Sofia nodded. ‘You have peace about it.’
‘Yes. And haven’t Mum and Dad always told us to trust that?’
‘So why the tears?’ She got up and took a seat in the free chair.
I shrugged, smiling ruefully. ‘Oh, a dozen reasons, probably. I didn’t think I’d mind not going through the whole wedding-planning palaver this time. Been there, done that, learnt that it’s meaningless. But having to plan it all by myself is lonelier than I expected. Even though Jake wasn’t that bothered about where we held the reception, or what colour the flowers were, I always thought that when I did it again it’d be with a man who cared enough to make those decisions with me. Or would at least be there to nod and smile and then go along with whatever I wanted. And I’m sad that I’ll be moving out. I know there’s not enough room in the flat for a married couple trying to get to know each other and Bridget, but living with Bridget is lovely and the idea of living with a strange man is terrifying. The only man I’ve lived with is Daddy. Will we be sleeping in the same bed? Will he expect sex on the wedding night? Will he leave the toilet seat up and his shaving dregs in the sink and his sweaty gym clothes on the floor – I don’t even know if he goes to the gym! Or shaves!’
‘I guess a lot of things you figure out the same way you figured out living with Bridget, or with Aunt Mary in Cork. But as for the big stuff, bedroom stuff, I can tell you that you don’t need to worry. Your husband will be unswervingly respectful, and considerate. Without going into details, I can tell you that much.’
‘Thank you.’ I narrowed my eyes at her. ‘Have you met him too?’
Sofia screwed her face up. ‘Please don’t ask me that.’
‘Has everyone met my husband apart from me?’
‘I can’t say anything. But I promise you’ll understand once you meet him.’
‘Crap – he’s not famous, is he?’
‘Stop asking questions about him!’
‘Wow.’
Sofia gave me a moment to process that non-information before leaning forwards, scrutinising my face. ‘There’s something else.’
I avoided her gaze, shrugging as if to pretend I didn’t know what she was talking about. Sofia ate some of her wrap and waited. It was her genius counselling technique and it worked every time.
‘What if he doesn’t like me?’ I asked, my voice breaking on the words.
Sofia put her wrap down.
‘What if he thinks I’m boring, and overly controlling, or not smiley enough? Or just… not attractive? What if he likes me, but doesn’t love me? Bridget keeps telling me how wonderful he is, and now Moses thinks so too, and you and probably Dad and that’s why he was so chilled about it, but what about me? If he’s so wonderful, then he deserves a wonderful wife. Not someone who’s been rejected after nearly all her first dates. Not someone whose fiancé thinks she’s worth cheating on. Not an Emmapotamus. Not even someone who feels like an Emmapotamus, even if she isn’t any more. Jake knew me, and he didn’t want me. What if this person wants a wife who’s confident and funny and who knows who she is, instead of flailing around so lost and disappointed with her life that she’s prepared to marry a stranger?’
‘Oh, Emma.’ Sofia wiped her eyes. ‘I wish you could see yourself how we see you. Jake was young and stupid. None of us thought he was good enough for you. We hoped he’d step up, once he grew up, but the problem there wasn’t you. If he was a decent man he’d have broken things off, not let himself get caught fumbling about with your worst enemy.
‘And I promise you, if Bridget thought this man wasn’t going to fall head-over-heels for you, she’d never have matched you. How many of those first dates did you think were the right person for you? How many of them were so ready to make a relationship work, they’d make a legally binding commitment to stick with it?
‘You are an amazing woman. Beautiful inside and outside and from every which side you look at it. Bridget, who is one of the top people ever, is gutted that she won’t get to live with you any more. We all know you’re her best friend as well as her sister. And that’s saying something, considering she’s a twin. If someone as lovely as Bridget loves you that much, then this guy can love you, no problem. All you need to do is be you, and you’re better at that than anyone else.’
I nodded, feebly.
‘Or, don’t. Rip up the contract and walk away. Start dating again, or embrace being single. It’s your life, Emma. You have to live with it. I don’t know if what Dad says is true, that you should listen to your heart and forget your head. But what I do know is that you shouldn’t listen to your fear.
‘Now, how about we whizz through this lovely marriage-preparation booklet that my own gorgeous husband prepared, and see if that helps?’
It did. And it didn’t. But by the end of my solo marriage-preparation class I had accepted that I could either spend the next week flapping about, freaking out over every possible thing that could go wrong, or I could learn to live with the not knowing.
Which, it turned out, was not an easy thing to do.
* * *
The next day, I left the house early to deliver a five-tier vanilla sponge cake plus gluten-free doughnut wall to a wedding. A few minutes after I’d arrived home, my neighbour, the delightful when not drunken Ralph Hutchens, knocked on my door.
‘This came for you.’ He held out a parcel.
‘Thanks.’ I tried to take it, but he kept holding onto the box.
‘Um, I wanted to say sorry again about our date.’
