feel a little envious of the way she meets new things.

I look back at Shannon and try to see her the way Izzy would: without judgement. I try to imagine what that ring means to Shannon now, and I can see that there is something beautiful in what she’s saying. We are all misled and misdirected from time to time. Perhaps there really is no shame in that, as long as we wake up to it before it’s too late to change.

“Today, I want to let go of the past,” Shannon announces. “I want to always remember the fact that if you burn a diamond... it only gets tougher.”

With that, she kneels and blasts the blowtorch at the wedding ring resting on the slab.

The gold melts fast—faster than I would have expected. With some careful support from the man in the goggles, Shannon splits the ring down into a heap of diamonds and a small ball of gold.

Everyone is whooping and cheering. I glance back at Izzy, who is deep in conversation with two strangers; she’s laughing behind her hand. Lately, looking at Izzy has made me feel such a tangle of things. Fearful, lustful, wary, possessive. But watching her now through the anonymity of the crowd, I see a bright, bold young woman whose parents would be very proud of her, and the thought makes my chest feel tight.

She finds me in the spare bedroom some time later. I’m on my laptop in an armchair, going back over Mrs. SB’s spreadsheet. Izzy stops short, a champagne glass in hand, her bare shoulders now dotted with red and gold glitter. Through the window beside her, the snow is coming down in thick, feathery flakes.

“Oh my God,” Izzy says. “No way are you working.”

I am instantly defensive. “We arebothmeant to be working.”

“Oh, please! You were the one who said we should stay. Besides, there is literally no work I can do remotely. Come dance. They’replaying noughties tunes with eye-wateringly misogynistic lyrics. Half the room’s raving, the other half is deconstructing the problematic songs. Basically, this is a fantastic party.”

She’s reaching a hand towards me. I’ve never held Izzy’s hand before—except when she pulled me into the pool.

“Fresh start?” she says, voice dropping a little. “We could try it? Just for a few minutes, until we go home?”

I meet her eyes. I can see mischief glimmering there—just like when she met my eyes through the lost-property-room door in her pink bra. Just like when her back was pressed to the side of the swimming pool.

I am a careful man by nature. But Izzy makes me feel reckless.

There is a physical attraction between us; that is becoming increasingly obvious. But she doesn’t respect me. There’s nothing to stop her taking what she wants from me and leaving it at that.

Which should be fine. Itwouldbe fine if I hated her as much as she hates me. We would be on the same level, and there would be no danger of anyone hurting anybody’s feelings.

Very suddenly, I see the problem. I don’t hate Izzy Jenkins at all.

“I’m Izzy,” she says, when I don’t answer. “Pleased to meet you.”

I stretch my hand out slowly and shake hers. It’s cool and small in mine. My heart beats harder, too hard.

“Lucas da Silva,” I say. “Pleased to meet you, too.”

•••••

We dance. There’s distance between us at first—as there would be, I suppose, if we really were the strangers we’re pretending to be. But the gap closes slowly from song to song, until my hips are bumping hers and her hair paints a trail across my arm each time she tosses her head. The music is bad American pop, but I don’t care. I want to dance with Izzy. I want to give in to thethump-thump of desire that courses through me when I see her. I want to ignore real life for once and just pretend that I’m a guy, at a party, dancing with a beautiful girl.

---