Before We Met(39)

‘Whichever, it’s effective.’

He’d turned to face her. ‘Does it work on you?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I hope so.’ His expression was very serious all of a sudden and she’d felt her own smile fade. ‘Hannah, you know I love you, don’t you?’

She’d nodded, blinking against the sun that was pouring round the outline of his head and shoulders, directly into her eyes.

‘I’ve been thinking about this a lot – really, a lot.’ He’d laughed a little, making fun of himself. ‘I wondered . . . Will you marry me?’



Tom and Lydia had driven down from her parents’ house in Ludlow that evening. Sandy had wanted Hannah to ring and tell him the news as soon as she’d got off the phone with her dad and Maggie but she’d waited to tell Tom in person, wanting to see his face when she told him that she, the great unmarriageable, the romantic disaster area, the coward, was actually getting spliced.

It had started auspiciously enough. Mark had helped unload the car and referenced a line from an old Only Fools and Horses Christmas special that had made Tom laugh even before they’d been officially introduced inside by the fire. Wrapped in the long cashmere cardigan that Lydia – who was a far better daughter-in-law than she was an actual daughter, Hannah thought – had bought for her when the two of them had been shopping together, Sandy had hovered excitedly, unable to sit down for a minute even when Mark had handed her a glass of wine and urged her to take the chair in front of the fire.

‘What’s up, Mum?’ Tom had said, putting his arm round her shoulders. ‘It’s a bit late in the season for ants in the pants, isn’t it? And I can’t believe you’re that excited to see me. You saw me a fortnight ago.’

Her mother had thrown Hannah an agonised look. ‘A mother’s allowed to be excited about having her family all together, isn’t she?’

‘She is. But clearly there’s something else afoot. Out with it.’

‘Hannah, tell him. Quickly, before I explode.’

‘Tell me what?’ Tom said, looking at her.

Mark moved across the room and put his arm around Hannah’s waist. She grinned at him and then at her brother, the happiness that had been bubbling through her all day threatening to spill out of control. ‘We’re getting married,’ she said. ‘Mark asked me this morning.’

Lydia gave a cry of delight and launched into a strange sort of dance with Sandy, but Hannah couldn’t take her eyes off Tom’s face. He did a pretty good job of covering it – the look was gone almost as soon as she’d seen it – but it had been there, unmistakable, an expression that combined shock and hurt and alarm.

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘My God – wow. Congratulations. That’s huge, Hannah.’

Hannah. It was all the confirmation she needed.

Tom had taken a swig of the beer Mark had poured him then put the glass down on the mantelpiece and come to give her a hug. ‘Wow.’ He’d pulled away and shaken Mark’s hand. ‘Well played, sir. I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for?’

Mark had laughed. ‘I think so. Any advice gratefully received, though – you’re the expert.’

Sandy had disappeared momentarily but reappeared now with a tray of glasses and the bottle of champagne that had lurked at the back of her china pantry for the past five years at least but had mysteriously already been chilling in the fridge when they’d returned earlier with their news. ‘You asked my mother for permission,’ Hannah had said, when she’d seen it, and Mark had grinned.

‘I think she liked it.’

For half an hour Hannah had been trapped in front of the fire, answering excited questions from Lydia and her mother about potential venues for the reception and what kind of dress she was going to have, conscious all the time of the waves of tension radiating from her brother at the other end of the sofa, where Mark was attempting to talk to him about Cape Town, a place about which Tom, who’d taught in a school there for a year, usually proselytised at the first hint of an opportunity. In the end he’d excused himself for a cigarette and she’d waited a minute or two for appearances’ sake then slipped out after him. She’d found him in the back garden, down at the end of the lawn beyond the range of the automatic light above the back door.

‘So, you’re pissed off with me,’ she said, once her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, making out her brother’s features.

‘Why would I be pissed off with you? You’re getting married.’