Читать книгу The Wedding Favour - Michele Gorman - Страница 10

Rafael and I are actually doing this! I sneak another peek at him as we speed on the train through the rolling hills and farms of Cornwall. He’s sitting in the window seat, so I can pretend I’m interested in the view while I stare at him. He smiles when he catches me looking. Then he does the most remarkable thing. He envelops my hand in his.

‘We should be practising, no?’ he whispers. His voice sounds growly when it’s low like this.

‘Definitely. For authenticity.’ That’s the most important part of this whole crazy plan. Everything has to look completely real. One slip-up and the whole thing fails.

‘I have an idea. Excuse me,’ he says to the middle-aged woman sitting opposite. With a bit of squirming, he digs his phone from his pocket with his free hand. ‘Could you possibly take our picture? I’m sorry to bother you but this is a big day. I’m about to meet my fiancée’s parents.’

The woman makes an aw-bless face as she accepts both our phones. ‘Smile!’ she says, snapping away. She’s still smiling when she goes back to whatever she’s watching on her iPad.

Our heads nearly touch as we examine the results. ‘Our first couple photos.’

‘I’ve got one eye closed in that one,’ I say.

‘Authentic.’

By the time we met the other night (far from our office where there was no chance that we’d bump into Jenny), I was certain that I was off my trolley. But Rafael didn’t seem to think so, and we figured out all the details that could scupper the plan.

I really hope we’re not wrong, but we seem to have a water-tight story now. The most obvious question (and one that I get the feeling Immigration will ask) is: why haven’t we got any emails, texts or phone calls till now if we got together months ago? Fair question, Your Honour, and the answer is a bit delicate. Since I was involved with my former fiancé when I met Rafael, naturally I didn’t use my mobile. And I didn’t really need to anyway, since I could just walk upstairs to his office. Which is, incidentally, how we met. Yes, it is very convenient, Your Honour. No, not very nice to my fiancé (former fiancé!), but you can’t stop the heart wanting what the heart wants. I ended things with Matt when I knew I couldn’t be happy with anyone but Rafael.

Hopefully, now, whenever I get weepy, I can blame it on the emotion of being newly in love instead of newly dumped.

Rafael is still holding my hand. ‘Tell me something more about your family.’ He really does have the thickest black lashes I’ve seen outside of a Lancôme advert.

In the interest of a full briefing, I haven’t held anything back from him. This is a straight business transaction, albeit with a walk up the aisle together at the end. It’s quite liberating, this not having to pick and choose my words or worry what someone thinks of me.

We’re all on our best behaviour in a new relationship, right? When it’s real, I mean. Nobody wants to frighten the life out of a partner until they have to. Not that I’m comparing Rafael and Matt in any way, but it was months before I even mentioned my parents to Matt. They’re definitely not a new-relationship topic.

Rafael is under the illusion that having all this foreknowledge will help, that he understands what he’s walking into with my family. He doesn’t. My parents have to be experienced to get the full picture.

‘Well, Mum claims that Dad’s deaf,’ I tell him as the sea comes into view out the window. I love this bit, when we turn towards the north coast after travelling down the middle of Cornwall. ‘But that’s usually when he doesn’t do what she asks. Sometimes he’s stalling for time, till he can come up with an answer she’ll accept. Mum’s sharp, to the point of being prickly sometimes, but you’ll get on well with my dad. He loves playing host.’

As long as he doesn’t get too generous with his drinks. All bets are off with Dad once he’s on a bender.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to warn them about me?’

‘No way,’ I say. ‘I need the element of surprise on my side. Believe me, you don’t know these people … Thanks for coming with me.’

It’s Dad’s birthday weekend. What better time to tell your parents that the wedding is still on, but that they’ll need to spell the groom’s name R-a-f-a-e-l on their cards.

‘What are fiancés for?’ He drops my hand but then flips up the arm rest between us and flings his arm over my shoulder. I could get used to this, despite always agreeing with Matt that public displays of affection are over-the-top yuck.

As we pull into St Ives station, I feel like my tummy is eating itself. If my parents don’t believe us, then there isn’t much point in carrying on with this charade. Mum would never go along with it for the magazine interviews, so I wouldn’t even get out of paying back the advance. Which I can’t do. My entire future is riding on the next few hours.

‘This is stunning,’ Rafael says. He’s looking out over Porthminster beach. The gulls glow white above us in the deep blue sky. The sea is calm today. Mum said it’s been dry here.

I aim my phone at the horizon. #beachtastic. My followers can’t get enough of my Cornwall pics. ‘Bogotá is a big city, right?’ I ask him as I squint at my screen in the bright sunlight. ‘Near the water?’ I add a few more hashtags. ‘Come here. We’ll get one together.’

‘Not even close,’ he says. ‘It’s landlocked.’ Then he smirks as I pull my selfie stick from my bag. ‘Seriously?’

‘It’s very practical.’ A man shoots me a dirty look as he hops away from the waving stick.

‘Yeah, I can tell. Why not just ask someone to take a photo?’

‘Because that’s bothersome.’

‘Much better to take out people’s eyes.’

Ignoring him, I snap a dozen or so pictures.

‘Why did you ever leave here?’ he asks. When he closes his eyes to breathe in the warm breeze, I get a glimpse of what he’d look like asleep. He’d give Matt a run for his money in the gorgeousness department.

Stop thinking about Matt, I chide myself. It’ll only start me crying again, and then Mum will never believe I’m happy and in love with Rafael. What’s done is done. This is my life now.

‘You’re very lucky that your parents are here,’ he adds.

‘Wait till you meet them,’ I warn, shoving Matt out of my head and my phone back into my bag.

It’s a short walk from the station to the house, where we find Mum and Dad sitting in the back garden at the big old farm table that’s been weathered to a shimmery silver. They practically live out here in nice weather. Mum’s munching toast between sips of the no-doubt cold tea that she claims not to mind drinking. She says her job means she has to abandon her cuppa at the office whenever clients call. I think she just likes to be a martyr.

She and Dad have identical smiles to mine plastered on their faces as we approach. ‘I’ve got a surprise,’ I tell them, because there’s no use hoping they don’t notice that it’s not Matt by my side. ‘Mum, Dad, this is Rafael.’

Formally, he shakes my parents’ hands. ‘So nice to finally meet you,’ he tells them both.

I can tell that Mum catches the finally.

‘Nelly didn’t mention … You’re a friend of Nelly’s?’ Dad might look as jovial as Father Christmas (minus the snowy hair and beard), but don’t be fooled. A shrewd man lies just beneath that chubby, red-faced surface. He might not be quite as quick as Mum (nobody is), but he almost always knows when I’m up to something.

Rafael and I reach for each other’s hands. The warmth of his does make me feel a bit better. ‘Like I said, I’ve got a surprise for you.’ They must be able to hear my heart clacking. ‘We’re in love. I’ve broken up with Matt and now I’m marrying Rafael.’

My mother’s mouth drops open. ‘You’re— You’ve— You’re … what? What?’

‘Yep,’ I tell her. ‘Rafael and I are getting married.’ The only way I’m going to survive this is to brazen it out. If I keep talking, there’s a chance I’ll get through it. Mum’s a solicitor. In other words, suspicious for a living. If I let her have any time to think, she’ll only start picking holes in our story. ‘I know it seems sudden, but it’s not, really. We met months ago, at work, didn’t we?’ Here, Rafael’s arms encircle me as he hugs me to him. ‘I’ve never met anyone like him and the more we saw each other, at work, I mean, because we weren’t dating, obviously, because I was with Matt, the more I realised that I couldn’t go on with the wedding plans, given the way I feel about Rafael. It wouldn’t have been right, so I told Matt a few weeks ago.’

This blathering on is part of the plan, till they get over the initial shock.

Mum’s delicate eyebrows scrunch together as she frowns. I didn’t inherit those eyebrows. Or her pale bobbed hair or the kind of figure that makes women half her age jealous (speaking for myself). ‘You’re saying that Matt is out and Rafael is in?’

‘That’s what I’m saying. Everything else is the same: the date, the venue, the registry. And Paul is still standing up for Rafael.’

‘Matt’s sister is still your maid of honour?’ Mum asks.

‘Obviously not, Mum! It’ll be Rafael’s best friend, Mabs.’

‘And Matt knows?’

‘Oh, yes. He’s gone off to Spain on sabbatical. Actually, we talked just last week.’

‘That’s very …’ Dad trails off.

‘Mature,’ Mum finishes. ‘But you’ve known each other … how long, you and Rafael?’

‘Since the beginning of March, but we’ve seen each other every day at work. Not seeing seeing each other. Till I told Matt. Now we’re seeing each other properly. At night.’

Now it’s Dad’s turn to frown. Why did I have to put that image into my father’s head?

‘That’s not very long to know each other before getting married,’ he says.

I’m ready for this. ‘You and Mum were engaged in three months and we’ve known each other almost twice as long. We’re just being practical, Dad, with everything already underway and all. Believe me, I didn’t plan for this to happen.’ That could not be truer.

My mother sits back down. ‘Well, you’re right, this is quite a surprise. I thought you were going to tell me you lost your job.’

Rafael’s frown is almost imperceptible, but I catch it. He hugs me tighter. It’s a little gesture, and I know we’re in character right now, but I am so grateful for it.

‘I’m gasping for a tea,’ I say, instead of thanking Mum for her vote of confidence about my ability to support myself. ‘Who wants another? Rafael can help me.’

Mum bounces to her feet. ‘I’ll do it. You’re a guest, Rafael. You don’t need to work. Nelly can help me.’

No way. She wants me alone for questioning. I’m invoking the Geneva Convention. I have the right to have a representative with me. Yet it’s ludicrous for us all to go into the kitchen together. Like pouring water on teabags is a four-person job.

‘Let me give you a hand, Mrs Fraser,’ Rafael says. ‘If I’m going to be in the family, then I need to learn how you like your tea, no?’

Wow, is he good or what? I watch them walk together towards the house. Rafael towers over my mum as he ambles beside her. ‘Have you been to Cornwall before?’ I hear her ask as they go into the kitchen through the open sliding door.

So far, so good.

‘You want to tell me what’s going on?’ Dad says. He digs another Hobnob from the packet.

‘Don’t you want to wait for your tea?’

‘I’ll have another with my tea. Don’t tell your mother. I had to buy this packet as it was.’ He pats the swell of his tummy beneath his golf shirt. Dad hates golf, but he does love the uniform. His closet is full of them, neatly ironed in every colour. It’s all he wears. Mum’s going to have a hard time getting him into a suit for the wedding. ‘What’s really going on?’ he asks.

‘Nothing, Dad, honest. I know it’s a lot to take in, but this has happened.’ I shrug. ‘I’m in love with Rafael.’

‘Just like that. What about Matt?’

‘Why are you suddenly so concerned about him? You never really liked him anyway.’

‘We never got the chance to know him properly. We might have liked him if he’d bothered turning up at family dos.’

‘One Christmas, and you both hold that against him. He had food poisoning!’ Wait a second. Why am I defending Matt when he’s probably rubbing sun cream into some sexy Spaniard as we speak? ‘It doesn’t matter now. You can get to know Rafael instead. He’s amazing.’

My smile this time isn’t an act. I couldn’t have picked anyone better to pull this off with. He’s as desperate for it to work as I am. Maybe more so. If it were to go wrong, I’d only lose face and my credit rating. Rafael would lose his whole life.

When he and Mum return with our teas, I find myself checking for any signs that she got to him: terrified eyes or maybe the telltale tap of ‘help’ in Morse code on his tea mug. But his smile is as relaxed as usual.

‘So, Bob, Rafael has been telling me about Colombia,’ Mum tells Dad, turning the handle towards him when she hands him his mug. Then she takes the Hobnob packet and tightly twists the top closed. I wait about three seconds before untwisting it. Then I fish one out and loyally offer the packet to Dad. ‘That’s where he was born, in Bogotá. Isn’t that interesting?’

‘But he’s been here since after university,’ I add. ‘That was almost ten years ago.’ The less they talk about his foreignness, the better. Mum’s area of law isn’t immigration (it’s conveyance), but still.

‘Oh? Dual passport, then?’ Mum asks.

Danger, danger!

Rafael’s answer is as smooth as her question. ‘No, I’ve had a work permit through my company for many years. And you don’t need to worry about me stealing Nelly away from here. The UK is my home. Now it will be our home together.’

Instead of sitting down in the chair closest to him, he drags it around the table to plonk it beside mine. His fingers gently stroke my back as he tells Dad about growing up in Colombia. I do take it in, but the shivers running up and down my back are a little distracting.

By the time we go in for supper, I’m as relaxed as I ever get around my parents.

Until it’s time for us to go to bed.

Of course, they don’t put him on the sofa, now that they know he’s their future son-in-law. That’s why we’re facing each other in my childhood bedroom.

I have to say, they have made the shift from Matt to Rafael rather easily. Maybe they really did dislike him as much as I suspected. ‘Sorry, this is awkward,’ I tell Rafael. Because we might be about to walk down the aisle together, but we’re virtually strangers.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the floor if there is an extra pillow and blanket. I don’t mind at all.’

He really doesn’t seem to. Problem solved. We’re getting good at this.

‘Hold on. Before we mess anything up.’ I take out my phone. ‘Our first night together in my parents’ house.’ It’ll make a nice pic in front of my bed. #toocuteforwords.

But Rafael is too tall to fit comfortably in the frame with me and still get the bed in. I’m not about to take out my selfie stick in front of him again. ‘Squat down a bit. A bit more. Lean back. No, back more … This isn’t working.’

‘How about this?’ Before I know what’s happening, Rafael has flung me onto the bed. He bounces down beside me. ‘There,’ he says, putting his head beside mine on the pillow. ‘Lying down, we’re an even match.’

They say the camera doesn’t lie, but, laughing into the lens as I try not to drop it on our faces, we look as if we’ve been together for ages.

‘One more. Wait.’ I peel back the duvet and climb in. ‘Come on.’ His body is warm next to mine as we cuddle together. We pull the duvet up to our chins. ‘Perfect,’ I say, catching the moment. And I mean that. Rafael really is turning into the perfect fake fiancé.