The Secret to Falling in Love. Victoria Cooke

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СКАЧАТЬ love, don’t you want to open your presents?’ my dad cut in before I had a chance to answer. Thank goodness. I wasn’t sure if he was being insightful, or if he had just got bored with the din of female gabble; either way I was relieved.

      The boyfriend conversation was soon forgotten – for the moment, at least – as I opened floral gift bags and unwrapped delicate pink tissue paper to reveal some truly wonderful presents. Mum and Dad had booked me a spa day, which couldn’t have come at a better time. My merriment was subdued when my mum handed me a card from my gran. A tear pricked my eyes. ‘You know how organised your gran was. She’d got this in November.’ Mum smiled; tears were pooling in her eyes too.

      I opened the card, and in it was a gift card for Selfridges. She knew me so well. Mum patted my hand.

      ‘She was organised. It’s perfect,’ I said, breathing in hard to stop any stray tears.

      The last gift bag was from Lizzie. Inside was a gorgeous chunky gold Marc Jacobs watch. A warm feeling gushed over me. I felt blessed to have such a generous and caring family.

      As Mum and Dad left, I heard a high-pitched shrill coming from my tablet, indicating someone was trying to Skype me. The sound seemed to be coming from my bedroom; as I dashed in, it grew louder, but I couldn’t find it. I rummaged through drawers and under piles of clothes, the sound and vibration making me feel stressed, until I spotted it, hiding underneath a discarded blouse. Of course – where else? I dashed over and pressed the answer button to connect the call without even noticing who it was.

      ‘Hey, sis, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’ Lizzie shouted excitedly. In the background, a chorus of toddlers was also yelling for ‘Anti Lissa’ to have a happy ‘birfday’. It was too loud for me to answer so I animatedly stuck my fingers in my ears in mock-revulsion. The children fell into fits of giggles and then screamed higher and louder until my sister encouraged a more appropriate noise level, presumably through bribery. I giggled.

      Lizzie has two-year-old twin boys and a three- – and a half, because I have to say that – year-old girl, who are all boisterous and scrumptious in equal measure. I didn’t see my sister much as she had a busy family life and ran an eBay shop selling craft items she made between nursery runs and grocery shopping, so we tended to catch up via Skype when we could, which had the added bonus of volume control. The image of a winky emoticon popped into my mind – too much time spent online!

      After twelve minutes and thirty-four seconds of mainly noise, one of the twins announced that he needed a poo, and my sister hastily announced that she had to go, as his warnings were about as useful as a fire alarm is at detecting an oncoming flood. I began to ask her if she could make it into town for a few birthday drinks tonight, but halfway through, everything went silent and I realised I was just shouting at my own face. I half considered calling back or sending a text, but I knew she wouldn’t come out; she never did.

      I decided I might as well spend the afternoon having a good old-fashioned pamper session, with a glass of wine thrown in for good measure. In the corner of my room were some ‘so last season’ (literally) gift bags covered with festive imagery: a jolly red Father Christmas placing a brightly coloured present under a traditionally decorated tree, a silver glittery bag with a gold pop-out tree and another that simply said Joyeux Noël.

      I’d completely forgotten about them but was sure there would be some pamper-worthy smellies in one of them. I rummaged through and unloaded the spoils of Christmas: face masks, scrubs, bath soaks – perfect! A feeling of excitement washed over me as I gathered everything up and headed to my bathroom.

      The quietness of the bathroom and the feel of the soft bubbles completely relaxed me. Laying my head back on the cool surface of the bath, I felt as if I hadn’t a care in the world. Except I had. A huge sinking feeling hit the bottom of my stomach. Mum was right; I did need to start thinking about a future. I wasn’t getting any younger. I lived alone and partied too much, while most of my friends seemed to be settling down, getting married and having babies.

      I had thought that the real toughie in life would have been the career; get that right and everything else would fall into place, I’d thought. I’d gone to university, worked (and played) hard. I’d secured a low-paid admin job at a magazine, and genuinely fought for several years to get to the point where I wrote my own column. After that I’d scored some regular copywriting work for an agency.

      Would I have got that far if I had been distracted by a partner? I doubted it. By the time I’d achieved my goal, I’d been so excited at becoming financially secure I focused on the joys that could bring: my own city-centre apartment, the odd splurge on Mulberry handbags, Jimmy Choo shoes, holidays. I hadn’t even cared about being single.

      A couple of my friends were married in their mid-twenties, and I’d thought why? Why would they settle down when they were still so young? Now they had children and had been married for seven or eight years, and I was there sitting on the proverbial shelf with little more than Selfridges swag and a frown line to show for it.

      It’s not that I was suddenly unhappy being alone; I wasn’t, but I couldn’t help but feel like the clock was starting to tick. Apart from meeting someone through an online dating site, I had no idea how to meet The One – that sounded so cheesy, even in my head – but I’d be damned before I let my mother matchmake.

      I opened my eyes and examined my fingertips. They were all wrinkly, indicating I’d spent long enough in the bath – I definitely didn’t need any more wrinkles.

      Grabbing a towel, I hopped out of the bath and headed over to my bed, snatching a notebook and pen on my way. If I really wanted a man in my life, I needed to think about the kind of man I was looking for. I sat down and started to write.

       He must:

       1. Look after himself/take pride in his appearance

       2. Have a good job/be financially secure

      That was a very short list. What more did I want? It was ridiculous; Gavin would have been one hundred per cent perfect for me based on those criteria. There had to be more, something else that I needed in a man. My thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of the intercom. I am popular today! Gemma and Amanda had arrived early. ‘Hello, ladies, come on up,’ I chirped, quickly stashing away my notebook on my bookshelf.

      ‘Hi there, gorgeous birthday girl.’ Amanda walked in and kissed me on the cheek.

      ‘Happy birthday, beautiful,’ Gemma said and pulled me into a hug.

      ‘Hi, girls, thank you!’

      As they walked to the sofa, I noticed they were already dressed for our night out. Amanda looked fabulous in a tartan swing dress and black tights – it set off her pale skin and long wavy red hair nicely. Gemma always sported the trendiest looks and today was no exception; she looked hot in a risqué black body-con dress teamed with a leather biker jacket and chunky platforms.

      ‘We thought we would make an afternoon of it.’ Amanda grinned as she produced two bottles of pink champagne.

      ‘Ooh! Happy birthday to me indeed.’ I beamed at her.

      ‘I’ll get the glasses.’ Gemma clapped with excitement as she hopped up and headed to the kitchen.

      ‘So, how do you feel about turning thirty-five?’ Amanda asked quietly once Gemma was out of earshot; she too envied Gemma’s youth.

      ‘To be СКАЧАТЬ