The Proposal Plan. Charlotte Phillips
you?’ She’d missed him at first, too, after she’d moved out of his house. It had been lovely seeing him every day for those few months after her arrival in Bath.
‘Yes.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘The house has a more relaxed look about it without your obsessive tidying and I get to keep the remote control to myself. But I kind of miss having a fridge full of proper food and coming home to someone. I liked talking to you every day.’
She took another glug of wine and reminded herself that this was Gabe she was talking to. Her best friend with her best interests at heart. He wouldn’t be trying to assassinate her relationship; he really was only trying to help, which, after all, was what she’d asked him to do. ‘Aww, that’s sweet. Bit of a backhanded compliment though. And “relaxed” isn’t a word I’d use to describe your hovel. You’ve got a nerve criticising Ed’s domesticity.’
‘This isn’t about me, though, is it? And anyway, backhanded compliments are the best kind. I’m saying I wish you still lived with me despite all your faults. Not the same as wanting you to change.’
‘Hmm, I suppose so,’ she said grudgingly.
He refilled her glass, then his own. ‘So you agree on how to proceed? Excellent. Why don’t you come to lunch with my parents this Sunday? They’d love to see you. They’re always asking about you.’
‘You mean go back to Gloucestershire?’ She felt a vague sense of unease and squashed it. She generally avoided going back to her home county, as if the new life she’d built since leaving would somehow be challenged by revisiting her old one. Her parents were long gone from there, of course, but the memories wouldn’t be.
‘Of course. Sunday roast. Not cooked by you. Sound tempting?’ He grinned at her expectantly.
She debated to herself. She knew she should put an end to the avoidance of anything relating to her childhood. She was an adult now and could recognise it for what it was. Maybe going back to Gloucestershire would do her good—she could lay a few ghosts, and she had to admit he had a point about Ed. Wasn’t absence meant to make the heart grow fonder? They had fallen into a bit of a rut recently, doing the same things on the same days.
She gave in. ‘It does sound tempting. And I suppose you could be right—perhaps Ed needs to miss me a bit.’
‘He definitely does. He needs to appreciate you a bit more and feel like he’s lucky to have you and he ought to snap you up officially just to make sure. He feels too sure of you, that’s the root of the whole thing. And in the meantime, we’ll have a look at your appearance and see what we can do with that. And I need to observe you out together socially.’
Lucy looked doubtfully down at her plain T-shirt and jeans with a vague but undeniable feeling of dread at the idea of Gabriel analysing her wardrobe. In an attempt to divert him she latched onto his second suggestion. ‘No problem. We’re all meeting up tomorrow night at that new wine bar on George Street. You could come along if you like. Do all the observing you want to.’
‘Who’s we?’
‘Ed’s friends,’ she said. ‘Well, mine, too, of course. There’s Digger and Yabba, and their other halves, Suzy and Kate. Probably one or two others—it varies depending on who’s free.’
‘Digger and Yabba,’ Gabriel repeated. ‘They sound like rejects from some kids’ TV show.’
Lucy laughed. ‘That’s their nicknames. No one in Ed’s friendship group is called by their proper name. It’s a man thing. Even Ed isn’t his real name.’
‘You’re kidding,’ Gabriel said with sudden interest. ‘What is his real name?’
‘Roland,’ she said, expertly ignoring Gabriel as he almost choked on his wine with a sudden snort of laughter. ‘Ed is some schoolboy name to do with heading a football or something. I’ve never questioned it because frankly Roland is awful and Ed suits him far better.’
Gabriel shook his head in mock wonder. ‘There’s a whole laddish culture going on that seems to have passed me by.’
‘You haven’t missed much,’ she said. ‘It might have been vaguely funny once when they were in their teens but there’s something a bit sad about having the nickname Yabba when you’re pushing thirty and working as a fireman.’
She leaned back on the sofa and looked at him expectantly. ‘So what do you think, then?’ she asked. ‘Do you want to drop in and join us for a drink?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Should be interesting. Are there any single women going?’
She threw her hands up in exasperation. ‘For heaven’s sake, Gabriel, can’t you forget about your next conquest just for one night? Is it too much to ask? You’re meant to be concentrating on me and Ed, not chatting up the nearest single woman.’
‘I know, I know.’ A pause. ‘But are there? Any single women going?’
She sighed wearily. ‘Well, there’s Joanna, I suppose. She’s Kate’s sister. She’s been single for a bit and she’s started hanging out with us. But she’s been through a horrible break up and the last thing she needs is a three-week dalliance with the likes of you!’
‘That hurt!’ he protested. ‘I just meant it would be nice if I wasn’t the only single person there, that’s all.’
‘Hmm,’ she said dubiously. ‘I’ll believe you. Thousands wouldn’t. I take it that means you’re coming, then? Eight o’clock at Hardings. I’d tell you not to be late but there would be no point, would there?’
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