Page 69 of Love or Your Money Back

CHAPTER

London feels utterly grey and miserable on my return, despite strings of Christmas lights appearing along Oxford Street. I ask the taxi driver to stop at a supermarket so I can buy yellow food, alcohol and painkillers. When I reach my front door, I am laden with suitcases and unhealthy groceries.

My flare-up is remitting, the only lingering sign being a stiff hip and the tinsel-covered crutch strapped to my wheelie suitcase. But I’m still in a world of pain. It’s just this time, the pain is emotional.

After humping my suitcases out of the taxi, I stand on the curb, looking up at my dark house, knowing it will be freezing and empty inside. God, I hope the boiler … wait. Who’s that on my doorstep?

I move closer, my stiff hip making me undulate like Marilyn Monroe.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Chris perches by my front door in corduroy jeans and trainers, holding a bottle of red wine. He appears to have had a haircut and a beard trim but still has the air of a French tramp about him.

‘Kat. Hey.’ Chris waves up at me. ‘I thought I’d swing by and congratulate you. I heard you won European Publisher of the Year.’

‘How did you know that?’

‘There are pictures of you in all the newspapers, being carried on stage by your team. You’ve caught the public imagination. Triumph over adversity and all of that. The female chief exec with MS wins the top prize during a flair-up. And still

gets up on stage. Congratulations.’ He examines the wine. ‘Shall we have a celebratory drink? It’s a good wine. I got it from Waitrose.’

‘What are you doing here, Chris?’

Chris clambers to his feet. He’s wearing a black, wool coat that looks surprisingly professional, his skin is clear, and his eyes aren’t bloodshot. In short, it looks like he’s stopped drinking at lunchtime and started a skin-care routine.

‘Minola and I got divorced.’

‘Don’t you mean you’re getting

divorced?’ I say. ‘You can’t be divorced already. You only just got married.’

‘No, we are divorced,’ says Chris. ‘We agreed to absolve the marriage. It was the fastest, cheapest route out. The last few weeks have been absolute hell, but it’s over. Now I just need to turn my life around and win you back.’

I laugh. ‘Excuse me, Chris. Would you mind getting off my doorstep? It’s cold and I want to get inside.’

‘Yeah. Of course. Sorry.’ Chris gives me big, brown puppy dog eyes ‘I messed everything up, Kat. It took me marrying a twenty-year-old to work out how much you meant to me. And by the time I realised, you’d become this beautiful, successful businesswoman.

When I saw you at Ascot, I was intimidated.

I admit it. I behaved like a massive arsehole.

But then I realised, what I need to do is grow up.

Improve myself. Be worthy of being in your orbit.

Get a career and a house and do all the things I should have been doing for years to deserve you. ’

‘Don’t you think you should have realised those things before

you married Minola?’

‘Look, I’m not saying this is your fault. But you never asked anything of me, Kat. I could be a child and you paid the bills. It was my fault too. Obviously. But I never had a reason to grow. Now I do. Seeing what you’ve become … I can change too. And I should. Whether you take me back or not.’

‘Thank you. I appreciate that sort of apology. It’s been a long time coming.’ I push past Chris and open my front door, treading on letters and takeaway leaflets as I struggle inside.

‘Can we at least talk?’ Chris asks. ‘I’ve been waiting for hours.’

‘Why don’t you find a park bench somewhere and crack open that wine?’

‘I don’t want to be that guy anymore.’ Chris’s eyes follow me, shining and sincere. ‘A drinking on park benches kind of guy. I want to be a one or two glass a week kind of guy with a job and kids and I’m trying so hard but … I can’t do it without you, Kat.’ Suddenly, he bursts into tears.

‘Oh god.’ I shake my head. ‘I can’t leave a crying man on my doorstep. Come on in.’

‘Thank you.’ Chris looks around at my luggage. ‘Can you walk okay? Let me help you with your bags.’

‘Wow.’ I stare at him. ‘You really have changed.’

Inside my kitchen, Chris takes two wine glasses from the cupboard, pours a glass from his bottle of red and hands it to me. I stare at him, dumbfounded.

‘Well, that’s a first.’

‘What?’

‘You just poured my drink before yours.’

‘Have I never done that?’

‘No. Never. Sometimes, you downed your drink before I even got around to pouring my glass.’

‘God.’ Chris shakes his head. ‘I’ve been such an arsehole.’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s different in here? Things have moved around.’

‘I hired a housekeeper,’ I say. ‘Then let him do his job, instead of feeling guilty and trying to do it all for him. He put up the Christmas lights and the wreath and cut back the garden and put that Christmas tree over there and … you know, all those little touches.’

‘I loved it when we lived together.’ Chris fills his wine glass. ‘It was always so organised. Living in a camper van for months on end makes you realise why most people live in houses.’

‘You never lived with me.’ I reach for the thermostat remote and turn the heating on. ‘You just came and went when it suited you.’

Chris looks at his glass. ‘Is that what it looked like?’

‘That’s how it was.’

‘Look, Kat. I don’t deserve you. I know that. If karma is a thing, I should be alone for the rest of my life. I broke your heart so many times. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Really, really sorry.’

‘Thank you. For apologising properly.’

‘This is about more than just an apology, Kat.’ Chris takes a determined swig of wine. ‘This is about sharing my evolution with you. I need to keep up if I’m ever going to stand a chance of winning you back. Which is why I’m now on the career ladder.’

‘You know giving out flyers outside a shopping centre isn’t a career?’

‘I’m the new theatre manager at the London Apollo. I have a pension and I’m looking into houses on the commuter belt. Time to grow up. So, Kat. Are you seeing anyone?’

‘Actually, no.’

‘YES!’ Chris does a fist pump.

‘I don’t think that’s a very tactful reaction. You know how much I wanted to get married before I turned 35.’

‘Sorry.’ Chris clunks his wineglass down on the counter. ‘It’s your birthday next Friday, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ I blink at him. ‘Wow. You remembered.’

‘It was the first thing I wrote in my new scheduling app.’ Chris gives me a shy smile. ‘I wanted to make sure I got you a present on time.’

‘That’s very thoughtful.’

‘It’s easy to be thoughtful when you love someone.’

‘Chris –’

‘I do love you, Kat. I always have. And I can prove it. Will you marry me?’

‘I’m sorry. What?’

‘Marry me. We’ll run away together on your birthday and tie the knot, just the two of us.’

‘Are you being serious?’

‘Absolutely. We’ll meet at the Meeting Place Statue at St Pancras, then take a first-class train to Scotland and get married over an anvil at Gretna Green. Just the two of us. What do you say?’

I watch Chris, not quite sure what’s changed. He looks completely different to me now. My heart isn’t yammering and my mouth isn’t dry and he doesn’t light me up inside.

‘Do you know what, Chris?’ I turn my wine glass. ‘Not so long ago, I would have jumped at that lack-lustre offer. But I’ve changed. I’ve learned to value myself and I really am over you. I’m not under your spell anymore. I don’t even think it was

love. Just teenage infatuation stretched out way too long. And I’m worth more.’

Chris’s face drops. ‘So you’re saying no?’

‘Actually, I’m saying yes. I’m just not jumping up and down about it.’

Chris looks confused, which is reasonable.

‘Better the devil you know, right?’ I take a sip of wine.

‘I don’t have time to wait around for happily ever after.

I need to make a sensible decision, based on what’s on the table.

Which is two like-minded people who’ve already slept together and know each other’s faults.

We get along pretty well. You want children. And you do seem to be improving.’

‘So … you’re saying yes?’

‘Yes. Or to put it another way, what the hell?’