Page 5 of The Moment I Met You
If I squint and only look at us from the corner of my eye, we are happy. The holiday has been a success. I enjoy his company and I cannot deny that he is gorgeous, with his thick floppy hair and athletic body. He is funny and strong and alpha in a way that makes me feel safe.
But if I open my eyes wide, and look more deeply, I still find myself wondering why we are still together at all, brutal as it sounds.
I have been lost in thought as we stroll, admiring the stalls, Harry grabbing a quick tequila on the way. I have held bowls, and patted bags, and run my fingertips along the sparkling silver jewellery. The topaz rings are especially beautiful, and I find myself placing one in my palm, holding it up to the sun, trying it on but ultimately deciding instead to buy some bracelets as gifts.
I keep one in my pocket and show the other to Harry.
‘It’s for Olivia,’ I say.
Olivia is my much younger sister – or she’s my half-sister to be exact. My own dad died when I was young, and Mum married later in life. I love Olivia to bits, but as far as Harry is concerned she is demon spawn. She’s only eight years old but she’s never been a member of the Harry Fan Club. She seemed to despise him from birth.
‘That’s nice,’ he replies. ‘Shall we take it to the church and see if we can get it blessed with some holy water?’
I snort out a laugh and punch him on the arm before putting the gift into my bag
‘You’re right,’ he adds, rubbing his bicep as though I’ve actually hurt him. ‘Holy water alone wouldn’t help. I think we need a priest and a personal letter of recommendation from the Archangel Michael. Maybe we could call in at the Vatican on the way home?’
‘I bought you a present too,’ I say, grinning and fishing in my pocket for the other bracelet. His face lights up, and he claps his hands together like he’s five at his birthday party.
‘Hold out your wrist,’ I say.
He obeys and I fasten the bracelet around it. It only just fits, a string of black-and-white yin-yang symbols chasing each other around.
‘To help you find light and shade,’ I comment, patting his hand. He examines it from all angles, pretending to be delighted. He’s not a jewellery man, Harry, but he keeps it on.
‘I shall wear it forever,’ he announces sombrely. He turns to the stall, surveys its many items, and picks up a neon-pink straw sombrero. He perches it on his head, hands on hips, and strikes a modelesque pose, pouting as both I and the lady running the stall laugh.
‘I’m not sure,’ I say, pretending to give it some serious consideration. ‘I think maybe it’s a bit too macho for you?’
He fakes a hurt look, and places the towering hat on my head instead. It totters on my high pony, then falls over my eyes and halfway down my face.
‘Perfect,’ he says. ‘We’ll take it!’
He haggles with the stallholder – just for fun, it’s not like he can’t afford it – and we become the proud owners of one undeniably horrible keepsake.
‘I feel like one of those girls at a fairground,’ I say as we walk away, the hat dangling against my thighs. ‘Like my big, strong man has just won me a stuffed panda and now I have to carry it around all night.’
‘Yep. You’re one lucky lady,’ he replies. ‘Play your cards right and you might get a goldfish in a bag as well.’
He slips his arm around my shoulder, and as I nestle into him I remind myself of my earlier vow to try and enjoy the present. To feel the soft warmth of the breeze on my skin, to soak up the sights and sounds of a magical dusk in a magical place, to simply relax and enjoy the company of a man I have loved for a very long time.
‘You still looked beautiful, even in a pink sombrero,’ he says as we walk. ‘When you smile like that, it always makes the world feel like a better place.’
This is, from Harry, an unusually deep statement. I can’t tell if he’s being serious.
‘I mean it,’ he says, stopping and holding me back so we are standing still, facing each other. ‘Anyone who talks to you falls a little bit in love with you. One look into those green eyes and all is lost … honest, I’m not even being sarcastic! You have this way of making people feel warm inside. Like you’re actually listening to them, and actually interested in them.’
‘I am listening, I am interested! Unless they’re talking about football …’
‘Ha! Well, nobody’s perfect, I don’t suppose …’
We have reached the shadow of the church, its towers hovering over us, the broad dark wood door open and calling to me.
He follows my gaze, and says: ‘Do you really want to go in there? It looks like the kind of place they keep donkeys on cold nights.’
I grin, but also shake my head in exasperation. Clearly, Harry has seen enough ‘crappy old churches’, as he calls them, to last a lifetime. I need to let him off the hook – and frankly, I need a bit of time alone as well. It looks cool and shady and silent inside, and a good place to let my whirlpool of a brain calm down for a few minutes. There is a strong chance I will enjoy it more without him.
‘Tell you what,’ I reply. ‘Why don’t you go and get a drink? I’ll explore the church, and you can have a deeply spiritual experience with a pint of lager. Diff’rent strokes and all that. I’ll meet you back here after – don’t get lost!’
