Hope heard the lock click – her daughter had returned from university. Footsteps approached her room.
“Fancy some supper?” Hope asked without glancing up from her knitting.
“Later. Mum, I need to talk to you.”
“Something wrong?” Hope lifted her head. Chloe stood before her clutching an enormous bouquet of red roses.
“Blimey! Let me guess… Thomas finally proposed.”
“Mum! That’s no fun,” Chloe pouted, plopping onto the sofa beside her. “I was supposed to announce it properly. How’d you know?”
Hope set her knitting aside. “Wasn’t exactly rocket science. You and Thomas have been inseparable since primary school, dated over two years, spend every free moment together. Besides, lads don’t hand out bouquets like sweeties without occasion. Did he slip a ring on it too?”
Chloe flashed her right hand, showcasing a gold band with a white stone. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”
“Quite. But you look about as thrilled as a cat in a rainstorm,” Hope observed warily.
“I am happy! Only… I’m not sure I fancy marriage just yet. He’s brilliant fun, and I miss him terribly when we’re apart. But I rather like having my own bed to sprawl in. Suppose I’m not ready for grown-up commitments.”
“Or perhaps there’s another chap in the picture?” Hope ventured.
“Other boys flirting? Lovely for the ego! But no, none hold a candle to Thomas. What if this isn’t the forever sort of love? The kind you and Dad had?”
“You may be grown, darling, but you’re still daft as a brush.” Hope pulled Chloe close. “You only discover ‘forever’ love whilst living it. Most girls your age are mad for weddings and white dresses. Yet here you are—hesitating. Maybe waiting’s wise. What did you tell Thomas?”
“I said yes… but asked to delay till graduation.”
“Smart girl! Enjoy being engaged. Everyone rushes to become ‘wifey,’ but marriage means duties, responsibilities—caring for someone else’s socks and moods 24/7. Living cheek by jowl shows all their flaws. You tolerate that through friendship, not just sparks. And children…”
“Exactly! I fancy our current setup. Fancy missing him yet relishing solitude. D’you think I don’t love him?”
“You’re just being sensible. Have a proper chin-wag with him. If he truly loves you, he’ll understand.”
“He’s cross,” Chloe muttered.
“Well, colour me shocked! He proposed thinking he’d made your year, and you told him to hold his horses. That’d sting anyone’s pride.”
“Maybe he loves me more than I love him. What if this isn’t real? People fall out of love all the time—divorces everywhere!”
“Sadly, passions cool. Not everyone weathers that storm.”
“How did you know you loved Dad?” Chloe perked up.
“Funnily enough, I liked him before I’d even clapped eyes on him,” Hope chuckled.
“How? Dreamt him up? Spill the beans!” Chloe wriggled comfier.
“Righto. Back in uni, I had this friend Emily—stunning but a bit flighty. She’d moved from Bristol and stayed in halls. Near summer exams, my parents went to Bath—Dad needed the spa waters for his dodgy joints. I invited Emily over, since halls were chaos. She leapt at it.
Emily had been dating a bloke from another uni for months. Rabbited on about his dreamy eyes and silky curls till my ears bled…”
“Sounds exactly like me gushing about Thomas!” Chloe interrupted.
“Spot on! I’d not met this William yet but had conjured him in my head—my ideal chap. Emily turned heads everywhere; I felt rather plain. Thomas says I’m lovely? Your dad’s biased. Back then? I thought my legs too stout, my bust too modest. My prince fit Emily better.
After an exam, we bumped into him outside campus. Knew him instantly—like meeting someone from a dream. He was precisely as imagined. But he was Emily’s beau. Dead serious.”
Hope sighed; Chloe squeezed her arm.
“Then there was Liam—guitar god on our course. Sang like an angel; gave all us girls proper goose pimples. Went through lasses like tissues.”
“You fancied him?”
“Me? Don’t be daft! He ignored me. Emily, though? They briefly dated until she chucked him over his flirting habits. Then came William…
One day she swept in with a bouquet like you’ve got now—glowing! Showed off a dainty little ring. Said he could’ve afforded flashier. When I sighed, ‘If he gave me a ring, I’d want nothing grander,’ she nearly bit my head off. Turns out William had said blokes must be blind not to fancy me.
Two days later, Liam rang begging for a meet. I warned Emily he’d not tolerate being dumped—his ego couldn’t handle it. She screeched I was jealous. Off she dashed, forgetting her phone. William dropped by. I fibbed she’d gone to the library. Then Liam rang again—William spotted it and stormed off.
Emily returned,
Emily returned waxing lyrical about Liam’s serenades, but when William showed up heartbroken on my doorstep later that week, our shared misery over soggy biscuits blossomed into unexpected romance over a mutual love of terrible telly and second-hand bookshops, proving sometimes the back-up plan becomes the main event.