Page 3 of London, Can You Wait?

“Sorry babe, forgot to tell you. I put it on a special keychain.”

Alex breathed a huge sigh of relief. “I was turning myself inside out with worry!” She pouted, playfully slapping him on the chest.

“Aw, Mouse!”

Mouse—small in stature and addicted to cheese sandwiches; Mark’s nickname for her was a perfect fit. Just hearing it in his adorable Irish brogue was enough to release the vice gripping her chest.

“Dad loved this old keychain, ya know…” He laid the jumble of nickel and pewter, engraved with a treble clef, face up in the palm of her hand and cleared his throat. “Sure, it’s old and banged up, but Mum will love it. It…” His voice trembled. “It tells our story.”

“Aw, babe. It’s lovely.” A smile tugged the corners of her mouth. She flipped the keychain over, her fingers tracing over a faint engraving: Niamh Grace Mark Kieran inside the outline of a Celtic heart. “Who’s Kieran?”

“Oh, one of my middle names. Keegan boys get them; the girls don’t. It’s a sore point with Gracie.” He clutched Alex’s hand and slowly scooped up the birthday surprise from her palm. “Is the box around?”

Alex grabbed the silver gift box from the bed and lunged at Mark, desperate for a hug.

He squeezed her butt, his eyebrows furrowing. “You okay?”

“Marmalade…” Alex whispered.

Mark kissed her forehead. Marmalade was their private SOS, a code word signaling that one of them needed a reassuring I’m here, babe, you’ll be all right during a difficult or anxious moment.

“You’ve got this, Mouse.”

She pressed her lips to his neck. “I want today to be perfect for you, and I really want your family to like me…”

He pulled back, nudging her bangs from her eyes. “Mum will love you.”

“God, I hope so.” She handed over the box.

“She will. She can’t wait to meet you—and call me crazy, but I can’t wait to meet your mum. It’s about time.”

Alex winced. “Ooh, too much excitement. I need another pee. Give me three minutes?”

“I’ll give you two, tops.” Mark kissed her on the nose and glanced at the gift in his grip. “I can’t wait to see Mum’s face! We’ll give it to her at dinner.” He tossed the box up in the air and snatched it, his grin growing as he bounded out of the room.

Alex quickly scooped up Mark’s scattered belongings, dropping them in his backpack. One item was stuck in the crevice between the bed and the wall: a small square black box with Brown Thomas barely visible on its lid. Its bashed-in corners and scuffed silver lettering drew her curiosity. She shook it and something rolled around inside. Cufflinks? Mark was like a magpie—always carting around various family heirlooms.

A sharp tug removed the stubborn lid. Another box lay nestled inside, this one gunmetal grey with rounded corners and a hinged lid. Her thumb pulled upwards, the box’s tight hinge whining, hesitant to budge. Finally, the lid popped open, revealing its secret.

Lost for breath…lost for words…Alex snapped the box closed.