Chapter 19
The days had settled into their familiar pattern and France had become a distant dream. November, and the roads were slippery and wet, the skies dark for her journey to and from work. The store had begun to play Christmas music, and she was already sick of its saccharine sentimentality.
The queues to the tills had grown as organised people had begun to tick items off their Christmas shopping lists. Gift boxes of perfume and aftershave; bath sets; make-up advent calendars for those averse to a sweet treat in December.
Bella’s mood had soured. The days had become interminable, bleeding into one another. She’d stopped smiling at customers; was doing her job on autopilot.
‘Wow, that’s increased since last time,’ a voice said.
She looked up.
It was Pete.
‘Pete! Hello! God, I’m sorry. I just— I wasn’t paying attention,’ she said, smiling.
He was wearing his on-site gear – a battered pair of jeans with steel-capped boots, a chequered shirt that had seen better days. He looked rugged and dependable and actually pretty good-looking.
She handed him his receipt.
‘Hang on,’ he said, putting something else on the counter. ‘I forgot this.’
‘God’s sake,’ she said, looking at the queue.
But when she turned her attention to what she’d assumed was his other purchase, her mouth dropped open. It was a small velvet box, with an even tinier ring inside. When she had opened it, the people in the queue had gasped in unison.
‘Let’s do it,’ he said.
‘Get married?’
‘The whole thing. France. Marriage. An adventure.’
She didn’t even have to think: ‘OK.’
‘OK yes?’
‘OK yes.’
They’d grinned at each other as Slade had roared out Christmas greetings over the tinny store stereo and the people in the queue had clapped their gloved hands.
When she relayed the tale to Dad and Kitty later, she wouldn’t mention the three little words he’d uttered as a proposal had been more of a sports shoe slogan than anything romantic.
Because however you looked at it, all her dreams were going to come true.