Page 31 of Seven Rules for a Perfect Marriage

‘Fine by me.’

We drive on for a little while longer, the winding roads propelling us towards our destination. ‘I think we should have an amnesty,’ I say, after a little while. ‘A truth amnesty.’

‘Does this mean you’ve been keeping something from me?’

‘I didn’t pass my driving test the second time,’ I tell her.

‘Which time was it?’

‘Fifth,’ I say. ‘And I failed my theory twice.’

She snorts with laughter. ‘Okay.’

‘How about you? Any othersecretos?’

‘Too soon!’ she yells. Then she contemplates it for a minute. ‘Actual truths?’

‘Actual truths.’

‘I faked it. The first time we slept together.’

I’m obviously horrified, but pretend not to be. I think back to our first time, in my single bed in Oxford, tangled in the duvet,her nipples pink and perfect against the white sheets, revelling at the idea that I was allowed to touch any part of her body that I wanted. No wonder I fumbled it. I consider telling her that that time was actually my first time. But it’s still too embarrassing. I think I’d rather she thought I was selfish than that she knew I’d misled her to think that I’d slept with my childhood girlfriend before her.

‘Thank you for telling me,’ I say, trying to sound like a man rather than a teenage boy. ‘Have you faked it since?’

She shakes her head. ‘Are you annoyed?’

‘Not at all. Just determined to make sure that every orgasm you have for the rest of our lives makes up for it.’

She pulls her legs up underneath her, already so golden. ‘I like this,’ she says. ‘Let’s keep it this way. Honest.’

‘I agree. One hundred per cent honesty, one hundred per cent of the time.’

She offers up her hand, like the end of Thelma and Louise, and I grasp it.

‘Deal?’ I ask.

‘Deal.’

Jessica

The next morning, as we all gather after breakfast, I’m feeling a little bit self-conscious in my Lycra leggings and top. I wish Jack had come down with me but I was so worried about being the last couple here I didn’t wait for him. We stand around in the hall like we’re waiting for a teacherto take us on a school trip. All the relaxed goodwill from last night, funded by champagne and food and candlelight, has evaporated and we’re back to a friendly but slightly awkward chat. Stuart and Grant are talking about some football game they watched in their room last night, and Verity is FaceTiming her very violent-seeming sons while Noah stands behind her saying nothing. Ken is helping Sue with her sturdy walking shoes. Just as I’m starting to get annoyed at Jack for leaving me alone this long, Chloe and Ben run down the stairs, tanned and toned in their matching Lycra, with Jack trailing behind them.

He pauses at the bottom of the stairs and puts a pair of leather brogues on his feet. I feel the irritation stir. The packing list for the trip was unbelievably clear. I realise that he’s much more comfortable with concrete than countryside, but I’m 100 per cent sure he must have something which would be at least a little bit weatherproof. I knew I should have packed for him.

‘Is that what you’re wearing?’

He looks down at his clothes. He’s wearing a blazer, for God’s sake.

‘What’s wrong? I didn’t know we were going to be doing the activity!’

‘But you knew we’d be going ... outside?’

‘Yes, Jessica. I knew we’d be going outside.’

‘Fine. Well. You’re going to get very wet feet.’

‘Yes, well, that’ll be my problem, won’t it?’ he says cheerfully.

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