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

‘Bob! BOB! Where exactly did these come from?’

He spun around to face her, looking puzzled. ‘A bloke just dropped them off not long ago. I brought them straight up. Why?’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Hard to say, miss – tall, about your age. Nice chap. Could have been a courier, I suppose. Is something wrong?’

Lizzie ran past him down the corridor, almost knocking over Phoebe as she returned with the drinks, and hammered on the lift button as though her life depended on it. ‘Come on!’ she yelled, causing the mousy intern on her right to jump. The lift was being stubborn now, its green arrow flashing upwards in defiance.

She would have to take the fire exit.

Her heels clacked against the cheap lino as she raced down the dingy stairs, her palms sweating so much that she struggled to grip the chipped banister. Finally, after four hellishly long storeys, she burst through the door and out into the cobbled side street.

‘Alex!’

A startled pigeon flew past her, but otherwise the alley was deserted. She strode round the corner to the main entrance, half hoping that he would be waiting; half afraid of what would happen if he was.

‘Alex, are you there?’

Only the whistle of the wind came back at her, and she knew that once again he had slipped away without saying a word.

After sending a quick text to request an emergency summit, Lizzie rushed straight round to Megan’s flat after work, which proved easier said than done with a giant bouquet on the Tube. Not only did she have to squeeze into the crowded carriage, but the bald man standing beside her seemed to have severe hayfever, and proceeded to sneeze in her direction all the way to Shepherd’s Bush.

‘Need … wine … now,’ she gasped, as the front door finally swung open.

‘What’s going on?’ said Megan. She peered at the huge arrangement. ‘You look like you’ve raided the Chelsea Flower Show. Are these for me?’

‘They are now. Alex sent them.’

‘What the fu …?’

‘I know,’ Lizzie interrupted. ‘Have you got wine?’

Megan stared at her, highlighting the sheer stupidity of the question. ‘Red, white or rosé?’

‘I don’t mind, as long as you make mine a large.’

‘Coming right up. Then you have to tell me everything.’ She eyed the flowers again. ‘I suppose we’d better get these in water, if they even fit through the hallway.’

Lizzie stepped inside the bijoux apartment, noticing that it was pretty tidy these days, or at least a lot better than when the two of them moved in after uni. ‘The old place is looking good,’ she murmured, her mind still boggling from the afternoon’s events.

‘Thanks,’ replied Megan. ‘Lily’s a neat freak, so she’s been spring cleaning again.’ Megan’s cousin, a leggy model, had been renting the other bedroom since Lizzie moved in with Josh. The girl had a wardrobe to die for and was hardly ever around, so most of the time the deal suited Megan perfectly. ‘Sit down and make yourself comfy,’ she continued, taking the flowers through to the compact kitchen. ‘I’ll be with you in a sec. Wine is on the way!’

Lizzie collapsed into the soft, threadbare couch, now tastefully adorned with a scattering of gold cushions. A few seconds later, Megan returned with a bottle of Pinot Grigio and two glasses, and settled down beside her. ‘Right, have some of this and start from the beginning,’ she said, pouring a couple of sizeable servings. ‘When did the flowers turn up?’

‘Today.’

‘What, at home? Did Josh see?’ Her voice began to climb higher and higher.

‘No, at work. But obviously I can’t take them home. Not that I’d want to,’ Lizzie added hastily. She took a large gulp of Pinot, hoping the cool wine would soothe her frazzled nerves.

‘Did you talk to him?’

‘Who, Josh?’

‘No, Alex!’ Megan was dangerously close to soprano territory now.

‘No.’ Lizzie tried to adopt a nonchalant expression, omitting to mention that she had nearly set a new land-speed record trying to sprint down the fire exit.

‘Then how do you know they’re from him?’

‘Because he left a note.’

Megan’s eyes widened. ‘Saying?’

Lizzie put down her glass, retrieved the card from her purse and handed it over. Megan’s mouth flapped about like a fish deprived of water. ‘But … what …’ she paused. ‘He’s got some balls.’

‘I know.’

‘As if you’d want to talk to him!’

‘Exactly.’ Lizzie picked up her wine and necked another large mouthful. Megan sipped hers more slowly, looking deep in thought.

‘I wonder how he knew where you’d be,’ she mused.

‘What?’

‘Well, if he sent flowers to your office, how did he find out where you work?’ She wrinkled her nose suspiciously.

‘I’ve no idea. Maybe someone told him, or he looked me up online or something. You’re the one who’s always telling me you can find anything on the internet.’

Megan mulled this over for a moment. ‘It’s possible, I guess. But he doesn’t seem too into the whole social media thing. He’s not even on Facebook! My 90-year-old gran’s on there poking people, no problem. But Alex? Nothing.’

‘You tried to look him up?’ Now it was Lizzie’s turn to be surprised.

‘Only when I heard he was back. I was just going to check out his pictures, do a bit of harmless reconnaissance.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never tried to do that?’

Lizzie ducked her gaze. ‘Maybe once or twice,’ she muttered. Not that she’d ever found anything. Alex was very good at going under the radar. In another life, he’d have made an excellent secret agent.

‘If you say so,’ scoffed Megan. ‘Anyway, you’re missing the point. The important thing is what you do next.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Please tell me you didn’t phone him already?’

‘Course not,’ Lizzie spluttered. ‘I can’t read the number anyway. The last two digits are smudged.’

Megan peered at the card, then threw it down on the coffee table. ‘I think it’s a 6 and a 0. Might be an 8. Not that it matters, though. You definitely shouldn’t call.’

‘I won’t.’

‘In that case, I think we should get rid of it,’ she said. ‘Just so you don’t feel tempted to ring him later. You know, once we’ve polished off the Pinot.’ She set down her drink and went into the kitchen, returning with a large ashtray and a box of matches. ‘Here, we can set fire to it. It’ll be like it never existed.’

Like Alex for the past ten years, you mean.

‘You don’t need to mess around with all that, Megan.’ Lizzie shuffled uneasily in her seat.

‘Well, you can’t keep it! What if Josh sees it? How dodgy would that look?’

‘Why would he see it? I was going to bin it.’

‘Good. Because I’d hate to see you screw things up with Josh for that bastard.’ Despite their long-term friendship – or perhaps because of it – Megan still hadn’t learned to keep her opinions to herself.

‘Don’t say that.’

‘Why not?’

Lizzie didn’t have a good answer. It wasn’t like she hadn’t called him that – and worse – since the split. But somehow it sounded different coming from Megan.

‘Never mind. I should probably talk to Josh about all this though, right? Maybe tell him what happened with me and Alex?’ Not that she had much of an explanation. She still didn’t understand how two people could swiftly go from being inseparable to being continents apart.

‘What? Noooooo!’ Megan looked horrified. ‘That’s a terrible idea.’

‘Why? I’m sure he won’t mind. It was a million years ago.’

‘Yeah, I can hear that conversation now: “Hi darling, how was your day? Oh, by the way, the love of my life just waltzed back into town.” He’ll be thrilled about that.’

‘Alex isn’t the love of my life,’ said Lizzie, her head starting to throb from the strain of it all.

‘But still, it doesn’t exactly sound great, does it? And then poor Josh is going to spend the next couple of months worrying that you’re going to call off the wedding.’

‘Why would I call off the wedding?’

‘I’m not saying you would. I’m just saying that I don’t think now’s a good time to dump all of this on your fiancé.’ She raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘Look, at the end of the day, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.’

I hope not, thought Lizzie. I really hope not. ‘So what do you think I should do?’

Megan picked up the card. ‘I think we should destroy the evidence right now.’

‘You’ve been watching too much CSI: Miami again.’

‘I’m serious. Unless you’re having second thoughts about phoning …’ She shook her head disapprovingly.

‘Fine, you win. Let’s just get rid of it.’

Lizzie watched as her friend scraped the safety match against the coarse surface of the box, the sound grating like nails down a blackboard. The tip sprang to life, its golden head gently kissing the corner of the card, engulfing it in a sunset-coloured glow before it burned out with exhaustion and everything turned black.

Megan was right. There could be no going back.

6

6 October 2002

Lizzie stepped into the dark cottage, scattering a trail of watery drops as she took off Alex’s jacket, her hands struggling to grip the slippery leather. Her wet hair clung to her neck and shoulders, the rain trickling down her back and tickling her skin.

As her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light, she could just about glimpse Alex in the shadows, but then he switched on a table lamp, infusing the living room with a soft glow. The place wasn’t big, but what it lacked in size it made up for in character, with its exposed brick walls and dark wooden beams. It was not your typical student digs, but then she was beginning to realise that he was not your typical student.

‘You must be drenched,’ he said, kicking off his shoes with a thud. ‘That really came out of nowhere.’ His hair had been slicked back by the rain, but a few rogue strands fell forward and she wanted to brush them from his face. She did not move first, though, thrown by the wet and the cold and the sudden realisation that her dress had become almost see-through. Do I look a total mess? Alex had wanted to kiss her on the beach, of that she was sure, but the rain had extinguished the moment and now she felt self-conscious.

‘I’m OK.’

He took the dripping jacket from her. ‘Here, let me get you a towel,’ he said, disappearing for a second before surfacing with a large white one. She wrapped it tightly around herself, feeling the warmth flood back into her body, then bent down to remove her sodden sandals. ‘I’ll see if I can find you something to change into,’ he offered, striding towards what she assumed must be his bedroom.

He did not close the door fully behind him, and she couldn’t help but watch through the gap as he peeled off his T-shirt, revealing a muscular back. As he reached into his wardrobe, she could make out a jagged scar to the right of his torso, silvery and faded but noticeable nonetheless. I know nothing about this guy, she thought suddenly, and yet she wanted to find out more. She pretended to concentrate on towel-drying her hair while she kept one eye firmly fixed in his direction.

He threw on a black jumper and returned brandishing two large shirts in white and blue. ‘I don’t have much that’ll fit you, sorry. But you’re welcome to wear one of these. You can change in my room, if you like.’

‘Sure, thanks.’ She draped the towel over the back of a chair and took the white one from him, her heartbeat accelerating as she closed the bedroom door. Wriggling out of her drenched dress and into the crisp cotton shirt, its length barely skimming her thighs, Lizzie felt almost as exposed as she had a few minutes earlier. Not wanting to seem tarty, she fastened the buttons right to the top, but then that felt stuffy, so she undid the top two. She wished that her boobs were a size or two larger so she could really work the curvaceous angle.

Checking her reflection in the wardrobe mirror, she realised that her eyeliner was running halfway down her right cheek. As she scanned the room for tissues, she noted with relief that it was simple but clean, with a double bed covered in navy linen. The matt-white walls were peppered with posters of music icons – Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon – which were starting to look a little frayed around the edges. There was no sign of food-encrusted plates, like the ones she had to rescue from Gareth’s room, or mounds of dirty student laundry; instead there was just a small pile of magazines and textbooks, a guitar leant lovingly in the corner and a corkboard dotted with photographs.

She leaned in. The same faces cropped up in multiple snaps, including a middle-aged couple who she guessed must be his parents, a guy who looked a lot like Alex and a pretty blonde shaped like a swimwear model. Lizzie peered more closely at her and felt a pang in the pit of her stomach. I hope that’s a relative, she thought, trying to avert her eyes from the blonde’s ample cleavage.

She couldn’t spot any tissues, though, and in the end she had to settle for a lick of saliva on her little finger. Before their date, she had spent over an hour perfecting her outfit and make-up, yet now she was stripped of both. Not the best look, but it’ll have to do. She ran a hand through her damp hair, gave the shirt a final inspection and stepped back into the lounge.

Alex had lit a fire and was pouring two glasses of white wine. He passed one to her then sat down on the crinkled brown leather couch, which was barely big enough for two. Lizzie sank into the adjacent armchair, curling her legs up beside her.

‘This place is beautiful,’ she said, hoping her breezy voice wouldn’t betray her nerves. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Actually, I’ve been coming here since I was small,’ he said. ‘It used to belong to my grandparents, and when they died my mum couldn’t bear to sell it. Too many memories. I think she’s hoping to bring her own grandkids here someday.’

‘I can totally see why.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘I wish I’d had grandparents to go and visit.’

Alex leaned forward. ‘You didn’t see any of them?’

‘Not really. My dad’s parents were killed in a car crash before I came along, and my mum’s both died before I turned five, so I don’t remember them much. And I never actually met my real grandparents.’ She stopped, realising she hadn’t told him the full story. ‘I was adopted when I was a baby.’

She waited for him to get that look people got when she told them; that awkward not-sure-what-to-say-now kind of look. But he didn’t. He just looked interested.

‘Are you in touch with your birth family?’

‘No, never.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Mum offered to help me track them down last year when I turned 18. But, honestly, I don’t think I want to any more. As far as I’m concerned, my mum and dad are my real family.’

For a while, during her early teens, she had thought about her birth parents obsessively: what they looked like, where they might be living, whether they lay awake at night and wished they hadn’t given her away. Above all, there was this overriding sense of loss, as though she’d misplaced something but couldn’t remember what. Still, her adopted parents had always made her feel so loved that she refused to regret going to them. It could only have been a trade up, and she couldn’t bear to hurt their feelings by searching for two strangers simply because they shared some DNA.

‘I understand,’ he said, raising his glass to his lips. ‘They sound like great people.’

‘They are.’ She shifted her weight slightly. ‘What about you? What’s your family like?’

‘Can’t complain, I guess. There’s me, the folks, my twin Connor and my sister Andi.’

‘Oh, you have a twin? That must be so cool!’

‘Mostly. He has his moments.’

‘Do you see them much?’

‘As much as I can. They’re up near Windsor – close enough to visit but not so close they can turn up uninvited.’

‘Sounds perfect.’ She smiled. ‘So you live here by yourself?’

‘Yeah. I thought about renting out the spare room once, but I kind of like having my own space.’ He looked around the cosy cottage. ‘At least this way I can mess around on my guitar without disturbing anyone.’

‘Will you play something for me?’

He seemed surprised. ‘Like what?’

‘I don’t mind. Anything.’

‘Oh, I don’t play in front of other people. Trust me, it’s for your own good.’

She put her glass on the wooden floor. ‘Hey, I sang in front of you this week, remember? Not to mention half the uni.’

‘True,’ he smiled. ‘But perhaps we should leave the music to the pros for one night.’ He gestured to a tall, teetering pile of CDs in the corner, which resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. ‘I must have something you like. Though I’m pretty sure there’s no Steps.’

She extracted herself from the chair to inspect his collection, discreetly tugging down the shirt to what she hoped was a respectable length. ‘Alright, let’s have a look. Coldplay, Train – love them – Foo Fighters, Roxette …’ She paused. ‘Really?’

‘What’s wrong with Roxette?’

‘Nothing. I like Roxette. I just didn’t think they’d be your thing.’

‘What can I say? I’ve got eclectic taste. There might even be an S Club single lurking in there somewhere, you know.’

She continued to rifle through the mountain of discs, not quite sure what she was searching for. ‘Travis … The Ramones … ah, Oasis.’ She pulled the CD slowly from the precarious pile, hoping it wouldn’t topple like a giant game of Jenga.

‘Which track?’ he said. ‘Choose wisely.’

‘You’ll see.’ She took the disc out of its plastic casing and switched on his stereo, feeding the flash of silver into the hungry slot. The familiar opening of Wonderwall echoed over the speakers.

‘This is my all-time favourite song, you know,’ said Alex quietly, setting down his wine glass.

She held out a hand. ‘Then dance with me.’

‘What? You can’t dance to this.’

‘You don’t sing, you don’t dance …’ she teased. ‘What do you do?’

As if to answer her question, he rose slowly, strode across the room and kissed her with an intensity that made her knees buckle. She had been kissed before (by 12 different boys, in fact, if you counted those drunken snogs in Fresher’s Week), but this was the kiss to obliterate all others.

She gave into it completely, running her hand through his rain-soaked hair and down to his broad shoulders. He wrapped his strong arms around her back, pulling her in so deeply that she could hardly breathe; his lips were warm, with a faint taste of wine that was intoxicating, his stubble brushing against her skin.

‘Do you want to stay here tonight?’ he whispered.

His question caught her off-guard and she pulled back slightly. She had never done anything like this before – ‘Make ’em wait until at least the third date,’ Megan always said – and the sensible thing to do would be to slow down. She knew that if she didn’t leave in the next 30 seconds, she was going to lose a piece of her heart that could never be reclaimed.

Looking into her eyes, he gently undid three buttons on her shirt and traced the outline of her lacy bra with his finger. She did not want to leave: not now, not ever.

‘Yes,’ she murmured, pressing her lips hard against his, her hands finding the taut abs beneath his jumper. He did not say another word as he lifted her off the floor and swept her into the bedroom.

This time, he did close the door.

7

10 weeks to go …

As the DJ on the radio teed up yet another 80s power ballad, Lizzie glanced at the plastic clock on the office wall. It seemed to have been stuck at 5.05pm for the past ten minutes. How is that even possible? She hid a yawn behind her coffee cup. Josh had kept her up half the night fidgeting, convinced his recent sniffles were spiralling into full-blown flu. He’d called in sick today and stayed at home, curled up on the couch with the remote control for company, while she’d had to trek into town amid freak summer storms, cursing commuters who nearly decapitated her with their umbrellas.

She hadn’t been sleeping well for weeks, really, which was partly due to wedding stress but mainly Alex’s fault. The questions she was afraid to ask out loud ran through her mind at night: Why is he here? What does he want with me? She wished that he had never come back, so she could be kept awake by guest lists and seating charts like normal brides.

Her eyelids felt heavy, and she allowed herself to rest them for one peaceful moment.

‘Elizabeth? Elizabeth! Are you with us?’ The shrill voice of her boss, an imposing woman by the name of Ella Derville, jolted her back to attention. Tall and wiry, Ella always wore her hair in an immaculate topknot, which was slicked back so tightly it made her skin look eerily stretched. She had the eyes of a hawk and the stealth of a ninja. ‘I do hope we’re not overworking you?’

‘No! I mean, er … sorry. Thought I had an eyelash in there. Did you need me?’ Deep down, Lizzie had a quiet respect for the publishing director (though she knew that Naomi secretly called her Cruella de Vil), but right now she could tell that the woman was in no mood for pleasantries.

‘Yes, I want to review your campaign strategy before next week’s meeting,’ she said, peering down her nose. She paused expectantly just as the chorus of Don’t Stop Believin’ rang out in the background. Ella swivelled her long neck in Naomi’s direction. ‘Will someone turn that radio off? I am trying to have a conversation here.’

Naomi begrudgingly did as she was told, plunging the office into an ominous silence. The rest of the team tried to pretend that they were busy, shuffling papers or playing with their staplers, but Lizzie knew they were hanging on to Ella’s every word. Perky Phoebe wheeled her chair a fraction closer to the action.

‘Where was I?’ said Ella brusquely. ‘Oh yes. I need that plan.’

What plan? The semi-permanent knot in Lizzie’s stomach tightened another notch. ‘Er, I’m actually working on quite a few things at the moment,’ she said in what she hoped was her most polite, super-efficient voice. ‘Could you remind me which project you were referring to?’

‘The new yoga book.’

Aaaargh. It would have to be the one I’ve not started. ‘I’m just finishing that off,’ she said, not quite making eye contact. ‘I’ll move it to the top of my in-tray and have it with you by noon tomorrow.’

‘It was supposed to be on my desk yesterday!’

Lizzie didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t make much difference; the woman was on a roll now, her disapproval rushing forth like an unstoppable tidal wave. Naomi got up and walked behind her to the water cooler, rolling her eyes as she went.

‘And then there was that press release for the travel guide, which was so full of typos I had to re-do it myself. It’s not up to your usual standard at all. Is something the matter?’ She placed one hand on the desk and leaned in. ‘Because if there’s a problem, you know, perhaps you should talk to me.’

Lizzie couldn’t imagine anything more excruciating than telling the boss about her complicated private life. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she whispered, her mouth drying up. ‘I’ve just been under quite a lot of pressure lately. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again, I promise.’

‘Please do.’ Ella stood up sharply, pulling herself to her full height. ‘We’ve got a busy month ahead.’ And with that she slinked off, no doubt preparing to pounce on some other poor unsuspecting underling.

Lizzie was mortified. A rush of heat surged up her neck and spread contagiously across her face. She had been working for the company for more than four years and had always considered herself an exemplary employee. Now she was suddenly being cast as the office slacker. I’ve really got to get my act together – before I get my P45. She looked around at her colleagues in stunned disbelief, but most of them refused to meet her eyes. Naomi gave an embarrassed shrug and trudged back to her seat.