20
Both my parents are still working today as it is a Friday, so Miles and I lay on the sofa eating a very late brunch in our pyjamas. Unfortunately, Miles felt the need to put a t-shirt on to go downstairs, so I didn’t get to examine his fine fucking chest in the daylight.
I remind myself this is probably a good thing. Firstly, so I can stop being a fucking perv, but also because I am no stranger to unrequited love, and if I fall for Miles it’s only ever going to be one-sided, right?
We’re sitting in the open-plan living-dining room with the back doors flung open to try and get some air flowing through it. I always marvel at how tidy this room is now. My parents redecorated recently and I have never gotten used to the whiteness of the carpet and the unblemished paint. The glass coffee table they now have would never have survived a week when Scarlett and I lived at home and the lack of general clutter makes the place feel much different from my childhood home.
“So,” I say, “You can cook too?” I gesture to the eggs he somehow managed to poach and place on top of our fancy, fanned avo on toast.
He grins, “Thought it would impress the girls,” he says, placing his plate on the coffee table in front of us, then sitting back on the sofa and folding his arms across his chest.
“Do I count? It impressed me,” I say, “I couldn’t poach an egg to save my life,” I add, pushing my plate away and pulling my legs up underneath me.
“I’ll teach you one day,” he says, “And, yes you fucking count,” he adds, a little quieter with a small smile.
I pretend I didn’t hear, mostly because I’m not sure I was supposed to. Instead, I change the subject like the well-adjusted adult I am, “What do you want to do today?” I ask, “We’re meeting everyone I’ve ever known in my life at the restaurant later, but we have a while till then,” I add, not bothering to hide my disdain.
He chuckles, “Hey, you’ve already met everyone I’ve ever known,” he says, “Seems only fair that I experience it too,”
I snort, “Yeah, but my family and extended family friend group are batshit, I hope you’re ready,”
He raises an eyebrow, “You do remember my brothers, right?”
I shake my head, “Not very clearly,” I say with a grin.
“Open bar, I forgot,” he says with a smirk. And then he grins, “I think we should do a lifetime tour of your hometown, ”
I frown, “What exactly is that?”
“Where you take me to all the significant places in the area. You know, school, site of your first kiss, first job, etc., etc.,”
“Okay, well, the site of the first kiss is done,” I say, “It was right here on this sofa,” I pat the brown leather sofa fondly and grin up at him. The sofa is one of the only aspects of this room that is the same as when I left almost ten years ago. You could say it holds a lot of memories, but I was a pretty boring teenager.
He looks down at the sofa and then scrunches up his nose, “It wasn’t Caleb was it?”
I shake my head, “Nope,” I say, “That’s one of my firsts he didn’t get. No, it was a kid called Tommy Chaplin. He’s one of Tilda’s many, many cousins,” I explain, grinning slightly at the memory.
“Will he be at the wedding?” he asks.
“Yeah,”
“So, is this just a wedding full of your exes?” he asks with a smirk.
I laugh maniacally, “Well, he’ll be there with his boyfriend, so not a huge issue,”
*
By the time we’re ready to go out, it’s past lunchtime, so our first stop is the cafe where I worked summers when I was in college. The owner still remembers me and tells me in a very loud stage whisper that Miles is much more handsome than Caleb. Miles wears a shit-eating grin throughout our entire meal.
Then we do a tour of my life in this small town. We do a drive-by of my primary school, my secondary school and college, then onto the field where Tilda and I first got drunk. He insists on me showing him places that are part of my history with Caleb too, saying he wants to know the whole thing and I marvel at his commitment to our ruse.
When we eventually start heading home, we’re playing twenty questions again. He insists on doing the questioning because ‘it’s my half of the ruse,’ so I’m answering a bunch of weird Would You Rather questions when we get back. We head into the living room, following the sound of voices but we’re halted upon entry by a little ginger head running towards us from the door through to the kitchen.
Stella, my three-year-old niece, is screaming my name, and jumping up and down. Her little socked feet are sinking into the plush white carpet and her tutu skirt is tucked into itself at the back.
“Auntie Delaney, Auntie Delaney,” she sings as I pick her up and twirl her.
“Hey kid,” I say, “I didn’t know you were gonna be here,”
“Grammy and Grandad told mummy you were bringing your new husband and mummy wanted to meet him,” she says, putting hands on my cheeks and squeezing my face.
I snort and look at Miles who is grinning at Stella.
“Miles,” I say, “Meet Stella, Stella, this is Miles, my husband apparently,” I gesture to Miles, turning so that Stella doesn’t have to look over her shoulder at him.
Miles chuckles, “Hey Stella, nice to meet you,” he says, reaching out a hand and shaking her pudgy little one.
Stella beams at him, “I like the drawings on your neck,” she says, reaching over to point at his tattoos.
He smiles at her, “Thanks, I like your scrunchies,” he says, pointing to the pink and purple bobbles she’s got keeping her unruly curls in bunches. The curls are adorable on a small child. On an adult woman, it’s more like a mane and much less cute. I wish I would still look cute with scrunchies in my ginger curls.
She reaches to touch one of them like she’s forgotten they were there, and then grins, “You can wear one too,” she says, pulling it out and handing it to Miles.
He accepts it and she claps, “Put it in your hair, Miles,” she commands with the authority that only a small child seems to have over grown adults.
He does as he is instructed and she squeals, reaching over to him, demanding to be carried. He happily reaches out and takes her and I am lost in my silly little daydream of how fucking good he looks holding this kid. Like my ovaries are in the fucking driver’s seat right now .
“Delaney,”
Someone calls my name and it takes me a minute to pull my eyes from Miles, holding my niece who is now retying the purple scrunchie in his curls so that she can see it.
I turn to find my mum and sister, staring between me and Miles. They’re standing in the family stance; arms crossed, weight on one leg, disbelief on the face. They look so alike with their ginger hair pulled back in a knot at the back of their head and similarly all-black outfits.
“Oh hey,” I say, “This is Miles, as you can see, Stella is a fan,”
My sister stares in wonder at Miles and then at me, “Hey,” she says, stepping around the sofa to greet Miles, “I’m Delaney’s sister, Scarlett. Sorry about Stella, she tends to treat other humans like a jungle gym,”
“No, I don’t, mummy,” Stella says, frowning but still not looking at her mother as she twirls Miles’s hair around her cute little fingers.
Miles chuckles, “It’s all good,” he says, “I’m Miles,”
Scarlett shakes his hand and goes to grab Stella who pulls away and leans into Miles even more, “No, mummy, Miles is my friend,”
Scarlett looks at me and then grins, “He’s good with kids,” she says, winking.
I narrow my eyes at her and she laughs. Like, yes, my ovaries are telling me to marry the man and have ginger, Viking children with neck tats, but my brain is telling me to tell my sister that I’m not a baby machine and I can be a woman on this earth not thinking about children yet, or ever, if it so pleases me.
“Hi Miles,” my mum says, gesturing for us all to move into the living room proper, “I’m Eloise, it’s lovely to meet you,”
“You too,” he says, carrying Stella into the living room after my mum and sister, “Del has told me a lot about you guys,”
“Yeah, all the nitty gritty details,” I mutter.
“Is that Delaney’s new man I hear,” my dad calls, coming into the living room, followed by Jonah, my brother-in-law.
My dad looks like the stereotype of a dad. He’s the only non-ginger member of the family, but his actual hair colour is unknown because he’s been greying for as long as I can remember. He is grinning his dad-grin, the one that encompasses all the love he has for his kids along with a few dad jokes, when he looks over at me and then at Miles.
I roll my eyes as we all sit down, Stella insisting on sitting on Miles’s knee, “Yes, Dad,” I mumble.
Miles flashes his wolfish grin at me and then reaches to shake my dad and Jonah’s hands.
“Right,” my mum says, “We can only sit for a few minutes mind you, ”
Fortunately, it really is only a few minutes before my mum is ushering Miles and me upstairs to change for dinner. Stella throws a minor tantrum that she isn’t allowed to come which makes Miles chuckle.
Once we’re locked in my room I go into panic mode.
It’s just hit me that this is it, I have to see Caleb and the girl he left me for for the first time in a very, very long time. I brought one of my coolest dresses to wear. It’s made from silver pleather with a simple fitted cut and I thought it would make me feel like a really cool stylish gal, but now I’m wondering whether I’m going to look a bit mental.
When I come out of the bathroom, I find Miles sitting on my bed, looking fucking edible, I might add, in a pair of brown slacks and a loose white shirt. I always wanted a boyfriend who dressed well. Caleb pretty much wore the Fuckboy? uniform of skinny jeans, a long-sleeved white t-shirt, and so much cologne that it could choke you.
“Fuck, Del,” he says, “You look incredible,”
I look up at him from where I am pulling on my platform sliders, “It’s not too much?” I ask. Nicole is the sort of girl who makes everything look elegant. Like, literally everything. So, she’s probably going to be in a dainty little sundress all petite and pretty and I’m going to look like a big, giant cyborg in my silver dress. Fuck.
He shakes his head, “Nope, it’s perfect,” he says, “You look amazing, ”
I stand up, still worrying, and he stands too. He comes to face me, putting his hands on my shoulders. I’m still not as tall as him, even in my platform sandals. At least there’s that. Being tall has always been such a sore spot for me. Men are rarely ever tall enough to make me feel small and petite. I realise that at nearly 6ft, I am never going to be small and petite but when the world tells women we should be dainty and cute and easy to lift, and you’re almost 6ft with a big bum and even bigger chest, it’s pretty difficult not to feel like a big monster towering over everyone in your life.
“Take some deep breaths,” he says, “You’re going to do so well, you won’t even know what you were worrying about in a few hours,”
I sigh, “Promise?”
He grins, “I promise,”
I’m not going to say he cured me, but fuck his hands feel nice on my shoulders.
*
When we arrive at the restaurant, everyone is already there. I am walking with Miles behind my mum and dad. Miles has hold of my hand and gives it a squeeze before we step through the door.
We’ve been put in a private room, probably because there are about 500 of us, and Tilda and her family are already sitting down around a large circular table.
Dan and Tilda are sandwiched on one side by her parents, Violet and Nathaniel, and on the other sit Caleb and Nicole. There are really quick introductions, during which I refuse to even look at Caleb. I do notice Nicole looking uncomfortable though which makes me happy. Yes, I am a monster who wants everyone else to feel as uncomfortable as I am, is that too much to ask?
My sister and Jonah take one for the team and sit next to Nicole. My mum goes to sit down next to Stella who promptly throws a fit.
“I want Miles to sit next to me, not you Grammy,” she yells from her high chair.
Miles chuckles, and I grin as he leads us over to sit next to her. I notice he still has the purple scrunchie in his hair, though it’s holding half his hair up now.
“Wow,” Tilda says, “You’ve made quite the impression on Stella, Miles,”
“We’re friends,” Stella says indignantly, “He’s got my scrunchie,” she adds, pointing out the purple top knot.
Dan snorts, “It suits you, Miles,”
“Thanks,” he says, flicking his hair, “I thought so too,”
I am still smiling at him when I turn to Tilda and Dan properly. I catch Caleb’s eyes on me, mouth slightly agape, but I ignore him. The angry, raging woman in my head wants me to shout ‘What the fuck are you looking at?’ but I don’t because I am an adult.
“So,” says Violet across the table, “You’re the famous Miles. I assume El has already grilled you, but are you ready for round two?”
“Mum,” Tilda says, shaking her head and laughing.
“Oh, we haven’t had a chance to grill them yet,” my mum says, “We haven’t seen them since they got here yesterday,”
You would think that with this being Tilda’s wedding weekend, they would want to talk about that, but I am such a lost cause that even the mother of the fucking bride cares more about my partner than her daughter’s partner.
“Perfect,” says Violet, rubbing her hands together as the waitress comes round to pour our water. Nathaniel orders a few bottles of wine for the table and everyone is momentarily distracted.
Miles looks at me, eyes wide and grinning.
“Sorry pal,” I mutter.
He chuckles, “Can’t be worse than my brothers, can it?”
I raise my brows, “Oh, you poor na?ve boy,” I say, cupping his cheek.
Once the waitress has disappeared again, Violet and my mum both put their elbows on the table, as though bracing for the grilling.
“Good Lord, it’s like the Spanish Inquisition,” I mutter.
“You should be so lucky,” Nathaniel says to me with a grin. I like my godfather. He’s so laid back, and all he does is take the piss out of how intense and neurotic his wife is. And that, my friends, is real love. Taking the piss out of one another for the rest of your lives. He turns to Miles, “Sorry mate, there’s no stopping them when they get going,” he says, gesturing to the women beside him who look like they’re about to begin interrogating Miles over concerns about national security.
Miles laughs, still not looking nervous enough. Maybe I’m absorbing his nerves because I’d like to drown myself in my wine glass. I take a large gulp as the questions begin.
“So, Miles,” Violet starts, “What do you do for work?”
“Oh, going in with the best one,” Tilda says, and Dan laughs.
Miles grins his wolfish grin, “I’m a florist,”
Violet narrows her eyes and my mum smirks, “Oh sure,”
I burst out laughing, “I fucking told you, no one is going to believe you,”
“Delaney swore!” Stella screams.
I laugh even harder.
“Are you actually a florist?” Scarlett asks dubiously, looking at me for confirmation, though I give nothing away.
“Yes,” Miles says, smiling at me.
“He is,” I concede, “He owns a shop in Crouch End, but I didn’t believe him either,” I add, smirking at him.
“Oh wow,” Violet says, “You just don’t look like a florist,”
Miles grins, “It gets even better when I tell people that my grandmother taught me all about flower arranging when I was a kid,” he says, laughing, “Everyone thinks I’m making it up,”
Violet smiles, “How sweet, did you always want to be a florist?
“Uh no, I guess not,” he says, “I studied film at university, and was actually working in post-production until I got left some money and decided to buy the shop,”
“And where did you go to university?” my mum asks.
I roll my eyes, wondering if we will get to where he went to primary school at some point in the evening. I look over to Tilda for moral support, but she is just smirking at me from across the table, waggling her eyebrows every now and again as if her pre-wedding meal hasn’t been fully taken over by Miles.
“Manchester, actually,” he says, grinning and looking at me.
“Is that how you two know each other, then?” Nathaniel asks.
“Uh, in a roundabout way,” Miles says, “I left the year Del started, but we met through mutual friends from university,”
“Which ones?” Tilda asks, frowning and leaning on the table.
“Daisy and Harry,” I say, “He used to work with Harry,”
Tilda frowns, and I chuckle, “In a bar, not in insurance,” I clarify.
Tilda was intimately familiar with my entire friendship group at university. She may have decided to stay at home for university, but she took full advantage of my university house on the weekends.
Tilda snorts, “That makes more sense,
“Where are you from, Miles?” my dad asks, contributing what will likely be his only words to the conversation this evening, “You sound Southern,”
I roll my eyes, “You know, you don’t have to say that like it’s a bad thing,” I say.
Dad just grins.
“London,” Miles says, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Oh really?” my mum says, “You grew up there?” she asks this like it’s so exotic and fascinating to have grown up in London and I frown at her.
Miles nods, “Yeah, my whole family is from London and most of them still live there,”
“Do you have siblings?” Violet asks. I sigh and she grins, “Just checking he’s not an only child. They can be bratty,” she adds to me.
“Mum, I’m an only child,” Tilda says, raising her eyebrows and looking down the table at her mother.
“Exactly,” Violet retorts.
Everyone laughs and when it dies down, Violet is still looking at Miles .
“Oh, I have two brothers,” he says, “I’m the middle one,” he adds, as though he hadn’t realised she needed the answer. Poor, sweet, innocent Miles. The boy still hasn’t learnt that my godmother is like a dog with a bone when it comes to interrogating people. She should probably work for the police or MI6 or something. There would be no secrets left within a week.
Violet nods, “And what do they do? Are they florists too?”
I snort, imagining Art Stuart arranging flowers.
Miles chuckles, “No, they work for my dad actually,”
“Oh, what does your dad do?” my mum asks, giving an impressed look to Violet as if she knows what this means. He has money, or his family does. Maybe I have won something after all.
“He’s in acquisitions,” Miles says, “Not that I really have any clue what that is,”
“Did you not want to work for him?” Violet asks, frowning.
“Have you been talking to my mother?”
Violet chuckles, “Guessing it’s a sore spot,”
Miles grins, “Something like that,” he says, “Everyone works for him in my family,”
I frown, “Carrie doesn’t,” I say, and then I lean across the table to Tilda, “His cousin wrote the Kwean Klean jingle, ”
“Oh fuck, I love that jingle,” she says, and then she starts singing it.
“Oh man,” Dan says, “She’s never going to stop singing it now,”
Miles laughs, “You sang it into a microphone with Carrie at my cousin’s engagement party, didn’t you?” he says, turning to me.
“That doesn’t sound like me,” I say, as Tilda chortles.
“Still, not quite as bad as what you and Mum sang together,” he adds with an evil grin.
“Oh my God,” Tilda says, “What did she get your mum to sing and is it as embarrassing as the Holy Island debacle?”
Miles and Dan laugh, “Tilda, stop bringing that up!” I yell at her.
“Oh my God,” Scarlett says, “Remember that, mum,”
My mum is laughing, “The telling off I got from your teacher that night, my God,” she says, “You were always such a handful, Delaney,”
“All because she liked causeways,” Scarlett laughs, “Such a weird kid,”
I look up at Miles, “They think this is funny,” I say with a sigh.
He pulls his arm around my shoulder and smiles at me, “It is quite funny,” he says, looking deep into my eyes.
“Did she tell you the full story?” Tilda asks, grinning evilly .
Miles nods, “She told me last night,” he says, finally pulling his eyes away from mine.
“You all suck,” I tell the table at large.
Tilda is still laughing when she says, “Come on, what did you sing with his mum?”
Miles looks at me and then at Tilda, “I actually have a video,” he says.
“What?!” I ask, “Oh my God, you didn’t tell me you videoed it!”
He snorts, grabbing his phone out of his pocket, keeping his other arm on my shoulder in a way that is far more comforting than such a simple gesture should be, “I was saving it for the right moment,”
I cover my face, “I honest-to-God hate you,” I mutter through my hands.
My eyes are still covered but I hear the tell-tale beats of Super Bass and then my own voice drunkenly scream-singing the lyrics.
Everyone around the table is laughing, even Caleb and Nicole are chuckling, though they still look uncomfortable.
“Oh, Dellie,” Tilda says, “I fucking love you,”
At some point, the poor waitress tasked with attending our large party comes back and takes our order and the conversation turns to wedding prep and scheduling for the weekend. I feel like I can finally breathe properly by the time my starter arrives.
*
“Delaney,” my mum interrupts a little later. I am mid-sentence, explaining to Violet what it is I actually do for work for the millionth time since I started the job, “Could you at least finish your mouthful?” my mum asks.
I stick my tongue out at her, swallow, and then speak again, “Sorry, all I’ve had to eat this afternoon is a hot dog,” I say, trying to explain why I have inhaled every single course and am now absolutely housing my dessert too.
My mum frowns, “Are you making a euphemism, Delaney?”
My eyes widen and my mouth drops as everyone else around the table chortles. My mum, of course, is being entirely serious. I swear, the older she gets the more I consider investing in a gag for her when she’s drunk.
“Firstly, Mother,” I say, “Making a euphemism doesn’t make any sense, and secondly, no I wasn’t but thanks for making me want to fucking evaporate,” I turn to Miles who is shaking with laughter, “Stop laughing you,” I say, “You’re on my side,”
He grins at me, “You look so cute when your cheeks are red though,” he says, brushing the back of his hand over my, obviously, flaming red cheeks. For a moment I am totally lost in him, in his golden eyes, and the way they’re staring into mine when someone clears their throat. I look up to find Dan looking at us, smiling slightly .
Tilda is still laughing, wiping tears from her eyes but Dan speaks over her, “Sorry Miles, not a single person at this table has a filter, especially not after a bottle of wine,”
I roll my eyes, “I mean he probably got that when he met drunk Tilda last night,”
Dan snorts, “Good point,”
I see Caleb frown, and then look between the four of us as though he missed out on something. There’s an angry little shrew inside my head that leaps with joy at that look.
“I wasn’t that bad,” Tilda says.
“Babe, you fell out of the taxi,” Dan says.
I snort, “Did she blame the seatbelt?”
Dan nods, “She always does,”
“It was wrapped around my foot!” Tilda says indignantly.