“I couldn’t be happier for you. You completely deserve it. Solesworth & Thwaites. Sounds good.”
“And this is just the beginning, Jen. Now with the extra cash our plans can become reality.” He let his head drop back onto the woodwork, relieved.
“Plans?” she asked. She wasn’t aware they had any. He’d once mentioned the Highlands for a long weekend, but that had gone by the wayside when a friend had scored tickets to the Rugby World Cup. Perhaps he meant they should make some plans now. Her fingers twitched towards her phone in her pocket, instinctively wanting to start a new list. This was going to be a major project. And somewhere in her head, the idea of a wedding beer had started to germinate, a one-time brew only their guests would ever try, and maybe she’d give them each a bottle home instead of those sugared almond favour things. Perhaps she would base it on the scents from this evening and tell its story on the rear label …
“Jen? Jen, you’re miles away.”
“Sorry.” She shook her head, primarily to clear her head, but also in befuddlement at herself. Thirty minutes ago a wedding was the furthest thing on her mind, now she was concocting favours. “Plans. Yes. You had a plan.”
“I’m sure it’s our plan, Jen,” he smiled, pulling the back of her hand to his lips. “You and me. Me and you. Our life together.” He said it like some wistful song. The champagne had gone to his head.
“Okay,” she said hesitantly. “Tell me the plan.”
“Surely you know all this? It’s obvious; I make partner, we get married, set up home, have a family and live together happily ever after.” His face was beaming. Jen hadn’t seen him so chuffed since England had last won the cricket. Curiously though, she could feel the edges of her mouth cranking up towards her ears, because he was nodding as he spoke and her reflex was to nod along, reluctant to spoil his moment.
“Wow,” she said, “you’ve got it all planned out.” Considering she was a planning fiend, Jen couldn’t work out why it didn’t sit better with her. It was hardly a revolutionary plan – he wasn’t suggesting they should run away and become freedom fighters. Only, she hadn’t had any part in this, and she felt firmly on the back foot.
Robert cocked his head at her, at last sensing her discomfit.
“I surprised you good and proper, didn’t I?” he acknowledged with a grin. “I’m not sure why though, Jen, we’ve been together for years.”
“But you haven’t even suggested living together.”
“I’m rather thinking that’ll be part of the engagement deal.” He gave her a wink and waggled his eyebrows, which looked so funny she almost snorted champagne out of her nose. Well, if that was the plan, he’d have to move in at hers, given the ties the house had to her parents. And there was Lydia to keep an eye on. Not to mention his apartment was in a weird area of town and the shared hallway always smelled dubious. “Which bit is bothering you, Jen? Is it the family bit?” He turned to properly face her. “Look, you’ve pretty much been Lydia’s parent these last years, so I know you’ll be a great mother, but I appreciate you might feel you’ve been-there-done-that already. So I wasn’t thinking of a team – to be honest they can be bloody expensive little buggers by the looks of it. Two would do me. A boy and a girl. After school fees that should still leave money for decent holidays and a weekend pad somewhere.” Finally he drew a breath. “Sounds perfect, right?”
It did. Or rather, it would, to many. And Jen felt it should to her, (though she didn’t see the need for school fees) – after all, what was not to like? It had comfort and dependable written all over it. But something was niggling.
“Am I working in this scenario?” she asked.
“Oh, is that the issue?” he said with a relieved laugh. “No, of course not. The pay rise should cover you looking after the kids. And remember, when you sell your house, and I sell the flat, that’s going to cover a vast proportion of the new place. If we buy something dated, you can spend the next few years doing it up as the pups come along. The rent on the Arches won’t hurt either.” He’d factored in the two commercial units under the railway bridge her parents had ploughed all their savings into. One had been her dad’s workshop, now rented out to his then partner, the other was leased to a business run by two of Jen’s friends. But that money was what had funded Lydia through uni, and Jen wanted it safe-guarded to cover the future prosthetic legs Lydia would need.
“But what if I want to keep on working?”
“Really? I thought all girls want to be ladies-who-lunch?”
“No. I like working,” Jen said, calming a little. He’d just been mistaken or programmed by his parents. Of course he wouldn’t mind her carrying on with her job.
“Inco pads? Really?”
“No,” she winced, “not inco pads per se, but I like going to work, doing things with my day, making my own money.”
“But Jen, when you have the kids, you’ll still be working. God, Jen, give me some credit. I’m not some dinosaur who thinks looking after kids is the easy option. You’ll still be working: it’ll just be from home, and for our family. As for the money, I’m sure we can work something out, so you feel you’re getting a wage, even if it does just go into the family pot. We can do that. And don’t worry about projects, Mumsie already has a list of charity events she wants your help with.” She could see from the furrow in his brow he was bemused by her questions. “Jen, you shouldn’t worry about this. This is where we’ve always been heading.”
“And … and what about my beer?” Jen, asked quietly.
Robert now looked totally confused. “What about your beer?”
“I … well, I had thought … What I really wanted to do is, maybe someday, try to build it up to be a business.” There. She’d said it. Jen had the oddest conflicting sensation; relief from having mentioned her plan to him, but also something tantamount to having a public wardrobe malfunction.
“The beer?” He thought he had misunderstood her. She nodded. “But Jen, that’s just your hobby. Your childhood hobby. I rather assumed you’d grow out of that. And honestly, you wouldn’t want our family home constantly smelling of beer.” She took a surreptitious sniff of her hair. She was pretty sure her shower had eradicated any beer smell.
“You like beer," she said, unable to conceal the hurt. Back in the day, when he’d played rugby rather than just watching it, he’d consumed plenty.
“True. But in a pub, darling. Not in a home. Not around kids.”
With that he planted a kiss on her forehead, stood up and toed all the paraphernalia from their picnic inside the door. “I’ll sort all that tomorrow. Come on Nearly-Mrs Thwaites, let’s tell Lydia our good news.” He stopped, looked at her and barked a laugh. “You still look stunned, darling – imagine how she’s going to take it.”
Jen already had an inkling.
“What the actual fuck??” Lydia had waited a full ten seconds for Robert to reach the end of their path before she slammed the front door and let rip at Jen. “You’ve agreed to what?”
“To … um … be his wife?” Jen didn’t know why she sounded so wobbly. She was the adult here. Well okay, Lydia did technically qualify as an adult, but Jen held seniority and wouldn’t be cowed by a junior. She drew herself up. “You know Lydia, Congratulations is the more customary response.”
Lydia stopped and stared at her sister goggle-eyed. She was looking a bit peaky, Jen thought, even before Robert had dropped the marriage bomb on her which was approximately four minutes after they got in the door.