not that I remember.’ Though, staring at his broad back now, how could I have missed him? Love must have blinded me … No, stop that, Nelly. You will not think about Matt now, not when this is your first time out since The Email. Let’s try to have one snot-free hour, shall we?
‘You said for one thing,’ I point out to Jenny. ‘What’s the other thing?’
‘There’s no other thing. He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? I can’t, but you definitely should.’
This is a strange conversation to be having with a work friend, especially since, other than Jenny telling me that she has a boyfriend, we’ve never really talked about relationships before. Our social interaction hasn’t progressed much beyond rubbishing colleagues who leave the milk out of the office fridge.
‘You know that the best way to get over a bloke is to get under another.’ Her smile is pure smut.
Rafael joins our laughter as he approaches the table. ‘What are we talking about?’
‘Home truths,’ Jenny says. When I clink my gin and tonic with their drinks, Jenny catches my eye. ‘Nelly is recently single,’ she says.
I kick her under the table. Hard.
Rafael trains his deep brown eyes on mine. ‘Recently? I’m sorry to hear that, if you’re sad.’
We all stare at each other. ‘Well, this isn’t awkward at all,’ I finally say.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.’ Then Jenny turns to Rafael. ‘Onto safer subjects, I hope. How’s the visa hunt going?’
He shrugs. ‘Nothing so far. There’s no way to extend my work permit. They got a solicitor to look into it.’ His sigh is monumental. ‘I’ve got nine more months. Then …’
‘But you can’t leave when your whole life is here!’ she says. ‘That’s not fair. You’ve been here, what, ten years?’
‘Almost nine. I wish it was ten, then I could apply for settlement. It’s not looking good.’ He sips his pint. ‘I don’t like thinking about what will happen. My friends are all here, my career, my kids.’
‘Oh, you’ve got kids?’ I ask.
‘Rafael is a football coach,’ Jenny explains. ‘Where is it? Hackney?’
‘Yeah, Dalston,’ Rafael says. ‘And Kensal Rise. Of course they can replace me, but I’d hate to leave those kids.’
‘Oh, you’re only being modest,’ says Jenny. ‘You started the programme.’ Then, to me she points out, ‘He started it as an after-school thing to keep teenagers occupied and off the street. Didn’t you win an award for that? He won an award and everything.’
Rafael looks embarrassed. ‘It was very much a joint effort with the youth centres. Anyway, Immigration doesn’t seem to value my local community award as much as you’d imagine.’
‘Well, they should! You contribute to the country, plus you pay your taxes, which is more than a lot of foreign companies do. Not to mention that you always get your round in. Rafael, you’re an asset to Britain.’
He laughs. ‘I’ll be sure to add that to my application. I probably wouldn’t have minded so much five or six years ago, but Bogotá doesn’t feel like my city anymore. I think of myself as a Londoner.’
‘That would be hard,’ I say, ‘When you’ve spent so long in a place, made it home. I can’t imagine having to leave the country.’
‘Thanks, now I feel loads better,’ he says. But he’s smiling.
‘And you definitely couldn’t marry Mabs?’ Jenny asks. Then she turns to me. ‘That’s Rafael’s best friend.’
‘Unfortunately not,’ says Rafael. He looks so sad. ‘She’s on the same visa as me. If you hear of anyone, though …’
Wow, marrying for a visa. You hear about this kind of thing, but I’ve never actually met someone in that position. Though I suppose he’s not the kind of person the Daily Mail likes to talk about. He’s got a better job than me, and if he’s starting up youth clubs and such then surely it’s a benefit to have him here.
The plan starts forming in my mind before I’ve finished my drink. If Rafael needs someone to marry, and I’ve got a groom-shaped hole in my wedding plans anyway, then why couldn’t we? It could – if I’m very smart about it – solve both our problems. I wouldn’t even have to pay the advance back to the magazine if I’ve still got a groom-to-be. And a very photogenic one at that. It’s not like I’d be giving anything up with Matt to do it, now that the bastard has done a runner.
It’s either the gin or the idea that’s making my tummy fizz. Nobody needs to know that it’s just a business transaction.
Who says that Matt was the one to call things off anyway? Except for Matt, admittedly. I can tell my side of the story whatever way I want, so why couldn’t I have finally ended things with Matt after Rafael and I met a few months ago? A little back-dating won’t hurt. It might even help his case with the Immigration people. We won’t seem quite so whirlwind that way. Lots of people meet and marry within a year. My parents did.
It would mean that people would think I was a cheater, though. I guess I can live with the reputation, given that my other option is for everyone to think that I’m too sad to marry.
I know I can trust Rowan with my secret. Jenny might be a problem, though, if she knows I only met Rafael tonight. I’ll have to think about that.
But would Rafael really do it? He might be all talk and no walk.
Well, you know what they say. Only one way to find out.
***
‘How nice to hear from you,’ he says when I ring the next day.
It was simple to find his office number, given that he works for our company. Luckily, there’s only one Rafael in the account management department. Otherwise I might have been about to proposition a fifty-something bloke with chronic bad breath and a squint.
‘You too. I mean—’ Crikey, I’m nervous. ‘I’m ringing because, well, this would probably be better in person, but I don’t want to take up your time and, well, this is quicker. Like ordering a takeaway.’ Ordering a takeaway?
‘How can I help you, Nelly?’
‘I could marry you,’ I blurt. ‘I mean, I’m British and single, so if you needed me to … to stay here, then I could. If you wanted.’
‘Uh … you’re right, that is a surprising phone call. I’d hate to see how you order a takeaway.’
‘I don’t offer marriage in exchange for a side of garlic bread, if that’s what you mean. It’s a straight business offer … unless you were joking about getting married.’ Thank goodness this isn’t a FaceTime call. He can’t see my face burning.
‘I didn’t imagine becoming a mail-order groom,’ he says, ‘but it would solve my problem. You’d do this for me?’
‘I’d do it for me, actually.’ Then I tell him my situation. I mean the whole truth, without holding anything back. ‘So, you see, it would be good for both of us. If it works.’
I can picture his smile as he laughs. ‘I don’t have much choice at this point. I’m pretty desperate.’
‘Thanks. That’ll make the perfect wedding vow on the day.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean … I’m sure you’re a reasonable person to marry.’
‘Stop spoiling me with all these compliments or my head won’t fit through the door. Besides, recent events would suggest otherwise.’
‘That was a pretty shitty thing for your ex to do,’ he says. ‘No matter what,