“I wish my boyfriend would propose,” says a long-haired girl in black, watching me wistfully. “What’s the trick?”
“Dunno,” I reply, wishing I could be more helpful. “I suppose we’ve been together awhile, we know we’re compatible, we love each other—”
“But so do my boyfriend and I! We’ve been living together, the sex is great, it’s all great.…”
“Don’t pressure him,” says the blond girl wisely.
“I mention it, like, once a year.” The long-haired girl looks thoroughly miserable. “And he gets twitchy and we drop it. What am I supposed to do? Move out? It’s been six years now—”
“Six years?” The old woman looks up from drying her hands. “What’s wrong with you?”
The girl with the long hair flushes. “Nothing’s wrong with me,” she says. “I was having a private conversation.”
“Private, pfft.” The old woman gestures briskly around the Ladies’ room. “Everyone’s listening.”
“Aunt Dee!” The redhead looks embarrassed. “Shush!”
“Don’t you shush me, Amy!” The old woman regards the long-haired girl beadily. “Men are like jungle creatures. The minute they’ve found their kill, they eat it and fall asleep. Well, you’ve handed him his kill on a plate, haven’t you?”
“It’s not as simple as that,” says the long-haired girl resentfully.
“In my day, the men got married because they wanted sex. That was motivation all right!” The old woman gives a brisk laugh. “All you girls with your sleeping together and living together and then you want an engagement ring. It’s all back to front.” She picks up her bag. “Come along, Amy! What are you waiting for?”
Amy shoots us desperate looks of apology, then disappears out of the Ladies’ with her aunt. We all exchange raised eyebrows. What a nutter.
“Don’t worry,” I say reassuringly, and squeeze the girl’s arm. “I’m sure things will work out for you.” I want to spread the joy. I want everyone to have the good luck that Richard and I have had: finding the perfect person and knowing it.
“Yes.” She makes an obvious effort to gather herself. “Let’s hope. Well, I wish you a very happy life together.”
“Thanks!” I hand the eraser pen back to the blond girl. “Here I go! Wish me luck!”
I push my way out of the Ladies’ and survey the bustling restaurant, feeling as though I’ve just pressed play. There’s Richard, sitting in exactly the same position as when I left him. He’s not even checking his phone. He must be as focused on this moment as I am. The most special moment of our lives.
“Sorry about that.” I slide into my chair and give him my most loving, receptive smile. “Shall we pick up where we left off?”
Richard smiles back, but I can tell he’s lost a bit of momentum. We might need to work back into things gradually. “It’s such a special day,” I say encouragingly. “Don’t you feel that?”
“Absolutely.” He nods.
“This place is so lovely.” I gesture around. “The perfect place for a … a big talk.”
I’ve left my hands casually on the table, and, as I intended, Richard takes them between his. He takes a deep breath and frowns.
“Speaking of that, Lottie, there’s something I wanted to ask.” As we meet eyes, his crinkle a little. “I don’t think this will come as a massive surprise.…”
Oh God, oh God, here it comes.
“Yes?” My voice is a nervous squawk.
“Bread for the table?”
Richard starts in shock and my head jerks up. A waiter has approached so quietly, neither of us noticed him. Almost before I know it, Richard has dropped my hand and is talking about brown soda bread. I want to whack the whole basket away in frustration. Couldn’t the waiter tell? Don’t they train them in imminent-proposal spotting?
I can tell Richard’s been thrown off track too. Stupid, stupid waiter. How dare he spoil my boyfriend’s big moment?
“So,” I say encouragingly, as soon as the waiter’s gone. “You had a question?”
“Well. Yes.” He focuses on me and takes a deep breath—then his face changes shape again. I turn round in surprise, to see that another bloody waiter has loomed up. Well, to be fair, I suppose it’s what you expect in a restaurant.
We both order some food—I’m barely aware of what I’m choosing—and the waiter melts away. But another one will be back, any minute. I feel more sorry for Richard than ever. How’s he supposed to propose in these circumstances? How do men do it?