Marry Me Tomorrow: The perfect, feel-good read to curl up with in 2017!

‘Concentrate on the road, will you,’ he said. ‘Let me do that.’

‘You’re so jumpy!’

‘You make me jumpy. Keep your eyes on the road, will you. Bloody women drivers!’

‘That’s so sexist!’ I raged. ‘How dare you say that to me.’

‘I’m joking.’ He laughed. ‘Have you got any CDs?’

‘In the glovebox.’

He rooted around in the glove compartment while I focused on the road, irritated by his comments.

‘God, you’ve got some shit taste in music,’ he said after a moment of rooting through my CDs.

‘Oh, so you’re going to insult my driving and my taste in music now, are you? Anything else you want to criticise?’

He laughed. ‘I’ll have a think.’

‘Just because I’ve got stuff that was made after 1995?’

‘Pretty much.’ He grinned across at me, obviously enjoying the fact that he’d wound me up so much. I stared at the road ahead, steam practically coming out of my ears. Sam shoved the CDs back into the glovebox and slammed it shut.

‘I don’t even listen to them,’ I said when the silence got too much to bear. ‘I just listen to the radio.’

‘The Archers?’

‘Oh get lost!’

Sam grinned and crossed his arms over his chest, peering through the steamed-up windows at the fields passing by. I turned the heating up to clear the condensation.

‘Have you got any music on your phone?’ he said, picking it up and staring at it. I glanced across at him and frowned.

‘Yes, I do as it happens. I’ve got that fancy Bluetooth thing going on.’

‘What’s your passcode?’

‘0382.’

‘Is that your date of birth?’

‘No,’ I said, going red.

He laughed and tapped in the code, head bent forward as he concentrated on what he was doing.

‘If you go into music…’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’ There was a pause. ‘Have you been telling Lydia I killed you?’

‘Give me that!’ I went to snatch my phone and the car swerved across the carriageway.

‘Aagh! Emily! Watch the road, you flaming lunatic!’

‘Don’t read my messages!’ I shouted, giving up on the phone and grabbing the steering wheel instead. ‘Well, what do you think you’re doing?’

‘I wasn’t trying to. It was just open when I unlocked your phone and I saw my name. Fucking hell! Don’t you think Lydia’s suspicious enough without telling her shit like that? Jesus, Emily!’

‘It was a joke, that’s all. I’ve spoken to her since. It’s all fine.’

‘Well, come on!’ Sam shook his head, sighing. ‘Not exactly helpful, is it?’

The sign for the shopping park appeared and I turned into its entrance. It was busy, as I knew it would be on the last Saturday before Christmas. I tried to get as close as possible to the shop I had in mind but the car park was almost full.

‘This place looks like hell on earth,’ Sam muttered, staring out through the window with his face screwed up in disgust. I ignored him, suddenly spotting a vacant car park space up ahead.

‘Careful!’ Sam protested as I zoomed in. ‘You nearly knocked that old bloke over, then!’

‘I did not!’

‘You did!’

‘I did not! He was miles away. God, you’re such an exaggerator.’ I wrenched on my handbrake with a nasty clicking noise and climbed out. ‘Come on, get out then.’

Reluctantly, Sam took off his seat belt and stepped out into the driving rain. Taking his arm, I dragged him into the nearest shop where he stood, hunched and wet, as I shook the rain off my coat. Wizzard’s I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day blared out from the speakers. ‘Here, come on,’ I said, bossily, starting towards the racks of clothes. ‘Take your hands out of your pockets; you look like a sulky teenager.’

A coat, five tee shirts, three jumpers and two pairs of jeans later, we were back outside and heading for a shoe shop. It had stopped raining now and a weak sun was attempting to break through the clouds. A choir of school children were singing Christmas carols next to a burger van.

‘Oh, aren’t they sweet?’ I said, pausing to listen. Sam watched them, smiling a little sadly.

‘Hmm,’ he said, and I remembered his daughter and how painful it must be for him to see other children, reminding him of what he had lost.

‘Do you want a burger or anything?’ I asked, blinking up at him.

He shook his head. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘Nope. Shoes first.’

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. ‘Do you know how much money you’ve spent already today?’ he said. ‘On a lie?’

I shrugged, refusing to feel bad. ‘It’s my money and I work hard for it,’ I told him, my voice calm. ‘You should feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.’

‘Like a prostitute, you mean?’

I spluttered out a laugh. ‘I haven’t asked you for sex, have I?’

‘Yet,’ he said, darkly.

I turned scarlet. ‘You should be so lucky! I suppose you’re going to tell me now that you feel like you’re prostituting yourself.’