Pernille Hughes - Probably the Best Kiss in the World

In her hand lay a ring.

Even without the half-saliva half-custard coating it was easily the ugliest ring she’d ever laid eyes on. Large and bulky, the square cut stone was held in an oblong setting. Beyond the murky gem, the filigree ivy detailing was the only thing to set the ring apart from a knuckle-duster. Staring at it, it took Jen a moment to realise Robert was on one knee in front of her, grinning proudly at his dessert wheeze.

“Jennifer Attison, will you be my wife?” His eyes and smile widened even further at her shock. “Surprised?”

“Well, yes,” she stammered. It was a surprise. A great big astounding surprise given they’d never talked about the future and in Jen’s head their two dates a week routine had worked perfectly for the last six years, so why would he be looking to change it?

Jen’s brain couldn’t keep up, as his expression now changed from amused to ecstatic. He jumped to his feet, raised his hands in the air and channelling Tom Cruise on Oprah’s sofa, shouted to everyone on the beach “She said Yes!!”

Wait, what? Jen looked around, panicked. That wasn’t what she’d meant. He grabbed her hands and dragged her to her feet, before clamping his hands to her face and kissing her. She could hear onlookers clapping, and the noise made a disturbing duet with the alarm bells in her head.

“This ring was my great-grandmother’s, on Mumsie’s side,” he explained, plucking it off her palm as she stared shell-shocked at him, “apparently, it hasn’t seen daylight since the undertakers took it off her finger and handed it to my granny.” Jen fought the urge to paw her tongue clean, as he slipped it easily onto her ring finger. Very easily. “Oh. It’s too big.”

Great-granny must have had salamis for fingers, the ring would have fallen freely off Jen’s thumb.

“Oh dear,” she said, the relief nearly felling her, “what a shame.”

“Don’t be upset, Jen, I’ll have it resized.”

Jen’s feigned joy was Oscar-worthy.

“I’m glad you love it though. Mumsie will be too.”

“It … It’s remarkable.”

“Certainly is,” he said wistfully gazing at it. “I’m the first boy in the family for generations, hence it’s mine to give.”

He kissed her again and Jen began to realise how happy this was making him, how overjoyed he was she’d accepted his proposal. She couldn’t help but be deeply flattered. Robert was a catch by anyone’s standards; sensible, solvent and career savvy. His height and broad golf-toned shoulders gave him gravitas in a room; other women looked his way when they were out together. And he had a kind face. She’d always thought that.

They’d first met when she was thirteen and her mother had dragged her along to a dress fitting for Robert’s mother. Marooned in the hallway, listening to Mrs Thwaites’ loud voice through the walls, Jen had at first been shy when the eighteen-year-old Robert had stopped to greet her, dressed in muddy rugby kit. He was on route to the shower, but he’d taken the time to chat and ease her awkwardness. After that she’d seen him at various times in her dad’s mechanic’s workshop when his father had brought the Jag in for tyres or tinkering and she’d been there doing homework after school. The private school boys of Westhampton didn’t normally mix with the state school girls, but that didn’t seem to be the case with Robert. He’d always made a point of saying hello and her dad had remarked he was a “decent lad”. It hadn’t surprised her at all that her parents had chosen him as their lawyer when he qualified.

So when he’d first asked her out, a respectable time after her parents’ affairs had been settled, it had been easy to accept because it was like going out with a friend. What you saw was what you got with Robert and that was important to Jen.

And he knew her. He knew all she’d been through. Taking his lawyerly duties seriously, he’d pitched up at the hospital as soon as he’d heard. He’d seen her at her worst, grieving for her parents, devastated over Lydia’s injuries, wracked with guilt as she’d agreed to the amputation. He’d borne the brunt of her anguish when Lydia was screaming from waking up to a missing leg. He’d taken Jen’s guilt-ridden tongue-lashing head on, never once holding it against her. He’d been there for all of it and he’d still been attracted to her. It amazed her.

Jen looked up at him properly and the panic began to subside. She’d been surprised, that was all. No wonder she panicked – heaven knew she’d had enough surprises for a lifetime. Why should this not be a good idea? He knew her, really knew her and he wanted her. They worked well as a couple, their routine was testament to that. They were clearly compatible, she reasoned; they’d never argued over anything. How could this be anything but the most sensible, comfortable and right marriage ever? What more could a marriage need than what they already had? And she had as close as she could ever get to having her dad’s approval.

“And I’m delighted to accept it,” she finally said with a genuine smile, careful to keep her eyes on his face and off the god-awful ring.

“I knew you would be,” he said, wrapping her in his arms and pulling them both back down onto the bare deck, the smouldering blanket having been flung onto the shingle. Once they’d rearranged themselves from their unbalanced heap, they returned to sitting against the beach hut wall, hands entwined, the setting sun casting a warm glow on their faces – it almost felt like a blessing, only slightly marred by the skinny-dipping stag party and the smell of burnt wool.

“I’ve got more exciting news,” Robert blurted, his exuberance now at unprecedented levels, “I made partner!”

Was it her, or did he look even more thrilled than before? She decided excitement must be cumulative. Partnership on top of an accepted proposal would make anyone ecstatic.

“That’s wonderful, Robert!” She was over the moon for him, he’d worked so hard for it, played all that golf for it too. It was madly pleasing to see someone’s drive come to fruition. That was more they had in common; drive, ambition and a sound work ethic.

“Old Solesworth’s decided to cut back his hours at last, and losing all those matches has finally payed off.” Jen leaned across to kiss him on the cheek. It reminded her to buy him a new aftershave, the bergamot notes in this one were too strong, not just for him, but any sentient being.

“I couldn’t be happier for you. You completely deserve it. Solesworth & Thwaites. Sounds good.”

“And this is just the beginning, Jen. Now with the extra cash our plans can become reality.” He let his head drop back onto the woodwork, relieved.

“Plans?” she asked. She wasn’t aware they had any. He’d once mentioned the Highlands for a long weekend, but that had gone by the wayside when a friend had scored tickets to the Rugby World Cup. Perhaps he meant they should make some plans now. Her fingers twitched towards her phone in her pocket, instinctively wanting to start a new list. This was going to be a major project. And somewhere in her head, the idea of a wedding beer had started to germinate, a one-time brew only their guests would ever try, and maybe she’d give them each a bottle home instead of those sugared almond favour things. Perhaps she would base it on the scents from this evening and tell its story on the rear label …

“Jen? Jen, you’re miles away.”

“Sorry.” She shook her head, primarily to clear her head, but also in befuddlement at herself. Thirty minutes ago a wedding was the furthest thing on her mind, now she was concocting favours. “Plans. Yes. You had a plan.”

“I’m sure it’s our plan, Jen,” he smiled, pulling the back of her hand to his lips. “You and me. Me and you. Our life together.” He said it like some wistful song. The champagne had gone to his head.