William Walkers First Year of Marriage (26 page)

I had explained that I would have been pretty miserable too if I’d been stuck on a Welsh hillside in the rain with only wall-building to keep me busy.

Cassie said Isabel had said I could be a bit of an arse—and that I often said the first thing that came into my head. And now she could see what she meant.

I said, ‘Oh.’ Which was the first thing that came into my head.

She said the reason Isabel was miserable was because she was missing me. And that this was a problem because it wasn’t the sort of missing you always feel when you break up with someone you loved. It was proper missing. Missing that wasn’t going to go away.

I said I had been an idiot.

She said she knew. She’d tried to convince Isabel she’d done the right thing by leaving me.

I said, ‘Cheers.’

She said what did I expect? I’d subjected Isabel to a year of paranoia, stress and general obsessive-compulsive nuttiness. Which isn’t ideal for a first year of marriage.

I pointed out that two people had been intent on ruining everything.

She pointed out that Isabel knew that. And that she loved me, even if I was an arse. And that she had gone home to tell me that she wanted to work it all out.

I said brilliant.

She said, ‘She really loves you. You should go and find her.’

‘What do you think I’m trying to do? I’m not here to help with the bloody wall.’

Which is why I then trekked back down the rain-sodden valley, water sloshing around in my inappropriate footwear, my inappro
priate pockets and my Tuesday underpants, determined to stop being an idiot for the first time this year. And didn’t bludgeon the tea lady when she said an English girl called Isabel had been in but she’d forgotten to mention I was looking for her. And stood in the rain waiting for the ranger to bring back my/his Porsche. And only expressed gratitude that it was working again, and ignored the fact that the exhaust was shot and the fourth and fifth gears didn’t work.

And why I drove through the night, in third gear, to get back to the girl I will always love.

When at last I get home and walk into the kitchen, my first reaction is that Isabel is not there; that the whole Welsh misadventure was a dream; that she is still in Llllllanlllandudllandyfenlladono building walls. Then I hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs and she walks down, looking tired.

‘I saw the wall you built. Very…straight.’ It wasn’t the grand opening line I’d planned.

‘Thanks.’ It’s all she says and, for a minute, I think she’s still in a huff. Then I notice her hand is clutching the banister tightly, and that she’s shaking. I notice how tired she looks. And how beautiful. And vulnerable. And I feel like an oaf.

I try to say something, but I can’t. I reach around for that Speech to Save My Marriage, and I realise it no longer exists. It is lost forever on that rain-sodden Welsh mountain. I want to tell her that everything is going to be all right. That I will never, ever let her go again. That I may have ruined the first year of our marriage (with a little help from our friends), but there will be many more that I won’t. And that she may not believe me now, but I know it, I really know it: we will live happily ever after.

Nothing comes out.

And then it becomes obvious what should happen next. I walk forward, I grab her and we hug. Nothing is said but, in that tight, desperate hug, we understand how close we came to losing each other. It is enough.

With tears streaming down her face, Isabel does what all Englishwomen do at times of great emotional strain: she puts the kettle on. And I do what all Englishmen do in response: I get the mugs out. And after another eternity of seconds, I finally regain the power of speech. ‘You were wrong, you know. You’re still the love of my life. Always will be…We were just having a blip.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t a trend?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Happy anniversary, darling.’

‘Err, happy anniversary.’

‘You’d forgotten?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Well, you did forget my birthday.’

‘Errr…’

‘It’s okay. Just don’t forget the next one.’

As we embrace and I think about how I’m going to sneak out to buy anniversary flowers as well as a belated birthday present and how everything feels a million times better already and how I must buy a birthday book and how I’m overwhelmed at my luck in life and how this moment really deserves a full string orchestra accompanying it and how a petrol station is definitely not going to do for this bunch of flowers, Isabel has one other tiny thing to add.

‘Oh, and by the way, I’ve just done a test this morning,’ she whispers as nonchalantly as she can. ‘You’re going to be a father.’

Which comes as a bit of a surprise.