the big thing is how and when we met, since it would come as a surprise to everyone we know.’
‘And how it would work practically too,’ he says. ‘It would look odd if we didn’t live together after we’re married, no?’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ To be honest, there’s a lot I probably haven’t thought of. Walking up the aisle with Rafael is one thing, but how are we supposed to carry on after we’ve cut the wedding cake? ‘Maybe it’s a stupid idea.’
‘Let’s see if the details could work,’ he says. ‘I could meet you tonight if you’re free. Nelly, you might be my saviour. Thank you for considering this. It would mean the world to me.’
‘That’s me, Saint Nelly. I can meet you any time from six-thirty.’
This is crazy. Absolutely crazy.
***
By the time I reach the pub where we’re meeting, I’m actually starting to believe that this isn’t the most off-the-wall idea in the world. Right? Right?! I mean, it’s not as off-the-wall as contact-lens jewellery, two-person jumpers or entire Christmas dinners in a tin, and people actually buy those. This isn’t as daft as sharing a jumper. This is … let’s call it a creative solution.
So, I shouldn’t really be this nervous when I catch sight of Rafael already waiting for me outside the pub. I hope his being even earlier than me means he’s starting to believe in the idea too.
‘Hi!’ we both say at once. He leans down to kiss my cheek just as I lean up to kiss his. Unfortunately, he goes for the wrong cheek, which leaves us having to duck and dive to avoid a snog.
‘Do Colombians go to the right?’ I wonder as we make our way inside. Oh, God. That sounds like I’m asking about the way he adjusts his bits in his pants. ‘Kisses, I mean.’
‘I never really thought about it,’ he says. We’re both trying to look as if we haven’t just nearly mashed lips. ‘But I can’t speak for my entire country. I’m right-handed, does that make a difference?’
He’s smirking. I hope he’s not thinking about his bits.
‘It’s just that it’s left first, then right,’ I say.
‘I did kiss your left cheek first.’
‘No, I mean you have to go left first. You kiss this side first.’ I tap my right cheek. That just calls attention to the fact that I’m blushing. ‘That’s the way it’s done.’
‘Are you always this bossy?’ he asks.
‘Do you always kiss wrong?’
His smile is devastating as he slowly shakes his head. ‘No complaints so far.’
I bet.
I’ve recovered some composure by the time we wedge ourselves into one of the corners. It’s near the loos, but at least we’re away from the main part of the busy pub. The rain lashing the windows is keeping everyone from spilling out onto the pavement like they probably usually do in nice weather. It’s got that kind of drinking-on-the-pavement feel to it, with its rounded bar and dark wood trim, high panelled ceiling and hanging baskets outside.
‘So, you want to marry me,’ Rafael says, too loudly judging by the way one of the blokes beside us looks over.
Lowering my voice, I say, ‘I feel like there’s an opportunity to solve both our problems. If you were serious about it.’
‘Serious as a heart attack,’ he says. ‘But what about you?’ He sips his pint. ‘Is this really worth it for you?’
‘I don’t have much choice,’ I tell him, ‘unless I want to pay all the money back. I mean, if I could pay it all back. Which I can’t. So I’m stuck.’
He taps his pint to my glass. ‘Then it’s just what I’ve always wanted. A woman who’s got no choice but to marry me.’
‘Talk about a fairy tale,’ I answer. ‘I’ve always dreamed of being married for my passport. We’ll make a fine pair. If we can work out the details.’ As I catch sight of us in one of the old-fashioned advertising mirrors on the wall, I think: we do look like a fine pair.
I wish I’d spent more time touching up my make-up.
‘So how are we going to do this?’ he asks. ‘It’s easy for me. Well, easier. My family are all in Colombia. I only need to let my parents know. They’re more efficient than the postal system there. But you might have to deal with questions in person, no?’
‘We might have to,’ I correct. ‘My parents will never go for this if they don’t meet you first. Not that they need to give their permission. I just mean that they’ll be suspicious.’
I haven’t historically been known in my family for restraint when it comes to romance. I’ve practically asked new boyfriends to meet my parents before we’ve finished the first date. As it is, they’re going to have a hard time believing that I’ve hidden Rafael for this long.
‘I’m happy to meet your parents,’ he says. ‘Parents love me. And our friends? We’ll have to tell them too.’
‘It’s a lot to sort out. Let’s approach it logically. One step at a time.’
We both sip our drinks. Then we get down to the business of inventing the lie of our lives for everyone we know.
Rafael and I are actually doing this! I sneak another peek at him as we speed on the train through the rolling hills and farms of Cornwall. He’s sitting in the window seat, so I can pretend I’m interested in the view while I stare at him. He smiles when he catches me looking. Then he does the most remarkable thing. He envelops my hand in his.
‘We should be practising, no?’ he whispers. His voice sounds growly when it’s low like this.
‘Definitely. For authenticity.’ That’s the most important part of this whole crazy plan. Everything has to look completely real. One slip-up and the whole thing fails.
‘I have an idea. Excuse me,’ he says to the middle-aged woman sitting opposite. With a bit of squirming, he digs his phone from his pocket with his free hand. ‘Could you possibly take our picture? I’m sorry to bother you but this is a big day. I’m about to meet my fiancée’s parents.’
The woman makes an aw-bless face as she accepts both our phones. ‘Smile!’ she says, snapping away. She’s still smiling when she goes back to whatever she’s watching on her iPad.
Our heads nearly touch as we examine the results. ‘Our first couple photos.’
‘I’ve got one eye closed in that one,’ I say.
‘Authentic.’
By the time we met the other night (far from our office where there was no chance that we’d bump into Jenny), I was certain that I was off my trolley. But Rafael didn’t seem to think so, and we figured out all the details that could scupper the plan.
I really hope we’re not wrong, but we seem to have a water-tight story now. The most obvious question (and one that I get the feeling Immigration will ask) is: why haven’t we got any emails, texts or phone calls till now if we got together months ago? Fair question, Your Honour, and the answer is a bit delicate. Since I was involved with my former fiancé when I met Rafael, naturally I didn’t use my mobile. And I didn’t really need to anyway, since I could just walk upstairs to his office. Which is, incidentally, how we met. Yes, it is very convenient, Your Honour. No, not very nice to my fiancé (former fiancé!), but you can’t stop the heart wanting what the heart wants. I ended things with Matt when I knew I couldn’t be happy with anyone but Rafael.
Hopefully, now, whenever I get weepy,