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

‘Stress out about what?’

There was an uncomfortable pause. ‘Alex is back.’

It took all of Lizzie’s willpower not to vomit down the front of her dazzling new dress.

Lizzie tried to unlock the front door, her hand trembling so much she could barely insert the key. Megan’s words replayed on a loop in her mind: Alex is back. For years, she had wanted to hear that more than anything in the world, but as a decade had ticked by she’d slowly swept aside the shards of her old life, carefully filing all thoughts of him away in the archives of her past.

What the hell is he doing here?

He had been in such a dark place the last time she’d seen him. She wondered what he would look like now; whether she would recognise him if they passed one another on the street. Perhaps he had gained weight or gone prematurely grey; maybe his casually cool wardrobe had been replaced by corporate suits or skin-tight gym gear. I’d know those eyes, though, she thought, momentarily closing her own. I’d know them anywhere.

She finally managed to wrestle open the door, stepping quietly into the snug Surrey home that she and Josh had moved into six months ago. Her lips moved on autopilot to shout a loving greeting, but today her tongue felt as paralysed as her brain, unable to process the million questions those three little words had unleashed. She decided to head upstairs for the sanctuary of the bathroom, where she could take a moment to compose herself – or at least throw up the butterflies swirling around in her gut. But before she could creep past the bedroom, a strong pair of arms bundled her up from behind.

‘Trying to sneak past me, eh?’ said Josh. ‘And without even a kiss, too …’

Lizzie turned round and looked into his teasing brown eyes, her composure melting under the warmth of his unsuspecting smile. Confusion hit her like a right hook.

‘I … um … I’m not feeling so great,’ she said, taking a step back.

‘Was it the tacos?’ She shook her head. ‘Now you mention it, you do look a bit pale. Come here.’ He wrapped her tightly in a hug, stroking her hair rhythmically with his right hand. His skin smelled fresh, like mint shower gel, and she buried her face in his Diesel sweater, hoping to avoid further eye contact for a moment longer.

Half of her wanted to tell him the truth – the whole truth – but she didn’t exactly know where to start. They had not talked much about her ex before: it was a painful can of worms she had sealed tightly shut, and Josh seemed to have the good sense not to prise it open. He knew there had been someone else – maybe even heard the name muttered by old friends – but until now Alex was merely the whispered ghost of a boyfriend past.

‘Do you think it’s all this rushing around for the wedding?’ Josh unwittingly gave her an escape route, and she took it.

‘Maybe. I am feeling a bit stressed.’ She pulled back and rubbed her eyes. ‘There’s still so much to sort out with the flowers and invitations and everything. I think my Bridezilla hormones must be kicking in.’

Josh looked relieved. ‘Freddie said that might happen.’ His annoying best mate had only been married for nine months, but now acted like he was the world’s leading authority on weddings. ‘Maybe you need a bit of a break, like a spa weekend or something? I could do some invites, if you like.’

His concern only made her feel worse. Just calm down, she told herself. Alex being back doesn’t change anything. It’s going to be fine.

‘I’m OK,’ she said slowly. ‘I was having a funny five minutes, that’s all.’ She forced a thin smile. ‘But, actually, it would be great if you could help with the invites. Thank you.’ Wedding admin wasn’t exactly Josh’s forte, as she’d found out when it came to sending the save-the-date cards, so she appreciated the offer.

‘No problem.’ He kissed her gently on the tip of her nose. ‘Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do.’

She ran her fingers through his sandy hair, which was looking adorably ruffled. ‘Well, there is one thing while you’re here …’

‘Go on.’

‘Kiss me.’

He took her in his arms and grinned. ‘Honestly, woman, I thought you’d never ask …’

2 (#u72ca532e-e96e-5f1b-a882-2527acb665d4)

2 October 2002 (#u72ca532e-e96e-5f1b-a882-2527acb665d4)

Without warning, the bedroom door flew open and Megan flounced in, forcing Lizzie to look up from her well-thumbed copy of Wuthering Heights. ‘Here’s a thought,’ Lizzie suggested affectionately. ‘Perhaps you could learn to knock. I could have been naked or anything.’

‘Like I haven’t seen that before.’

‘Yeah, well, you should probably knock before entering the bathroom as well.’

‘Whatever …’ Megan tossed her hair, making her sparkly top shimmer like something out of a pop video. ‘I just wanted to tell you that I’ve had a great idea for this evening! Dominic’s asked me to this karaoke night at Ignition and he’s bringing his housemate, so I thought you could join us. Cab’s coming in 45 minutes.’ She beamed as though she’d just extended an invite to an all-expenses-paid cruise around the Caribbean.

Lizzie’s heart plummeted. Karaoke? You’ve got to be kidding. She stretched out on the blue and white striped bedspread and faked a large yawn. ‘I’m not really in the mood for another double date, Meg. No offence, but you know they never work out.’

‘They haven’t been that bad,’ said Megan, looking insulted. ‘Nathan seemed nice.’

‘He’s about 5ft 7.’

‘And? So’s Tom Cruise.’

‘Which is fine for you. But I’m 5ft 10, in case you hadn’t noticed. Without heels!’

‘Well, Eric was tall,’ she huffed.

‘True, but I’m pretty sure Eric’s gay.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘He gave his phone number to our waiter!’

‘Really? I don’t remember.’ Megan could conveniently forget anything if it didn’t further her current plans. ‘Anyway, this one will be different. You’ll see.’

‘I don’t know …’ Lizzie hesitated. ‘I was kind of looking forward to just chilling out tonight.’

‘Why? There’ll be loads of time for that when you’re old!’ Megan strutted over to the beech Argos wardrobe and started rummaging around inside. ‘You’ve got some gorgeous stuff in here, Lizzie,’ she said, rifling her way along the rail. ‘What’s the point of buying dresses unless you bother to show them off? You can stay in and read tomorrow – it’s not like Heathcliff’s going anywhere.’

Just then there was a noise from upstairs, and the sound of Tom Jones singing Sex Bomb began to echo around the landing. Lizzie immediately knew what that track meant: their other housemate, a cheeky Welshman called Gareth, had a hot date in his room, and any hope of a quiet night had now gone out of the window. A triumphant smile flickered across Megan’s face.

‘Fine, I’ll get ready,’ Lizzie grumbled, rolling off the bed and plugging in her hair straighteners. ‘But you’re going to owe me big time.’

Facing the wonky mirror in the bar’s dimly lit loos, Lizzie applied a slick of lip balm and frowned at her reflection. Two tired brown eyes glared back at her in annoyance. She could have bet a month’s rent before leaving the house that she wouldn’t fancy Dominic’s flatmate, and her instincts had been spot on. Though admittedly he wasn’t the worst-looking guy Megan had ever tried to set her up with, he was clearly a complete sexist, and when he’d started on the subject of women’s sport she’d had to make her excuses and escape to the ladies.

Give it one more hour out there and then you can leave, she promised herself. Hopefully by then Gareth will have stopped his Sexbombathon, and you’ll be able to go to bed in peace.

She slipped the balm into the pocket of her vintage red tea dress, a total bargain she’d snapped up at Oxfam, then smoothed her hair and strode out of the door – smack bang into a barman carrying a tray full of drinks. Lizzie watched in horror as glasses came crashing down around them, spilling their contents everywhere in torturously slow motion. A lone Bacardi Breezer just managed to stay on the tray, wobbling defiantly from side to side like a skittle.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she winced, wondering why she’d ever agreed to leave her cosy bedroom. Her left arm felt cold and sticky. ‘I … I didn’t see you there.’

‘Evidently,’ he growled, surveying the front of his soaked black T-shirt.

‘Are you alright? I’ll pay for the drinks.’ A surreptitious check of her dress revealed that he had borne the brunt of the spillage, which was both unfair and a big relief.

He set down the tray, glanced straight at her for a second, then surprised her with a wry smile. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said, his voice low and smoky. ‘There’s no point crying over … well, two pints, a Hooch and what I think might have been a Malibu and Coke.’ He sniffed the top of his T-shirt. ‘Yep … coconut.’

Despite her mortification, Lizzie found herself laughing. ‘If it’s any consolation, I’ve always liked coconut. But I still feel terrible.’