Maria Realf - The One - A moving and unforgettable love story - the most emotional read of 2018

Lizzie couldn’t listen to them any more. She went back into the kitchen and began to prepare the food, taking her frustration out on the mince as she jabbed at it with a wooden spoon. No one had ever told her that planning a wedding would feel like this much hard work. The bridal magazines made it all sound so glamorous and fabulous.

Her mind drifted back to the relaxed wedding she’d once dreamed of, without any of the fuss. She couldn’t help wondering how different things might have been if she’d been doing all this with Alex. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe he was already married, or engaged, planning an elaborate extravaganza of his own elsewhere with some spreadsheet-wielding fiancée. It wasn’t a vision she could easily picture, or perhaps she just didn’t want to. Still, she was pretty sure he’d have hated a big, conventional bash.

She threw a tin of chopped tomatoes into the pan and squished them forcefully against the sides. Alex’s return had wound her up in a way she hadn’t expected. He couldn’t have picked a worse time, could he? Like he was waiting for me to be happy again, just so he could come back and spoil it. The more she thought about it, the more she began to burn with anger. Who does he think he is? The heat from the hob made her temperature surge even higher, until she felt she was at boiling point.

For a split second, she wished she could run away, just as Alex had done all those years ago. Quit her job. Leave town. Tell Freddie where to stick it on her way out. The thought was incredibly tempting, but even as she savoured it, she knew she was kidding herself. That sort of thing only happened in trashy soaps and Hollywood movies, not suburban Surrey.

Besides, I do love Josh. I’d miss him a lot.

‘Hey Lizzie, can you grab us a couple more cans, please?’ Freddie yelled from the front room . She gave the mince a violent stir.

Him, not so much.

Lizzie reached under the Christmas tree and retrieved an envelope with her name on it in swirly black biro. The spruce was huge – almost touching the ceiling – and haphazardly strewn with decorations, from fairy lights to tinsel to chocolates. It was a far cry from the small artificial version at her parents’ house, with its tasteful red and silver baubles and solitary star. This one was uninhibited, unashamed and beautiful. She decided then and there that if she and Alex had a family of their own someday, they would have a tree just like this one, in all its delightful disarray.

Opening the envelope carefully, she extracted a card and two crisp £10 book vouchers. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, smiling at Alex’s parents. ‘I know exactly what I’m going to get with this. There are a couple of new novels I’ve been dying to read.’

‘I’m sorry it’s not more exciting,’ said his mum Pamela, a slim woman in her late 40s with a mass of bottle-blonde hair and kind blue eyes. ‘Alex told us you were into books, but we didn’t know what you’d got already.’

‘No really, it’s brilliant.’ Vouchers were better than cash because they had to be spent on something readable, rather than getting frittered away on something boring like the looming electricity bill.

‘I do like a good bookshop, don’t you?’ his mum continued. ‘More than that online jungle …’

‘I think you mean Amazon, Mum,’ Alex interrupted, trying not to laugh. He caught Lizzie’s eye and she had to bite her lip to stifle her giggles.

‘Right, who’s next?’ said Alex’s dad, his voice booming around the homely living room. Frank Jackson had a hearing impairment that always made him seem as if he was shouting. Lizzie had found it pretty daunting at first, but now she was starting to get used to it, like watching TV with the volume turned up too loud.

‘I am!’ said Andi, a bubbly 18-year-old who Lizzie had immediately recognised with relief as the pretty blonde from his corkboard. Her real name was Andrea, but Alex said no one had called her that for years. She reached for a parcel and gouged at the wrapping paper with her crimson talons. Inside was a pair of expensive-looking hair straighteners. ‘Yes! You got the right ones. Thanks, Mum! You too, Dad.’

‘Don’t thank us – thank Santa,’ came the deafening reply.

‘Oh Dad, you know you can stop that now.’

Just then, Alex’s brother trudged downstairs in tracksuit bottoms and a crumpled white T-shirt, his hair ruffled and his eyes barely open. Though they weren’t identical twins, he looked even more like Alex in the flesh, with the same muscular build and strong features. From a distance it could have been hard to tell them apart, bar the series of distinctive Sanskrit tattoos running down his right arm. Today, however, he also seemed a little worse for wear, resembling a picture of prehistoric man.

‘Afternoon, Connor,’ said Mr Jackson. ‘Glad you could join us.’

‘Yeah, sorry, Dad. Turned into a bit of a heavy session last night. I was only planning to stop by for one.’ He yawned loudly, not bothering to cover his mouth. ‘Could you give me a lift into town later to fetch the bike? I had to leave it there.’ Lizzie still hadn’t seen the famous bike, but she knew from Alex it was his brother’s pride and joy, a Honda Fireblade he had spent two years saving up for while working at the local gym.

‘Well, not really. I promised your mother I’d give her a hand with the food.’

‘I’ll run you down in a bit,’ said Alex. ‘But I’ve got a couple more presents to give first.’ He held out his hand to Lizzie. ‘They’re upstairs.’

‘I bet they are,’ grinned Connor cheekily.

‘Eeeew,’ groaned Andi. ‘No sex jokes in front of the olds, please.’

‘Less of the old, missy,’ yelled Mr Jackson. Lizzie guessed he was joking, but it was hard to tell at that volume. She absorbed the banter between them like a Christmas pudding soaking up brandy, enjoying the warmth of their comfortable familiarity. It was the first time she had ever spent Christmas away from home, and while she was looking forward to getting to know Alex’s relatives better, she’d had a niggling fear that she might feel like the odd one out. But she needn’t have worried: they had all gone out of their way to put her at ease, especially Mrs Jackson, who had even filled a small stocking with fruit and chocolate coins, just like Lizzie had told Alex her own mum used to do.

She followed him out into the hall – almost stumbling over the family’s sausage dog, Jagger, who was busily trying to bite the head off a plush Christmas toy – and up to his old room, with its moody blue walls and single bed. There hadn’t been space for her in there, so she was staying in the chintzy spare room down the hall, which reminded her a little of her great-aunt June’s house.

They sat on his bed, and Alex reached underneath and retrieved two presents: one small and square, the other longer. ‘These are for you,’ he said simply, and Lizzie wondered whether he had spent as long shopping for her as she had for him, not sure how extravagant to be with those tricky first Christmas gifts. She had placed hers under the tree for him to open that morning: the first was a chunky charcoal-coloured jumper that matched his eyes, which he was now wearing; the second was the new Badly Drawn Boy CD, but the main surprise was a customised leather guitar strap with Alex’s initials embossed on it, which he had been chuffed to bits with.

‘Does it matter which one I open first?’

‘Do the bigger one first.’

She peeled off the wrapping paper, not sure what to expect, and pulled out a rectangular box. Inside, buried beneath layers of white tissue paper, was a beautiful A5 notebook in soft pink leather. On the first sheet was written: