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THE THIRD SUMMER – 2013

The voices woke her and she opened her eyes in the dark bedroom.

‘She’ll be fine, love’ – her father’s voice.

‘I know, but…’ – her mum replying.

‘She’s all grown-up. You can’t make the mistakes for her.’

Her ears pricked; she crept out of bed, careful not to wake Tom, and made her way down the moonlit corridor. She stopped in the doorway of the bathroom, just opposite her parents’ bedroom. If anyone got up, she could dart into the bathroom as if that was where she’d meant to go all along.

‘She’s only twenty-three!’

‘I’d met you by then!’

‘I know but… she seems so young.’

There was a sigh and a shifting of pillows. Sophie made a half-dart towards the bathroom, sure that the bedroom door was about to open. But it was a false alarm. She leant against the white-painted wood of the door-frame, her heart hammering.

‘I admit, I’m not thrilled,’ her dad said now. ‘But Sophie’s a sensible girl. I don’t think she’d do anything rash.’

There was a shifting of bodies. ‘Do you think I should say something, you know, about…?’ her mother asked.

‘Not yet. Let them have their happiness. They’re so young,’ her father replied.

What was it her mum had wanted to say? Something about Tom? About it being too soon?

There was a creak and a rustling sound. Then silence. Sophie moved closer to the bedroom, hoping to hear any more whispered insight her parents might impart. Then there was an unmistakable moan of pleasure, and she recoiled as if stung and hastily made her way back to bed. Crawling in beside Tom, who sleepily lay out his arm for her to cuddle into him, her mind was racing.

They were right, weren’t they? It was too soon. She loved Tom; they loved each other. But they were only twenty-three. When she’d realised what Tom was planning, through hints and suspicions, she’d been shocked. Surely Tom, of all people, wasn’t someone who’d want to settle down yet? At least, not officially?

When they’d visited his parents to tell them the news, it was clear from his mother’s delight that she was all for it. ‘It’s an old-fashioned thing,’ Tom had confided on the way back. ‘Some of their friends are a bit weird about living in sin and all that.’

She’d smiled and nodded and touched the diamond on her finger, wondering how much the proposal had been about them, and how much about his parents’ friends. Since when was Tom someone who’d toe the line, anyway?

But then how well did they know each other?

Then he’d put his arm around her and she’d snuggled into his side, breathed the soapy, vanilla smell of him and felt herself relax. Because she might doubt the timeline, but she didn’t doubt the destination; she knew she wanted to be with Tom.

They’d made the weekend trip from Cambridge to Bedfordshire to tell her parents in person, on Tom’s insistence.

‘Why haven’t you told them yet?’ he’d asked idly one night when they’d popped out to the bar for a white wine.

‘Oh! I just think… it would be better in person. With both of us. And there’s no rush…’

He’d slapped his forehead as if annoyed at himself. ‘Of course. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think. And there’s me rushing to my parents,’ he said. ‘We’ll go this weekend.’

And here they were, the journey passing more quickly than ever. ‘Will they mind, your parents?’ Tom had asked her. ‘I should really have asked your dad for your hand.’

‘I’m bloody glad you didn’t!’ Sophie had said. ‘I’m actually a fully grown person.’ She hated the traditional permission-asking, as if she were anyone’s possession to give away.

‘I know that. It’s just your dad might have liked it.’

It was true, he might have.

She’d managed to avoid answering the other question, afraid of the answer herself.

Still, they’d said all the right things when they’d taken them to the pub for dinner and made the announcement. Sophie had slipped on her ring, and they’d both exclaimed over how pretty it was – even Dad!

Mum had kissed her, Dad had shaken Tom’s hand forcefully and slapped him on the back. She’d felt, at the time, that she was in a TV drama – people doing all the clichéd things they’re meant to do when this kind of news is announced.

Had it been fake? Had they been acting? She tried to close her eyes, settle into sleep; knew that things would seem different in the morning. But her racing thoughts wouldn’t let her settle. Her parents had never said anything negative about Tom – they’d actually seemed to get on pretty well the few times they’d met. It was just the rush of it all; and perhaps they sensed her own reluctance.

She’d held back the other news. That Tom’s mum and dad seemed to have taken the baton and were already talking venues; that her idea of a long engagement had been pushed aside. ‘We’ll pay for it all, of course,’ his father had said. ‘Now, I know that traditionally it’s the bride’s family, but we never had a daughter and I know this one’ – he’d nodded at his wife – ‘has been longing to plan a wedding almost since Tom was born.’

Tom’s mum had laughed and lightly slapped her husband’s arm, but hadn’t contradicted him.

‘Oh,’ Sophie had responded at last. ‘Well, that’s very generous. We were actually thinking of a long engagement…’

‘Well, now you don’t need to!’ Tom’s father had responded, as if offering her the gift of a lifetime.

Tom’s dad, it seemed, was used to getting his own way. Not because he was forceful, but because for some reason, nobody seemed to challenge him. Perhaps nobody wanted to. So Sophie had pushed her own misgivings down and smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she’d said. ‘Honestly, that’s so kind.’

Now, in the darkness of her childhood bedroom, with its unfamiliar double bed and the surprise of finding a man at her side in this space, she lay awake, unable to settle.

Tom, seeming to sense her restlessness, turned on his side and wrapped her in both of his arms, pulling her into a spooning position. His body was warm against hers, his breathing regular. Her Tom. It would be OK. They would be OK.

She steadied herself, trying to match Tom’s calm – assured breaths until at last her eyelids felt heavy, she lost consciousness and finally fell into a deep sleep.