Midsummer Magic

‘Now,’ she instructed, ‘you have to fling it over your shoulder, and it should fall in the shape of the letter that begins the name of your future husband.’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Josie.

‘Famous Halloween tradition, young maids did it all the time in olden days, don’t you know anything?’ Diana was a force to be reckoned with so, feeling incredibly foolish, Josie threw the apple peel over her shoulder. It landed with a plop on the floor, and despite herself Josie turned round to see what the result was.

‘Knew it was stupid,’ she said, ‘look, it’s formed the letter A. I don’t know anyone whose name begins with A, apart from Harry’s mate Ant, and I’m hardly going to marry him.’

‘Oh,’ said Diana, looking a bit despondent. ‘I can’t believe it hasn’t worked.’

‘Come on, Di, you can’t believe all that mumbo jumbo,’ said Josie, laughing. She could never get over how gullible Di could be.

‘Well, you never know, Halloween is a strange time of year,’ said Diana. ‘I just think there are things out there we know nothing about.’

‘Go on then, you have a go,’ said Josie indulgently.

Diana peeled the other apple and with a great sense of drama, slowly threw it behind her shoulder. This time the apple peel landed with a more definite thud, and split into three pieces which, if you were being very imaginative, may just have formed the letter H.

‘Well that’s not right, either,’ said Diana, ‘the only H I know is Harry.’

‘There you go,’ said Josie, ‘I knew it was daft. Besides, I’m not marrying Harry just yet. Without your help I’d never have persuaded him to move in here. I might just get him convinced about marrying me in the next decade.’

‘Get me convinced of what?’ Harry came into the kitchen holding a pair of leads and looking a bit bemused. Josie’s heart did the little leap it always did when she saw him. Lovely dependable Harry, with his brilliant blue eyes, curly black hair and cute smile. It made her feel warm all over thinking they were now a proper item again. They had first met at university, although Josie might never have paid much attention to the quiet studious boy on her course if he hadn’t tagged along on a group weekend away at her parents’ home in Cornwall. When he was the only person who was prepared to go and watch Shakespeare with her on a rainy summer’s night at the local open air theatre she knew he was special. And for a while there it looked like they might go the distance, then time and space and work intervened and somehow they lost touch. It still seemed such luck not only to have met Harry again at Amy’s wedding, but for him to have still remembered, and (apparently) thought about her, just as she’d thought about him over the years. In one way their relationship had been a whirlwind, they’d only been ‘together’ properly for a few months, but in other ways it felt like she was coming home. Harry in her mind had always been the one who got away.

‘I think I’m going to have to head out to B&Q to find another lead,’ he said, ‘there’s a connection I’m missing.’

‘Nothing,’ said Josie, digging Diana in the ribs and glaring at her to stop her spilling the beans. But as usual it did no good.

‘Josie’s been doing an old Halloween trick of seeing the name of the man she’ll marry,’ said Diana. ‘She threw a piece of apple peel over her shoulder, and look, it fell down in the shape of the letter H. I wonder what that could mean?’

Josie felt herself blush deeply. Marriage was something she wanted with Harry, of course it was, but given how fast they’d moved so far, she thought marriage might be rushing things a bit. She wanted him to ask her in his own way, at the right time.

Harry peered at the floor, ‘Are you sure that’s an H?’ he said. ‘What about that one?’

‘Oh, that was my turn,’ lied Diana glibly. ‘I got an A.’

‘Ah, shame Ant’s still in Oz, otherwise I’d introduce you,’ said Harry with a grin.

‘Ant? You want to inflict Ant on my best friend?’ said Josie as she swept the peel away. ‘It’s all foolish nonsense anyway. As if an apple peel can tell you who you’re going to marry.’

‘As if indeed,’ said Harry, but he looked thoughtful as he picked up the car keys and left the room.

‘There, he’s going to ask you now,’ Diana teased her, ‘sure as eggs is eggs. Did you see the look on his face?’

‘Don’t you ever stop interfering?’ said Josie, blushing. ‘He’ll ask me if and when he’s good and ready.’

‘Well, there’s no harm in pushing him along a bit,’ said Diana. ‘You know you two are made for each other. You just need a little help from Cupid’s arrow, that’s all.’

‘What was all that about?’ Harry muttered to himself as he got in the car and drove the short distance to B&Q. One of the most restful things about being with Josie was that she had never ever mentioned the ‘M’ word. Not that Harry was against the idea, but things had already moved faster then he’d anticipated, and he wasn’t in a hurry to get married. Indeed, his best friend, Ant, had laughed like a drain when he found out that Harry was even contemplating moving in with Josie.

‘You are joking?’ he’d said over the phone, when Harry had tracked him down to a bar in Australia to tell him the good news. ‘Before you know it, you’ll have his ‘n’ hers slippers and she’ll be walking you down the aisle. And then it will be only a matter of time before she starts mentioning babies, and your life will effectively be over. Don’t do it, mate. You’ll really live to regret it.’

Knowing that he really wouldn’t regret it, or at least regret taking the first step of sharing a home with Josie, allowed Harry to pass off Ant’s teasing in a good-humoured fashion. ‘You’re only saying that because you’re a jealous saddo who doesn’t have a clue how to attract, let alone keep a beautiful woman,’ he joshed back. ‘Women, beware, Ant’s here.’

Ant had always had plenty of women, but no one serious, apart from one mysterious relationship after uni, which he rarely mentioned, but had clearly left a scar.

‘Your funeral, mate,’ said Ant. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

Ant, who was currently taking the gap year he’d been threatening ever since before he and Harry had been students, had sent him a very rude Facebook message when he found out that Harry actually had gone the whole hog and was going ‘all domesticated’, as he put it.

Harry didn’t happen to think Ant was right. Sure, when they were young guns straight out of college there had been a certain cachet in seeing who got the most women – getting any women at all had been Harry’s main aim when he’d arrived at university, in the autumn of the millennium – but once Harry met Josie again at a mutual friend’s wedding, nights on the pull had definitely lost their charm. It hadn’t taken long for Harry to realise he’d fallen swiftly, deeply, irrevocably in love. He and Josie had got together at the end of university, and he’d always regretted letting her get away. He’d never been quite sure how it had happened, but he and Josie had been together such a briefly short time, and once they went to work – him to a small local newspaper in Newcastle, her to be a marketing assistant in a factory in Swindon – things had fizzled out. He had always thought he should have fought harder to keep her. So now they had found each other again, nothing was going to keep them apart. However much Ant might bitch about it, no amount of teasing would change his mind.

But … marriage? Harry thought about it as he scanned the electrical shelves in B&Q for the right scart lead, wishing, not for the first time, that manufacturers would just make a universal lead which adapted to fit every bit of electronic equipment it seemed necessary for a modern man to have in his possession. Were he and Josie ready for that? He had to admit to a certain amount of relief and pleasure when they’d made the decision to move in together. No longer the need to be out there in the savage forest of dating; time to hang up his spurs, sit by the fire, and sip wine with his one true love. Simples, as the meerkats would say, but true.

Eventually buying two leads, certain that one of them would fit, Harry made his way back home, where he found Josie and Diana already giggly, having tried out his punch to ‘see that it was strong enough’, according to Diana, although Josie was worried it had too much vodka. ‘Nonsense!’ said Diana, ‘you can never have too much vodka!’ and promptly poured the remaining half of the bottle Harry had resisted pouring in before. Diana was a whirlwind. One he quite liked, he thought, but so different from Josie, Harry sometimes wondered how they could be friends. She was vivacious, lively, pretty and incredibly flirty: like a female version of Ant, a good-time girl out on the pull. She often gave off a tough vibe, but underneath it all Harry suspected she hid a vulnerability she wasn’t prepared to let most people see. And she liked him and seemed genuinely happy for them both. Harry had a huge soft spot for her.

Josie poured some more orange juice into the punch, while Diana answered the door to their first guests. Once Harry had sorted out the music, the next few hours went by in a blur of congratulations, drinking and laughter. By midnight, Harry was feeling distinctly the worse for wear, and sitting happily ensconced on the sofa, watching Josie dance to the dulcet tones of Lady Gaga. He could sit and watch her dance for hours, she moved so gracefully, it was mesmerising. He was so lucky to have her. Josie was so beautiful, and kind, and wonderful. And she was his … sometimes he couldn’t quite believe it.

Maybe it was time to make things more permanent between them.

Someone had put something slower on, and a few of their friends were cosying up together – Diana, he noticed with amusement, was smooching with Josie’s boss – ‘Come on, lover boy,’ Josie came swaying towards him, as drunk, he realised, as he was, ‘time to dance.’

‘Always time to dance with you,’ he smiled, and pulled her close. She leant against his shoulder, and he felt her softness, and smelt her perfume. He was suddenly overcome with a dizzying sense of what could only be described as joy. He wanted to hold her and keep her and never let her go. ‘You are so perfect,’ he said, kissing her softly on the lips, ‘how did I get this lucky?’

Josie blushed, and said, ‘I’m the lucky one,’ as she kissed him back, and he was overcome with a happiness he could never remember feeling before. With her small trim figure, her gorgeous fair pre-Raphaelite curls, and her stunning blue eyes, Josie was perfect in every way. She was kind, sweet, funny, loyal and he already knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. So why not make it formal? What was wrong with marriage, after all? A perfectly sensible institution which had been round for centuries.

‘Josie,’ he said, feeling his heart hammering with happiness, ‘will you marry me?’

‘Oh my God, Oh my God!’ An overexcited and slightly pissed Josie dragged Diana away from a rather interesting situation with Josie’s to-die-for good-looking boss, Philip (trust Josie to nab a lovely guy and have a good-looking boss) into the kitchen. ‘It worked, I can’t believe it, but it worked.’

‘What worked?’ Josie wasn’t the only one who’d drunk too much, Diana realised, as the walls came crashing in on her suddenly. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Your Halloween thing,’ said Josie, ‘you know, the apple peel.’

Diana dragged herself away from the delicious prospect of a night in a penthouse with Philip, to focus on a faint memory of the early evening. ‘But you got an A!’

‘No I didn’t,’ said Josie, ‘I got an H, remember? Ta-da!’

She waved her ring finger in front of Diana’s bleary eyes. There was a platinum-looking ring on it.

‘What? He didn’t?’

‘Yup, Harry just proposed!’ said Josie triumphantly. ‘Of course we need to get a proper ring, but this will do for now.’

On closer inspection, Diana realised Josie was wearing the ring pull from a Coke can on her finger.

‘That’s, that’s – words fail me,’ Diana suddenly felt the urgent need to sit down, and slumped against the wall and slid down it. She wanted to say something more effusive, but somehow the words wouldn’t come.

‘I know,’ said Josie, sliding down to join her, ‘and it’s all down to you. You are going to be my bridesmaid, aren’t you?’