Chapter 12 #2
I’m really not sure who I would tell. Most of my university friends stayed up north after we graduated, and although we’re still in touch, I can easily go months without seeing them.
I obviously feel strange about pretending I’ve fallen in love and got engaged, but I feel equally strange telling my friends I’m faking a marriage to get a job.
I think I’ll leave them out of it for now.
‘I’m not trying to pressure you,’ says Hunter. ‘I mean, it’s great if you think you can keep this a secret. I just don’t want you to lose your mind.’
I smile to myself. It’s not like I’ve got a track record of honesty.
‘I think I’ll be more comfortable keeping it secret.’
‘Cool,’ says Hunter. ‘But there is one person I need you to be straight with.’
I frown.
‘Me.’
I feel a jolt of fear without knowing why. ‘You? About what?’
‘Everything. If this is going to work, we need to be completely honest with each other. Is there anything you’re hiding?’
Right at that moment, a ray of sunlight peeps through the clouds and shines through the kitchen window, catching Hunter’s jade green eyes and setting them alight.
I’m transported back to that moment in the fitting room when something sparked between us.
Something real. Something mutual. But Hunter must know that.
So the fact that I find him attractive doesn’t count as something that I’m withholding from him.
I look him in the eye. ‘No,’ I say. ‘No secrets.’
Before Hunter can say anymore, I hear a voice behind him. Someone is calling from the corridor, but it’s not a request to enter. It’s an announcement. A moment later, Doily walks in.
‘Hunter,’ she says, ‘you won’t believe this. Emma Thompson is in talks for the Mrs Tiggywinkle origin story.’
Doily is dressed in a red velvet coat and a turban with a diamond pin. She looks like a cross between a seaside pier fortune teller and a queen at her coronation.
Mr Peanut leaps up and starts pawing at her.
‘And who’s this handsome gentleman?’ Doily asks.
‘This is Max,’ says Hunter. ‘I told you about him.’
‘I meant the dog.’
‘Mr Peanut,’ I say.
‘Mr Peanut! Wonderful.’ Doily bends down and pets him. ‘A very warm energy. Does he have an agent?’
I trip over a response, but Doily bursts out laughing.
‘I’m joking,’ she says. ‘I always ask that to dog owners, and they’re always secretly keen. Do you remember what Olivia Colman was like with her labradoodle, Hunter?’
This woman is not disappointing. Two name drops within a minute.
‘Is that OK?’ asks Hunter.
‘Is what OK?’ asks Doily.
‘If Mr Peanut moves in with Max.’
‘Of course it is. Tu perro es mi perro, as they say.’ She turns to me. ‘Oh Max, I can’t thank you enough for stepping into the breach like this. I’d have married him myself if he’d asked.’
I can’t cope with how casual we’re being about this.
‘It happens all the time,’ says Doily, reading my mind. ‘Not many people know this, but in the nineties, Imelda Staunton was briefly married to a Kazakh warlord. Tax reasons. They never got busted, though they did face questions over why they married so fast.’
Hunter and I share a look. Another detail I hadn’t considered.
‘Don’t worry,’ says Doily, ‘you can come up with a reason. Terminal illness of a close family member?’
‘No,’ I say instantly. That’s a lie too far, even for me. We start brainstorming excuses, from bureaucratic necessity to inheritance benefits, but nothing feels credible.
‘I know,’ says Doily. ‘Why don’t we say I’m selling the house? I’ve had an offer I can’t refuse, and it’s always been Hunter’s dream to get married here, so the wedding has to be soon. People will believe any old nonsense if it’s romantic.’
Hunter pauses. ‘We can’t get married here. You’re not licensed.’
‘I certainly am,’ says Doily. ‘And ordained. It’s a long story, and if you want the details, you can ask that bitch Julie Andrews. Ask her for my snood back while you’re at it.’
She smiles at me, but my mouth is hanging open. I can just about cope with a fake wedding, but Julie Andrews slander might be where I draw the line.
‘We can do the ceremony in the garden,’ says Doily. ‘Just let me know when you have an idea about the guest list.’
She heads back down the corridor, muttering to herself in excitement. I watch her go, not entirely convinced she wasn’t an apparition.
Hunter smiles. ‘You’ll get used to her.’
I shake my head in amazement. ‘I just . . . is she serious? Wedding? Guest list?’
Hunter’s brow furrows. ‘What were you expecting?’
‘I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but I guess I imagined we might sneak off to a registry office.’
‘We can’t sneak anywhere. We need this to look real. Who do you want to invite?’
This hardly seems fair. Hunter already has Doily and two friends in on the scam.
Since I’ve ruled out telling the truth to anyone I know, I’m going to have to invite people who believe it’s real.
I refuse to drag my friends into it. But my colleagues?
They’ve met Hunter. They bought him as my boyfriend.
Much as I hate the thought of Quentin and Flora at my wedding, that feels like the easiest solution.
‘Great,’ says Hunter. ‘What about family?’
‘What about them?’
‘Mine are all in America, but it might look suspicious if none of yours are there.’
Oh god. I hadn’t thought about what I’m going to say to my dad.
‘I can speak to my dad.’
‘And your mum?’
I see the moment it clicks. Over the years, I’ve received every possible reaction to this news, from pity to nervous laughter to the most deafening silence imaginable. If anything, Hunter’s reaction is worse.
I sense he instinctively knows that I don’t want his sympathy, but from that alone, I feel like he sees me more now. And it’s terrifying.
‘Sorry,’ says Hunter. ‘I didn’t—’
‘It’s fine. It happened a while ago.’
I know that Hunter and I agreed to be honest with each other, but this is one topic I have no interest in getting into. I let out a yawn.
‘God, the last few days have been exhausting. I might unpack.’
Hunter must know it’s only an excuse, but he doesn’t push.
‘Sure,’ he says. ‘I’ll let you get settled.’
There’s a reason I don’t tell people about my mum unless I can’t avoid it. They always get weird, wanting to ask questions they know they shouldn’t, shower me with hugs, or find some other way to treat me differently. I appreciate the fact that Hunter didn’t pry.
I go to my room and slump down on the bed with Mr Peanut.
It’s a relief to be alone. It’s not only because of that sting of grief just now.
It’s the promise I made to Hunter to be honest with him.
I can avoid topics or I can walk away from a conversation.
But we’re living together. This is the first time I’ve ever lived with a guy I’m dating.
And yes, it’s fake, but it’s still a proximity that I’m not used to.
There are only so many places I can hide.
I’m realising that I didn’t think through all the consequences before agreeing to move in.
Lying to my colleagues isn’t an issue, but lying to my dad?
Letting him think his son has fallen in love when he hasn’t?
That’s insane. But how can I tell him the truth?
He’d worry himself sick. And I can’t keep the whole thing a secret from him.
He likes to send me newspaper clippings, so I’m going to have to tell him my change of address.
There are going to be lies one way or another, so I might as well go all in with the big one.
Difficult as it may be, it’s better than telling people the truth.
There’s a reason Hunter has told three people so easily and I haven’t told anyone.
He needs to stay in the country, which is something that people will sympathise with.
I’m doing it for a job. It sounds so silly when you put it like that.
But I know one person who would understand. I open my suitcase and carefully pull out the book with my mum’s letter folded inside. I’ve read it so many times in the past five years that it’s in danger of falling apart, but I can’t stop looking at it.
There’s a world out there full of people . . . never forget that.
I haven’t forgotten, Mum. And I know there’s only one way I can reach it.
My mum knew better than anyone that if we want to escape the grey little lives that have been lined up for us in this country, we have to step out of our comfort zone.
We have to take some risks. But it was easier to take those risks when I had her as my safety net.
Without her, this is a leap into the unknown.
I look up and see Hunter standing in the doorway. I hurriedly fold the letter and snap the book shut.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Just wanted to check you’re OK.’
As I look at him, I don’t feel remotely equipped to tell him everything that is running through my mind, and yet there is something about his open expression, his bracing honesty, that makes me not want to lie to his face. Maybe I can share just a hint of what I’m feeling.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Just nervous. Nervous, but excited.’