Page 87 of The Last Train Home
‘The London Eye?’ I ask enthusiastically.
‘Will’s an estate agent – he loves a view.’
I laugh.
‘He hired a pod, just for us, with champagne and strawberries and chocolates. It was so romantic. Although I’drumbled what was going on, because no one else got in with us and there was all this romantic paraphernalia. But he didn’t want to propose until we’d got right to the top, so I was sort of waiting expectantly for what felt likeagesfor the wheel to reach the top, andhewas waiting ages and he looked all nervous, and I knew, I just knew …’
She goes on, telling me about how Will fumbled for the ring, dropped it and how he proposed, the words he used, the love they share. I’m so happy for her. Also this means I get to come home again for the wedding next summer.
‘Tell me your due date again. I’m going to write it into my diary, so I can begin texting you every hour, on the hour, to see if there’s any progress,’ she says.
‘The twentieth of July.’
‘Twentieth of July,’ she writes down. ‘Four weeks before our wedding. We’ve booked the venue for the fourteenth of August. That’s bad timing, isn’t it? You won’t want to fly over here with a four-week-old.’
‘I suppose not, no. Depends if Sean comes over or not. I could probably do it with a bit of help – one of us carries baby, one of us carries cases …’
Natasha looks dubious. Then she says, ‘Sean will come, won’t he? You don’t want to be at a wedding on your own with a baby.’
‘I don’t know if he’ll come home. He doesn’t really like it here any more. He doesn’t seem to have the same pull towards London as I do.’
‘Can’t think why,’ she says sarcastically, pointing out the window of the bar we’re in, to where a thick blanket of cloud has smothered the low winter sun. I think it’s going to rain.
‘Iwant to come,’ I say to Natasha. ‘I’m coming. It’s happening. I’m not sure how but, Natasha, I’m not missing your wedding. Babies are really transportable at that age, aren’t they?’ I ask desperately. ‘They feed and poop and sleep. I’m sure I can handle that’ –on a thirteen-hour fight,on my own, I think even more desperately.
‘Do you know what you’re having?’ she interrupts my doom-laden thoughts.
‘No. I don’t want to find out,’ I say.
‘I couldn’t do that,’ Natasha replies. ‘It’s all enough of a shock and a surprise that adding another surprise into the mix seems bonkers. But if that’s your strategy, you ride it out.’
‘I intend to.’
‘Does Sean want to know?’
‘He’s desperate for a boy,’ I say. ‘Desperate. It’s killing him, the not-knowing.’
‘How’s he been?’ she asks.
I tell Natasha how hard he’s been working, how he was a bit worried at first about having a baby, but how he’s on board with the idea now. ‘He’s been promoted. He’s a regional director now. It’s huge. A big deal.’
‘And have you made any nice new friends?’
She always asks me this, whenever we talk, expecting my answer to change from my usual, ‘A few – you know. It’s quite transient, Singapore. People come, people go. People don’t seem to stick around for a great deal of time.’ I’m sure she expects me to say, ‘Yes, I have a new best friend and so I can kissyougoodbye, Natasha Young.’
She looks relieved at my answer. Natasha was first on my list of friends to see, and I have two more this afternoon – one of whom is Gary, who has thoughtfully already ordered me awine when I arrive in the pub, although I’ll have to break it to him in a minute that I can’t drink it. It’s already so festive in here, but Gary’s wearing a Christmas jumper with lights rigged up inside it that flash on and off. He’s putting the pub to shame with its comparatively low effort.
He stands up to greet me, and I can’t help but laugh at his jumper as the lights flash blindingly. He points at his jumper as if I can’t see it. ‘How’ve youbeen?’ he says in an excited voice.
‘Pardon?’ I joke, ‘I can’t hear you over your jumper.’
‘It is a bit loud, isn’t it?’ he laughs, fumbling inside to switch the lights off.’ ‘We’re having our work Christmas party tonight,’ he says, by way of explanation.
‘And that’s the dress code, is it?’
We hug each other tightly. It’s been so long.
He smiles, drinks his pint and I watch him jealously. ‘Thanks for the wine,’ I say, ‘although … I can’t drink it because …’
