13 Dates, page 31
35.
Ow!’ says Angel, grimacing up at me.
‘Sorry.’
‘Try shifting a bit to the right.’
‘It’s not wide enough.’
‘Yes it is. You just need to approach it from a different angle.’
‘I’m never going to get in this way.’
‘Maybe if you take a run-up.’
‘A run-up?’ I look down at her. ‘I’m supposed to be carrying you over the threshold. Not competing in this year’s World’s Strongest Man competition.’
It’s Tuesday afternoon, and I’m a little tipsy after our post-wedding celebrations in the pub, where – given my joy about Angel’s current ‘eating for two’ status – I’ve been doing something similar on the drinking front.
‘Do you want me to carry you?’
‘In your condition? And before you say anything, I’m referring to the pregnancy, and not . . .’
Angel makes a face. ‘Don’t remind me,’ she says, as I turn her side-on and steer us both carefully through Mary’s – sorry, our – front door. ‘Of either of those things.’
‘Okay. But I’m going to have to put you down now. You’re too heavy.’
‘I might get a lot heavier.’
‘I think the technical term is “fat”,’ I say, lowering her gratefully to the floor.
‘At least I’ll have an excuse!’ She pokes me in my stomach, then peers around the cavernous hallway. ‘This place is amazing.’
‘Not compared to your mum and dad’s.’
‘Would you rather we moved in with them?’
‘No wife of mine is going to slum it! And besides, I’m not sure your dad would be so keen on the idea.’
‘You’d be surprised. He seems to be . . .’ She thinks for a moment or two. ‘I’m going to go with “warming to you”. Though I’d avoid parkrun for a while, if I were you. Besides, it’s my mum you should worry about now.’
‘What for?’
‘You saw her smile waver when I told her she was going to be a grandmother?’ Angel laughs, and turns her attention back to the house. ‘Well, at least now we don’t have to worry where the baby’s going to sleep.’
‘You’re having it, then?’
‘We’re having it, I think you mean.’
‘Sorry. Yes, of course. We’re having it.’
‘Thank you.’
When Angel doesn’t say anything further, I clear my throat. ‘Aren’t we?’
‘I’m thinking about it,’ she says nervously. ‘I mean, a baby. There’s a lot to consider. And what if it . . . ?’ Angel pales, and her hand goes automatically to her left breast.
‘It’s not hereditary.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Like I said the other day, I’ve been reading up. Nine out of every thousand, remember? And if you think about it, the odds of one of those nine out of every thousand having one of those nine out of every thousand . . .’ I pull my phone out, open the calculator app, stare at the screen for a moment, then put it away again without pressing a button. ‘Well, to be honest, the maths is a bit beyond me.’
‘But I don’t know the first thing about being a mum. And there’s just so much to—’
‘Hey.’ I put my arm around her shoulders. ‘Or we could just take it one day at a time. Make it up as we go along. See what happens . . .’
Angel looks at me, mock-horrified, then pulls her phone out of her pocket and jabs at the screen.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Calling the police. Someone’s stolen your personality and replaced it with Captain Unsensible.’ She slips her phone away as she leads me through into the lounge. ‘You really want to have a baby with me?’
‘Angel – us, together, starting a family, it’s all I ever wanted.’
‘Less of the “starting”, mister! “Starting” suggests more to come. This might be our only one.’
‘Fine by me,’ I say. And it is fine by me. If I’ve learned anything over the past three months, it’s that if you’re always looking off into the distance, you can’t really focus on what’s right in front of you.
Angel collapses onto the sofa, just as I do the same. It’s been an exhausting couple of days for us both. ‘Even though, to use your delightful term, I’ll get “fat”?’
‘More of you to love, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘That’s so sweet.’ She mimes sticking her fingers down her throat. ‘But seriously, Noah. You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure. New experiences, and all that,’ I add, surprised to hear myself speaking in the same upbeat tone as when Angel ordered that first flat white in Starbucks.
‘As new experiences go, it’s going to be pretty full on.’
‘“Full on” is my new middle name,’ I say, for some reason in an American accent. ‘Unlike “Fallon”. Which is your old surname.’
Angel widens her eyes. ‘I know! Married!’ She holds her left hand up and proudly inspects her wedding ring, almost as if it’s a prize she never thought she’d win. ‘Was it what you expected?’
I shrug, and look at my watch. ‘I don’t know. It’s only been five hours.’
‘The ceremony.’
‘Not really. But then again, nothing’s been as I expected, since I met you.’
‘In a good way, I hope?’
‘In a good way.’
Angel swings her legs up and rests them across my lap. ‘Pleased to hear it.’
‘I’ll say this, though. For a half-hour slot in a windowless office with a couple of witnesses and a fair bit of form-filling, it felt much more . . . momentous than I thought it would be. And a lot more emotional.’
‘Was that why you blubbed like a girl?’
‘I did not!’ I fold my arms defiantly, though Angel’s right. I did cry. And I wasn’t the only one, despite a red-eyed Marlon’s denials afterwards. But in my defence, I’d suggest that pledging your eternal devotion to the love of your life the day after you’ve found out not only that she’s prepared to go through with a transplant operation, but also that she’s pregnant, would make even the hardest-hearted person well up. ‘I . . . had something in my eye.’
‘Funny how that happened right when the registrar said “in sickness and in health” . . .’
I try – and fail – to appear indignant. ‘About that. Those promises. I meant them, you know?’
‘Noah . . . the transplant . . .’ Angel sits up straight again and looks suddenly serious. ‘I can’t promise—’
‘I don’t need you to.’
‘Especially now.’
‘I understand.’
‘But I’m thinking about it.’
‘Your body, your decision. “In sickness and in health”, remember?’
‘You didn’t have your fingers crossed during that part?’
‘Angel, I’ve had my fingers crossed since the day I met you.’
She glances down at her stomach, then across at me, and makes a ‘terrified’ face. ‘Well, you’d better keep them like that for another nine months,’ she says.
So I smile back at her, cross all my fingers, then hold both hands up so Angel can see. Although, somehow, I have a feeling that everything’s going to work out just fine.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks: To Emilie Marneur, Sana Chebaro, Sammia Hamer, Bekah Graham and the rest of the amazing Amazon Publishing team.
To Sophie ‘don’t kill your darlings, make them stronger’ Wilson.
To the usual suspects (Tina Patel, Tony Heywood, Lawrence Davison, John Lennard) for their ongoing friendship and support. Keep it coming. Along with the material.
To the Board. We’ve still got it.
And lastly, as ever, to you, my fantastic, enthusiastic, appreciative readers. You’re* the reason I sit down at my desk and write.
*along with my mortgage.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2014 Cassandra Nelson
British writer Matt Dunn is the author of eleven (and counting) romantic comedy novels, including A Day at the Office (a Kindle bestseller) and The Ex-Boyfriend’s Handbook (shortlisted for both the Romantic Novel of the Year Award and the Melissa Nathan Award for Comedy Romance). He’s also written about life, love and relationships for various publications including The Times, the Guardian, Glamour, Cosmopolitan, Company, Elle and the Sun. Before becoming a full-time writer, Matt worked as a lifeguard, a fitness-equipment salesman and an IT headhunter.
Matt Dunn, 13 Dates
