‘Are you okay?’ Jason asked. ‘You don’t look very well.’
‘I thought you were bringing me here to?—’
‘To what?’
I looked up from my hands. He genuinely looked flummoxed. He’d forgotten what happened here last time and what he’d said.
‘Sarah? To what?’
‘Nothing,’ I muttered. ‘It doesn’t matter. Would you excuse me?’ I stood up slowly, holding on to the table, fearing my legs wouldn’t hold me. ‘Must go to the ladies before the food arrives.’
Humiliation and disappointment burned at the back of my throat as I stumbled through the crowded restaurant. I fought hard to keep it together until I made it to the ladies, butI’d barely closed the cubicle door before the first heaving sob shook my body. Slumped on the toilet, I didn’t care who heard. Anguished cries echoed off the marble walls and cocooned me in my pain.
Eventually the tears stopped flowing and the shaking subsided, but the pain in my heart remained. I blew my nose and wiped wearily at my wet cheeks. How stupid had I been to think he’d brought me here to propose? How could I have got it so wrong?
I rose slowly, dropped the pile of soggy tissues into the toilet pan, flushed it and watched the tissues disappear along with my hopes and dreams. The words he’d said to Luigi echoed in my mind. Not his wife;justhis girlfriend? Where the hell could we go from here? Not up the aisle, that was for sure.
But a nagging voice in my head said, ‘Don’t get angry at him, Sarah. This isyourfault. You’ve had over two years to tell him you don’t love the gym or hiking or mountain biking like he does. What do you expect? The poor guy genuinely thought he’d bought you something you’d love because you led him to believe that you loved working out as much as him. This is your doing; not his.’
I didn’t want to listen to that voice.
ONE YEAR LATER
2
I stood on the pavement staring down at the lower-ground-floor Victorian flat that Jason and I had rented for the last three years and twenty-three days. The keys dug into my palm while I watched the changing light of the TV screen flickering through the voile-covered window. A cold wind tugged at my coat and tickled my nose. I shivered and sniffed. Then I sniffed again, breathing in the unmistakeable aroma of a fresh, garlicky, homemade lasagne. Jason made a mean lasagne when we first met. He cooked a lot in the early days but now the freezer was packed with ready meals.
A feeling of nostalgia overcame me for those early happy days. Maybe the smell was coming from our flat. Maybe he’d have remembered it was my thirtieth and cooked as a birthday treat. Yeah, right. And he’d have done the washing up and vacuumed the flat. Was that a pig flying past?Jason was between shifts so would have spent a couple of hours at the gym followed by a bike ride and would now be lying on the sofa, game controller practically welded to his hands.
How had a whole year passed since the disastrous non-proposal? I’d returned to the table that night to find Jason tucking into his starter. If he noticed my red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, he never said a word. My sudden loss of appetite was embraced asmore free food for him and my silence on the train home was put down to fatigue following a tough week at work. Had he really been that clueless?
I sat down heavily on the top step, trying to muster the strength to go inside, and rummaged in my bag for my phone. Instead of making me smile, my Facebook newsfeed full of birthday wishes acted as a depressing reminder of all that was wrong in my life: ‘Happy 30thbirthday. Hope Jason’s taking you somewhere nice.’ ‘Happy 30thSarah. Can he top Luigi’s this year?’ ‘Hope you’ve had a fabulous day and that Jason has a weekend of pampering planned.’ Chances of that: zero. Especially as he hadn’t even acknowledged it was my birthday when I’d left for work that morning. Mind you, barely acknowledging each other had become our existence and I was exhausted from it.
Could I face another year like this? I didn’t want to die all alone like my Uncle Alan, but was this really better than being alone?
A text arrived.
?? From Elise
Our Jess and Lee are back from Rome and they’re engaged!!! I’m at Minty’s with them & Gary. Her diamond’s bigger than mine. Outrageous! Look forward to speaking to you tomorrow to find out all about your big birthday night out xxx
My shoulders drooped even further. Elise’s little sister was engaged? But she was six years younger than me. She couldn’t be getting married. Not before me. But she’d clearly met the right person whereas I… I looked up at the window and shook my head. It was time.
Standing up, I brushed some dust off my skirt and made my way down the stone steps. I unlocked the door, stepped inside the hall, took a deep breath and announced as brightly as I could, ‘Jason? I’m home.’
No answer. Just the sound of machine-gun fire. My hand moved towards the knob on the lounge door but I drew it back and headed for the kitchen instead. Perhaps a little Dutch courage first.
Given that the flat smelled more of sweaty socks than lasagne, I was right in my prediction that he wouldn’t have prepared a meal. An overwhelming feeling of weariness took hold of my whole body as I slumped against the kitchen doorframe and surveyed the carnage. How did he do it? Useless, lazy, slobby…The damp washing festered in the machine. The A4 note I’d stuck to the front of the machine stating in large marker pen capitals, ‘Please hang us up’ lay on the worktop covered in crumbs and a coffee cup stain. Mugs languished in dull beige liquid in the washing up bowl. Banana peels, empty crisp packets and part-drunk glasses of squash obliterated the worktops.
I grabbed a half-empty bottle of wine from the fridge and took a large swig. A little shocked with myself for drinking from a full-size bottle of wine – what next, vodka out of a paper bag? – I reached into the cupboard for a glass, poured the rest and took a long glug. ‘Happy thirtieth birthday, Sarah. Shaping up to be just as crap as your twenty-ninth.’
Stomach rumbling, I opened the fridge again and began rummaging. What could I eat? I settled on a jar of crunchy peanut butter even though I don’t actually like the stuff. Spoon in hand, I heaved myself onto one of the uncomfortable stools at the narrow breakfast bar. Whoever designed the stupid things – undoubtedly a man – definitely didn’t have size 16–18 bottoms in mind.
I gazed around the kitchen. A pile of cards and a couple of small packages lay next to the breadbin. Feeling like there was nothing ‘happy’ about my birthday, I left them where they were.
Twenty minutes later, Jason walked into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his bits. ‘You’re home.’
‘Looks like it.’
