Wedding Night

never have come to intern at Blay Pharmaceuticals if itwasn’t for the talk I gave at Bristol University. (It
was
a pretty good talk, I must admit. As recruitment speeches for pharmaceutical companies go.)
    “How was lunch?” Her eyes are sparkling.
    My heart plummets.
Why
did I tell her Richard was going to propose? I was just so confident. It gave me a kick, seeing her excitement. I felt like an all-round superwoman.
    “It was fine. Fine. Nice restaurant.” I start to riffle through the papers on my desk, as though searching for some vital piece of information.
    “So, are you engaged?”
    Her words are like lemon juice sprinkled on sore skin. Has she no finesse? You don’t ask your boss straight out, “Are you engaged?” Especially if she’s not wearing a huge, brand-new ring, which clearly I’m not. I might refer to this in my appraisal of her.
Kayla has some trouble working within appropriate boundaries
.
    “Well.” I brush down my jacket, playing for time, and swallowing the lump in my throat. “Actually, no. Actually, I decided against it.”
    “Really?” She sounds confused.
    “Yes.” I nod several times. “Absolutely. I concluded that for me at my time of life, at my career point, this wasn’t a smart move.”
    Kayla looks poleaxed. “But … you guys were so great together.”
    “Well, these things aren’t as simple as they appear, Kayla.” I riffle the papers more quickly.
    “He must have been devastated.”
    “Pretty much,” I say after a pause. “Yup. Pretty crushed. In fact … he cried.”
    I can say what I like. She’ll never see Richard again.
I’ll
probably never see him again. And like a bludgeon to the stomach, the enormity of the truth hits me again. It’s all over. Gone. All of it. I’ll never have sex with him again. I’ll never wake up with him again. I’ll never hug him again. Somehow that fact, above all others, makes me want to bawl.
    “God, Lottie, you’re so inspiring.” Kayla’s eyes are shining. “To know that something is wrong for your career, and to have the courage to make that stand, to say, ‘No! I
won’t
do what everyone expects.’ ”
    “Exactly.” I nod desperately. “I was making a stand for women everywhere.”
    My jaw is trembling. I have to conclude this conversation right now, before things go horribly wrong in the bursting-into-tears-in-front-of-your-intern department.
    “So, any vital messages?” I scan the Post-its without seeing them.
    “One from Steve about the presentation tomorrow, and some guy named Ben called.”
    “Ben who?”
    “Just Ben. He said you’d know.”
    No one calls himself “Just Ben.” It’ll be some cheeky student I met at a recruiting seminar, trying to get a foot in the door. I’m really not in the mood for it.
    “OK. Well. I’m going to go over my presentation. So.” I click busily and randomly at my mouse till she leaves. Deep breath. Firm jaw. Move on. Move on, move on, move on.
    The phone rings and I pick it up with a sweeping, authoritative gesture.
    “Charlotte Graveney.”
    “Lottie! It’s me!”
    I fight an instinct to put the receiver straight back down again.
    “Oh, hi, Fliss.” I swallow. “Hi.”
    “So … how
are
you?”
    I can hear the teasing note in her voice and curse myself bitterly. I should never have texted her from the restaurant.
    It’s pressure. All hideous pressure. Why did I ever share my love life with my sister? Why did I ever even tell her I was dating Richard? Let alone introduce them. Let alone start talking about proposals.
    Next time I meet a man, I’m saying
nothing to anybody
. Nada. Zip. Not until we’ve been blissfully married for a decade and have three kids and have just renewed our wedding vows. Then, and only then, will I send a text to Fliss saying: Guess what? I met someone! He seems nice!
    “Oh, I’m fine.” I muster a breezy, matter-of-fact tone. “How about you?”
    “All good this end. So …?”
    She leaves the question dangling. I know exactly what she means. She means,
So, are you wearing a massive diamond ring and toasting yourself with Bollinger as Richard sucks your toes in some amazing hotel suite?
    I feel a fresh, raw pang. I can’t bear to talk about it. I can’t bear her sympathy gushing over me. Find another topic. Any topic. Quick.
    “So. Anyway.” I try to sound bright and nonchalant. “Anyway. Um. I was just thinking, actually. I really should get round to doing that master’s on business theory. You