front of the tastefully decorated Christmas tree that has been placed in our suite, and I hook our bauble over one of the empty branches. Oscar is close behind me, his mouth warm on my neck as we watch the bauble spin and catch the light.
‘Jack was right,’ he whispers. ‘I am a lucky bastard.’
2014
* * *
New Year’s Resolutions
1) Sarah. Just writing her name fills me with shame and desolation. I need to find a way to make her believe that I’m sorry. That I was in an impossible situation, that I didn’t just allow myself to fall in love with her boyfriend. That I tried as hard as I possibly could not to. Somehow I need to make her forgive me because I can’t imagine life without her.
2) Oscar. My husband! I just want us to stay as happy as we are now and enjoy our first year as smug marrieds. Not that I think we’re smug. But there is a security to being Mrs Ogilvy-Black, especially when all the other rocks in my life seem to have disappeared. My resolution is that he’ll never again have to ask me whether I’m happy with him.
3) Work. I’m in desperate need of a career change. Since the wedding I feel as if I’ve outgrown answering teen questions on love and heartache; after all, I’m officially no longer the world expert on unrequited love. Now the wedding mania is over I find I’m craving a new challenge; perhaps I will find something more in line with my life now. Good Housekeeping or The Lady, maybe. Ha! If nothing else, seeing my name in her favourite magazines would give Lucille something new to dislike me for.
4) Which brings me to … HRH Lucille. I must try harder to make her like me.
5) Mum & Dad. I must try harder to see more of them. Life here is busier than ever, but that’s no excuse. The wedding made me realize how much I miss them. I’m glad my brother and his family live close by them – Mum is always posting pictures of them all with Tom, the new baby. I love seeing the photos, but a tiny bit of my heart aches too because they’re all together while I’m miles away.
16 March
Laurie
‘What’s all this?’ I struggle awake and sit up because Oscar is standing beside the bed with a tray.
‘Breakfast in bed to celebrate our anniversary.’ He places the tray down on my knees, and I go into silent panic mode in case I’ve forgotten a special date. ‘We’ve been married for three whole months,’ he says, putting me out of my misery. ‘Well, three months and two days, actually, but it’s better to wait for Sunday, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose it is,’ I laugh. ‘Come back to bed?’
I hold the tray steady as he climbs back in and relaxes back, still beach brown against the pillows. His skin tone is naturally pre-disposed towards tanning, so he’s managed to hang on to traces of his honeymoon tan long after mine has faded under the assault of a British winter. It wasn’t Thailand, in the end. We spent three loved-up weeks island hopping in the Maldives, total barefoot paradise. It’s probably as well that we didn’t return to Koh Lipe and try to recreate the magic of our first stay; the memories are too precious to risk. Does it sound ridiculously prima donna of me to say that I would have preferred Thailand to the Maldives? It’s probably not even true, really, it’s just that I’d have loved Oscar to have wanted to take us back there, or perhaps to have guessed that my romantic heart belonged there. I felt like the world’s most ungrateful wife at Heathrow when my heart secretly plummeted as we joined the Maldives check-in queue. The luxurious resorts Oscar had booked for our honeymoon itinerary were a long way from the simplicity of the Thai beach shack – we dined like royals in water bungalows, lazed in double hammocks on our own secluded beach, and a butler – yes, a butler! – took care of our every whim. Now we’re back in Oscar’s – I mean our – flat, and Oscar seems determined to never let the honeymoon end.
‘Coffee?’
‘Please.’ I line the cups up ready and spoon sugar into mine. Oscar doesn’t take sugar. He doesn’t have a sweet tooth at all, really, so I’m trying to curb mine because eating cake or pudding on my own makes me