‘I’m gasping for a tea,’ I say, instead of thanking Mum for her vote of confidence about my ability to support myself. ‘Who wants another? Rafael can help me.’
Mum bounces to her feet. ‘I’ll do it. You’re a guest, Rafael. You don’t need to work. Nelly can help me.’
No way. She wants me alone for questioning. I’m invoking the Geneva Convention. I have the right to have a representative with me. Yet it’s ludicrous for us all to go into the kitchen together. Like pouring water on teabags is a four-person job.
‘Let me give you a hand, Mrs Fraser,’ Rafael says. ‘If I’m going to be in the family, then I need to learn how you like your tea, no?’
Wow, is he good or what? I watch them walk together towards the house. Rafael towers over my mum as he ambles beside her. ‘Have you been to Cornwall before?’ I hear her ask as they go into the kitchen through the open sliding door.
So far, so good.
‘You want to tell me what’s going on?’ Dad says. He digs another Hobnob from the packet.
‘Don’t you want to wait for your tea?’
‘I’ll have another with my tea. Don’t tell your mother. I had to buy this packet as it was.’ He pats the swell of his tummy beneath his golf shirt. Dad hates golf, but he does love the uniform. His closet is full of them, neatly ironed in every colour. It’s all he wears. Mum’s going to have a hard time getting him into a suit for the wedding. ‘What’s really going on?’ he asks.
‘Nothing, Dad, honest. I know it’s a lot to take in, but this has happened.’ I shrug. ‘I’m in love with Rafael.’
‘Just like that. What about Matt?’
‘Why are you suddenly so concerned about him? You never really liked him anyway.’
‘We never got the chance to know him properly. We might have liked him if he’d bothered turning up at family dos.’
‘One Christmas, and you both hold that against him. He had food poisoning!’ Wait a second. Why am I defending Matt when he’s probably rubbing sun cream into some sexy Spaniard as we speak? ‘It doesn’t matter now. You can get to know Rafael instead. He’s amazing.’
My smile this time isn’t an act. I couldn’t have picked anyone better to pull this off with. He’s as desperate for it to work as I am. Maybe more so. If it were to go wrong, I’d only lose face and my credit rating. Rafael would lose his whole life.
When he and Mum return with our teas, I find myself checking for any signs that she got to him: terrified eyes or maybe the telltale tap of ‘help’ in Morse code on his tea mug. But his smile is as relaxed as usual.
‘So, Bob, Rafael has been telling me about Colombia,’ Mum tells Dad, turning the handle towards him when she hands him his mug. Then she takes the Hobnob packet and tightly twists the top closed. I wait about three seconds before untwisting it. Then I fish one out and loyally offer the packet to Dad. ‘That’s where he was born, in Bogotá. Isn’t that interesting?’
‘But he’s been here since after university,’ I add. ‘That was almost ten years ago.’ The less they talk about his foreignness, the better. Mum’s area of law isn’t immigration (it’s conveyance), but still.
‘Oh? Dual passport, then?’ Mum asks.
Danger, danger!
Rafael’s answer is as smooth as her question. ‘No, I’ve had a work permit through my company for many years. And you don’t need to worry about me stealing Nelly away from here. The UK is my home. Now it will be our home together.’
Instead of sitting down in the chair closest to him, he drags it around the table to plonk it beside mine. His fingers gently stroke my back as he tells Dad about growing up in Colombia. I do take it in, but the shivers running up and down my back are a little distracting.
By the time we go in for supper, I’m as relaxed as I ever get around my parents.
Until it’s time for us to go to bed.
Of course, they don’t put him on the sofa, now that they know he’s their future son-in-law. That’s why we’re facing each other in my childhood bedroom.
I have to say, they have made the shift from Matt to Rafael rather easily. Maybe they really did dislike him as much as I suspected. ‘Sorry, this is awkward,’ I tell Rafael. Because we might be about to walk down the aisle together, but we’re virtually strangers.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the floor if there is an extra pillow and blanket. I don’t mind at all.’
He really doesn’t seem to. Problem solved. We’re getting good at this.
‘Hold on. Before we mess anything up.’ I take out my phone. ‘Our first night together in my parents’ house.’ It’ll make a nice pic in front of my bed. #toocuteforwords.
But Rafael is too tall to fit comfortably in the frame with me and still get the bed in. I’m not about to take out my selfie stick in front of him again. ‘Squat down a bit. A bit more. Lean back. No, back more … This isn’t working.’
‘How about this?’ Before I know what’s happening, Rafael has flung me onto the bed. He bounces down beside me. ‘There,’ he says, putting his head beside mine on the pillow. ‘Lying down, we’re an even match.’
They say the camera doesn’t lie, but, laughing into the lens as I try not to drop it on our faces, we look as if we’ve been together for ages.
‘One more. Wait.’ I peel back the duvet and climb in. ‘Come on.’ His body is warm next to mine as we cuddle together. We pull the duvet up to our chins. ‘Perfect,’ I say, catching the moment. And I mean that. Rafael really is turning into the perfect fake fiancé.
He will not stop waving that pale, flaccid abomination in my face. Talk about going against all that’s civilised.
‘What, never?’ Rafael asks. ‘Not even once, just to see if you like it? You might like it. How old are you, twenty-seven? And never tried it even once?’
‘Get that thing away from me! No, never. I thought you were a nice bloke, but you’re just like the rest.’ I can’t even look at it.
He laughs as he slurps down the oyster.
‘That’s still alive, you know.’
‘Mmm, fresh. You’re sure?’ He holds out another one.
‘Disgusting.’
‘But how can you be from here and not enjoy what the sea offers, when it’s caught right there?’ He points at the glistening water beyond the restaurant’s terrace. ‘You won’t even eat cooked shellfish like mussels? Clams? Prawns?’
‘You can keep listing them off all you want. I’m telling you I haven’t eaten any of them.’ It’s like I’m the only person in the world who’s never been interested in shellfish. ‘I won’t like them.’
‘How will you know unless you try? You could be depriving yourself of some of your favourite foods. What if it’s as delicious as …’ His lips twist as he thinks.
‘Mini rice cakes with peanut butter,’ I fill in for him. Then I nod at his expression. ‘Yes, really. I even eat them for dinner. They’re delicious, and don’t knock them if you haven’t tried them. Isn’t that what you’ve just said?’
He laughs. ‘When can I come over for dinner? I can’t wait to try your rice cakes and peanut butter. That should pair perfectly with the bucket of water I’d need to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth.’
‘What’s