Destination Chile. Katy Colins

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СКАЧАТЬ babe?’ he asked with a wry smile, faking a yawn.

      ‘I know, but they are so cheap!’ I took a deep breath. ‘Okay, please get me out of here. I don’t know what’s happened to my self-control!’ I wailed as he laughed and took my hand.

      We made it to the self-service checkout section of the shop pretty disgustingly smugly if you ask me, especially with relationship apocalypse exploding around us. We sauntered through to the right aisle (I’d been meticulous about scribbling down where the dining table was located that we’d both liked) holding hands and coming up with how many famous Swedish people we could think of. Ulrika Jonsson and ABBA topped the poll after some obscure football players Ben suggested. It was all going rather swimmingly, maybe too swimmingly, until we saw the oblong-shaped thick cardboard box on section A shelf 39.

      ‘Oh.’

      ‘Balls.’

      ‘It’s enormous!’ I gasped. Not only did I worry about us getting it into the car, I also didn’t know how it would fit in our already cosy flat. This was the main reason we’d come here as we were having a dinner party in a few days, a posh house-warming, and I’d panicked that our guests would have to eat from their laps.

      ‘I’m sure it’s all just packaging. I don’t remember it being that big in the showroom,’ he said, scratching his head.

      I nodded even though I wasn’t convinced. ‘You did do the measurements before we came out, didn’t you?’

      ‘Yep, come on. It’ll be fine,’ he said, through a heavy wheeze as he awkwardly hoisted the giant box onto the flat trolley, ignoring my narrowed eyes.

      We were both exhausted and as fun and relatively painless as this shopping trip had been I was ready to get home, put the kettle on and brew up in my new matching mugs. Of course he had the sizes worked out in his head – just trust him, Georgia. But the meatballs and lingonberry sauce were soon forgotten as we struggled to just get the damn thing into Ben’s car. We drove the whole way back to our flat with my seat pulled as far forward as it would go. I told Ben to be careful not to brake suddenly or else my neck would be sliced open by the sharp corner of the box that was precariously close to decapitating me.

      We eventually both fell onto the sofa trying to catch our breath from lugging the enormous box through the front door. My smugness at surviving Ikea was starting to fade, but our spirits were still relatively high as we found a way to laugh at the experience, a pretty impressive feat considering how stilted the car journey had been – although I did smile to myself at Ben’s cautious grandma-style driving.

      ‘Well, it’s in!’ He smiled, wiping his damp forehead. ‘How about I crack on with putting it up and you clear some room in the bedroom for all these candles you’ve collected?’

      ‘You sure you don’t want a hand?’ I asked, looking at the mess he was making tearing his way into the giant box, pulling out the surprisingly thick instruction manual, bubble wrap and screws that were soon littering the floor.

      ‘Nope. If I can’t put up a simple table for my woman, then I basically fail at being a man.’ He grinned, looking unfazed by the debris around him and popping the lid off a cold bottle of lager, ready for the challenge.

      ‘Okay then, if you’re sure…’ I leant down and pecked him on his mop of dark brown curls. ‘Good luck.’

      I made my way around the boxes that lined the hallway, the ones we still had to unpack, trying to ignore the possible fire risk they posed, and dragged the full, blue Ikea sack into the bedroom. This was already my favourite room in the flat. It was a larger than average size with wide sash windows that let in so much light it made the calming space seem even bigger. I was still amazed that after moving out of the house I’d shared with my ex, Alex, and then going backpacking, I’d amassed so much stuff. Since moving in a month ago, Ben and I had been dancing around each other, finding places for both of our life possessions and bringing a touch of homely charm to the previously blank canvas.

      It had been only a matter of time before Ben had moved out of the flat he’d shared with his best mate Jimmy and we got a place of our own. The decision to live together had been such an obvious one, especially as we spent all of our time in each other’s company at work anyway and our relationship was going so well. The times I did find myself apart from him I’d hated.

      I artistically arranged my new candle collection on top of the chest of drawers, next to the framed photo of us taken when we’d first met on a sun-drenched Thai beach. So much had changed since that moment I sometimes forgot where it had all started. Since then we’d launched our own joint business, The Lonely Hearts Travel Club, fallen in love and were now living together. I never could have predicted any of this back then when this hot stranger had placed his arm around my waist as I grinned at the camera lens.

      I pulled myself back to the moment and smiled at hearing Ben whistling along to the radio from the lounge. I couldn’t remember feeling this happy and excited about the future before; it was such a special, precious feeling that I never wanted to end. It had made sense to move in together. Both of our diaries were always full of short breaks, taken separately, to promote The Lonely Hearts Travel Club – just in the last few months I’d been to Spain, Greece and Morocco. But sadly, the most I got to see of the fascinating destinations was the airport and a variety of nondescript hotel rooms. It also meant that when I wasn’t away from the office then Ben was, both of us taking it in turns to keep in personal contact with our travel guides and excursions, as well as trying to bring in new clients.

      This was all so exciting, but it meant we had to manage our downtime carefully, with planned date nights and time together booked into our diaries weeks or months in advance. I wouldn’t say I ever really got homesick but I had found myself feeling sick of not having a home – with Ben. Somewhere we could both at least wake up and fall asleep together whenever we were in the same country.

      Not wanting to get in the way of his furniture assembly techniques, I decided to make a start on unpacking those boxes littering the hallway. They were labelled Ben’s Clothes so I ungracefully dragged them into the bedroom and pulled open the floor-to-ceiling, built-in wardrobes, wincing at how cluttered it was already looking in here.

      I closed my eyes and inhaled the comforting and familiar scent of my boyfriend as I pulled out soft T-shirts and piled them in the drawers on his side of the wardrobe. Lost in heady memories that his smell caused my brain and my lady parts, I almost missed it. In amongst neatly folded winter jumpers, my hand touched upon a solid object. Digging further into the cardboard box I felt my stomach clench and my heart skipped a beat as everything around me froze.

      Tucked – almost hidden – in the pocket of a thick woollen jacket was a small, maroon-coloured, velvet box.

CHAPTER 2

       Qualm (n.) – A sudden feeling of doubt, fear or uneasiness, especially in not following one’s conscience or better judgement

      For a few seconds I just stared at the golden trimmed little box as it sat in my trembling hands, as if holding an injured bird or an unexploded landmine. I was too nervous to move a muscle or even catch up on the breath that had caught in my dry throat.

      ‘Ah, bollocks!’ I could hear Ben swearing as he got on with assembling the dining-room table, unaware of the momentous discovery that his girlfriend had just made in the very next room.

      ‘Open it, open it,’ СКАЧАТЬ