In Bed With Lord Byron

shaking with nerves, terrified that I was going to break down.
‘I just wanted to say – well, I’m glad we’re still friends. I’m really glad.’
    ‘So am I, Lucy,’ said Anthony, staring at me softly. ‘So am I.’
    He lingered for a moment, and then left, shutting the door gently behind him, and I exploded like a nuclear bomb.
    iv) Lucy explodes

    v) Time machine
    The next day, I was in such a state of shock that I barely registered time flitting by. The evening came, and it was time for Kerry’s hen night. But I just sat in my hotel
room, churning, churning, churning.
    That night – the night he had been meaning to propose – kept going through my mind over and over. Ever since, I’d kept feeling that the details had never fitted together
properly to make a neat jigsaw; the edges had always been ragged. Now I understood why. No wonder Anthony had been awkward and moody; no wonder he’d told me to dress up; no wonder he’d
gone so bonkers when they’d screwed up our reservation at The House. None of his behaviour made sense if he’d been planning to dump me . . .
    But imagine, I thought. Imagine if we had got that reservation at The House. If we’d sat down and had a lovely dinner. And I’d decided to put off dumping him. And then he’d
proposed . . .
    I started kicking myself. But then I realised that it still wouldn’t have worked. After all, if he
had
got to propose, things would have been even worse. Because back then I was
Lucy the commitment-phobe. I’d have freaked. I’d probably have felt so awkward and guilty that I’d have said, ‘Can I think about it?’ And then it would have dragged
out for weeks while I drove myself insane with insomnia, and Anthony insane with indecision. Then he would have finally snapped and forced me to make up my mind, and then I would have said no, and
probably have felt too guilty to ever face him again.
    I stood up and went to the minibar. I unscrewed a bottle of something, too dazed to register the brand, and swallowed it down. It hit my stomach in an acidic arrow. I winced and sat down again,
staring at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes sparkling. I saw a huge smile slowly breaking across my face, at the same time as I felt hot liquid behind my eyes.
    I lay down on the bed and grabbed a pillow, hugging it tightly. For a moment I swept all the complications of the present aside and let the joy of his revelation sink in. Anthony had wanted to
propose to me! He hadn’t chosen Kerry over me because I was ugly or boring or hopeless or a rubbish cook. I had been worthy of him, worthy of his love, of his first proposal. He loved me, he
loved me, he loved me!
    Or rather,
he’d loved me, he’d loved me, he’d loved me.
    I sat up, zinging with a fresh idea. Hang on, I thought, hang on. I could go back this time. It would work. I could wipe all of this out – Kerry, Byron, the awful dinner where I claimed to
be the
Mona Lisa
.
    I could go back to that night. Anthony could propose. And this time I could say yes!
    I gulped. Uncertainty skittered through my stomach and I felt vexed. God, what was the matter with me? This
was
what I wanted, wasn’t it? After all these days and nights of angst
and longing and jealousy . . .
    I’m scared
, a small voice said,
of letting him down. What if we marry and I’m a useless wife? What if I’m not really the right one for him? What if Kerry is? What if
fate arranged things so that we missed The House that night because Anthony is meant to be with her? What if I find I can’t make him happy
. . .
    My mobile shrilled. It was Kerry, no doubt wondering why I wasn’t in the lobby, why I wasn’t joining her for her hen night.
    I had to be quick.
    I ran over to my suitcase and took the time machine out. Adrenalin spurted through me; my mind became clear and cool, and I managed to put the whole thing together within twenty minutes. By the
end, I was coated in a nervous sweat and shaking slightly with anticipation.
    I climbed into the machine, pausing. I was about to put in the date when a thought crossed my mind . . .
    ‘Lucy?’
    Suddenly I heard pounding on my hotel room door. Kerry. Oh God, just fuck off, I thought furiously.
    I turned back to the machine and keyed in the date: 2015.
    It was the only way to do it. I would check out the future, and find out who Anthony was meant to be with . . .
    I found myself in the middle of a large kitchen. It was gorgeous: stone floors,