Page 19 of Five Gold Rings

I giggle. ‘Well, it’s good that you compensate for that by being blessed in the calves department then.’ Joe swerves the car a little and laughs nervously. I like how he’s mildly embarrassed by the comment given that’s his line of work, but we’ve all noticed the legs in general. Today, it’s been hard not to miss them. ‘Mrs Kohli liked them.’

‘It’s the older lady opinions that always mean the most. You know they’ve seen a lot more calves, so they have a larger frame of reference. They know what’s good…’ he says jokingly, his red cheeks telling me he doesn’t quite believe what he’s saying.

I smile broadly in reply. The humility he has about his own looks is warming but at the same time, I think about Mrs Kohli’s comments assuming us to be together. It’s almost laughable to look at us and think that may be a thing, mainly because I’m the biggest of messes. In my current tear-soaked, emotional state, I can’t think of a worse partner for this lovely man.

‘Do you sing in the shower?’ I ask.

‘No. I shower in the shower.’

‘I feel I need to hear more of the singing to be able to judge.’

‘I’m not singing. This is Nat King Cole. He has one of the finest singing voices known to man, let him sing to you.’

I sing along. I’m only vaguely in tune and I don’t know the exact words. ‘It’s baritone, anyone can sing this. Join in, come on…Jelly tots with their eyes all a-glow!’

‘It’s like the spirit of Nat King Cole has entered the car itself,’ he says, grinning.

I think the problem here may also be that while Joe is playing designated driver and is completely sober, I still may be a teensy, weensy bit drunk. I downed two glasses of champagne before I left the party and grabbed us a selection of canapes that I have balanced here on my lap in a napkin. I offer him a cocktail-sized samosa. The problem is I’ve started the drinking so if I stop, my body will go into shock, dehydrate and there’s no way I can do tonight hungover. Therefore, the best plan is to keep supplementing my intake so I’m on the edge of functioning and fun.

‘Maybe we just need to warm up your voice. I mean, we’ll need to sing through this whole ring-delivering mission,’ I explain.

‘Why would we sing?’ Joe looks over, slightly bemused.

‘Because FIVE… GO-OLD… RINGS!’ I bellow a little too loudly, lifting the ring boxes aloft. I have them all in my possession, my precious, and it’s time to get them to the right people. The mission starts now, our road trip of bling. ‘I am shocked you didn’t piece that together. We’re on a quest but we’re also on theme.’

He laughs. ‘Well, a few rounds of that will surely pass the time. Could be worse… We could be delivering a partridge in a pear tree.’

‘Or some geese a-laying.’

‘Six randy geese…’

It’s not that funny a joke but I still snort unattractively at it. I look down at the ring boxes, opening up each one in turn, all very different, all perfect. At least ten thousand pounds of bling here by my estimation. Everything from glittering engagement rings to sleek slimline wedding bands. Seeing them all makes me feel a strange mixture of emotions, and I think about the ring Chris gave me, and how shitty it made me feel to look at it. I’ll never want that feeling for anyone else. I want the owners of these rings to look at them and feel how someone should – proud, loved, special.

I’m aware of Joe glancing over at me looking at the rings, realising I’ve gone quiet.

‘What did Chris go for? When he chose your ring?’ he asks.

‘Solitaire, round cut, gold band, clarity was a bit shit.’

He looks disappointed on my behalf. ‘That’s a cheapskate ring, eh?’

I shrug my shoulders. It was the emptiest of gestures. And for a moment I think of a proposal that never was. How would he have proposed? What if I’d never caught him? My breath shudders, anger stirring within to think I’d have been none the wiser and worn that ring and tried to convince myself that was love, that his second-thought ring was a symbol of my worth. Joe looks over panicked, to see I’m lost for words.

‘Do you want to stop anywhere? I can take you home if you want?’ Joe asks kindly.

I don’t reply.

‘This is when London really needs more motorway services,’ he jokes.

I manage a smile and look over at him. ‘What? Those soulless buildings on the side of motorways where you have to pay for overpriced coffee and queue for the toilets?’

Joe’s jaw drops like I’ve blasphemed. ‘Hush now,’ he says with a finger in the air. ‘Some of my best road trip memories involve motorway services. I went on a stag do once where we left the groom behind in one. They are hallowed places of bad early morning fry-ups, car picnics and the only time I ever have a Burger King…’

I’m mildly bemused by his enthusiasm. The Burger King thing is facts though.

‘My favourite road trips were when my dad would come and pick me up from university and we’d always stop at the Pease Pottage Services on the M23 on the way home. We’d have a Burger King, request the crowns and eat like royalty… It became tradition.’

‘A happy memory?’

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