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

Seconds later, an email alert pinged up in Lizzie’s inbox.

Hey, Sleeping Beauty! Cheer up. If you can stay awake for another 15 minutes, let’s get out of here and have one for the road. I’m buying.

N x

Lizzie glanced out of the window, where the sky looked grey and miserable. Another storm cloud rumbled overhead.

Sure, why not? she replied. Assuming I’m not fired first …

Naomi jostled her way through the after-work crowd, plonking a tray down on the wonky table. ‘Fuck me, this place is getting pricey,’ she said, offloading two glasses of house white and a small bowl of dry roasted peanuts. ‘Since when did nuts cost nearly a fiver? It used to be alright in here.’

Lizzie glanced around the dingy pub, which looked about 100 years old, and tried to envisage a time when it was ever alright in there. ‘That’s London for you,’ she said. ‘You sure you don’t want some cash?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ said Naomi. ‘I’ll get this lot. You get the next one.’

‘OK, thanks. It might have to be next week, though. Josh isn’t well today so I thought I’d go back and make him a decent dinner.’

‘Well, aren’t you a regular Nigella?’ teased Naomi. ‘I wish there was someone at home to cook for me. I’m sick to death of ready meals.’

‘So, how are things at home these days?’ Lizzie asked tactfully. She took a large swig of wine and immediately wished she hadn’t. It tasted like vinegar and needed another hour in the fridge.

‘Not great.’ Naomi ran a hand through her platinum blonde hair and shuffled uneasily on the rickety stool. ‘I think evil Mel might be seeing other people.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘She keeps posting selfies with all these other girls.’

‘Maybe they’re friends?’ said Lizzie helpfully.

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Did it occur to you that maybe she’s posting them to make you jealous?’

‘No,’ she said glumly. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m not sure I want to date someone who knows that many hot women. It’s not good for my ego.’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous. You hardly fell out of the ugly tree.’ It was the truth. Naomi looked like an urban rock chick, with her short, choppy bob and edgy dress sense. Even Megan thought that she had style, and she never said that about anybody.

‘Anyway, let’s not talk about that psycho,’ said Naomi. ‘How’s the wedding stuff coming along?’

‘Fine, I guess.’ She took a smaller mouthful of the warm wine and tried not to pull a face.

‘Well, don’t sound too enthusiastic …’

Lizzie debated whether to tell her about the whole Alex saga, but decided against it. She didn’t really have time right now, plus she knew from experience that Naomi could be a bit indiscreet when she had a few drinks in her – and she didn’t want her getting smashed at the wedding and recounting the tale to other guests.

‘No, it’s all good. I’ve just had a lot on my plate this month.’

Naomi nodded. ‘I noticed. What was all that about earlier?’ She leaned in curiously, and Lizzie wondered if this was the real reason she’d offered to take her out and buy the drinks. Either she’s feeling sorry for me or she’s fishing for gossip. She didn’t know which was worse.

‘It’s nothing. I’ve been juggling several projects and I forgot to submit something on time. Then Ella went a bit … you know. Like she does.’

‘Batshit?’ Naomi popped a handful of peanuts into her mouth and washed them down with wine.

‘More like … disappointed. But I get where she’s coming from. It was my fault.’

‘Oh, don’t do that,’ she groaned.

‘Do what?’

‘Act all reasonable about it. How many times have you handed in something late since you started here?’

‘Hardly ever. Why?’

‘Well, she needs to give you a break. Everyone knows you’ve got the wedding coming up. You’re bound to be a little preoccupied.’

‘It’s not just that,’ said Lizzie quietly. ‘I’m not really sure my heart’s in it any more.’

‘In what? The wedding?’ Naomi looked shocked.

‘No! I meant PR.’ She had never confessed that to anyone before, and if she’d thought it through properly, Naomi wouldn’t have been her first pick to keep a secret. But it felt good to finally admit it.

‘Oh, right.’ She leaned in closer, beckoning Lizzie to do the same. ‘If I tell you something, can you keep your mouth shut?’

‘Of course,’ she replied. Better than you, I’d imagine …

‘OK.’ She tapped her hands on top of the table to mimic a drum roll. ‘I’ve decided to quit!’

‘Smoking?’

‘No! Don’t start that again. Work.’

‘What? Are you serious?’ Lizzie almost fell off her seat. ‘When?’

‘I’m going to wait three more months, just to make sure I’ve saved up enough. But if everything goes to plan, I’ll hand in my notice while you’re on your honeymoon. That’s assuming I don’t explode first. Everyone’s on my case this week.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then I’m going to set up my own web business. It’ll just be me to start with, but at least I’ll be the boss!’

Lizzie toyed with the rim of her glass. ‘Won’t that be a big pay cut?’

‘Ha, now you sound like my mum. That’ll be the first thing she says.’ Naomi reached for another handful of peanuts. ‘I don’t think it’ll be so bad. I’ve been saving up for a while and my old roommate reckons she can put some work my way.’ She threw a nut in the air and caught it in her mouth. ‘Anyway, my mind’s made up.’

‘Whoa. This is huge.’ Lizzie was quiet for a second, allowing the news to sink in. She was going to miss Naomi horribly, but she admired her guts. Maybe it’s time I moved on, too. She’d only meant to take the job for a couple of years before writing a book of her own, but now her five-year work anniversary was creeping up fast, and she was becoming part of the office furniture. ‘Don’t get me wrong, though; I think it’s amazing. I’d love to do my own thing.’

‘Like what?’

She hesitated. ‘Don’t laugh, but I’d really like to write a novel.’

‘Why would I laugh? You’d be a great writer!’

‘Really?’

‘Definitely. You should totally do it.’ She grinned. ‘You only live once, right?’

Lizzie was tempted. Naomi’s got a point. If I never give it a go, I’m always going to sit there wondering, aren’t I?

‘Let me think about it for a while. I need to talk it over with Josh.’

‘You should tell him tonight!’ Lizzie had never seen her friend so excited.

‘Maybe,’ she smiled. ‘Depends what kind of mood he’s in when I get back. He’s a terrible patient.’ Josh was normally so active that he couldn’t cope when he was laid low. ‘That reminds me, I should probably head off soon and pick up some stuff for dinner. It’ll take me a while to get home.’

‘Not so fast,’ said Naomi. ‘Let’s have a toast before we go.’

‘To what?’

Naomi looked thoughtful. ‘To taking the plunge,’ she said with a cheeky grin. ‘And to your future bestseller, of course.’

‘I like the sound of that,’ said Lizzie, raising her glass. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers,’ said Naomi, clinking hers against it. ‘Oh, and there’s one thing you have to promise me before you go.’

Lizzie was curious. ‘Go on …’

‘When you’re a famous writer, can I run your website?’

Lizzie hurried up the front path, desperate to set down the two carrier bags that were digging painfully into her left palm. One had a large split in the side and was threatening to burst open at any second, spilling its contents everywhere. Just … one … more … minute. She opened the door with her other hand and squeezed into the hall, promptly tripping over Josh’s mud-caked trainers in the process. The bag gave way and two tins of chopped tomatoes tumbled out, almost landing on her toes.

Aaaargh.

She bundled up the food as best she could and lugged it towards the kitchen. The sound of the fridge door being slammed made her jump.

‘Josh, I’m going to make spag bol tonight. You hungry?’

A figure stepped out from the shadow of the kitchen doorway into the hall. ‘Hey, Lizzie, got any more beers?’ said Freddie. ‘I can’t find any.’ He had, however, managed to find the tortilla chips that she’d been saving for movie night with Megan. He fished one out with his stubby fingers, overloaded it with salsa and licked it. Then he double-dipped it back into the jar, before crunching it loudly between his big teeth. Gross. Lizzie tried not to gag and pointed him in the direction of the bottom cupboard.

‘There’s usually a few more in there. They won’t be cold, though.’

‘Shame. Never mind.’ He shuffled back into the kitchen and shoved the half-eaten salsa in the fridge. As if we’d want it now! Then he bent down, his ill-fitting jeans giving her a view she’d rather not have seen, and retrieved two cans of lager.

‘Got any bitter?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ What do I look like, a pub?

‘OK, then, we’ll take a couple of these …’ It didn’t seem to occur to him to ask if she might like a drink.

‘Want some pork scratchings with that?’ she asked sarcastically.

‘No thanks, I’m alright,’ said Freddie.

That’s debatable.

She changed the subject. ‘How’s Josh feeling now?’

‘You what?’ Freddie blinked gormlessly.

‘He wasn’t feeling well today. He called in sick.’

‘Oh. Dunno. He didn’t mention it.’

Probably because he couldn’t get a word in edgeways. Freddie liked the sound of his own voice way too much, though most of the time he didn’t say anything worth listening to. Whenever he and Josh met up, it was like they were sucked back to their sixth-form days, where they’d bonded over sport and beer and immature banter – which, to be honest, was pretty much still the glue that kept their friendship together. Lizzie had started to dread him showing up at their place, and would have stayed out with Naomi if she’d known he was coming over. Still, at least she could send him home afterwards. She pitied his new wife Fran, who was stuck with him for good.

She followed him through to the lounge, where Josh was looking decidedly more lively, shouting at the footballers on the TV. The only sign of his illness was the trail of used tissues scattered on the sofa beside him.

‘Hi, gorgeous. Freddie’s here,’ he said, stating the obvious.

‘Yes, we were just chatting,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling now?’ When she’d left for work that morning, Josh made out that he was practically dying, blowing his nose loudly and speaking with a rasp that could have impressed Darth Vader.

‘Much better, thanks. It seemed to shift once I got up.’

‘That’s good.’ She gave him a big smile. ‘Don’t suppose you managed to write a few invites then, by any chance?’

‘What?’ He forced a cough. ‘No, I mean I’m on the mend, but I’m obviously not 100 per cent yet.’

Obviously.

‘Alright. Well, I guess we could do them on Saturday.’

‘That was never a foul,’ interrupted Freddie, oblivious to the fact that another conversation was taking place. ‘Did you see that? Unbelievable.’

‘Er, no, I didn’t,’ said Josh. ‘Rewind a minute and we’ll watch it again.’

‘The ref’s a twat,’ said Freddie.

‘Takes one to know one,’ Lizzie muttered under her breath.

Josh turned his attention back to her. ‘Sorry, hon, what were you saying?’

‘I was just saying we need to sort the invites. But it can wait till the weekend.’

‘Oh. Does it have to be this weekend?’

She was starting to lose patience now. ‘Well, it has to be soon. It’s not like your Christmas cards, Josh – you can’t send them out the week before. People need a bit of notice, you know.’

‘Isn’t that what those other things were for?’

‘What? No, they were just save-the-dates. They don’t give any of the details.’ She took a deep breath and tried again. ‘Could you please help me out for a couple of hours on Saturday? It’s not exactly my idea of fun either, but it won’t take long if we do it together.’

Josh looked sheepish. ‘The thing is, we’ve managed to get a couple of tickets for the match now,’ he mumbled.

‘It’s a big game,’ chipped in Freddie.

They’re all big bloody games. ‘How about Sunday?’

‘Sunday’s the kids’ tournament, remember? I’m ref for that one.’

‘The referee’s a wanker,’ chanted Freddie, pointing at Josh.

Lizzie wanted to throw a cushion at both their heads. ‘Let’s talk about this later,’ she sighed.

‘Alright,’ said Josh. He gave her his widest don’t-be-mad-at-me eyes. ‘I’ll make it up to you. Maybe I can do a few this week after work instead?’

‘OK. Are you hungry?’

‘I’m famished,’ said Freddie. ‘What time’s dinner?’

I take it you’re staying, then? ‘About half an hour.’

‘Oh.’ Freddie turned his attention back to the telly and whacked the volume up. ‘What the hell is he doing? I’ve seen parked cars go quicker than that …’

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.

8

25 December 2002

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:

For words on pages. Alex xxx

‘I … I … don’t know what to say,’ she whispered. ‘I love it.’

‘Good.’ His eyes met hers. ‘Because I love you.’ The words that had been hovering unspoken for weeks were finally released into the wild.

The room began to spin before Lizzie’s eyes as she tried to absorb the news, feeling warm and dizzy and ecstatic all at once. She threw both arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely. ‘I’m totally in love with you, too, in case you hadn’t guessed.’

‘Well, in that case, I think you can open the second surprise.’

She smiled. ‘Would you have taken it back if I hadn’t said anything?’

‘I don’t know. Luckily for you it was the right answer.’

Lizzie began to open the smaller parcel, her hands still shaking from his sudden declaration. The wrapping paper fell away to reveal a small, hard box bearing a fancy gold-embossed logo. A ring? No, don’t be daft – it’s only been three months. Would I say yes, though, if it was?

She opened it slowly and gasped. Softly nestled on a red velvet cushion was a delicate silver heart pendant, the most stunning piece of jewellery she’d ever seen in real life.

‘Turn it over.’ She gently lifted it out of the box and read the inscription on the back: Forever.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she beamed, holding it up against her top. Alex leaned behind her and fastened the clasp, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck.

‘I was going to put both our names on, but it would have taken the engraver all day,’ he laughed. ‘And been really tiny.’

‘No, it’s just right,’ she said, turning her face back to his. ‘They’re both perfect. The best presents anyone has ever given me.’ Alex looked pleased with himself, and she knew what a gamble this must have been. Good job I didn’t buy him those novelty headphones.

He gestured to the notebook. ‘Now you can get started on that bestseller.’

‘Maybe not right this second …’ She kissed him again.

‘Alright then, maybe after lunch. Did I tell you my mum makes a mean Christmas feast?’

It was 3pm in the afternoon and the Jacksons were all well fed, the scent of the succulent turkey still lingering throughout the house. Alex’s mum had dished up a banquet of epic proportions: juicy meat with a herby stuffing, crispy golden roast potatoes, sausages wrapped with sticky pancetta, slivers of colourful carrot and perfectly cooked brussels sprouts, all followed by Christmas pud with lashings of brandy butter. Everyone dived in for seconds, and it took all of Lizzie’s willpower not to go back for more than that. She was glad she hadn’t now, though; the waistband on her skirt wasn’t expanding anywhere near as easily as her stomach.

‘Right, I think it’s time for some games,’ said Mr Jackson, who was well on his way to a merry Christmas, having necked four glasses of wine over dinner. ‘What do we want to start with? That one with the humming?’

‘Definitely no humming,’ said Connor. ‘You lot couldn’t carry a tune if it came with handles.’

‘How about charades?’

‘Oh, yes, I love charades,’ piped up Mrs Jackson, still wearing her paper party hat. ‘Shall we split into teams?’

Alex raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t think Lizzie is used to Christmas charades, Mum. Maybe we could just chill out after lunch and watch telly?’