Who We Were Before by Leah Mercer Read Free Book Online Page B

sometimes reading.
    From the very first night – when I took him to a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant in the bowels of Elephant & Castle, then forced him to swing dance to the jazz band on the corner – things have been so easy, so natural. Our worlds have overlapped just enough to make me feel warm and fuzzy without being submerged. As clichéd as it sounds, I feel even more ‘me’ with Edward than without him, and I think he feels the same. I hope so, anyway.
    But love? Well, I’m not sure – not yet, anyway. And marriage? Kids ? The thought makes me feel like I’m about to jump off a bridge into the unknown, and I want to curl up in a corner, screw my eyes shut and cover myself with a blanket.
    ‘When it’s right, it’s right.’ Kate leans back in her chair, crossing her slender legs. ‘No point hanging around. You’re on the wrong side of thirty now, and your biological clock is ticking, my friend.’
    Jesus. ‘The wrong side of thirty’? I’ve only just hit the big 3-0, for God’s sake. I manage to keep my face neutral as I swig some cheap red wine. With her Christmas wedding looming, Kate’s become obsessed with THE FUTURE (the way she says it, it should be in capital letters) and benevolently bestowing words of advice on all the poor singletons around her.
    I just laugh. My biological clock might be ticking, but I’m miles from one of those women chomping at the bit to get married and procreate. And besides – although I don’t say this to Kate – I’m pretty sure now that I don’t believe in marriage. How can you trust yourself and that person enough to pledge for eternity? How can you promise to be with someone forever ? People change, and what suits you now may not in fifty years’ time. Anyway, if you’re confident enough in your relationship, why do you need a piece of paper to legalise it, to tie you together?
    ‘Look, Edward isn’t that wanker Ollie,’ Kate says, and I cringe at the mention of the name. Four years on, he still has that effect.
    ‘Thank God,’ I mutter. Actually, Edward couldn’t be further from my ex-fiancé, which just goes to show that people want different things at different points in their lives – or that they get smarter. Ollie and I met one alcohol-fuelled night in a bar, and straight away I wanted to be with him. We liked the same music, loved trying new things, couldn’t wait to travel to India. I’d just moved into London to start a new job, and he introduced me to Camden Market, vintage shops, indie music: everything that was funky and unique, just like him. For God’s sake, he had a better wardrobe than I did, and I often borrowed his clothes. Even now, I can smell the heady mix of incense and ash.
    When he casually mentioned – in the very romantic setting of a sticky-floored post-gig pub – we could get married, I said yes in an instant. I didn’t need to think about it: my heart knew what was right, or at least it thought it did. He didn’t give me a ring, but that was fine. I was certain he loved me, and that was enough. He was going to be my husban d ! The word made me shiver with excitement. I couldn’t wait.
    Then Ollie’s music promotion business took off, and he started travelling. A lot. I told myself to be patient, that this was just a phase, and soon he’d be back to discuss the finer details of our wedding . . . like setting the date. Then, when he was on a trip to Ibiza, he sent me a text saying he’d decided to stay in Spain – so hasta la vista , Zoe (or something to that effect). A text! After almost three years together, he dumped me, his future wife, by text .
    I felt as if the carpet had been pulled out from under me. The flat, these streets . . . I’d envisioned him, our life, here. I loved him. I trusted him. How could I not know this was coming? Had I been that blind, or had Ollie’s feelings magically morphed away during one Spanish siesta? I didn’t sleep for days, the questions running through