Page 21 of The Wedding Game

We have a habit of doing this, Lexie and me.

What I learned about myself this week: I do not like modern art. In one of my lunch breaks I took myself off to a nearby gallery. I’d seen a post on Instagram about the exhibition and, instead of asking someone in the office if they wanted to come with me, I thought I’d give it a go on my own, keep this solo life going. I enjoyedthat, but the gallery itself was not my thing at all. But recognising this is positive. I learned a couple of new things about myself this week and I see that as an accomplishment.

In bed last night I browsed a bunch of artists online and discovered I like Edward Hopper, John Everett Millais and the photographer David Bailey. I realise this is an eclectic mix of media from across the ages, but discovering what I like and don’t like – and doing it by myself – is my new project.

I message Lexie during the day, although it’ll be the early hours of the morning for her, so I hope she switches her phone to silent during the night, as I don’t want to wake her up.

Big Talk round four: if you could only take one piece of art with you to a desert island, what would it be? I’ll start. John Everett Millais’sOphelia. I just discovered him and think he might be my favourite artist.

Three hours later, Lexie replies.This is some Big Talk for first thing in the morning,and she attaches a laughing emoji.Unpopular opinion, but I don’t really likeOphelia. I do like Millais, though, before you decide never to talk to me again.I went to a museum in Cambridge and far and away the most interesting picture was one of Millais’. I can’t remember what it’s called, but I stared at it for ages. I was captivated. Hang on, I am going to have to do some googling to find this thing.

I smile and wait. I’m sitting at my desk and am now intrigued.

The Twins, Kate and Grace Hoareis the most unimaginative title ever, but that’s what it’s called,she types.I just looked at it online and I still love it. They’re identical twins, but look at their expressions. I don’t know which one is which, but the one on the right looks so anxious, so pensive, but the one on the left looks so calm, serene, open. I think he’s so clever to make two women who look identical look so different. I love it.

And this is the one you want to take with you to your desert island?I ask, and then I click off our chat and go and look. Lexie’s right. It is a captivating image.

She’s offline and I catch myself tapping my fingers on my desk waiting for her reply.

It’s 6.30 a.m.,she says,so I feel any decision made before coffee might not be the best, but … OK. I’m all in. I’m taking this one with me. It’s fabulous and it’s also a huge canvas. The women are almost life-sized. I’ll let you keepOphelia.

What do you have againstOphelia?

She dies.

What?I ask.

She dies,Lexie types again.And in a case of life imitating art, or whatever that phrase is – Lizzie Siddal, the model who posed for it in a bath of water, caught a chill afterwards and got quite sick. So … there’s that.

How do you know so much about this?I ask.

I went to an exhibition,she replies.Although I haven’t been to one in ages. And now I need to get up, get dressed, get coffee and go to work.

I can feel your excitement from all the way over here,I tell her.

Ha!She puts a laughing emoji.It was nice to wake up to a message from you, though. This time zone thing is quite good for that.

Yes,I tell her.It is.

CHAPTER TEN

Lexie

Josh stands to greet me when I arrive at the gastropub he’s suggested. He looks good, his blue eyes twinkle when I arrive and he’s wearing a very lovely fitted white shirt tucked into pale-blue jeans. Men just manage to nail smart-casual so much easier than women. I’m in a wrap dress and flats, because I had no idea how casual the venue would be. It’s in Marylebone and it’s pretending to be a relaxed boozer, when it is in fact a staggeringly expensive gastropub. I’ve caught sight of the menu and am desperately hoping Josh remembers my credit card is maxed out or this could get embarrassing. He leans in to kiss my cheek and I kiss his in return.

‘You look … great,’ he says, ushering me next to him in our semicircular booth-style table. The pub is busy, exuding a hint of glamour played down with antique curios. It’s good to have the sounds of other revellers drowning out what I sense might possibly turn out to be an awkward first date. It was all fine and easy when we were a few drinks in and bantering about wedding bingo. But I wonder now, sober and in the middle of the day, if we’ll have enough totalk about. I’m not sure how I feel, being on this date. Part of me regretted saying yes this morning and I thought about cancelling. But I’ve got to put myself out there a bit more, say yes to things.

‘Thanks. You look good too,’ I reply.

‘I didn’t think you were going to come,’ Josh says with a laugh. He’s not wearing his devil-may-care-stubble today – he’s freshly shaven and I’m not sure which version of him I prefer.

‘Why did you think I wasn’t going to come?’ I’m surprised at his confession, while also wondering if he somehow magically sensed my hesitation.

‘I don’t do this kind of thing often,’ he says. ‘I’m not sure what the protocol is. When people – women – say they’re going to turn up for lunch, if they … really will turn up. It was a bit of a surprise when you walked through the door. A nice one. I genuinely didn’t expect you to.’

Well, now I feel guilty about considering cancelling. ‘The same way as when you goaded me into kissing you and I did, you didn’t expect that, either,’ I tease.

He smiles. ‘I should probably stop underestimating you.’ There’s something in his expression that sends a light tremor of excitement through me.

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