Читать книгу The Great Escape: The laugh-out-loud romantic comedy from the summer bestseller - Fiona Gibson, Fiona Gibson - Страница 9

Hannah steps into her wedding dress and studies herself in the mirror. She’d liked the simple cream shift when she’d tried it on at the department store, or at least she’d believed the persuasive salesgirl who’d said she looked ‘elegant, sort of Grace Kelly-esque.’ Heels were picked out too, plus a matching cream-coloured clutch. ‘It’s an elegant look,’ the girl reassured her, ‘but still lovely and young and fresh.’ Now, though, at 7.35 am in the chilly upper reaches of Ryan’s townhouse, Hannah doesn’t feel young, fresh or remotely Grace Kelly-esque.

She looks like a fat nurse. As if the perfect accessory isn’t the seed-pearl tiara Lou has already made for her, but one of those blood pressure devices that clamps around your arm. Instead of neatly skimming Hannah’s body, as it had in the changing room, the dress now clings a little too tightly to her breasts and hips and bunches up like a carrier bag around her middle.

Either she, or the dress, must have changed shape in the two days since she bought it. Even its shade seems to have altered. The shop girl had called it oyster, but Hannah is now thinking over-boiled cauliflower. She is a fat nurse in a cauliflower dress. You hear of people bolting from the church or registry office in blind panic just before they’re due to exchange vows. She can just picture Ryan glimpsing her in that dress – it’s already become that dress, and not in a good way – and hurtling out of the building.

It’s not, Hannah decides as she tugs it off over her head and throws it onto the bed, the best start to a grey Monday morning.

‘He stole my iPod to look at my photos and now he won’t give it back!’ wails Daisy, Ryan’s ten-year-old daughter.

‘Who cares about your stupid sleepover photos?’ Josh, her big brother, shoots back. ‘I’ve got better stuff to do than look at your dumb friends.’

‘Why were you looking then?’

‘’Cause I wanted to see what you had on it.’

‘Dad. DAAAD!’ There’s a screech, and as Hannah pulls on her black vest top and faded jeans, she detects the soothing tones of Ryan, her future husband, possessor of infinite patience and soon-to-be-witness of the cauliflower nurse dress.

‘Hey,’ he says, ‘come on, you two … isn’t this a stupid thing to argue about? Yes, I hear what you’re saying, Daisy, I know they’re your private pictures, but Josh …’ Hannah pulls her fair hair back into a ponytail and waits at the top of the stairs.

‘Little shit,’ Josh barks. ‘You’re so spoilt.’ Ah, Ryan’s firstborn, just turned fourteen, liberal sprayer of Lynx (preferred fragrance ‘Excite’ – ‘A rare gourmand-oriental mixture of fresh green accords and woody base notes,’ Hannah had read while perusing the can with interest in the bathroom). Although she’s been living here for six months, it still strikes her as completely bizarre that Ryan is responsible for half the genetic make-up of the most life-sapping kids she’s ever met. Occasionally, Hannah wonders if she’s really doing the right thing by marrying him – but then, why should his offspring sabotage her future with the man she loves? This is the sweet, funny, sexy man with whom she exchanged life stories on the night they met. The man who turned up unannounced at her flat one sunny Sunday morning with a picnic for two. The man with whom she’s travelled to Barcelona, lain kissing on a Cornish beach and joked that, if they spent any more time in bed together, they might have to arrange for a delivery man to slide a pizza under the door.

‘Arsewipe,’ Daisy shoots back.

‘That’s enough,’ snaps Ryan as Hannah heads downstairs, gritting her teeth, a vein pulsating in her jaw as she tries to mentally transform herself into a vision of smiles and perkiness.

‘But Dad, all I did was—’ Josh starts.

‘You should respect your sister’s things,’ Ryan barks as Hannah steps over a lone, grubby-soled football sock in the hallway. ‘She doesn’t fiddle about with your stuff.’

‘She nicked my headphones,’ Josh counters. ‘She broke ’em and peeled the spongy bits off.’

‘I did not,’ Daisy snarls. ‘They were broke anyway. They were crap.’

‘Daisy,’ says Ryan firmly, ‘I don’t want to listen to this and I’m sure Hannah doesn’t either.’

‘Huh,’ Josh snorts, clearly meaning, Who cares what your stupid girlfriend thinks?

Pausing before entering the conflict zone, Hannah sees flashes of Ryan through the half-open door as he darts back and forth across the kitchen. Busy Dad, rattling through the morning routine before hurrying off to work. Hannah can’t help feeling irritated on his behalf and, rather than sauntering straight in, she takes a moment to consider what she should do next.

She could face the horrible truth that, despite her fantasies of being a friendly elder sister type to Daisy and Josh – watching movies together, perhaps even advising them occasionally in those rare moments when Ryan runs out of steam – it won’t happen. In their eyes, she will never rise above the status of an apple core they’ve found rotting on the floor of the car. This means she should probably tiptoe to the front door and let herself out, leaving Ryan, his kids and that disgusting nurse dress, and never see any of them again.

Or she could stride into that kitchen, mature and confident like the grown-up woman she is, and seize control of the day.