Luke is sleeping so peacefully, I think I can risk one more. So I take another sample out of the bag, Pacific Lime. I lean over to spray it discreetly on his chest—but as I’m pressing the nozzle, a huge moth flies out of nowhere, making me shriek in shock and fling my arms up.
“Argh!” Luke sits bolt upright, clutching his eye. “Becky! Are you OK? What happened?”
He’s blinking at me, still half-asleep. Suddenly I see that his eye is wet. Shit! I sprayed his eye with Pacific Lime! But maybe he won’t notice.
“I’m fine,” I say breathlessly. “Sorry. Just a moth.”
“Fuck. Ow. Something’s up with my eye.” He’s still clutching at his eye, which is starting to look red.
My heart is gripped with horror. Oh God, please don’t say I’ve blinded my husband. I can see the Daily World headline: IRONY AS WIFE BLINDS HUSBAND IN BID FOR PERFECT PRESENT.
“Let me get you a wet cloth,” I say desperately. “Can you see? Is your vision blurred?”
I rush to the bathroom and bring back a dripping flannel. I hastily plaster it onto Luke’s face and he curses.
“I’m all wet now!”
“Better safe than sorry,” I say, gazing anxiously at his eye. “Is it feeling better? How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Four,” says Luke curtly, and my heart falls.
“Wrong!” I say in dismay. “Oh my God, Luke, we need to get you to hospital—”
“I’m not wrong!” snaps Luke impatiently. “One, two, three, four. Use your eyes.”
I peer at my own hand and realize I am holding up four fingers. Oh, right.
“I’m fine.” Luke blinks a few more times, then studies me blearily. “But what the hell happened? I was fast asleep.”
“A moth,” I say quickly. “Just a moth.”
“A moth woke you up?” he says incredulously.
“Er…it was a really big moth. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”
I’m hoping Luke might lie down again, but his gaze falls on his wrist. He stares at the “Q” for a few seconds, as though trying to make sense of it.
“Someone wrote ‘Q’ on my wrist,” he says at last.
“Wow!” I say, trying to sound surprised. “How weird. It was probably Minnie. Anyway, it’s late—”
“And ‘S’ on my other wrist,” says Luke. He suddenly gets out of bed and heads to the mirror. “What the fuck?” He’s staring at the letters on his neck. A moment later he swivels round to survey the bed and I see his eyes fall on the pen, which I left right there on the duvet. I’m an idiot.
“Becky?” he says ominously.
“OK, it was me,” I admit in a rush. “I was trying out aftershaves on you while you were asleep. For your Christmas present,” I add meaningfully, hoping his face might soften and he might say, “Oh, darling, you’re so thoughtful.”
But he doesn’t.
“It’s one A.M.,” he says, with the air of someone trying to keep his temper under control. “And I’ve got bloody writing all over me. I mean, did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
“You always shower first thing.” I can’t help sounding proud of my plan. “And it’s a washable pen. I knew it would all come off and you’d never even realize.”
“Well, that’s something,” grunts Luke, heading back to the bed. Then he stops, his eyes focusing on the pen again. “Wait. You used a Sharpie. That’s permanent.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is!”
“Only the black ones are permanent,” I explain. “I used a blue one.”
“The blue ones are permanent too!” Luke erupts. “Look.” He grabs the pen and brandishes it at me, his finger jabbing at the word. “ ‘Permanent.’ ”
What?
I grab the pen from him and peer at it. Oh my God, he’s right. It is permanent. I never knew that. I’ve been using Sharpies all these years and I never realized! That’s quite funny, actually….
Then I look up and see Luke’s expression and gulp slightly. Maybe it’s not that funny.
“I have ‘L’ and ‘R’ on my neck,” says Luke in an über-calm voice. “On the wrong sides. And tomorrow I’m meeting the finance minister of Spain.”
“Right. Sorry.” I swallow hard. “Um…you could wear a cravat?”
Luke doesn’t even bother to reply. (I mean, I don’t blame him.)
“I’m really sorry,” I say again in my humblest voice. “I just wanted to get you the perfect Christmas present. And since we’re talking about it,” I add hopefully, “do you prefer any of the aftershaves? I like the one on your left wrist.”
I look at him expectantly, but Luke makes no move to smell his left wrist.