Page 42 of The Wedding Game

‘It’s not. Nothing I want to watch is on there,’ she says and then changes tack, whining, ‘You’ve been gone ages. What’s happening? Why are you still there? Are you sure you’re not being held prisoner?’

‘I’m not a prisoner,’ I tell her, which elicits a snort from Josh as he turns a page. ‘I’m currently cooking potatoes dauphinoise,’ I say.

After a beat she replies, ‘What the fuck is that?’

‘Sliced potatoes in cream and garlic, basically. It’s really easy to make. We have a lot of potatoes, so I thought I’d—’

But she cuts into my monologue. ‘We?’ she asks. ‘You’ve been there a week and it’s …wehave a lot of potatoes?’

‘Josh,’ I correct myself and, thinking he’s being addressed,he raises his head to look at me. ‘Josh has a lot of potatoes.’ I give him the nod to indicate that he can go back to his magazine. ‘Although I went to the farm shop to buy them, and so I guess …wehave a lot of potatoes.’ Scarlet says nothing in return and so I follow up with, ‘Hello?’

‘I’m still here,’ she says quietly. ‘Are you coming back? Are you thinking about getting a job or … are you there full-time now?’

‘Of course I’m not.’ But I don’t carry on because I have no idea what Josh and I are doing, and I don’t necessarily want him to overhear this conversation. We’re enjoying each other’s company and I’m enjoying being here. It’s only been a week. ‘I need to finish dinner, can I call you back?’ I suggest.

‘OK. Call me after dinner. I want to talk to you about our spa day.’

‘What spa day?’ I ask, distracted by my inept culinary skills.

‘The spa day you snogged Josh to win,’ she replies, as if she can’t believe how easily I’ve forgotten. Of course: I snogged Josh to win a spa day. And now I’m here, weeks later, cooking what I consider to be a gourmet dinner for us both. How strange this is. I can see Scarlet’s point. And I know later on she’s only going to use the spa day as an excuse to stick it to me again about being here, although she is sweet to remember my winnings and to push it forward, when she didn’t have to because, as it turns out, I had completely forgotten.

After dinner Josh and I mosey towards the TV and sip cups of tea while we watch the news. This has become ourhappy evening ritual. I don’t often watch the news – it’s usually there in the background while I wait for the good stuff to come on – but Josh makes a point of putting it on, and I watch the various European comings and goings with glazed eyes. I glance over to Josh as a story breaks about another politician sleeping with someone they shouldn’t have, and I find Josh has nodded off. I could go in search of the Kardashians on whatever channel they’re on now, but I don’t. I look at Josh’s sleeping form and feel some sort of sense of duty.

‘Let’s go to bed,’ I prod him, and he blinks himself awake, gets up willingly. I’ve already loaded the dishwasher and it whirs comfortingly in the background as we head up the stairs. I could get used to this life.

While Josh is at work the next day I ring Scarlet on what I know will be her usual lunch hour, and I apologise for being a shit flatmate and not calling her back the night before.

‘Can we plan our spa day now?’ she asks.

‘Yes, please,’ I reply, the diary open on my phone, which is a pointless thing to do because it’s blank. I know it’s blank. There’s nothing in there, given that I’ve had to decline all invites due to a lack of cash.

‘I thought we could tack it on to our stay in Edinburgh in February,’ she suggests.

‘Great,’ I respond enthusiastically.

‘We should stay overnight,’ she says, ‘or the train journey home after a day of pampering might be a bit of a downer.’

‘I can’t,’ I’m quick to say. ‘I can’t afford—’

‘I’ll pay,’ Scarlet cuts in. ‘It’s part of the bingo deal.’

‘No, I can’t accept that,’ I protest.

‘I want to spend time with you,’ she replies. ‘If luring you away from the sexy farmer’s gorgeous house involves spending a bit of money on an overnight break, then let’s do it. Let’s treat ourselves.’

‘I won’t still be here inFebruary,’ I say.

She ignores the comment and says, ‘I quite fancy a little Edinburgh jaunt. I hardly ever go anywhere that isn’t an overnight stay for someone’s poxy wedding, so the spa will be a nice bonus. And I’ve booked us a chain-hotel room nearby, rather than staying in the swanky hotel the night of the wedding.’

‘Oh, you didn’t have to do that for me.’

‘I didn’t do it for you. The wedding hotel is three hundred and fifty pounds per night per room. Even I’m not enough of a muppet to pay that. We’ll get some luxury at the spa day anyway.’

‘Thanks. I’m sure I’ll have a job by then to pay my way, if our travel choices stay relatively frugal.’ I am not sure of this at all.

‘So I’ll book the spa,’ she says, without acknowledging my mention of being hopeful about a job. ‘No arguments.’

I love her so much. ‘Thank you. You are one in a million.’

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