The One Page 7

  I take it you’re staying, then? ‘About half an hour.’

  ‘Oh.’ Freddie turned his attention back to the telly and whacked the volume up. ‘What the hell is he doing? I’ve seen parked cars go quicker than that …’

  Lizzie couldn’t listen to them any more. She went back into the kitchen and began to prepare the food, taking her frustration out on the mince as she jabbed at it with a wooden spoon. No one had ever told her that planning a wedding would feel like this much hard work. The bridal magazines made it all sound so glamorous and fabulous.

  Her mind drifted back to the relaxed wedding she’d once dreamed of, without any of the fuss. She couldn’t help wondering how different things might have been if she’d been doing all this with Alex. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe he was already married, or engaged, planning an elaborate extravaganza of his own elsewhere with some spreadsheet-wielding fiancée. It wasn’t a vision she could easily picture, or perhaps she just didn’t want to. Still, she was pretty sure he’d have hated a big, conventional bash.

  She threw a tin of chopped tomatoes into the pan and squished them forcefully against the sides. Alex’s return had wound her up in a way she hadn’t expected. He couldn’t have picked a worse time, could he? Like he was waiting for me to be happy again, just so he could come back and spoil it. The more she thought about it, the more she began to burn with anger. Who does he think he is? The heat from the hob made her temperature surge even higher, until she felt she was at boiling point.

  For a split second, she wished she could run away, just as Alex had done all those years ago. Quit her job. Leave town. Tell Freddie where to stick it on her way out. The thought was incredibly tempting, but even as she savoured it, she knew she was kidding herself. That sort of thing only happened in trashy soaps and Hollywood movies, not suburban Surrey.

  Besides, I do love Josh. I’d miss him a lot.

  ‘Hey Lizzie, can you grab us a couple more cans, please?’ Freddie yelled from the front room. She gave the mince a violent stir.

  Him, not so much.

  8

  25 December 2002

  Lizzie reached under the Christmas tree and retrieved an envelope with her name on it in swirly black biro. The spruce was huge – almost touching the ceiling – and haphazardly strewn with decorations, from fairy lights to tinsel to chocolates. It was a far cry from the small artificial version at her parents’ house, with its tasteful red and silver baubles and solitary star. This one was uninhibited, unashamed and beautiful. She decided then and there that if she and Alex had a family of their own someday, they would have a tree just like this one, in all its delightful disarray.

  Opening the envelope carefully, she extracted a card and two crisp £10 book vouchers. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, smiling at Alex’s parents. ‘I know exactly what I’m going to get with this. There are a couple of new novels I’ve been dying to read.’

  ‘I’m sorry it’s not more exciting,’ said his mum Pamela, a slim woman in her late 40s with a mass of bottle-blonde hair and kind blue eyes. ‘Alex told us you were into books, but we didn’t know what you’d got already.’

  ‘No really, it’s brilliant.’ Vouchers were better than cash because they had to be spent on something readable, rather than getting frittered away on something boring like the looming electricity bill.

  ‘I do like a good bookshop, don’t you?’ his mum continued. ‘More than that online jungle …’

  ‘I think you mean Amazon, Mum,’ Alex interrupted, trying not to laugh. He caught Lizzie’s eye and she had to bite her lip to stifle her giggles.

  ‘Right, who’s next?’ said Alex’s dad, his voice booming around the homely living room. Frank Jackson had a hearing impairment that always made him seem as if he was shouting. Lizzie had found it pretty daunting at first, but now she was starting to get used to it, like watching TV with the volume turned up too loud.

  ‘I am!’ said Andi, a bubbly 18-year-old who Lizzie had immediately recognised with relief as the pretty blonde from his corkboard. Her real name was Andrea, but Alex said no one had called her that for years. She reached for a parcel and gouged at the wrapping paper with her crimson talons. Inside was a pair of expensive-looking hair straighteners. ‘Yes! You got the right ones. Thanks, Mum! You too, Dad.’

  ‘Don’t thank us – thank Santa,’ came the deafening reply.

  ‘Oh Dad, you know you can stop that now.’

  Just then, Alex’s brother trudged downstairs in tracksuit bottoms and a crumpled white T-shirt, his hair ruffled and his eyes barely open. Though they weren’t identical twins, he looked even more like Alex in the flesh, with the same muscular build and strong features. From a distance it could have been hard to tell them apart, bar the series of distinctive Sanskrit tattoos running down his right arm. Today, however, he also seemed a little worse for wear, resembling a picture of prehistoric man.

  ‘Afternoon, Connor,’ said Mr Jackson. ‘Glad you could join us.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry, Dad. Turned into a bit of a heavy session last night. I was only planning to stop by for one.’ He yawned loudly, not bothering to cover his mouth. ‘Could you give me a lift into town later to fetch the bike? I had to leave it there.’ Lizzie still hadn’t seen the famous bike, but she knew from Alex it was his brother’s pride and joy, a Honda Fireblade he had spent two years saving up for while working at the local gym.

  ‘Well, not really. I promised your mother I’d give her a hand with the food.’

  ‘I’ll run you down in a bit,’ said Alex. ‘But I’ve got a couple more presents to give first.’ He held out his hand to Lizzie. ‘They’re upstairs.’

  ‘I bet they are,’ grinned Connor cheekily.

  ‘Eeeew,’ groaned Andi. ‘No sex jokes in front of the olds, please.’

  ‘Less of the old, missy,’ yelled Mr Jackson. Lizzie guessed he was joking, but it was hard to tell at that volume. She absorbed the banter between them like a Christmas pudding soaking up brandy, enjoying the warmth of their comfortable familiarity. It was the first time she had ever spent Christmas away from home, and while she was looking forward to getting to know Alex’s relatives better, she’d had a niggling fear that she might feel like the odd one out. But she needn’t have worried: they had all gone out of their way to put her at ease, especially Mrs Jackson, who had even filled a small stocking with fruit and chocolate coins, just like Lizzie had told Alex her own mum used to do.

  She followed him out into the hall – almost stumbling over the family’s sausage dog, Jagger, who was busily trying to bite the head off a plush Christmas toy – and up to his old room, with its moody blue walls and single bed. There hadn’t been space for her in there, so she was staying in the chintzy spare room down the hall, which reminded her a little of her great-aunt June’s house.

  They sat on his bed, and Alex reached underneath and retrieved two presents: one small and square, the other longer. ‘These are for you,’ he said simply, and Lizzie wondered whether he had spent as long shopping for her as she had for him, not sure how extravagant to be with those tricky first Christmas gifts. She had placed hers under the tree for him to open that morning: the first was a chunky charcoal-coloured jumper that matched his eyes, which he was now wearing; the second was the new Badly Drawn Boy CD, but the main surprise was a customised leather guitar strap with Alex’s initials embossed on it, which he had been chuffed to bits with.

  ‘Does it matter which one I open first?’

  ‘Do the bigger one first.’

  She peeled off the wrapping paper, not sure what to expect, and pulled out a rectangular box. Inside, buried beneath layers of white tissue paper, was a beautiful A5 notebook in soft pink leather. On the first sheet was written:

  For words on pages. Alex xxx

  ‘I … I … don’t know what to say,’ she whispered. ‘I love it.’

  ‘Good.’ His eyes met hers. ‘Because I love you.’ The words that had been hovering unspoken for weeks were finally released into the wild.r />
  The room began to spin before Lizzie’s eyes as she tried to absorb the news, feeling warm and dizzy and ecstatic all at once. She threw both arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely. ‘I’m totally in love with you, too, in case you hadn’t guessed.’

  ‘Well, in that case, I think you can open the second surprise.’

  She smiled. ‘Would you have taken it back if I hadn’t said anything?’

  ‘I don’t know. Luckily for you it was the right answer.’

  Lizzie began to open the smaller parcel, her hands still shaking from his sudden declaration. The wrapping paper fell away to reveal a small, hard box bearing a fancy gold-embossed logo. A ring? No, don’t be daft – it’s only been three months. Would I say yes, though, if it was?

  She opened it slowly and gasped. Softly nestled on a red velvet cushion was a delicate silver heart pendant, the most stunning piece of jewellery she’d ever seen in real life.

  ‘Turn it over.’ She gently lifted it out of the box and read the inscription on the back: Forever.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she beamed, holding it up against her top. Alex leaned behind her and fastened the clasp, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck.

  ‘I was going to put both our names on, but it would have taken the engraver all day,’ he laughed. ‘And been really tiny.’

  ‘No, it’s just right,’ she said, turning her face back to his. ‘They’re both perfect. The best presents anyone has ever given me.’ Alex looked pleased with himself, and she knew what a gamble this must have been. Good job I didn’t buy him those novelty headphones.

  He gestured to the notebook. ‘Now you can get started on that bestseller.’

  ‘Maybe not right this second …’ She kissed him again.

  ‘Alright then, maybe after lunch. Did I tell you my mum makes a mean Christmas feast?’

  It was 3pm in the afternoon and the Jacksons were all well fed, the scent of the succulent turkey still lingering throughout the house. Alex’s mum had dished up a banquet of epic proportions: juicy meat with a herby stuffing, crispy golden roast potatoes, sausages wrapped with sticky pancetta, slivers of colourful carrot and perfectly cooked brussels sprouts, all followed by Christmas pud with lashings of brandy butter. Everyone dived in for seconds, and it took all of Lizzie’s willpower not to go back for more than that. She was glad she hadn’t now, though; the waistband on her skirt wasn’t expanding anywhere near as easily as her stomach.

  ‘Right, I think it’s time for some games,’ said Mr Jackson, who was well on his way to a merry Christmas, having necked four glasses of wine over dinner. ‘What do we want to start with? That one with the humming?’

  ‘Definitely no humming,’ said Connor. ‘You lot couldn’t carry a tune if it came with handles.’

  ‘How about charades?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I love charades,’ piped up Mrs Jackson, still wearing her paper party hat. ‘Shall we split into teams?’

  Alex raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t think Lizzie is used to Christmas charades, Mum. Maybe we could just chill out after lunch and watch telly?’

  ‘No, I’m intrigued,’ said Lizzie. ‘Sounds like it’s a bit of a Christmas tradition.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ smiled Mrs Jackson. ‘And we’ll have nice even teams with you here for a change. Shall we say me and Dad, Andi and Connor, and Alex with Lizzie?’

  ‘No way, I’m not going with Connor again,’ said Andi. ‘Last year he called me his Andicap just because he was too thick to get my clues.’

  ‘You do know Bugsy Malone isn’t an insect, right?’ Connor looked amused.

  ‘Yes, but nothing rhymes with Bugsy so I was trying to break it down, you ignorant—.’

  ‘Oh yeah, we’re definitely going to have to split you two up,’ said Alex.

  ‘Why don’t I go with Lizzie?’ suggested Andi. ‘I could use some help outside this limited gene pool.’

  ‘Fine with me,’ said Connor. ‘I’ll go with big bro.’ There was actually only a 13-minute age gap between him and Alex, though it was starting to feel like more to Lizzie. ‘We’ll kick your arses!’

  ‘You’ll look like arses,’ Andi shot back. Lizzie wasn’t quite sure what she’d let herself in for, but she figured it had to beat watching The Snowman for the millionth time.

  Mr Jackson poured himself another large glass of wine and sank down into the sofa next to his wife.

  ‘Let the games begin!’ he said, even more loudly than usual.

  Nearly two hours, three games and umpteen rounds later, Connor and Alex emerged victorious, whooping loudly and slapping one another on the back. Lizzie was fascinated by their boisterous banter. Christmas at her house was a much more sedate affair, with her parents settling down quietly post-lunch to watch the Queen’s speech, or perhaps the EastEnders special if they were feeling really indulgent. She felt a momentary pang of guilt about leaving them alone today, even though she and Alex had been to visit them in Twickenham last weekend. She had already tried to call home once, but the line had been engaged, and she hadn’t yet had a spare minute to try again.

  ‘Hey, do you think you could give me a lift into town to get my bike now?’ Connor asked Alex.

  ‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘Lizzie, do you want to come, too?’

  ‘Yeah, go on then.’

  ‘So, you two really are joined at the hip, huh?’ said Connor, grabbing his bike keys from the hall table. ‘What happens when one of you needs the toilet?’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Alex. ‘Just because you can’t get a girlfriend.’

  ‘Correction: don’t want a girlfriend,’ grinned Connor. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m far too much of a catch to be tied down to any one woman.’ He winked at Lizzie. ‘Of course, if you ever get bored with bro here, you know you can always come on a bike ride with a real man.’

  ‘Only if one steals the Honda,’ said Alex, punching him playfully on the arm.

  Connor clipped him back. ‘You’re just jealous. It’s way better than your crappy old banger.’

  ‘Yeah, keep telling yourself that while you’re walking into town to get your bike.’

  ‘Ooh, someone’s touchy today. Is it the wrong time of the month or what?’

  ‘Piss off, Connor.’

  As they sparred back and forth, joking and jostling, Lizzie could barely keep up.

  ‘Do they always go at each other like that?’ she asked Mrs Jackson later over a cup of tea in the kitchen, the aroma of turkey still lingering in the air. Jagger was yelping excitedly in the corner, happily ripping used wrapping paper into shreds.

  ‘Yes, ever since they were small,’ she said, dunking a ginger biscuit into a fancy mug marking the Queen’s Golden Jubilee. ‘It’s funny – the two of them used to fight like you wouldn’t believe, but if another kid ever tried to pick on one of them … well, then all hell used to break loose.’

  ‘Really?’ Lizzie glanced out of the window to where the brothers were tinkering with Connor’s bike in the floodlit garden. She still couldn’t get over the striking resemblance between them.

  ‘Oh yes. I remember once, back when they were in school, this bully down the road – Sean, I think his name was – stole Connor’s skateboard. And wouldn’t you know, Alex went down there to try to get it back, even though this kid was twice his size.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Sean refused to hand it over, so Alex kicked him right in the shin. Gave him a big old bruise, he did! I made him apologise, of course – we’ve never encouraged the boys to use violence. But sure enough, the next morning, that skateboard was back in our front garden. I think the kid even cleaned it.’

  Lizzie tried to imagine what it would have been like to have siblings who stuck up for you no matter what. Her mum and dad had always been protective, but it wasn’t the same as having your own personal backup squad on standby. She sometimes wondered if her birth parents had ever had any more children: an extended family tucked away somewhere who probably didn’t even know she existed.r />
  ‘I kind of wish I’d had a brother – you know, to look out for me like that.’ She wasn’t sure why her parents had never adopted again. It used to make her feel guilty growing up; sometimes she worried that she might have put them off. When she was 13, she plucked up the courage to ask why they’d not wanted a bigger family, and her mum said it was because they could never love another child as much as they loved her. She still didn’t know if that was the whole story, but it had made her feel a little less lonely.

  ‘Yeah, they’re my double act, alright. I feel sorry for poor Andi sometimes, having to put up with all the testosterone in the house. It’ll be good for her having you around.’ She polished off her biscuit. ‘Do you have any sisters?’

  ‘No, it’s just me and my parents. Actually, that reminds me, would it be OK to try calling them again?’

  ‘Sure, sweetie, go right ahead. You can take the cordless phone up to your room if you like.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Heading for the cream carpeted stairs, Lizzie dialled her parents’ landline and waited for one of them to pick up. ‘Hello, Sparkes residence,’ answered her mum after five rings, using what Lizzie knew was her poshest telephone voice.

  ‘Hi Mum, it’s only me,’ said Lizzie. ‘Happy Christmas. How’s it going?’

  ‘Oh, Elizabeth, hi! Yes, we’re fine here. Dad and I went to the pub for lunch with Auntie Carole and now we’ve all come back for a few mince pies.’ There was a mumble in the background. ‘What’s that, Carole? No, it’s our Elizabeth.’ She paused. ‘Carole sends her love.’

  ‘Same to her.’ She pushed open the guest room door and sat down on the faded floral duvet. ‘Sounds like you’re having a fun day, then?’

  ‘Yes, we are. So you don’t have to worry about us.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Although I think your father could have used some help with his Christmas shopping. I asked him for some hot tongs and he got me a pair of salad tongs.’

  ‘He didn’t?’

  ‘He did! I hope he’s kept the receipt.’ She chuckled. ‘So, how’s Christmas with Alex?’