I let out a giggle I’ve been holding in. I want to laugh but I’m trying to siphon it off into little snorts instead. Mainly I’ve just given myself hiccups, but even that is better than letting him know I’m finding R.C. Art funny.
‘What are you reading?’ Rohan asks.
I’m in bed and he’s on the floor as usual. The main light’s off but the screens of both our phones are lighting up our faces. I decide to be honest with him. ‘I looked up the archives of The Man Land.’
‘You’re reading my old columns? Seriously?’
‘Yeah. As much as it pains me to say, I kind of understand why my boss likes you so much.’
His arm comes up over the footboard of the bed and he turns his phone to face me. I squint at it and see the Two Gold Rings logo at the top of his screen. ‘You’re reading my articles too?’
‘Yeah. This one’s about the different ways to wear a veil. It’s enthralling stuff.’
‘Gee, tha—’
‘I’m sorry, that genuinely wasn’t meant to sound sarcastic. I’ve been reading back issues on the app. I’m actually really enjoying your work.’
‘But you hate anything to do with love and you loathe weddings. You’re enjoying what I write?’
‘Yeah.’ He hesitates for a moment. ‘It’s not so much what you write but how you write it. It means a lot to you and that comes across. It’s nice to see. All these real weddings that you cover too. You love these couples and writing about them and sharing their wedding days and it really shows.’
‘That sounds suspiciously like a compliment.’
‘It is.’ He sits up with a grunt and turns towards me in the darkness. ‘Try not to keel over from the shock.’
‘I’m enjoying your columns too, you know. You’re hilarious when you’re not being offensive,’ I say. ‘The one comparing unrealistic Disney princes to real men is brilliant. It’s a little bit insulting but it doesn’t hurt anyone. That’s the kind of thing you won’t get sued for.’
‘Yeah, but I would rather say something honest and get in trouble for it than sugar-coat things and let people believe that happily ever afters exist outside of fairy tales.’
‘They do. They have to. Why else do we all carry on?’
‘Beats me,’ he says with a shrug, sounding sadder than I ever imagined he could sound.
I go to say something else but a clap of thunder right overhead makes me jump and hailstones start raining down on the roof above us, crashing against the skylight with a clatter.
‘Wow.’ Rohan’s still sleeping in a T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms and his T-shirt rises up as he clambers to his feet, exposing a line of smooth, pale skin on his back, and I try not to focus on it as he comes over to the side of the bed to look up through the skylight. ‘Looks awful out there. Sounds amazing though.’
He’s right. The hollow echo of rain and hail on the roof make the room feel closed in and cosy, safe in the midst of the storm, like the best thing we could do would be to get a hot chocolate, a blanket, and a good book.
I shift in bed until I’m lying sideways across it and lean my head back so I can see through the skylight. With the lights off inside, you can watch the hail start melting on the glass as rain takes over.
‘Wanna sit?’ I ask, patting the space on the bed beside me. I’m quite surprised when he walks around and throws himself down on his back next to me.
‘S’nice here, innit?’
I grin at his deliberately lazy accent as he wriggles around to get comfortable. ‘There are definitely some perks to being upgraded to the honeymoon suite.’
We lie there in silence for a long while, just listening to the rain smash against the skylight, watching as the drops land and splash across the glass.
‘Can I ask you something?’ I say eventually.
‘Anything,’ he murmurs.
‘What was different in the column we argued about? The way you insulted that couple… I mean, you’re always cynical and a bit harsh, but that was different from all your other columns. You crossed a line into personal insults that you hadn’t crossed before. You said you knew the groom…’ I say, thinking back to the night I found out Seasick Man was R.C. Art. I’ve been wanting to know what he meant since the moment he said it, but even more so now I’ve read some of his other columns, and none of them are anywhere near as spiteful as that one.
He’s quiet for so long that I think he’s not going to answer. ‘He was my father-in-law.’
It surprises me so much that it takes me a while to process his answer. ‘You were married?’ I ask in disbelief.
‘No.’
‘How can you have a…’
Rohan turns his head away and I don’t finish the question. He plainly doesn’t want to tell me anything more. He looks surprised that he’s told me that much.
‘Did you ever read Enid Blyton’s Enchanted Forest books when you were little? That’s what it feels like here, like a wedding land at the top of the magic Faraway Tree.’
He’s obviously changing the subject, but I know that if I push him, he’ll just make a sarcastic comment and go back to lying on the floor, and it’s kind of nice to lie here and listen to the rain with him. ‘That would mean it was enchanted. Don’t tell me you think there might actually be something magical about the church…’
He settles back as he realises I’m going along with it and his body relaxes, letting go of tension I didn’t even realise had shot through him. He lets out a breath and drops an arm so it’s lying side by side with my arm, our skin pressed together, and his fingers intertwine themselves with mine, almost like he’s on autopilot.
With islanders watching, waiting for some sign that we’re faking this, it’s become kind of second nature to hold hands when we’re walking around the island. Ro must’ve forgotten that no one’s watching now we’re in the privacy of our room. It makes a smile spread across my face and a little tingle travel up my arm, sparking where my skin touches his.
He rolls his head to face me. ‘I think there’s something magical about its marketing budget and something genius about the marketers. Sell the no-divorce story to the press, pretend you didn’t and you don’t want reporters here, and idiots like me and you come along and do all the work for them. I bet Hambridge Publishing wish they had that kind of innovative marketing genius. Better than “let’s pit two magazines that no one cares about against each other and see which one no one cares about least”. You could do the same with Two Gold Rings – no one who’s ever read this mag has had an unhappy marriage. The principle is the same.’
His cynicism doesn’t sound funny tonight, it sounds sour, and it makes me think of him as a child and his first experience of what marriage was like. ‘Do you see much of your mum and dad?’ I ask, still wondering how his mum can think he’s a postman. My mum buys every issue of Two Gold Rings and has a scrapbook of every article I’ve ever written. I can’t imagine my parents ever not knowing what I do for a living.
‘Not really. My dad’s in Devon now and my mum’s in Nottingham, and I’m in London, and there’s still awkwardness between them. It’s not physically possible to visit them both at the same time, but if I go to one then the other gets jealous and launches into a diatribe about all their wrongdoings, and if I go without telling them then they inevitably find out and make me feel like I’m somehow disloyal to one for still loving the other one. I love them both to bits but it’s easier to stay away.’
I’ve never realised how lucky I am before. I mean, I know people’s parents split up and families break apart, but it’s never even been a possibility in my life. My parents live on a little rural street, a picturesque cul-de-sac with neatly mowed lawns and pretty flowers in the borders, about an hour’s drive outside of London. Easy enough to get to and far enough away that it feels like having a proper break when I go to stay with them. I can’t imagine them ever making me feel guilty about spending more time with one than the other. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I can’t imagine what that’s like.’
‘Let me guess, your parents live in a pretty little house on a pretty little street with pretty white fences and pretty flowers and a pretty little dog and spend all their days mooning over how much they love each other?’
‘Well, not all their days. They have to sleep for about eight hours a night sometimes.’
He laughs. ‘Jeez, I can’t remember the last time I slept for eight hours. Is that what love does for you?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ I mutter. ‘In their case, it’s probably love and gardening.’
‘Sounds too perfect to be true,’ he says with a chuckle. ‘What kind of dog is it?’
‘A scruffy terrier of some kind. They found her abandoned on the side of the motorway one day and took her home. I don’t think she likes me very much though. She always stays away from me whenever I go there. She’d probably love you to bits. From what I’ve seen, dogs have a bit of a thing for you.’
He laughs so hard the bed shakes. ‘You keep saying that but Puffin is just being friendly. I’m sure he’s like that with everyone.’
‘I put my hands out to him and he ignores me point-blank. You’ve got a way with dogs. I bet babies love you too.’
He laughs but doesn’t deny it, and even in the dark, I can tell his cheeks have heated up.
‘I had a dog when I was growing up,’ he says softly, his voice rough after being quiet for a while. ‘He was supposed to be the family dog but he was just mine. I’d take him out for walks when my parents were fighting. I was probably too young to be out alone but no one minded because I had the dog to protect me. I’d go and sit on rocks by the river near our house and throw stones into the water and cuddle him until I thought it was safe to go back. To say he was my best friend would be an understatement. I loved that dog more than anything.’
‘He died?’
‘Oh, undoubtedly. It was twenty-something years ago now, but not with me.’
‘What happened?’
His breath hitches. ‘Divorce happened. My dad didn’t want to keep him and my mum didn’t want him wrecking her new house. She found some bloke who wanted a dog and rehomed him while I was at school one day.’
‘You’re kidding?’
He shakes his head minutely, his eyes fixed on the skylight.
I suck in a breath, my own eyes feeling a bit too damp. ‘I’m… my God, Ro, I’m so sorry. That’s unforgivable.’
‘That’s marriage for you.’
‘Not all—’
‘Yeah, I know. Not all marriages. But I’m not going to write a column that actively encourages people to get married when I know first hand what it does to the kids stuck in the middle.’
I’ve somehow gone from holding his hand to clasping it between both of mine, rubbing my thumb gently over his fingers, and I know it’s probably too intimate, too close, but I can’t make myself let go. ‘What did you do?’
‘Cut school and roamed the streets looking for him. Never found him though. We moved the following week. After that, my mum would say I became a teenager, but I think I was probably a more teenage-y teenager than most. I was angry at the world. I remember feeling like everything was going wrong and my whole life was spiralling out of control. Let’s just say I made it ironic that my mum didn’t want the dog wrecking her new house because I did a pretty good job myself. I did make up for it in later years though, after I grew out of the angry teenage phase.’
I smile despite how sad I feel. ‘I’m so sorry that was your childhood, Ro. No kid deserves that.’
‘I don’t blame my mum. She was suddenly a single parent, after years in what I now know was an abusive marriage on both sides, and I was being difficult because I didn’t want to move. She did her best in a horrible situation, and my dad did too. I realised that as I grew up. There are just so many things that they could have handled differently if they hadn’t been so wrapped up in hating each other. The parents I had before the divorce would never have done anything like that. It changes people.’
There’s really no answer to that, although it answers a lot about Rohan and why he’s so against marriage. How can I ever convince him that not all marriages will end like his parents’ did – and what right do I have to try? My upbringing was privileged with love compared to his. He felt like an unwanted spare part, a pawn in his parents’ fight, but I never doubted for a nanosecond how much my parents loved me and each other. ‘At least I understand why you’re so against marriage now.’
‘Oh, if only it was just that,’ he mutters, swallowing hard. ‘Enough of my rubbish. Talk to me about you instead. Tell me about the Prince Charming you’re going to marry in your Belle dress. Ever come close to finding him?’
‘No.’ I decide not to argue if he needs another subject change. ‘Never mind come close, I doubt I’ve even been on the same continent.’
‘Ever been in love?’
‘No.’
He turns his head to face me. ‘You’ve never been in love?’
I shake my head.
‘But you’re, like, the head cheerleader for love. Everything you write is about love. How can you believe so strongly in something you’ve never felt?’
‘Because it’s what I want more than anything. Because it’s one shining light in a world that’s often dark. I love love. I love seeing people happy. I love weddings because they celebrate love. You don’t need to see something to know it exists.’ I bite my lip because talking about it, admitting out loud that in my thirty-four years I’ve never been in love makes it seem all the more real.
It’s easy to surround myself with weddings at work and tell myself that it happens for everyone eventually, it just hasn’t happened for me yet, but sometimes – usually when I’m lying alone in bed at night – the truth sneaks its way in. What if it never does? What if dates with guys where the verdict is ‘not completely awful’ is as close to love as I’m ever going to get?
‘Have you?’ I ask to distract myself.
‘I thought I was once.’ He hesitates for a long time, so long that I think he’s ended the conversation without me realising. ‘But no. You can’t be in something that doesn’t exist.’
I try to think of a response to that, but maybe there isn’t one. I’ve never even been in love. What right do I have to try to convince him that love exists? How he feels about it is his choice, and even if I could change him, I’m not sure I’d want to. He’s kind of nice as he is.
‘I’m waiting for you to tell me how cynical and grumpy that is,’ he says when I don’t answer.
‘After everything you’ve just said, maybe you’re entitled to be cynical and grumpy for a bit. For tonight, at least.’
He looks over at me and smiles.
‘Don’t you ever get lonely?’ I ask. ‘Don’t you ever wish you had someone to share your life with?’
‘Nope. I have my job, my friends, and my independence. I don’t have to answer to anyone, I don’t have to explain if I’m working late, I don’t have to worry about trusting someone else. I’m responsible for my own happiness.’ He looks at me again. ‘Do you?’
‘Yeah.’ I look over at him and he meets my eyes, a little twinkle in his in the darkness. I wonder if I hadn’t even realised how lonely I’ve been until I had to share a room with him. ‘I always feel like there’s something missing. I want what my parents have. That’s how I’ve always pictured my life and I feel like a failure because it’s not happening. I haven’t achieved anything I wanted to achieve. I’m nearly thirty-five. I pictured being married with a couple of babies by now.’
‘But you’ve achieved other things. You have a job that you love and you’re good at. Your love of love comes through in everything you do. Just because some things haven’t happened by a certain age, or by the time they did for your parents, or the way you imagined them, definitely doesn’t make you a failure. There are different successes at different times, different roads to success, different views of it depending on what part of the journey you’re on. Just because your life hasn’t played out the way you imagined it when Barbie married Ken – sorry, when Sindy married Aladdin – at the age of ten definitely doesn’t make you a failure.’
‘Thanks.’ I look over at him again and he smiles. ‘I just keep thinking… what if you only get a certain quota of proposals in a lifetime and I’ve used mine up on you tying your shoelace?’
He bursts out laughing so hard that the bed shakes. ‘Guess we’ll just have to marry each other next September then, won’t we?’
Hopefully he doesn’t hear the breath catch in my throat.
We lie there in silence for a while, listening to the rain turn from heavy drops to a slight pitter-patter and then fade away completely. At first I think Rohan’s going to stay there all night and sleep in the bed for once, but eventually he gives my hand a final squeeze and moves. ‘Night, Bon. Sleep well. I wish you a Jake Gyllenhaal sex dream… No, two Jake Gyllenhaal sex dreams to make up for listening to me going on about my parents.’
‘Night, Ro,’ I say when he’s settled back down on the floor.
When it comes to sex dreams, although I’m sure Jake Gyllenhaal has his merits, he is not who I want to be dreaming about. There’s a truly good-hearted, gentle, and ridiculously sexy guy much closer who I wouldn’t mind a sex dream with.
Or actual sex.
God, I hope I didn’t say that out loud.