‘Yes, that would be nice, thank you.’

  I heard his footsteps petering out back down the stairs and heaved a sigh of relief. Henry was so bah humbug, but I loved the crowds and the excited chatter in the bars at this time of year. The Christmas songs, decorations and log fires always gave it such a festive feel, but this was what I was up against. Henry was perfectly happy sitting in his armchair, but I wanted more. There was a whole world out there, and I wanted to start enjoying it again. We seemed to be drifting further and further apart.

  I stepped out of the bath and quickly dried myself off before texting Ann. ‘Close call! Henry nearly caught me on the phone to Marcus, but I’ve planted the seed for Friday night, and we’re going out with the girls from bingo on their Christmas night out! ;-)’

  ‘Excellent plan! x’

  By the time I made my way back down the stairs, Henry was happily snoring in his armchair with a can of lager perched on top of his belly. I sighed and watched him sleep for a moment. Being in our forties didn’t mean that life was over – not by any stretch of the imagination – and I wished Henry would realise that. I wandered into the kitchen to find my cup of tea sitting on the table.

  The next morning, I was leaning against the kitchen sink and staring out of the window while I peeled the potatoes for dinner. This was my favourite time of the day. As soon as Henry left for work I would wriggle out of bed, make myself some breakfast and say good morning to Gary. I was sure he must get lonely in the pantry.

  When I was finished, I scraped the vegetables off the chopping board and into the slow cooker alongside the chicken and gave the pot a stir.

  I noticed the early morning sun starting to peek through the gaps in the clouds, though there was more snow forecast for the end of the week. Marcus’s car had already disappeared from his driveway but as soon as Henry had left for work this morning, I’d heard the rattle of the letter box. I’d squinted over the banister, thinking it was a little too early for junk mail, and there, lying on the doormat, had been a white envelope. I’d hurried down the stairs, bent down and found it was addressed to me. I’d torn it open to find Marcus’s front-door key inside. I’d wrapped my hand around it and pulled out the note that was inside.

  Frank can’t wait to meet his new boss. Thank you, Marcus xx

  I felt a bubble of happiness rise in my stomach. He didn’t need to thank me. I was looking forward to taking Frank out for a walk. The exercise would do me good, and the fresh air would blow the cobwebs away.

  The slow cooker was now bubbling away and noticing it was already fast approaching 10 a.m., I untied my apron. I’d nip across to see Frank now and then take him out for a walk around midday, I thought, grabbing my coat and slipping on the wellington boots that sat by the front door. I trudged over the slushy path towards Marcus’s house. The air was still nippy, and even though it was a short distance, I shoved my hands deep in the pockets of my coat.

  As soon as I opened Marcus’s front door, Frank pushed his nose around the side of the kitchen door and came bounding towards me.

  ‘Hello, boy,’ I said, crouching down to pat him before he followed me back up the hallway towards the kitchen. He ran straight to the back door and waited patiently for me to open it. I chuckled as I watched him run round and round the garden. I rested my head against the door frame and folded my arms. Frank tore around the garden for five more minutes before I gave him a shout. He came to my side in no time at all then sat down next to his bed. His wide eyes stared at me from underneath his shaggy hair, then he barked.

  ‘What’s the matter, boy?’

  He woofed again.

  ‘Aha! You need your water filling up.’ His bowl was nearly empty. He sat watching me as I ran the water into his bowl, pounding his tail against the kitchen floor. Once he was lapping away at it, I patted him on the back and grabbed the front-door key off the table.

  ‘I’ll see you in an hour or so,’ I shouted, shutting the door securely behind me.

  As I stumbled back through the slush I saw a delivery van with its engine still running waiting at the bottom of my drive. I hurried across to find the driver standing on my doorstep, checking his watch.

  ‘Hi, can I help?’

  The delivery man turned round and squinted at the parcel in his hands. His eyes flashed towards me.

  ‘Parcel for Lizzie Stevens.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked, trying to recall any Christmas presents I’d ordered that hadn’t arrived yet, but there was absolutely nothing that sprung to mind.

  The impatient driver tutted and scrolled down his list. ‘Yes, it’s definitely Lizzie Stevens.’

  ‘I’m not used to surprises,’ I said in awe, taking the parcel from the delivery man’s hands.

  I kicked off my wellies and settled myself on the settee with the parcel in front of me. It was large, but it wasn’t particularly heavy and it was wrapped up in old-fashioned brown paper with a printed label on the front. The postmark was smudged and illegible. I turned it over and was surprised to see there was no return address either. Who would be sending me a parcel? The only items I ever received through the post were the local free paper or charity bags for old clothes.

  It must be a mistake, I thought, carefully unwrapping the paper and opening up the cardboard box. Inside, the contents were hidden beneath delicate pink tissue paper. Lying on top was a card displaying the Bretton’s logo. My heart skipped a beat. I turned it over to find a handwritten message.

  Just for you xx

  I gasped and trembled with excitement as I unfolded the tissue paper. I stared down into the box, my eyes wide. I tried to slow my breathing down. ‘No, surely not,’ I whispered.

  I ran my fingers over the grey shimmering fabric and felt my eyes brim with happy tears. Marcus’s kindness was too much.

  I lifted it up out of the box and squealed with delight.

  It was beautiful.

  It was the dress I adored and somehow, thanks to Marcus’s extraordinary generosity, it was mine.

  24

  It was Tuesday afternoon and the world and their wives were busy at work. Unlike me, who had spent the hour or so after I’d taken Frank for a walk settled on the sofa staring wide-eyed at the dress in the box. It hadn’t been the only item inside the parcel; there was also a handbag and a matching shrug. I’d never owned anything so expensive before. I didn’t dare move in case my clumsiness got the better of me and I spilt something on them or ripped the dress.

  In a Cinderella moment I lifted up the shrug. ‘You shall go to the ball,’ I murmured. I felt my skin ripple with goosebumps and a smile spread across my face.

  Leaning over to look at my phone, which was resting on the coffee table, I saw there’d been no word from Ann. It wasn’t unusual. Sometimes she’d get caught up in lunchtime meetings, or it might be her turn to supervise the playground. I’d texted her to ask if she could drop by after work. I needed to show her the parcel so she could see it with her own eyes – and then I wanted her advice on what the hell I was going to do about it. Could I really keep such a lavish gift?

  I was starting to feel a little apprehensive. The longer I’d sat there, the more common sense had started to prevail, and my head was beginning to overrule my heart. It was a truly amazing present but how could I possibly accept it? And, more to the point, how would I explain to Henry where such an expensive item of clothing had come from? The party was this Friday, and even though it solved the problem of what I was going to wear, there was another thing on my mind now. How was I going to escape from the house all dressed up to the nines without Henry seeing me?

  Even I wasn’t daft enough to believe this was normal attire for a night out with the girls from bingo. I was beginning to feel nauseous with worry. It was a stupid idea. How did I ever think I could go to the party and get away with it?

  My mad panic was interrupted by the doorbell ringing, which was followed by a constant thumping on the door. I glanced down at my watch to see it was only a little after 3.30 p.m.

  I hurried to the door and was greeted by a rather flustered, red-faced Ann.

  ‘Where’s the fire – or are you ill? Please tell me you’re not ill,’ she said, impatiently pushing past me into the hallway.

  ‘Come on in, why don’t you?’ I grinned at her flushed cheeks.

  ‘You never ask me to just nip round after work. You always text what it’s about,’ she said, marching straight into the living room and plonking herself down on the sofa.

  ‘Of course I’m not ill, silly. You got here in rapid time. Did you abandon all the little people before the bell rang?’

  ‘What’s the emergency then?’ Ann ignored my question, clearly desperate for me to get to the point.

  ‘Are you ready for this?’

  ‘Get on with it! I’m bursting here and I don’t mean for the toilet.’

  ‘Close your eyes,’ I insisted.

  I gently removed the dress from the tissue paper and held it up in front of her.

  ‘You can open your eyes now.’

  I watched Ann while she blinked, then her eyes focused on the dress. She gasped.

  ‘Wow! It’s absolutely stunning.’

  ‘Isn’t it just?’ I beamed.

  ‘But how? Did your lottery numbers come in?’

  ‘Don’t be daft! I don’t even buy a ticket.’

  ‘I thought you couldn’t afford it,’ she said, leaning across and taking the dress from my hands. She held it up and then passed it back.

  ‘There’s no denying it’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Take a look at this,’ I said, handing over the card.

  ‘Just for you xx,’ she read then gazed up at me.

  ‘I’m feeling a little overwhelmed,’ I admitted.

  ‘Marcus?’

  ‘Who else could it be? But how would he even know that I wanted it?’

  Ann shook her head. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘I’ve not even thanked him yet, and the dress has been sitting here all afternoon.’

  ‘Why not?’

  I met Ann’s gaze and paused. I sat down next to her on the sofa and sighed as I lay the dress across my knee. ‘How can I accept such an extravagant gift? They’re far too expensive and Henry would wonder where they’d come from.’

  ‘Mmmm, yes, it’s a tricky one. I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable keeping them, but on the other hand…’ she paused.

  I waited for her to finish.

  ‘It might just be a really lovely gesture because he thought you’d be worrying what to wear after the fiasco with the gypsy-wedding dress.’

  ‘I’m torn, Ann. I really don’t have a clue what to do. I’ve never been in this situation before.’

  ‘You need to think carefully. Have you tried it on yet?’

  ‘No. I’m worried I might damage it and then I wouldn’t be able to give it back to him.’

  ‘Go and try it on at least. Let’s see how it fits,’ Ann said, shooing me towards the door.

  I grabbed the shrug and bag and quickly disappeared upstairs.

  Ten minutes later, I popped my head back round the living-room door. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘You bet,’ said Ann, meeting my gaze with a wide smile.

  When I walked through the door, I felt like a million dollars.

  ‘Tu-whit, tu-whoo, look at you!’ Ann gasped, standing up and twirling me around like a ballerina in a jewellery box while she scrutinised the dress.

  ‘It’s amazeballs!’

  ‘I know! Ann, I feel like I’ve come alive,’ I said, twirling around, startled by my own feelings. ‘I’ve never worn anything like this before.’

  ‘It’s just wow, wow, wow – and look at that shrug! It complements the outfit perfectly. You look absolutely gorgeous.’

  Suddenly my mood dipped a little and I settled back on the sofa next to Ann.

  ‘Where’s all this going, Ann?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Me neither. Why would Marcus do this? I know it’s a kind gesture, but it’s a very extravagant one under the circumstances.’

  ‘It is. You need to be careful, Lizzie. I’m really starting to worry. Please remember not to be swept along by the romance of it all. This is real life, not a fairy tale.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Why are you worried about me?’

  ‘It’s like I said before – Marcus might go back to Scotland in a few weeks’ time and you’ll be left behind. And if you get caught up in all this, it could have a massive impact on your family life. You need to think about what it is you actually want.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Ann hesitated. ‘Well, are you looking for a Shirley Valentine-type fling to make you feel good about yourself and your marriage, or is your marriage really over and you’re on the lookout for something more permanent? How close are you intending to get to Marcus? This needs careful consideration, Lizzie. I’m sorry if I sound harsh.’

  ‘I really don’t know what I want. I’m so confused. I know I can’t really continue with this. The only way I can describe it is: Marcus is like a drug. I’m addicted. It gives me a thrill and makes me feel good about myself. He’s in here morning, noon and night,’ I said, tapping my head. ‘How ridiculous is that? I barely know him. He’s the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. And while I’m petrified about taking my clothes off in front of a complete stranger, well let’s just say I’ve been giving the bedroom department a lot of thought too…’

  ‘Marcus is well and truly under your skin, but you’re going to have to wean yourself off this addiction. Once you cross that line, there’ll be no going back.’

  I nodded.

  Ann’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Are you falling in love with him?’

  ‘I really don’t know. We haven’t even kissed, but he must be able to feel the physical attraction too. No one’s treated me this way in such a long time. He’s such a proper gentleman, so easy to talk to – not to mention drop-dead gorgeous.’

  ‘The drop-dead gorgeous part is always an added bonus,’ Ann said, smiling at me. ‘Just promise you won’t do anything without thinking it through properly. There’s nothing worse than living with regret.’

  ‘I promise. But what am I going to do about this?’ I asked, motioning towards the dress I was wearing.

  ‘Put the kettle on and let’s have a think.’

  ‘Do you think he likes me in that sort of way?’

  ‘Is that a serious question? I think he’s absolutely smitten with you, and the way this is escalating, you’ll need to ditch your Bridget Jones knickers and invest in some elegant underwear for Friday night.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, horrified when I realised what she meant. ‘Not everyone is after just one thing,’ I protested.

  Ann raised her eyebrows at me.

  ‘Have you ever been friends with a man you haven’t bedded?’ Ann’s eyes widened as she waited for me to answer.

  ‘What sort of question is that? You know I’ve only ever slept with Henry,’ I admitted.

  ‘And have no other male friends.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Look at all this,’ Ann said, sweeping her hand towards the dress and shoes. ‘How many men go to such lengths? It looks to me like Marcus is trying to sweep you off your feet.’

  ‘Ann, the cost of all this is just ridiculous. Can I really accept it?’

  ‘I can’t get over the transformation. You look stunning. You wouldn’t look out of place in Hollywood, strolling down the red carpet to collect an award. But accepting it might give out the wrong signal, so you need to decide what signal it is you want to give out.’

  ‘It is a beautiful dress though, isn’t it?’

  Ann nodded. ‘Without a doubt.’

  ‘I’ve never owned such an expensive item.’

  ‘Mmmm, here’s what I was thinking while you disappeared upstairs to get changed. How about copying the design of the dress and making yourself something similar? You have the talent, Lizzie. We could take the measurements from this one and draw up a pattern in no time at all.’

  ‘There was this material I’d seen in the sewing shop window,’ I said. ‘In fact it wasn’t much different to this. I’d already thought about using it to try and make something similar.’

  ‘I think you should get yourself there first thing in the morning! How long would it take you to make?’

  ‘To be honest, if you help me to measure myself now and we combine my measurements with this dress, I could draw up the pattern this evening and probably whizz up the dress in a day or two as long as the material is still available.’

  ‘Oooh, exciting. It feels like Claudia Winkleman will walk through those doors any moment to ask you to compete in The Great British Sewing Bee!’

  ‘Ha, that would be brilliant! I absolutely love Patrick Grant too. I’m glued to that programme!’

  ‘Maybe next year you should think about entering.’

  ‘You’re full of good ideas today, Ann Sandeman.’

  ‘I had another good idea about twenty minutes ago,’ she said and smiled, tapping her watch.

  I looked at her perplexed.

  ‘The kettle! I’ll tell you what, I’ll pop it on and you go and take the dress off.’

  ‘Sorry! We got distracted.’

  Ten minutes later we were both standing in the kitchen with the dress laid flat across the table, Ann writing down the measurements as I shouted them out.

  ‘Presumably you’re going to get your hair done?’ Ann asked, biting the end of the pencil.

  ‘What’s wrong with my hair?’ I asked, straightening out the tape measure and measuring across the bust.

  ‘What’s right with it? When was the last time you had your hair styled or your split ends cut off? I’ve often thought about taking the kitchen scissors and hacking it off myself.’

  ‘You haven’t!’

  ‘Of course not, but a new dress and a new bag can only mean one thing in a girl’s life.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘A new hairdo. Keep up!’