In Bed With Lord Byron

to put a ring on my finger,
but I was young and I wanted to travel and see the world and have a career. Most of the time relationships fail not because of a lack of love, but because people are at different stages in their
lives. You know, like my parents – my father dragging my mother to India when she just wanted a quiet life at home – or someone who wants babies when the other wants to be free, or
someone who wants to live in the city while their partner wants to live in the country. I hit thirty and I was ready for marriage. I was a bit disappointed to find out I had such a hunger for it,
to be honest. It all seemed so predictable. But that’s where I was at. And you weren’t, Lucy. You weren’t at that settling down and marrying stage and you never will be –
you’re a free spirit! Whereas Kerry – she was at the same stage as me. Maybe if you
had
been at the same stage . . .’ He lowered his eyes, swallowing.
    ‘I . . . I . . . I feel like such a bitch – I dumped you and you were going to propose to me,’ I said, unable to quite take it all in.
    ‘Haven’t you listened to a word I said?’ Anthony laughed gently. ‘I’m not telling you off, I’m thanking you. By dumping me, you gave me a kick up the
backside. If we had stayed together we would have made each other unhappy – I’d be secretly wanting to propose, while you’d be secretly dreading my proposal. It made me pick
myself up and move on.’
    We sank into another pensive silence. While Anthony appeared to be revelling in the joys of fate, a rainbow of emotions was rioting inside me. I was still stunned. An urgent voice in me was
yelling:
Tell him, Lucy. You have to tell him how you feel.
But I kept yelling back:
I can’t, I can’t! He is still marrying Kerry, after all.
    Then a thought struck me.
    ‘What did you do with the ring?’ I suddenly burst out.
    ‘What?’
    ‘The ring. You said you’d bought one.’
    ‘Oh . . . yes . . .’ He suddenly went red. ‘I, er, got upset and threw it in the Thames.’
    I narrowed my eyes at him. I knew him far too well to believe that. All his familiar lying signs – which nobody else, not even his mother, could ever pick up – were twitching across
his face.
    ‘No you didn’t!’ I cried. ‘You gave my ring to her, didn’t you?’
    ‘Well, I . . .’
    ‘You recycled my ring! Like toilet paper!’
    ‘Lucy, you’re being so unfair. You can’t blame me – it cost two thousand pounds!’
    We glared at each other with a mixture of outrage and laughter.
    ‘Well, it is a very nice ring,’ I said.
    ‘You can’t blame me,’ Anthony repeated. ‘You did dump me.’ He looked anxious. ‘You won’t tell Kerry, will you?’
    ‘Of course not,’ I said, still spitting. ‘But you know,’ I added, unable to stop myself, ‘I think you should be careful about her. She was flirting pretty badly
tonight.’
    ‘What d’you mean by that?’ Anthony asked defensively.
    Suddenly the atmosphere between us felt strained and harsh. I didn’t want us to start arguing again; I couldn’t bear it. I was still in shock from his revelation, too.
    ‘Oh, I’m sure it’s all just harmless,’ I said quickly, smiling.
    Anthony grinned in relief, though an uneasiness still lingered on his face.
    ‘Well,’ he said, standing up and checking his watch, ‘I guess I should be going . . . Kerry’ll be wondering where I am.’
    ‘Yes, of course,’ I said.
    ‘I take it you’re still not going to tell me who your mystery partner for the wedding is?’
    ‘You’ll just have to wait and see,’ I said. I stood up, and was quite surprised that I was able to do so. I seemed able to laugh and talk quite naturally, holding the tears
tight in the backs of my eyes, my pain entirely invisible.
    But as I watched him walking towards the door, I realised how fragile my cool veneer was: a thin layer of ice that started to crack with despair when I saw he was going.
    Say something!
I told myself.
Say it!
    I can’t
, I argued back in terror.
It’s too late. I’ve lost him. It’s all too late.
    But he proposed to you once – you never know, there might be the tiniest shred of hope
.
    I can’t, I can’t, I’d make such a fool of myself
.
    If you don’t say it now, when will you ever? It’ll be too late . . .
    ‘Anthony?’ I called weakly.
    ‘Yes?’ He turned round, grinning.
    ‘I . . . I . . .’ My voice sounded as thick as treacle. ‘I just wanted to ask if . . . if . . .’ I was