Page 86 of The Women

‘I’ve been busy,’ she announces when he returns from the little boys’ room. ‘Very busy indeed.’

‘Oh yes?’ His smile is the same as when they first met, the same smile he was giving that girl at the theatre last week, the one that says:Go on, you fascinate me.

‘Oh yes,’ she quips. ‘But have a drink first.’

He doesn’t need asking twice. He puts the glass to his lips and takes a large swig.

‘Oh, that’s good,’ he says.

‘Are you ready?’ She raises her eyebrows and pulls a face, egging him on as you would a child. She pulls out two small jeweller’s boxes and pushes one over to him.

‘Look at me.’ She giggles. ‘I’m a wreck.’

But she is not a wreck – far from it.

‘What’s this?’ He is half amused, half … something – she’s not sure what. He takes another slug, almost finishes his drink.

She reaches out and takes both his hands in hers. ‘I’m going to count to three. On three, I want you to slide your box over to me, and I’ll slide mine over to you, all right?’

His expression is still amused, a touch of paternal indulgence.

‘All right,’ she says. ‘One, two, three.’

The boxes slide, cross over.

‘Now,’ she says, giggles threatening to ruin the moment. ‘Another three and we open them.’

She closes her eyes for a moment.

‘One,’ she says, blinking. ‘Two.’ She grins, gratified to feel her eyes filling with open-to-interpretation tears. ‘Three.’

She opens her small burgundy jeweller’s box. But she’s looking at him.

He frowns, that half amusement again playing at the edges of his pink mouth. He takes out the wedding band.

‘It’s engraved inside,’ she says, and while the reasons might be other than Peter will surely deduce, her excitement is real. ‘It’s a date.’

‘Nineteenth of the fourth, two thousand and eighteen,’ he reads.

‘Yes,’ she rushes in. ‘That’s when we’re getting married.’

He meets her gaze. ‘What?’

She knows, can feel, her eyes are shining. Oh, it is so good to be in charge! Energy surges through her. She wanted to wait until this moment to tell him! She has done this for spontaneity! For romance! For love!

‘I’ve booked a wedding at Richmond Register Office. Low-key, like you prefer. We get married that day, on the date on the rings. And afterwards, we’re going to Luigi’s for lunch – he’s going to do something really special – and after that … guess where we’re going? Rome! You’ve arranged so much for me, so this time I thought I’d arrange everything for us. What do you think?’ She’s out of breath, which is as it would be.

His features fight – he looks like he can’t decide whether to be excited or horrified, as if he knows what is expected of him but has no idea how he could have expected this of her, his little malleable princess, so much younger, so much less worldly than him. She can only hope the sprinkles are kicking in.

But his eyes are soft. The chemicals must have hit his bloodstream. He takes hold of her hands and kisses her knuckles. ‘I can’t believe you’ve done all that in secret. How did you … how did you get my passport details?’

‘From the safe!’

His brow creases. ‘How did you know the number for the safe?’

‘Well, I … I tried your birthday and my birthday, and nothing. I knew your bank card pins were listed under Caravag1 and Caravag2 and I’ve seen you type a number into the cashpoint a few times and I was pretty sure it started with fifteen. So I looked up Caravaggio on Wiki and I saw his birthdate was fifteen something and I thought maybe you’d used that, the same as your cash cards.’ She shrugs. ‘I knew I only had one more try but I thought, well, if it all goes wrong, I’ll just ask you, you know.’ She reaches for his hands again. ‘But I so wanted to surprise you. And when it worked, I was so happy.’ She laughs: a merry, feminine trill. ‘The only thing is, I am so skint now. I might need you to transfer some money, is that all right? But I thought, you know, you were going to book an Easter holiday, and I know you wanted to take me to Rome, so I thought you, me and our beautiful baby girl … I thought you’d be pleased.’ She smiles with all the warmth she has in her, an attempt to return the power to him. He must feel that she is seeking his approval; he must sanction it before it is allowed to happen. ‘You are pleased, aren’t you, hon? Did I do a good thing?’ That last was maybe a bit over the top.

His face breaks, thank God.

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